by Paula Morris
“That crazy fool nearly killed you,” Raf’s father was saying.
“I got out of the way in time,” said Rebecca’s dad, wincing with pain. “Think I just twisted my ankle. Don’t cry, honey. Everything’s fine.”
He smiled up at Rebecca, but it looked more like a grimace. She rubbed away her hot tears and tried to breathe. He was OK. They were all OK. Still, Rebecca couldn’t stop shaking. Something very bad could just have happened to her father, to any of them.
Ling was by her side, a supportive arm around Rebecca’s waist. Rebecca was conscious of people out of their houses now, up and down the street, people standing on their porches, more men coming forward to help.
“This child needs to sit down,” Miss Angela was saying, and Rebecca allowed herself to be led back to the stoop. Her nerves felt torn to shreds. Someone was handing her a dewy glass of iced tea, and Ling slid onto the step beside her.
“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” Ling asked, and Miss Angela looked at her as though she were speaking in Mandarin.
“I tried to see the license plate,” Ling told Rebecca in a low voice, “but it all happened way too fast. I did see something, though.”
“Something?” Rebecca sipped at her tea. It was insanely sweet, but it was making her feel better. Across the street two men were hoisting up her father, carrying him to a plastic chair on the sidewalk.
“Someone,” Ling muttered. “Didn’t you say that kid Toby Sutton has red hair?”
Rebecca nodded, and took another gulp of tea. She looked at Ling, knowing exactly what she was going to say.
“That was all I saw,” Ling told her. “The driver was a young guy with red hair. You know, if he wants to drive around trying to kill people, he should at least have the sense to wear a hat or something.”
Toby Sutton didn’t have any sense, Rebecca thought. That’s what Anton kept telling her. He was deranged right now. Doing things that only a deranged person would do.
Raf’s father, who’d sent the cab away, insisted on driving them back to the Quarter in his van. When they got there, he helped Rebecca’s dad hobble into the house on Orleans Street. The foot wasn’t broken, Raf’s dad said; the assembled medical opinion on Marais Street had reached that verdict, and Rebecca’s father agreed. Miss Angela had sent them home with some pain tablets and a few bags of frozen vegetables to use as ice packs.
After Raf’s father left, Rebecca bustled around getting her father comfortable.
“I’ll call Anton and tell him we can’t go to the dance,” she said, but her father shook his head.
“I’ll be fine.” He lay on the sofa with his foot up on two pillows, a glass of water and some painkillers next to him on the coffee table. “I just need some rest this evening. You need to go out and have a good time. Forget all this. What are you going to do — sit around the house, moping? And what about the boys?”
Ling gave Rebecca a hard look. Rebecca knew what her friend was thinking: What about the locket?
Rebecca bristled at the thought of seeing Toby; all of the stress of the last few hours had hardened into an indignant rage. She wanted to smack him in the face.
“You go start getting ready, Ling,” Rebecca’s dad said. “You, too, Rebecca. Go on! Those boys’ll be here soon.”
“I’m going to get you the ice pack,” Rebecca told her father. “And I’m calling Aunt Claudia!”
“You don’t need to do that,” her father argued. “Just leave me a bag of chips and the remote. I’ll be fine.”
Ling went back to their little building to shower, and Rebecca pulled a bag of frozen corn out of the freezer.
“Honey?” her father called.
“Are you OK, Dad?” Rebecca walked back in brandishing the bag of frozen corn, wrapped in a dishtowel. “Really, please let me call Aunt Claudia.”
“I’m fine — really. I was just going to say that I think you girls may have to go to Jazz Fest without me tomorrow. We’ll see how I feel in the morning, but if it’s a sprain I should keep off it. Now go put on those expensive dresses, OK?”
Up in her room, Rebecca shook out the green dress and then trudged to the bathroom for the briefest of showers. She thought about her conversation with Raf, just before Toby had pulled his stunt. There was no point now telling her father about the actual locket, the one in the house in Tremé, or asking for his help. They were only in New Orleans for another day and a half, and it looked as though he’d be spending all that time lying half asleep on the sofa.
Rebecca slipped on the green dress, noting again how flattering the color was. But this time she didn’t feel excited or glamorous. She brushed out her tangled hair, hoping it didn’t look too frizzy. She was slipping on Anton’s locket when Ling peeked into the room, looking fabulous in her short black dress.
“Yikes,” Ling said, walking in with her makeup bag. “I wonder why Anton’s mom thought that would look so good with your dress?”
“Very funny,” said Rebecca. The locket chain was too long and way too heavy.
“You could hang a pocket watch from that chain,” Ling observed. “And the locket is huge. Maybe you could keep your lipstick in it?”
“The main thing is that it’s old,” said Rebecca, “so Toby believes it could have belonged to Lisette.”
Ling peered into Rebecca’s mirror and dabbed some glittery eye shadow on her lids. “Is Anton sure he’ll turn up tonight? What if he just tries to run you down again?”
“I hope he’s waiting for us when we arrive,” Rebecca said, reaching over to pull a container of blush out of Ling’s bag.
“And then we can beat him up, right?”
“I wish.”
“Hurry up then!” Ling commanded, passing Rebecca a tube of lip gloss. “The boys’ll be here soon. And you want to look stunning in front of all the Temple Mead dumb — what does Aurelia call them?”
“Dumb Debs. Give me some of that glitter.”
They checked on Rebecca’s father, who was contently watching The History Channel while icing his ankle. When the doorbell buzzed, Rebecca went to open the gate for Anton and Phil.
But only Phil was standing there, looking slightly more grown-up than she remembered him. He was wearing a blazer and khakis, and reeked of aftershave.
“Anton’s in the car,” he explained. “He’s illegally parked just up there, so if you guys are ready?”
“I’ll go get Ling.” Rebecca leaned out to see where Anton was waiting. A black BMW, its brake lights bright, was stopped a little way up the street.
As they approached, Anton got out of the car, racing around to open the front passenger door open for Rebecca. At the sight of him, Rebecca felt her composure crack.
“Your friend Toby tried to kill us today!” she told him. “My father is injured! He can’t even walk!”
Anton paled. “What … what happened?”
She slid into the car and sat seething while Anton got back in.
“We were in Tremé, about to get into a cab, and he drove up at top speed. He was trying to knock us down. Ling pulled me out of the way just in time.”
“It was Raf, actually,” Ling volunteered from the backseat.
“Is your father injured really badly?” Anton asked. He looked upset, but not all that surprised.
“Well, he can’t walk. He might need to get X-rays.”
“Do you want me to call my dad?” Phil offered. “He could fast-track him through Truro.”
“I just want to get tonight over and done with,” Rebecca said, folding her arms. If Toby really did want this stupid locket, he could have it. After this evening, she never wanted to see him again.
“Rebecca, I promise you.” Anton’s voice was breaking. He hadn’t started the car yet. “If Toby tries anything tonight beyond taking the locket, I’ll hit him. And after tonight, I will never, ever have anything to do with him again. After tonight, if I ever see him again, even from a distance, I’ll call his parents and I’ll call the police. I swear.”
Rebecca s
aid nothing. This wasn’t Anton’s fault, she knew. But how could he ever have been friends with someone as mean as Toby Sutton? Why didn’t he call the police when he knew where Toby was hiding out?
They all sat in silence until a taxi driving up Orleans honked at them to get out of the way.
“Come on then,” Rebecca said. “Let’s get this over with.”
The country club was near the lake, at the end of a long driveway lined with oak trees. Anton had parked on the far side of the lot, near the golf course, but nobody tried to run them over as they walked to the building. Rebecca’s nerves were buzzing; she felt completely on edge. But if Toby was planning on making an appearance tonight, he wasn’t here yet.
The ballroom was long, with French windows down one side and a dance floor — presided over by a squat DJ — at one end. The chandeliers and busy carpet made the place feel like a casino, Rebecca thought, though she’d only ever been in one casino in her life, years ago in Atlantic City. A tiny bar was tended by a very short elderly man with slicked-back hair and big glasses, who poured Cokes and Shirley Temples slowly, as though he’d never done this before in his life and was worried about dropping the bottles.
Rebecca walked past girls with elaborate hairstyles and shiny short dresses, and boys wearing jackets from Brooks Brothers or Perlis. Tuxes, Rebecca remembered, were not allowed at the Spring Dance, so nobody would get it confused with Senior Prom. All that meant was that lots of boys turned up in their fathers’ blazers, which made them look even younger and skinnier than they really were.
Anton reached for her hand, and Rebecca felt her face reddening. People were staring at them: Of course they were. Especially the girls. Anton looked so much more grown-up than most of the boys here. He was wearing an actual suit, dark blue and slim fitting, and his tie wasn’t a stupid Saints tie — Rebecca had counted three of those just walking through the lobby — or something decorated with tiny crawfish or alligators. She was too nervous and self-conscious, so after gripping his hand way too hard she just let it drop.
“OK,” said Ling, catching up with her. They walked toward a vacant table while the boys fell behind. “I’ve seen two girls with those weird fishing feather things in their hair. I have to say, I kind of like them.”
“The humidity is going to your head,” said Rebecca. She was trying not to look too closely at the crowded tables in case she saw someone she recognized from Temple Mead.
At some tables every single person was either talking on their iPhone or texting. Anton told Ling that there were numerous after-parties at various people’s houses and at clubs, and a lot of people were probably trying to decide what they’d do next. Rebecca didn’t get it. Girls at Temple Mead talked all year about what a big deal the Spring Dance was, but so many of them seemed eager to move on. Maybe when they finally made it here, they discovered that all school dances were essentially the same, and not that glamorous after all. It was just the same girls from school, sitting with the same boys they’d known all their lives.
Servers in black and white ferried food out to a big round table in the middle of the room. One of them was probably Raf’s brother, but Rebecca couldn’t see anyone who looked particularly like Raf, and it was hard to see much in this room anyway, because the lights were so dim. Ling insisted on them both walking over to the buffet to check out what was on offer, expecting it to be good: Food was usually really good in New Orleans. In fact, Rebecca had promised Ling that it would be a cut above the usual school-dance fare. But actually it was a weird mix of kiddie food, like mac-and-cheese and slimy hot dogs, with heavy grown-up stuff, like braised pork belly and oyster dressing.
Phil seemed delighted with the food, piling up his plate with sticky barbecued shrimp and hamburgers, but Rebecca had realized that Phil was one of those people who made the best of everything. He was a cheerful person who liked to join in, take part, and look on the bright side.
“I think Phil might be kind of weird,” she muttered to Ling after he came back from the bar with another round of Shirley Temples and said they were the best he’d ever tasted. “It’s like he’s in some kind of cult.”
“He’s not weird. He’s just from the West Coast.” Ling nudged her. “What is weird are these cupcakes. I swear they’re from a Betty Crocker mix.”
“Everybody go whoop, whoop!” boomed the DJ. “Put your hands in the air, and give it up for the Milkshake song!”
“I love this song!” Phil licked barbecue sauce off his fingers. “It’s, like, so retro!”
“I know, right?” agreed Ling, and they raced off to join the throng on the dance floor.
“Want to dance?” Anton asked Rebecca without any enthusiasm.
“No,” she said. It was happening again. The night Anton took her to the Bowmans’ Christmas party it was just like this — the two of them sitting by themselves, glum and awkward, while other people had a good time. She wondered if he would kiss her again tonight, but it seemed unlikely. There was a tension between them now, not to mention way too many Temple Mead girls staring.
“I feel sick about what happened today,” Anton said to her in a low voice, as conscious as she was, it seemed, of other people overhearing.
“It’s not your fault,” said Rebecca. Anton was leaning in so close, their foreheads were touching. She wished everyone else in the room would vanish — like ghosts. Unfortunately, Rebecca had just spotted Amy and Jessica only three tables away. They were looking over, and probably trying to eavesdrop as well. Wishing they’d set wiretaps in all the floral displays, no doubt.
“The locket looks good,” said Anton, and they both smiled, knowing it was a big lie. The locket was beyond ugly. Rebecca couldn’t wait to be rid of it.
Ling staggered back off the dance floor, laughing and whooping, and persuaded Rebecca to walk with her to the ladies’.
“If I get through this without running into anyone,” she whispered to Ling as they waited in line, “then I …”
“Rebecca!” Jessica lurched out of a cubicle, the door banging behind her, and practically ricocheted into one of the sinks. “I’m so glad you came!”
Rebecca and Ling exchanged glances. It sounded as though Jessica had been drinking more than Shirley Temples. She turned on the faucet and water splashed all over her lacy blue dress.
“Weeee,” she giggled. “Oh my god, Anton Grey looks hot! You are so lucky!”
Ling gave Rebecca a “told you so” look.
“Oh, um, Jessica. This is my friend from New York, Ling.”
“Ling?” Jessica held out a soapy hand, almost falling over. “Ling-A-Ling! Ding-A-Ling! That’s a cute name!”
“Thanks,” said Ling, raising an eyebrow. “You having a good time?”
“The best,” sighed Jessica. “Oh my god, you won’t believe who else is here tonight. Marianne Sutton! She came all the way from Miss … Mississ … Mississippi. It’s like — the old days!”
Rebecca felt her smile straining. The bad old days, she wanted to say.
“Amy says,” Jessica stage-whispered. “Amy says that Toby Sutton is around, too. Somewhere.”
“What? Here, at the country club?” Rebecca instinctively put her hand to her neck.
“Who knows?” Jessica shrugged, then half flounced, half stumbled out.
When they left the ladies’ restroom, Rebecca was on high alert. Toby might be here. And his sister, too. Rebecca remembered the warning Jessica and Amy gave her when she first started school at Temple Mead. Watch out for Helena Bowman and Marianne Sutton. They could make a lot of trouble for you if they don’t like you. Helena might be gone, but Marianne was still around.
In fact, she was right there in the lobby, smiling at Rebecca as though they were long-lost friends.
“Hey, Rebecca,” she said, and Rebecca felt herself blushing. There’d always been something about Marianne — Marianne and Helena — that had made her feel awkward and ungainly, at some kind of disadvantage. Marianne looked even thinner these days, Rebecca though
t, and her eyes were the palest washed-out blue. She was smiling at Rebecca but there was no warmth to the smile, no warmth in her eyes. It was that same haughty, appraising look she’d given Rebecca the first time she’d ever spoken to her, on the stairs at Temple Mead. Rebecca felt inept, unable to speak.
Ling, however, wasn’t intimidated at all.
“So, is this the one with the insane brother who likes to burn things down?” she asked, staring at Marianne. “The one who tried to run your dad over in the street this afternoon?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Marianne protested, her smile fading. “What Toby gets up to has nothing to do with me, OK? I don’t even know where he is.”
She stepped closer to Rebecca, as though Ling weren’t there, and held out a hand.
“Everything else is in the past, yeah? Let’s make peace, and be friends. You and me.”
Rebecca gazed at Marianne’s pale hand. She really didn’t want to shake it. She just wanted to walk away.
“That’s an … unusual necklace,” Marianne said, stepping even closer.
“It’s a locket, actually,” Rebecca said. As if you didn’t know, she wanted to snap. Marianne was almost bending over to stare at it, drinking in every detail. Marianne might say that she had no idea where Toby was, but Rebecca didn’t believe that for one single minute. She was feeding Toby information. Anton’s guess was probably right: Marianne had heard about the locket from her old cronies at Temple Mead and had let her crazy brother know right away.
“Did you buy it here?” Marianne asked. Rebecca couldn’t believe that Marianne had managed to fool her last year, pretending to be her friend when they were getting ready to ride in the Septimus parade together. Right now she was utterly transparent.
“I didn’t buy it,” Rebecca told her. “I guess it’s … it’s really a family piece. It has huge sentimental value.”
“Well, I didn’t think you were wearing it because it was pretty.” Marianne grimaced. Some of the other girls standing nearby tittered.
“I’m wearing it,” said Rebecca, resisting the urge to slap them all, “because it will always remind me of a very dear friend I made in New Orleans last year. Needless to say, I didn’t meet her at Temple Mead.”
