Plagued: Book 1

by Eden Crowne

  “I don't think you should speak to me or my friend Alexandra like that.” I couldn't see his face from where I stood. He leaned over, speaking quietly to Mrs. McCarthy. The Principal made a few attempts to interrupt him. Somehow she couldn't seem to get a word in. Savan's broad shoulders blocked my view of her face. Her body posture, however, changed dramatically. She'd been bristling like an angry terrier when she stalked over to us, now I saw her shoulders droop. Then, quite unexpectedly, Mrs. McCarthy staggered back a few steps, white faced. Her hand flew to her mouth. When she looked at me, her eyes were wide and frightened. Turning abruptly, she practically ran to the front of the room and up the stairs. The students nearby stared from us to Mrs. McCarthy and a few “whoops” went up here and there. Mrs. McCarthy was not well liked. Amber Lynne did not look pleased, she depended on her mother's powerful position to ensure her own place at the top of the food chain.

  “What was that all about? What did you say to her?”

  Savan shrugged and laughed. “What an insufferably rude little woman. I told her some truths, that's all.”

  “But...”

  “Shhhh.”

  Taking me in his arms he kissed me, right on the mouth, in front of everybody. Never had I been kissed like that. I mean that in a good way. So good. A full kiss on the lips, his sweet breath mixing with mine. Deep and rich and my very first. My emotions surged and all my senses seemed to fill with the weight of Savan. It was happening at last. This is what it feels like, I thought to myself. Tonight I was opening the first pages in that most mysterious chapter in the book of life: How it begins between a boy and a girl. Between us.

  “Is kissing supposed to make you dizzy?” I said as the world tilted.

  Savan whispered in my ear, “Now, aren't you glad we came?”

  I was.

  We walked, I think I glided, anyway, we ended up at the numbered table that matched our tickets. Savan produced a small bottle of champagne – where he had hidden it I had no idea – and with a pop poured it into our glasses.

  “My girl must not go without her favorite drink,” he gave me a wink and a wicked smile.

  We sipped from our glasses and chatted about the exhibition we had just been to as our table filled up and up and up with people. Students I had seen in the halls who never even looked, much less spoke to me, were suddenly sitting or standing all around us. It was “Alexandra this'” and “Alexandra that” and “Introduce us to your friend, Alexandra.” How did they even know my name? Because of Amber Lynne, everyone called me Tod.

  A quick scan of the ballroom sometime later showed Amber Lynne, her boyfriend Tony, and a couple of others from the Awesome Posse deserted by their shipmates and marooned on anger island. Savan and I were the center of attention. How had this happened? It was absolutely amazing. Why hadn't I brought my camera to record this? Amber Lynne was staring daggers at me. Oh, for a photo of her face to put up on Cougar Snarls. If looks could kill, I would have fallen, dead on the floor in my gorgeous green gown right there and then. I still would have been prettier than her tonight, even dead, I reflected with satisfaction.

  Gemma strolled over. We hadn't spoken since that awful day on the nubby couch, though she always nodded when we passed in the hall. She was wearing a very short, royal blue tulle dress with high-heeled gladiator sandals snaking up her calves right to the knees. Her hair lay flat and shiny on her scalp, all the beads gone. Her eyes looked enormous. Peering closer, I saw she had on some kind of thick false eyelashes. “Are those feathers?”

  “Cool, huh?” She batted them dramatically.

  They could only be from the Eyelash Bar. Isobel told me about the place before I left France and I promised to buy her an outrageous pair. With a start, I realized how long ago that promise was. When was the last time I had even Skype'd Brianna and Isobel? I felt a stab of guilt.

  “Well done Tod, you seem to have put Amber Lynne in her place.”

  “What?” I feigned surprise. “You're speaking to me now? What happened to the target?”

  “Somehow I think things have changed for you,” she said, gently smoothing back a short, stray lock that fell onto her forehead.

  Savan and I eventually made our way out onto the terrace where the dancing had spread. Cherry trees ringed the garden and the terrace, the warmth of the evening and the beauty of the flowering trees reaching out to embrace us. A blizzard of blossoms swirled around the dancers, transforming the night into a confection of pink and white. The petals, twisting and turning in the air, seemed caught up in the rhythm of the dance. The music changed to a slow tempo and Savan took me in his arms, holding me close.

  For just a moment, as we swayed in time to the music, arms around each other, I thought I saw a pair of emerald green eyes staring at me and the flash of silver hair. The dancers closed in momentarily blocking my view. When I looked again, I saw nothing strange. Must be my imagination. The frightening young English boy with silver hair was not going to be here at the Cherry Blossom Ball. That was just crazy.

  Inside the ballroom, the disco ball spun and pinpoints of light escaped out the terrace doors just as we had, illuminating the smiling faces of the people around us. None of them could hold a candle to the incandescent beauty of Savan, I thought.

  “Or to you,” said Savan, somehow reading my thoughts. “You are beautiful. All the more beautiful because you do not realize how rare and exquisite you really are.”

  “It's the hair and make-up; thank Stephanie,” I laughed.

  “No, it is not. Not at all,” his voice was deep and quiet. Bending down, he brought his lips close to my ear, whispering, “The beauty is all yours, inside and out. I love you Alexandra, darling girl. You have stolen my heart.” And he kissed me again, deeper and more intensely than before. It took me a moment or two to get the hang of where to put my lips and chin and head. This was all so new. Luckily he seemed very interested in helping me practice this new skill. He tasted just like my glass of champagne, I thought a little wildly, and his kiss went to my head just as fast.

  It was the most perfect evening.

  Chapter 14

  Fearless

  Gemma couldn't have been more right. Things did change.

  Monday morning, cell phones all over the school texted the news: Mrs. McCarthy was gone, baby, gone. Absent on indefinite leave for medical reasons. WTF? Smiley face, smiley face. Her replacement: the no-nonsense Assistant Principal, Mr. Reeves. Thankfully he had no children at the school and no secret agendas. His obsession was hall passes and tardiness, like any assistant principal worthy of the title.

  Everyone wanted to be my new best friend, asking me to sit with them at lunch, join a study group – where studying was the last thing that got done – or asking me out. Boys were asking me out and I was refusing them. Me! Having to refuse dates because I was seeing the hottest guy in Tokyo. Or anywhere else as far as I was concerned. Abigail and Missy, shifting orbit from Amber Lynne's cooling dwarf star, changed trajectory to circle my rising sun. They agreed Savan was pure male perfection. He'd taken to driving out in a shiny, silver BMW roadster to pick me up on the days I actually made it to school, which were growing more and more infrequent. In truth, I really didn't have much time to hang around with my new list of Social Network pals begging to be ''friended” over the following weeks. The Club always had an exciting and entertaining agenda keeping me out most nights. No one could be more interesting than Vanessa, Anders, Stephanie, Lilly and, of course, Savan of the smoldering looks and liquid kisses. Grade point averages had become déclassé.

  Today I ditched my last class to get to the station and make it into town in time to meet Vanessa. She was taking me to her favorite vintage stores on a hunting expedition. We were hunting for a dress.

  That's what Vanessa called clothes shopping. Whenever we hit the shops, she would designate who was the hunter and who were the beaters. The beaters' job was to drive the game towards the hunter. In shopping this took the form of crying out, “Here, here, here! This i
s so cute!” Or, “I see it! It's perfect! Come here, come here, come here!”

  Vanessa made everything more fun.

  Today was an extra special hunt for an extra special dress because there was going to be a party just for me. My birthday was almost here and we were going to celebrate big time, Vanessa said.

  “Your birthday will be spectacular, I know it! We will have a fantastic time. The cherries may be finished, but everything else will be green and fresh. A new beginning.”

  'How could anything be more wonderful than these past two months?' I thought to myself.

  Impossible. Catching sight of my reflection in a shop window, I hardly recognized the girl standing there. Automatically smoothing my hand over my hair, though those errant curls were long gone. Vanessa's hairdresser had seen to that. Instead, it lay sleek and smooth as silk across my shoulders, held back by a pair of Gucci sunglasses perched on top of my head. An early birthday gift from Savan. I was wearing a long-sleeved Pucci-style dress, another vintage store find. Silver, turquoise and green in dizzying geometrics, topped with a tiny Burberry jean jacket with flared sleeves I'd picked up for next to nothing a couple of weeks before. We hardly needed coats anymore now that spring was in full bloom.

  Vanessa's cell phone rang and after a brief conversation, she laughed. Grabbing me by the hand, she said only, “That was Lilly. Detour!”

  Jumping in and out of a taxi, the two of us went to a neighborhood nearby, hopping into a branch of the Italian coffee house chain Sega Fredo. This and a couple of other coffee houses served as a sort of unofficial town square for many of the affluent foreigners that clustered in this part of the city. The terraces of the Starbuck's or Sega Fredo coffee shops were places to see and be seen, where men and women from a dozen countries automatically sized each other up. Tokyo was a place you dressed up to go for coffee.

  Sega Fredo always had copies of the glossy magazine, The Tokyo Weekly. Flipping through, Vanessa quickly found the six pages of gossip and society news from columnist, Bobby Hereford.

  “Ta da!” she sang, holding the magazine up and out with a flourish.

  I saw myself staring back in full color. It was still a shock to see my face on the society page. For this spread, we were standing with a hotter-than-hot LA rap singer. (Who, it turned out, was actually more suburban Thousand Oaks than the rough blocks of Compton, and very well spoken. Though I said I'd never tell.) His entourage had us surrounded, me in the middle, with the other Club members on either side. We were shining more brightly than the rapper's gold and diamonds. Savan had his arm around my shoulders.

  “That's six weeks in a row we have been in Bobby's column,” laughed Vanessa.

  We gave each other high fives.

  When I got home several hours later, just to change, Dad was there. I checked my watch. Seven o'clock. He never came home this early anymore. I said “hi” and dashed to my room. We were all going for cocktails, a private club on top of some high-rise. We'd have a table by the window with a stunning view of the city – like always. After drinks we planned to go on to the elegant Peninsula Hotel for dinner at a very chic supper club where Vanessa had reserved a private dining room.

  Running past him on the way out five minutes later, I gave a casual wave goodbye. To my surprise, he moved to block my way.

  “You've been missing classes. The school called me.”

  I rolled my eyes.“What? You mean your secretary let a call through? Or they called your cell and you didn't automatically send them to voicemail like you do me?”

  “Lexie.”

  “Lexie what, Dad? You pay no attention to me. I haven't seen you in over a week.”

  “Things are busy at work right now.”

  “I've seen how busy. Five-foot-two, blonde and pretty, out-for-cocktails on a weeknight busy.”

  He looked stunned.

  It had been just over a week ago. Savan, Vanessa and I were having a drink after a concert. Savan was sipping a vodka tonic and Vanessa the same. The crowd ebbed and flowed and for a moment parted directly in front of me. Across the floor, I saw my father and the blond sitting together, his dark hair making hers seem even fairer. She laughed at something he said and leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth. The crowd shifted again and they disappeared from view. I was not really that surprised.

  “Yeah, I know about the one in Paris as well and Bangkok. Isn't it funny how they all look like Mom? Is that why she left? Because you have a thing for blonds you're not married to?”

  “That's, that's not fair,” he stammered. I'd obviously surprised him with my secret knowledge. This glimpse into his private life. I wondered if I should bring up the 'mirror-at-the-foot-of-the-bed' thing? He used to bring his women home when I was at school. Send the maid out for coffee or shopping. Various neighbors in various countries had positively enjoyed giving me that information.

  “Fair? You're going to play the 'fair' card? How is it fair that you drag me all over the world like baggage because it's convenient for you! All you do is work – and whore around, obviously. You're the reason Mom left!” I threw the words at him like a knife, knowing they would cut just as deeply.

  His face lost all color. For a moment, he was silent, saying finally in a tired voice, “You can't keep missing school.”

  “I can and I will. How are you going to stop me?”

  And I pushed by, leaving him standing there staring as I walked boldly out the front door. He couldn't stop me. No one could. If he tried, I would pack my stuff and get a part-time job and stay here. I wasn't moving again. I wasn't going anywhere, not for a long time.

  How wrong can a person be?

  Chapter 15

  With This Drink, I Thee Dead

  Blue Oyster Cult was playing “Don't Fear the Reaper” on the sound system and I felt happy. I didn't fear the reaper. I didn't fear anything, not when I was with the coolest group of people on the planet. Me, Alexandra Carpenter, with them. Savan held my hand and kissed me. At midnight, I would become a part of the Club, an actual member, and nothing, nothing would ever be the same.

  Though we started the evening somewhere else, by eleven we arrived en masse in a very sketchy part of Tokyo's Shinjuku red light district, Kabukicho, at a tiny place called The Reaper. Savan, explaining to me as we squeezed through the narrow door that it was named for Blue Oyster Cult's rock classic. I knew that song, everybody knows that song. I thought it was scary and I'd had nightmares about it. Of course, I had nightmares about a lot of things as a child including clowns, seagulls, and mirrors. Now the song just seemed mysterious and profound. Maybe I was growing out of my fears at last. The tiny Reaper played only 70s music and was packed with a small, stylish international group of people laughing and talking over the music. Vanessa, Savan, Cameron and the rest of our members seemed to know everyone there and much kissing, hugging and high-fives back and forth ensued.

  I'd barely spoken to my dad since our fight a few days before and I didn't care. He had his career and his blond. He didn't seem to need much from me anymore and I was finally at a point where I felt the same way. The Club and my friends, nothing else mattered. Looking at Savan, I thought I'd done pretty well for myself. Savan was a pretty spectacular catch as a first boyfriend.

  The bar was not the sort of place I would come to without a group. It seemed full of shadows for such a small place and the light from the dingy, white, geometric fixtures hardly reached the corners. It felt more like a Goth hangout than a shrine to the 70s, or so I thought. It certainly smelled like it hadn't been dusted since that decade, so that was a touch of realism. Everything was slightly grimy. Very different from the beautiful, sparkling people crowded inside. The bartender appeared to have lived through the 70s several times over – one of those guys whose wrinkles had wrinkles. He was tattooed and pierced and wore an ancient Hell's Angel's vest. I couldn't tell if he was Japanese or not, his face was all squeezed together with age.

  This was such an unlikely gathering place for the Club members that I c
ouldn't help feeling disappointed. They'd made such a big deal over my birthday party this past week, shushing each other about the preparations whenever they thought I was listening. My expectations had run more along the line of plush settees and sparkling views. Peter's at the Peninsula Hotel. They all knew that was my favorite, and I'd dressed appropriately in a tiny gold and brown, sequin sheath dress and a pair of achingly beautiful high-heeled Prada sandals borrowed from Vanessa.

  On the Reaper's narrow bar sat several oversized glass jars. Something inside appeared to be moving. Peering closer, I saw they each held a handful of live snakes. Writhing and curling over and around each other, their quick tongues darted in and out as they tried in vain to get traction on the slippery glass sides and escape. The bartender followed my stare and smiled. In a flash, he reached in to pull forth one of the reptiles. He held it out to me and I drew back, afraid. Savan spoke to him sharply in another language and shrugging, the barman dropped it back with the others.

  “Snakes?” I couldn't stop staring at them. They seemed to be staring back. “What's with the snakes?”

  “Come on, their role will become clear later in the evening.”

  “I don't know if I like the sound of that.”

  Savan gave me a laughing smile, his cheeks dimpling up in that adorable way I loved, and pulled me towards a group of people I didn't know. They were sitting at several little tables beneath a wall completely covered with eight-by-ten black and white photographs. There must have been more than a hundred. Every photo was a close-up of a teenage or maybe slightly older boy or girl. White, Black, Asian, and in-between. The people in them looked dead. In all the photos each one lay on a stone or concrete floor, their heads centered in some sort of diagram like a – I counted the points of the stars – six. A hexagram. Exactly like the little red star burned into my skin by the English boy at the techno club. Eyes open, mouths slack. I found the pictures beyond disturbing and though I tried not to look, my glance kept flicking up to them from where we sat.