How do I girl?
I never worried about feeling beautiful with Aidan. I always felt gorgeous. One date with Michael and I’ve lost my mascara mind. The sobs well up as I sit on the closed toilet seat.
A knock on the door.
“Are you okay in there?” Mom asks.
“Fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
I open the door reluctantly. Mom does a spit-take.
“Oh, my god! Your hair! It looks—different. Why did you do that?”
“I told you. I’m going to the Winter Dance. With Michael Allured.” I face the mirror, examining the disaster that is my attempt at beauty. I shouldn’t have tried to straighten my hair. Mom’s right. It was prettier before.
“I didn’t know you guys were dating. Does Michael’s mom know?”
“We’re not dating.” I toss pencils back in the box. “We’re just friends.”
“Do you want some help?”
I need major help. Like, a S.W.A.T. team of MAC artists. My Mom, the Belle of Belfast City, never needs makeup. I don’t see what she can contribute. One of the reasons I hate makeup is because it’s so hard to find what works on my skin tone.
“Here,” she says. “Let’s start with your skin, okay?”
Less is more, she says. Easy on the foundation. Powder applied with brush. A touch here. A dab there. She coaches me through the eyeliner and mascara. Even the shadow. It should be heavier than usual, since it’s an evening event.
I melt. She’s helping.
Helping because I need her help.
About an hour later, my face is transformed. I don’t recognize myself—in a good way.
“You are gorgeous.” Mom smiles one thousand kilowatts. “I’d kiss you but I don’t want to muss you.” Her fingertips dance around my newly relaxed waves.
Like butterflies.
I don’t recognize the young woman I see in the mirror. I might enjoy getting to know her.
My shoes are surprisingly comfortable: strappy Mary Janes I bought last summer that were too big. Now they fit perfectly, with bandages protecting my Achilles tendon. The heels add about two inches, which is plenty.
Michael wheels up the driveway in his dad’s gleaming black Cadillac Escalade. It’s bigger than the Prius and the Camry stacked together. As I trod down the stairs, my parents appraise me like I’m from another dimension.
Dad clutches his heart and staggers back against the coat closet door. “Evelyn, I’m not ready for this!” Dad recovers and steps closer, beaming. A tear might be in his left eye. “My Little River.” He plants a kiss on top of my brow. “Not so little anymore.”
The doorbell rings. My nerves jump. Mom opens the door.
Michael stands in the doorway. Immaculate black suit and shiny blue tie. A dapper spray of mousey brown hair atop his head that defies gravity. He holds out a bouquet of white roses.
When he sees me, the penny drops. His mouth drops open. “I…who…” He slaps himself. “Wow!” He remembers his manners. “Good evening, Mrs. Jones.” Then, to Dad, “Good evening, sir! I’m Michael Allured.” Dad shakes hands with him, making pleasantries. He takes in Dad’s girth, and his face takes on the appropriate mantle of dread. “Sir, I promise you. I shall not put a hand upon your daughter this evening except in utmost chasteness as we, you know, twerk. Ahem!”
Dad laughs. “That’s okay. She’s held her own against a bigger masher than you. You better watch out.”
A momentary flashback to the creature lunging at me. I close my eyes. Just keep breathing. It’s going to be okay. This is normality. Calm. Fun! Good.
“Mashers. Moshers.” Michael sighs. “It’s been a sincere pleasure to have formally met you, sir, madame. And now we have a dance to attend. My lady?” He holds out his arm.
I take it. And the roses, which I inhale. White. Not red. Calculated choice on Michael’s part, no doubt. Mom helps me with my coat. I’m going to need it. Forecast of 50 degrees tonight.
“Have fun!” Mom says. “Michael, please say hi to your mom for me?”
“I will,” he replies, helping me into the Escalade. “Have a wonderful evening! Wait up for us!”
“Be safe!” Mom says with a wink.
I can’t believe she just said that. I crumple with embarrassment.
Unfazed, Michael climbs inside the cab and starts the car. It’s spacious and luxurious. The perfect wheels. “You really are stunning, CJ. Um…you are CJ, right?”
I bat him on the head with the bouquet.
“Ow! Yup, that’s you.”
We take each other in. Eventually, I say, “Let’s do this dance thing.”
“As you wish,” he replies, and the Escalade rips in reverse.
Chapter 28
I forgot that the dance was to raise money for Darren’s youth group, Inspiration International. The group’s garish banner complete with golden cross is plastered on the wall outside the gym, as well as inside over a long table manned by church members collecting donations in jars and metal boxes. They tug at their ties, looking uncomfortable in their missionary haircuts and shiny shoes as the DJs thump out Avril Lavigne’s “Hello Kitty.”
Who needs chaperones? We’ve got Jesus.
On the other side of the door is a coat check. Michael and I exchange our wraps for a couple of tickets. A big donation jar sits on the coat check table with the Inspiration International logo. I would tip them but I know where the money will go. Michael tips for us.
The gym is a fishbowl of swirling green and blue light. The naked limbs of fake birch trees are wrapped in white lights and other ornaments. Couples and singles writhe to the music. Strutting. Turning. Flipping. Rocking. I’ve never felt comfortable in gyms and this is not helping.
It’s too loud for conversation. Michael leans over toward me and shouts, “Let’s walk the perimeter. Gotta show off the threads and find Judeo.”
“Did you just combine their names?”
“I did,” he says proudly.
I roll my eyes.
Boys in suits with discarded ties and open collars. Girls in tight dresses. Glittering jewelry. Tarted-up bullies. People congregate at the massive refreshment table. “Courtesy of the Jacobs Family” reads the golden banner on the wall above.
They really like their banners.
The DJ brings up a club version of Cage the Elephant’s “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked.” People race for the dance floor. Judy and Leo feed each other cupcakes at an empty table.
What happened to the cheap sale dress she bought? As we close in, the details of her ridiculously genius fashion makeover stand out. Judy has converted an otherwise unremarkable pale green dress into a Chanel masterpiece by adding new material and tucking the waist. She’s now a vintage darling with her sculpted collar and an A-line silhouette heightened with an added chiffon overskirt. She wears her hair up a bit like Amy Winehouse, a tiny pillbox hat pinned to her magenta crown, and even wears a pair of smart white gloves. The not-as-fashionable Leo can’t take his eyes off of her. He himself looks pretty slick in his black priest-collar suit and gold cufflinks. There’s nary a trace of the boy in the forest who quivered at the thought of this girl.
Judy grabs his hand and tugs him toward the dance floor, but Leo balks like she’s just invited him to jump into a piranha pool. Michael saves him with a salute. We cluster by the wall, leaning in to talk. Or rather shout. It would be easier to text.
Before we can even get through our greetings, adults descend upon us with serious looks, led by our principal, Mrs. Cartwright. The other adults are unfamiliar. Are they parents? Or just muscle? “Good evening, Charity. Michael. Will you and your friends kindly come with us for a moment?”
I don’t like this. Judy and Leo seem annoyed but Michael looks the way I feel: downright hostile.
“We just got here,” I say. “Are we in trouble?” Mrs. Cartwright has never before spoken to me directly. She congratulated our FIRST team when we won our last competition. But this is strange.
>
“There’s someone who wants to meet you,” Mrs. Cartwright says. “Please. It won’t take long.”
They then turn to leave, but Mrs. Cartwright’s hand grasps my elbow. Michael intercedes. “If I may.” Mrs. Cartwright releases me as Michael takes my arm. I look to my friends with resignation.
We’re escorted out of the gym into an adjacent set of rooms. Offices where PE teachers and clubs meet. Members of Darren’s church are gathered here, holding hands, praying. Bibles scatter the chairs and tabletops.
I am extremely uncomfortable.
Mrs. Cartwright leads us to a couple slightly older than my folks. Dressed conservatively, they appear more ready for a church service than a high school dance. “Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs? This is Charity Jones and her friends Michael Allured, Leo Donatti, and Judy LaHart.”
“Hi,” is all I can muster as a couple with bloodshot eyes enthusiastically shakes our hands. Mr. Jacobs is a tan, barrel-chested man in a gray suit. Mrs. Jacob wears multiple strands of pearls over her thick black dress. They both look like they could use at least a year of sleep.
“We,” Mr. Jacobs says, indicating his wife, “That is, Charlotte and I just wanted to thank you for capturing and bringing our son’s killer to justice. We prayed to the Lord Jesus day and night that He would deliver his killer swiftly. You are the answer to that prayer.”
I want to tell them what a bastard their son was. The pain he caused me every day. And that killing isn’t justice. The creature might have been vile, but death was not the answer. It was a tragic loss to science and humanity, too.
The words stick in my throat. I want to climb into a time machine and travel to another decade, maybe even a distant planet. The silence seems to unnerve Mrs. Cartwright.
“We are very appreciative for what you did,” Charlotte says. “We were planning a more formal event with the Sheriff’s office and superintendent, but when we heard you were here, we wanted to thank you personally.”
There’s only one thing I can say. It’s what I feel when I remember what my family used to be like, before the troubles. And every time I see Aidan. The aching emptiness. The words for that feeling appear quietly in my mind. Words I’ve heard my parents say. Words I’ve seen on blog comments and social media. I take Charlotte’s hand.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Charlotte cries. We then each hug her. Mr. Jacobs shakes hands with Michael and Leo, tears streaming down his grief-worn face. I hug him, too. It turns out I’ve found something here I didn’t expect.
The very last thing, in fact.
Connection.
We return to the insanity of the gym where the number of students has doubled. At full speed, I haul back to the refreshment table for a chocolate cupcake. As I wolf down the badly needed dose of chocolate, the DJ announces, “Hey, hey, hey, Oakwood High! Monster hunters are in the house!”
Oh. God.
The walls vibrate with a clubbed up mix of Lady Gaga’s “Monster” as the crowd cheers.
No. No. No.
Like an amoeba, the dancers absorb us into a toxic swirl of twisting and thrusting. Those who cannot dance jump in place, hands in the air, shouting “Wooo!” Whiffs of whiskey and weed mingle with sweat. I’m caught up in the madness. My hand flings out for Michael. He plants his body straight up against mine. Just as I think I might have to knee him, he says in my ear, “Hold on. We’re getting out.”
Using his bulk, he squirms us out of the crowd, one “Woo!” at a time.
We slip out the back door. The cold air bites into my bare arms and legs. Michael gives me his jacket. Taking my hand, he brings me around the side that’s exposed to the field beyond. The muted music tries to pound its way out.
“Wow.” He shivers as he leans against the building, hands in pockets. “That was something.” He hesitates. “You did good, CJ. I couldn’t do what you just did with those people. None of us could. But you pulled through. That was awesome.”
“Thanks.” It’s really damned cold. The sky is strewn with stars. Clear and sparkling. “Maybe we should just get our coats and leave.”
“Mmmm,” Michael says, knuckle to mouth. “Yes. But I have something to tell you first. I’ve kept a couple of secrets from you and the others. It’s time to spill.”
A riot of emotion. My teeth chatter. I do a little potty dance to keep warm. “But do we have to talk about it here? It’s cold, and anyone could be listening. You can’t hear it standing here, but sound echoes around the building.”
“Nah, don’t worry. Everybody’s inside doing the stripper kick. Or the Nae Nae. Or whatever. It’s time to come clean,” Michael continues. He seems a bit anxious to get this out. “First, about me.” His eyes mist as they look into mine. If he had a soul, I would be looking directly into it. “You’ve probably wondered why I’ve never asked you out before. Or any girl at our school.”
“Yeah, but you’re dating someone outside of school, aren’t you? Some girl in community college? Why didn’t you bring her instead of me?”
“It’s not a girl.”
The rumors about girls from other schools. Older girls. Invisible and impeccable. It makes sense now. Desperate attempts to stay in the closet. I put my hand on his cheek. “Thank you for trusting me.”
We hug, long and hard. “I knew you wouldn’t be upset or judgmental. Turns out maybe instead of medicine I should go into acting, huh?”
“Well, I hear there are lots of parts for straight characters,” I joke. I hunch under the jacket. “Your parents know?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re cool. They can’t wait to get their first gay grandbaby.”
I laugh. “So, you wanna hit me with Secret Number Two?”
“Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard. “But I need you to trust me. Like, to the power of infinity trust me.”
“Okay.”
“You promise? You won’t budge?”
“I promise.”
His gaze trails over his right shoulder and fixes there.
Where Aidan emerges from the shadows.
Chapter 29
“Hello, Charity Jones,” Aidan says, hands in pockets. He is more stunning than ever. Curls escape from under the brim of a tall top hat to spill over his forehead. He wears a crisp black suit with a long, old-fashioned coat and a blood red cravat.
A storm of heat, desire.
Fear.
“He’s been staying in our guest house,” Michael continues. “Don’t worry! He’s not my type and I’m not his. He’s definitely all yours. Although, I hope you don’t mind my mom’s been having fun styling him.”
Dying inside as he approaches. But this time no one is in our way. Aidan sweeps off his coat and holds it open to me in one movement.
“As I was saying, um, I think Aidan has some ’splaining to do, Lucy. And I think it’s good stuff. You should give him a listen. So, I’ll let him do that.”
Transfixed, I hand Michael his coat. He scurries out of sight.
Aidan wraps me in his coat. My heart rumbles like a volcano.
“Charity Jones, I am so, so incredibly sorry for the tremendous distress I have caused you,” Aidan says. “I love you more than my life. I even thought of taking my life to prove it, but Michael convinced me otherwise. I would have done anything to end your troubles. And mine, as I mourn my sister’s death.”
I am no longer cold, and not because of the coat. There’s something about his body, like we’re in a bubble of warmth. Anyway, this sounds like the ’splaining. “You had a sister?”
His eyes are teary. “I have many brothers and sisters. As I mentioned, they do not look like me. We have a different mother. But we do have one feature in common: My father’s eyes.”
The creature. His sister.
Oh. God. Oh. God. Oh. God.
“My father must have sent them into the world to search for me. And astonishingly one tracked my scent. I had no idea it was she who was causing the pain around us. Humans are so adept at creating pain on their own, you know. I
’m devastated that my father sent them. He knows they’ll die. Or be killed. They’re too feral.”
“Your dad must really want to find you,” I say, feeling more ashamed and useless. I led his sister to her death. Aidan picks up on this with his weird guilt detector.
“You did nothing wrong, Charity Jones,” Aidan says sternly. “It was not your fault. If anyone’s, it was mine.”
“How?”
“He’s furious I ran away. He can’t find me because I’m the only one besides him not on The List.”
“You’ve said that before. What list?”
“The List. The one he checks. Twice.”
I shrug, clueless.
Aidan’s brow furrows. “Michael said my sister said something to you before she died. What did she call me?”
“Just ‘the claws’.” My fingers arch like a grumpy kitten and I grrrr. “Aidan, I don’t want talk about lists or claws. What the hell happened that day you fought with Charles. Did you throw those guys around like dolls without touching them? How did you do that? By the end, it looked like you were trying to kill my brother—”
“Me?”
“Yes! I know he’s a sociopath and that he was hopped up on drugs, but if you do have the power you seem to have—”
Tears fill his eyes. “My father’s blood got the better of me when I became fearful. I never intended to hurt those people. They took the bike wheel and left a note saying if I wanted it, to meet them there. I thought it was just your brother. I was ambushed.”
“I don’t care about his jackass friends,” I add quickly. “I mean what you did to my brother. With the gun.”
“I tried!” Aidan’s face flushes with surprise. “He wanted to die for killing his friend. But I wouldn’t let him. He turned the gun on himself, but I fought his hand. I swear to you, Charity, with my whole being. I came to my senses and, with the power I used to control the others, I tried to stop him from pulling the trigger!”
Snowed (The Bloodline of Yule Trilogy Book 1) Page 15
