Thorn Abbey (13 page)

When I get back to the dorm, Devon isn’t in our room. It’s late and I’m tired, and I have to get up early to finish my paper for Mr. Bagley. I should go to sleep, but I’m feeling on edge. Depressed, even. My date with Max was fine, and he held my hand a lot. But he didn’t kiss me good-bye in front of Kerrith. For a second he looked as though he might, but it was like he changed his mind at the last minute, saying “night, Tess,” in a subdued voice.

Am I unkissable?

Or was he just missing Becca and wishing he was with her instead of me?

I grab the laptop, plop down on my bed, and boot up. At least I have my own wallpaper now: a picture of Marshmallow Fluff belly-up on my bed at home. Much better than Max and Becca making out by the beach.

I go online. There are three e-mails in my in-box. The first is from Dean Sanchez, with details about Parents’ Weekend. The second is from my mom:

Hey, honey bunny!

Just wanted to let you know that I miss you and hope you are doing all right. I haven’t heard from you lately, but I figure you must be busy with your classes and all.

Last week, I started my new waitressing job. It’s been a while since I worked at a restaurant. I’d forgotten how annoying
customers can be! One guy ordered a hamburger, but when I brought it to him, he claimed he’d ordered steak instead. He yelled at me for five minutes before asking to speak to the manager. I think he was just angling for a free steak!

By the way, I got a notice from your school about Parents’ Weekend. I wish so much I could be there. I asked my boss for the time off, but he said there was no way since two of his other waitresses were on vacation then. Next year, I promise!

I hope you know how proud I am of you, being at that school. You are going to be a star someday.

Let me know if you need anything.

Hugs and kisses,

Mom

I feel so guilty. With everything that’s been happening, I’ve forgotten all about my mom. I make a mental note to call her over the weekend so we can catch up. Of course, I’ll have to leave out some details about the bonfire and Devon. Being a mom, she would worry way too much.

The second e-mail is from Kayleigh:

Hey, girl!

Okay, so I’ve been living on Wikipedia and a bunch of other sites, trying to solve your mystery. I’m 99 percent sure there
are supernatural forces at work. You should be super-careful!

Did you get an amulet yet? If not, order one ASAP. After you get it, NEVER TAKE IT OFF. It will protect you from Evil Spirits.

My fingers are stiff as I start to reply to Kayleigh. The room feels colder than it was a few minutes ago.
Way
colder. I wrap my comforter around my shoulders. Why is our radiator always breaking?

Hey, K! Thanks for the info. I feel like such a selfish friend. When we talked on Monday, I didn’t even ask you how you are.

So, how are you? How are things with your parents? How’s school?

It’s been weird here, and I’ve been in this funk. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I met this amazing guy, and

There is a loud scraping sound from Devon’s side of the room. Startled, I glance up from the laptop. Devon’s bottom desk drawer is open. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t like that when I came in.

What the hell?
Did it come loose on its own or is a small animal trapped in there or something? Is Devon playing a prank on me?

I get up and walk over to the desk tentatively.

No small animals. The drawer is empty except for Devon’s silver box. The one with Becca’s photograph in it.

I kneel down for a closer look. The box has a beautiful flower design on it. Roses. I wonder if it holds other Becca mementos?

I try the lid. It doesn’t budge. A warm tingling radiates up my fingers. It’s the strangest sensation.

What is happening?

Footsteps, voices. I hear Devon shout, “Tell it to someone who cares, bitch!” and break into a peal of laughter. I close the drawer and retreat quickly to my bed.

I shut my laptop. I’ll finish my e-mail to Kayleigh later. My brain is racing and spinning. It’s crazy, but I feel as though the silver box beckoned, inviting me to open it.

Maybe Kayleigh is right after all. Maybe Thorn Abbey
is
haunted.

“I
THINK SHE SHOULD GO WITH AN
LBD,” Y
OONIE SUGGESTS.
“You can’t go wrong with an LBD.”

“For her very first dinner with the parents? I don’t think so, sweetie,” Priscilla says. “Maybe in that slutty city you come from, but not here in the land of the Puritans. I think she should wear a Prada skirt, white blouse, and pearls.”

Elinor pipes up. “I think you’re both wrong. I’d go casual but elegant, like slacks and a cashmere sweater. And a sleek little Cartier watch.”

It’s Parents’ Weekend, and in about an hour I’m meeting Max and his parents at a restaurant called the Hawk and Dove. Franklin will be there, too. I’m secretly relieved since the De Villierses won’t be able to fixate the conversation on me.

Devon and her crew are giving me a makeover. Or, as Devon so sweetly put it, a “do-over.” It’s really nice of the girls to help me out. I wasn’t sure they liked me before, especially Elinor and Priscilla. And Devon, half the time.

I perch on my bed in my bra and panties with a thick layer of cold, muddy goop on my face that smells like cucumbers and dead leaves. Yoonie is straightening my hair with a long, hot metal thing. Priscilla is painting my fingernails pink, while Elinor puts the final touches on my pedicure.

Devon wipes the goop off my face with a wet washcloth. “I’m with Yoonie. We can add pearls for a touch of class. Tess, what do you have in the way of an LBD?”

“Um . . .” I have no idea what an LBD is. It sounds like a medical procedure.

“Actually, why am I asking you? I’ve seen your closet,” Devon says impatiently. “It’s like some Omaha, Nebraska, garage sale. Do you even own a little black dress?”

Versus a
big
black dress? And what’s up with the bitchy garage sale comment? “No.”

“You can borrow one of ours then. The only problem is gonna be squeezing you in since you’re practically a plus size.” Devon bends over me with a pair of tweezers and yanks a hair from my right eyebrow.

“
Ow!
Do you
have
to do that?”

“This is for your own good. You look like a hobbit. Haven’t you ever heard of waxing?”

“Devon, be nice,” Priscilla chides her. “Tess is terrified enough as it is.”

I turn toward Priscilla, or more like half-turn, since Yoonie’s metal device is clamped to my hair like a pit bull’s jaw. “Terrified? Why should I be terrified?”

“You know, sweetie. Meeting the De Villierses and all. Especially since—”

Devon shoots her a look of death. Priscilla falls silent and busies herself with a bottle of nail polish remover. What are they talking about? Do they mean because of Becca? Were Max’s parents madly in love with her, too?

“We’re wasting time, people. We’ll improvise.” Devon strides over to her dresser. “Priscilla, you have that black silk skirt. It might fit her if we use some safety pins to let out the waist. Elinor, you can donate your black blouse with the ruffly collar; it’s pretty baggy. Yoonie, you’re a size eight shoe, right? We’ll need your black flats, please. I’ll throw in my pearls.”

“I’m a size eight
narrow
,” Yoonie clarifies. “But we can stretch them with this supercool hair dryer trick I know. Do you want the Miu Mius? Or the Marc Jacobs?” she asks me cheerfully.

“Um, either is fine, thanks.”

“The Marc Jacobs, duh,” Devon says. “Okay, let’s move it! She has to be out of here in like thirty, forty minutes tops. And we haven’t even started on makeup, which is going to take forever.”

This do-over isn’t exactly helping my self-esteem.

At five thirty, Devon and I are alone in the room, putting the finishing touches on my outfit for dinner. Yoonie, Priscilla, and Elinor left to meet up with their own parents.

Devon drapes her string of pearls around my neck and snaps the clasp shut. “This necklace is vintage Mikimoto. If you lose it, I will seriously kill you.” She spins me around. “There, what do you think?”

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look . . . pretty. And stylish. And put together. Not like me at all.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I gush. “Wow, I wish I could look like this all the time.”

“Yeah, dream on.” Devon steps back and scrutinizes me with a frown.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something’s missing.” She glances over her shoulder at her closet.

“No, I’m fine. I’m better than fine. Besides, I have to go—and so do you. Aren’t your parents waiting for you?”

“Nah. They’re not coming this weekend. They can’t stand being within ten feet of each other without their divorce lawyers present.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No biggie. I have other plans. Here, I have an idea. Just two more minutes, okay?”

She reaches into her makeup box and pulls out more tubes and jars. I close my eyes and try to quell my impatience as she draws on my lids with something wet. I feel her applying more lipstick, fussing with my hair, adjusting my blouse, and then . . .

“Perfection!” she exclaims. “What do you think?”

I open my eyes. “Devon!” I gasp. “I look like a—”

“Hottie? Yeah, you’re welcome.”

My lips are dark red, my eyes are lined with thick black eyeliner, and my hair is rumpled in a style that Kayleigh refers to as the “just got out of bed after a long night of you-know-what” look. Devon has also unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse so that a sliver of my bra peeks through.

I reach up to rebutton. “Devon, I can’t!”

Devon grabs my hand. “You can’t what? Handle
not
looking like a closet lesbian who shops at Walmart? Come on, Tess. Max will be all over you when he sees you.”

I blush furiously. “I—I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not like that.”

Devon stares at me. “You two
have
done it, right?”

“Devon! We haven’t even—” I start to bite my thumbnail, then stop.

“Made out with your clothes off?”

I shake my head.

“With your clothes
on
?”

I shake my head again.

“He hasn’t even
kissed
you yet?” she says incredulously. “Oh my God. This is bad. Wow. Maybe he’s decided he’s gay.”

“What?”

“I’m joking, you idiot. From everything Becca told me, he’s . . . never mind. Anyway, this last-minute adjustment is totally fortuitous. Tonight’s the night. If he doesn’t stick his tongue down your throat when he sees you, we’re going to have to take more drastic measures.”

None of this conversation makes me feel better.
At all.

I
FINALLY GET TO THE
H
AWK AND
D
OVE AT TEN AFTER SIX
. F
OR
some reason, I thought the place would be chandeliers and frilly tablecloths and big, puffy flower arrangements. Instead, it’s almost grim in its simplicity. The decor consists of stone-colored walls, wide-planked floors, and a deer’s head mounted over an ancient brick fireplace.

I follow the stiff-backed maitre d’ to the De Villierses’ table, a stupid grin frozen on my face. And limping, because Yoonie’s Marc-whatever shoes are way too small, even with her hair dryer trick. I really don’t want to meet Mr. and Mrs. De Villiers looking like this. I wish I could sneak into the ladies’ room and undo my do-over. Or pretend to get an emergency call from my mom, someone, anyone, and simply bail.

When we reach the De Villierses’ table, Max stands to greet me. He’s in his dress uniform: navy blazer, white button-down shirt, khakis, and school tie.

“Tess,” he says. “You’re . . .” His eyes grow enormous as he takes in my face, my hair. “Ahh . . .” His gaze falls to the low, low neckline of my blouse. “Yeah, so, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is my friend Tess Szekeres.”

Mr. De Villiers and Franklin both stand, too. Franklin is also in his dress uniform. “Tess,” Mr. De Villiers says, extending his hand. “Very nice to meet you.”