“Hurry up, Rayah!”
“I’m hurrying already,” I snapped.
“Do you hear that cheering, Rayah?” Mauve asked. “The contest is starting without us! You’d better get—”
But I’d stopped listening to her because I’d found something small, round and startling at the bottom on the suitcase. My body went from chilled to burning to numb as I lifted up a tiny silver ring.
I stared at the two-word inscription etched in the band:
Promise Me.
If the ring was real, the dream was real.
And if the dream was real …
Gabe was a monster.
Sharayah had been too trusting. If only she’d listened to Eli’s suspicions about Gabe. Then she wouldn’t have gone through a horrible betrayal high on that remote ocean cliff. She’d loved him so much, she’d been ready to take off her silver ring and commit to him. So why had Gabe turned violent? Sharayah would have eagerly done anything he asked. It just didn’t make sense. She loved him and he seemed to feel the same way about her … until he pulled out the tape.
What was that about? Definitely not love.
I touched my cheek, remembering Gabe reeling back with his hand as if to strike Sharayah. But instead of hurting her, he’d been the one falling over the cliff. What had happened next? Had he survived? And what about Sharayah? She might not have physical injuries, but there were scars buried inside. Sharayah’s heart—the depths of her soul—had been broken. And if Gabe had died, she’d had to live with the guilt of his death. I didn’t know the complete horror of what had happened on that cliff, but I was beginning to understand the reason for Sharayah’s crisis.
“Rayah!” Mauve smacked her hand impatiently on the side of the car. “Are you ready?”
I jerked around, forgetting where I was until I focused on Mauve’s face and the real world rushed back with sounds of voices and surf and traffic. It was jarring to fit the pieces of my memory with all the spring break craziness on the beach. But the silver ring proved I was here for a reason. I slipped it on and made a new promise, both to Sharayah and myself. I would restore her confidence and show her that life could be fun again—even if part of that fun meant competing in a wet T-shirt contest. Heaven help me (and I meant that literally … Grammy, I could have really used some help!).
By the time I’d changed into the purple thong and the T-shirt Mauve insisted I wear and we reached the stage, number sixteen and her obviously surgically enhanced breasts were shaking up a dripping-wet storm. The crowd—even other girls—hooted for her to take it all off. To my surprise, she did!
“Strategic move. She’ll take first place,” Mauve grumbled beside me. “I’ll have to flash the crowd, too, if I want a chance at winning.”
I wrapped my arms around my sheer T-shirt. “Don’t even say that.”
“What’s the harm in a little flash?”
“Aside from the chance it could end up on YouTube?”
“You think?” She actually sounded excited by this possibility. “Now I’m definitely going for it—and you should, too.”
“Forget. It.”
“Then you’ll lose.”
“I’m already losing my nerve about going up there.”
“That attitude is so not like you. Snap out of it, Rayah.”
Oops. I was forgetting who I was supposed to be—not a high schooler with only a few kisses to my name, but an uninhibited college girl. Still, I had a frantic urge to flee, and was coming up with a zillion reasons why this was a bad idea. But then I remembered Gabe’s raised hand and the cruel look on his face right before he tumbled off the cliff. Sharayah had gone through so much and deserved some fun. I could do this small thing for her.
But when my number was called, I couldn’t make my legs work.
“Go!” Mauve pushed me.
“I-I … I don’t know what to do.”
“Dance! Shake your booty! Geez, Rayah, it’s not like you haven’t danced on a stage before—and wearing much less!”
Mauve gave me another swift shove forward. I found myself front and center on a beach podium beside a smooth-talking DJ who held a mike in one hand and a bucket full of water in the other. I gazed across a sea of heads. All except Mauve were strangers, but united in a mass of shouts and waving hands urging me on.
The being on stage part didn’t bother me. I was President of the Halsey High Hospitality Club and had to welcome new students and even give speeches at school assemblies. But this wasn’t about speaking or school … and when a tsunami of icy water splashed over me, I screamed.
“Ahhh! That’s cold!”
I stumbled, slipping in puddles and momentarily blinded when my hair dripped in my face. My arms flailed as I tried to keep my balance. My feet slid sideways. To avoid sailing off the podium, I found myself curling into a forward flip—then I landed flat on my feet, like a gymnast. Wow! Where had that come from? Obviously, this body not only liked exercise but knew some cool gymnastic moves.
The audience went wild! I was getting down with the rhythm now, swaying to the music. Pushing my wet hair from my face, I got a thrill from all the waving hands cheering me on. My body seemed to take over again as the music amped up—a jazzy dance song that sent my hips swaying. My skin tingled with goose bumps but I felt warmed from the shouting audience (and probably all those red cups). I danced with abandon, sucked into the rhythm.
What the hell? This wasn’t my real life, and the energy sizzling around me was contagious. My inhibitions washed away like the droplets of water streaming down my skin, and I just danced. I hoped when Sharayah returned she’d remember this moment and know that she could overcome anything and dance in her own power.
More shouting, whistling, hooting—a blur of insanity. Then the music stopped and I was ushered off the podium. Mauve slapped me a high five as she hurried past for her turn. A skinny girl covered in tattoos led me to the side of the stage, where I joined the other dripping-wet girls.
Then, amid shouts of “Take it off!” Mauve strutted onto the stage.
When it was all over and the awards were passed out, I was actually disappointed not to place in the top five. Ridiculous to care, right? I never expected to win. I mean, there was little honor or sport in winning because of the “topography” of my temporary body. Still, I’d always had this killer competitive streak and hated losing.
“I danced better than that tattooed girl who took fourth place,” I complained while I waited with Mauve to pick up her second-place prize.
“Your flip was cool but I told you about flashing. That’s what won me a free sushi dinner for two,” Mauve said. “You’ll do better next time.”
“No next time.” I shook my head, which caused me to sway dizzily. “But I’m glad you won and dinner is a cool prize. I could go for some solid food. Unless you’ve got plans with Alonzo, I’m up for sushi.”
“With your allergies?” Mauve stopped to stare at me like I was crazy. “Last time you ate sushi, you swelled up so awful I thought you were dying.”
“Well … yeah. I was just joking about eating sushi.”
“Rushing you to emergency was not funny.”
“Sorry,” I said, hiding the panic racing through me.
What other important facts didn’t I know about this body? Navigating someone else’s life was perilous. If Mauve hadn’t warned me about the allergy, I might have had an accidental slip. I had to be extra careful or not only would Sharayah miss her chance with the Voice Choice competition, but we both could end up dead.
“He’s here!” Mauve cried out, bouncing excitedly and waving her hand.
I started to ask who, but knew the answer the moment I turned around and saw the mass of black curls and the mega-watt smile. Alonzo had found us. At least I didn’t see Warren.
“You made it! I wasn’t sure you could find us!” Mauve jumped gleefully into his open arms.
“You’re easy to find, babe,” Alonzo said huskily, then glanced around. “Where’s Sadie?”
“Shopping, as usual. She’ll show up eventually.” Mauve lifted her coupon and waved it in his face. “Check out my prize!”
“Superior,” he said, squinting at it. “Sushi, huh? I’m up for that. So sorry I missed the show.”
“Stick around,” Mauve said with a suggestive raise of her brows. “I could be persuaded to give an encore performance.”
“Keep talking,” he urged, pulling her closer.
Awkward third-wheel moment. Wringing out a corner of my dripping shirt, I murmured that I was leaving to change my clothes. We made plans to meet at the car in two hours. Mauve loaned me the car keys and then waved as she hooked her arm in Alonzo’s and walked away.
Although my buzz had faded, my head ached and my legs felt rubbery as I left the beach path. How many red cups had I had anyway? At least four … well, maybe six, but no more than seven. I was following through on Sharayah’s plans, but shouldn’t I also guide her to better choices? Balancing the role of a Temp Lifer was complicated. Regardless, acting too wild was a bad idea. If I didn’t keep a clear head, I’d never succeed at this assignment.
Breathing in and out until my head felt a little clearer, I followed a pathway to the street, dreading another long hike to the car. It had to be at least a mile—maybe even two—and no matter whose body I was in, I detested exercise.
Clouds had rolled in and a breeze shivered my shoulders. I thought longingly of the windbreaker I’d seen in Sharayah’s suitcase. What else would I find there? I wondered, pressing the button on a crosswalk. I’d only glanced through it before, too startled by the ring to look any further. This time, I’d take the time for a thorough search without anyone looking over my shoulder.
When the crosswalk light flashed green, I hurried ahead of a large family group pushing strollers. Then I spotted a near-extinct curiosity—a pay phone. Digging into the jacket pocket where I’d shoved some money and a credit card, I trotted over to it and called Eli.
Only he didn’t answer.
I left a short “Call ASAP!” message and gave him Sadie’s cell number. We hadn’t talked for hours, so he should have been by the phone waiting to hear from me. Or was I expecting too much from him? It wasn’t like we were officially going out. We’d only known each other a short time—most of it while I was in someone else’s body. It was unrealistic to expect him to stop his life for me. But to be honest with myself (a self-help book called Bullshit Belongs in the Pasture advised honest self-talk), that’s exactly what I had expected. Had Eli grown tired of waiting? This was his spring break, too, so he probably had plans with his family or buddies, plans that didn’t include me.
Wallowing in pity, I’d walked a few blocks before I noticed the prickly feeling in the back of my neck. I stopped and rubbed it. I recognized that “being watched” warning. Maybe it was my imagination … or maybe not. Had the red-haired stalker found me again?
Don’t turn around, I cautioned myself. Keep walking like nothing is wrong. Force a smile and don’t freak out.
I freaked anyway, but only inside my head where no one could see. I could feel the gaze, as sharp as a knife stabbing into my skin. He or she was still close by, and watching.
Although my shirt had dried, goose bumps rippled across my skin. My chill had more to do with fear than the weather, although with the sun dropping the temps had cooled. Nervously, I scanned the street and sidewalk for any sign of red hair. There was a bald guy walking his dog and an elderly couple holding hands while they waited to cross the street. No one suspicious … yet the feeling persisted.
Remembering advice from a book on self-defense, I shifted the car keys in my right hand, knuckling my fingers and positioning the longest key to poke out like a weapon. Of course a key wouldn’t protect me from a gun. I had to stay alert and close to other people. I listened anxiously for pursuing footsteps. But traffic whizzed by, making it impossible to hear more than my own thoughts.
So I stopped, bending over in a pretense of tying my shoe, taking a long look around me. But there was no one suspicious.
Puffing out a relieved breath, I straightened and shrugged off my fears. You’re losing it, Amber, I told myself. Imagining monsters and stalkers around every corner is the kind of behavior that results in straightjackets and padded cells. By now the red-haired girl was probably snug in her dorm back in San Jose.
Still, when I spotted Sadie’s car, I practically raced toward it. I popped open the trunk and grabbed Sharayah’s suitcase. Then I snooped—sifting through shirts, pants, lacy underwear, silky bras, and a low-cut, ruby-red shortie nightgown. There were assorted hygienic items, too, like toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, breath mints and a box of tampons. Nothing interesting—although I was pleased to find the navy blue windbreaker, which I immediately put on. Then I grabbed a pair of gray sweatpants, which I slipped over the tiny purple thong. There were pockets, and since I’d been uncomfortable carrying so much money in a purse, I shoved Sharayah’s wallet in the deep pocket of the sweat pants and hid the purse (with all that cash) in the suitcase.
I had just slammed the suitcase shut when I heard the unmistakable sound of a footstep behind me. Before I could turn around, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
A gloved hand.
“Been looking for you, Party Girl,” Warren said with a sly smile and a drunken slur in his voice.
Whirling around, I jumped back and stared nervously at his gloves, imagining gray fingers underneath the leather. I backed away, holding out the point of the car key.
“Don’t call me that.” I tried to sound tough, but my voice came out like a squeak.
“Hey, I’m just being friendly.” He towered over me like a brawny mountain, and even though Sharayah was a tall girl, I felt as small and defenseless as a mouse.
“I’m kind of busy right now,” I added with a gesture to the open trunk.
“Too busy to hear your friend’s message?”
“Which friend?” I asked warily.
“The one with weird hair.”
“You mean Mauve?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “She asked me to find and bring you to her.”
“Thanks, but you can tell her I’ll wait here for her like we planned.”
“Plans change.” He leaned forward against the car, smiling in a way that gave me chills. “Relationships change, too. Like even if there is some other guy, I can’t ignore this vibe growing between us.”
“What vibe?” I asked, a little scared. “I told you I have a boyfriend.”
“Lucky guy. You’re looking really fine.”
“I’m a soggy mess,” I said as pushed back my wet hair and zipped up the windbreaker.
“I like your natural look.”
But I didn’t like the unnatural look he was giving me—like he could see right through my windbreaker. Or was he something more? When he stared at me, was he seeing an otherworldly glow that was invisible to normal humans? Take off your gloves, I wanted to say. If I could see his hands, I’d know if he was a Dark Lifer. Since suspicions weren’t proof, I had to find out for sure before I tried to alert the Dark Disposal Team.
The street that seemed chaotic a moment ago was now eerily quiet—empty crosswalks with no pedestrians, and only a few passing cars.
“Come on,” he said, reaching out for me.
I jumped back and shook my head. “I’d rather wait here.”
“But Pink Hair specifically asked me to bring you.”
“Tell Mauve I have other things to do,” I told him hastily. “I’ll catch up with her later.”
“And miss the party?” He folded his arms across his chest, frowning at me.
“What party?”
“What’d ya think I’m here for? Mauve asked me to bring you too. Don’t make them wait, okay? Come on.”
“Is Sadie there, too?”
“Who?” He scrunched his forehead as if he’d forgotten flirting with Sadie. “Oh, yeah,” he said with a nod. “She’s there, too.”
; I leaned against the car, reluctant to go anywhere with him. “I thought Mauve and Alonzo were headed for a sushi restaurant.”
“No one told me about that, but I guess they changed their minds. Ask them yourself.” His shrug drew my gaze to his beefy shoulders and muscular arms. Underneath his gloves I knew his hands would be strong, too. “It’s gonna be one hell of a party. You don’t want to miss out.”
Actually, I did, but Sharayah wouldn’t refuse so I couldn’t either. I nodded reluctantly as I slammed the trunk.
When he reached for my hand, I pretended not to notice and turned away. I held tight to the car keys, the sharpest key still between my fingers, as I walked away from the car, resting my hand and the keys in my jacket pocket. I felt his gaze keenly on me. I resented his attitude toward Sadie—acting like he didn’t even remember being with her in the car for over an hour. Dark Lifer or not, he creeped me out and I wasn’t going to get near him.
I expected him to go to the crowded beach where I’d sunned earlier, but he veered away from the ocean onto a paved walking path.
“Isn’t the party at the beach?” I asked.
“No, even better. It’s in a private room.”
The path curved, leading away from the hustle and the voices drifting on beach breezes toward an area of small buildings. As afternoon dimmed to early evening, the burnished-gold sun sunk below the horizon and the wind whipped stronger, swirling sand and bits of trash across the path. In an opening between buildings, I could see distant fierce waves crashing against the beach. In a short time, we’d traveled very far away from spring break action.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked uneasily.
“I told you—a party.”
“But there’s nothing out this way.” I gestured to the blocky warehouse buildings surrounding us.
“The best parties take place behind closed doors after the sun goes down. We’ll have music, piles of food and booze. It’s just past that tall building.”
Dead Girl Dancing Page 9
