Dead Girl Dancing

by Linda Joy Singleton

  She stormed off, the door banging so loud behind her that I jumped.

  “That went well,” Mauve said with a grim smile.

  “You think?” I shook my head, sure they were both insane.

  “Actually, yes. By tonight she’ll forget about hating me and tell me about whatever new guy she’s interested in. It’s not like she needs to steal—her parents are both lawyers and loaded. She just does it for attention, so I give her attention and she’s okay. Some problems are easy to fix.”

  Mauve said this so sadly, I knew she was thinking about her daughter again.

  But there would be no more talking about this or any other problems tonight.

  It was Girls’ Night Out—and we were going to party.

  Club Revolution was tucked behind a church and a liquor store, almost hidden beyond the crush of bodies flowing into it. By the time we arrived, the place was rocking with wild music. People weren’t just dancing inside the club, either, but outside on the terrace, hands waving and laughter rippling like uncorked champagne.

  Walking between my two roommates, I felt self-conscious, wondering if everyone was comparing us. Gorgeous, pink-haired Mauve wore a slinky halter-top with black leather pants; petite Sadie had her long braids coiled high on her head and held in place with a glittery tiara that made her look like an exotic princess; and tall, thin Sharayah, excited but nervous, wore a long-sleeved, white knit shirt over a swirled skirt—which was a little boring for clubbing, but had a hidden pocket which was perfect for tucking away the GEM.

  My last night as Sharayah, I thought, with both relief and regret. I planned to have fun—but within reason. Which is why when my friends offered to get me a drink, I said I’d go get my own, and bought a Coke. (Rum and Coke, I’d tell anyone who asked.)

  We made our way to a table, sitting down with our drinks. Immediately a blond guy with wire-rimmed glasses came over and asked Mauve to dance. She checked him out, smiled as if she liked what she saw, then drained her drink in one gulp and waved at us as she headed for the dance floor.

  Sadie watched her enviously and said something to me, but the band was so loud I couldn’t hear her. She gestured to me and then to the dancing crowd, tilting her head in a You want to dance? gesture.

  I shook my head and mouthed, “No.”

  Sadie shrugged, then went off on her own, melting into the throng of dancers.

  The music was so fantastic, like an invisible magnet pulling at my body. Maybe I would join Sadie. It wasn’t like I needed a guy to dance with. Girls danced together all the time. Or I could just sit here, sip my drink and think “strategy” for the Voice Choice competition.

  Eli had agreed to drive me, and we were leaving before daylight. I didn’t expect the competition to be huge like the mega-thousands lining up for American Idol—there would probably be only a few hundred entrants. Still, I had to make sure Sharayah got noticed. Luckily I’d read lots of books about the music industry and knew that gimmicks like showing up in a costume were for amateurs. Professionalism and perfect pitch were key. Sharayah already had a great voice; I’d supply the professional attitude.

  Song selection would be tricky. I had a few ideas, but wasn’t sure which suited Sharayah’s voice best. Eli could help me decide, I thought, taking another sip of Coke.

  It seemed like fate was paving the way for Sharayah’s singing stardom. She had the voice, I had the know-how and Eli would be there for support.

  What could go wrong?

  As if thinking about Eli had its own magical power, I looked up and there he was.

  “So how’d you get in? Aren’t you underage?” I teased.

  “No younger than you,” he said, loud enough to be overheard even in the noisy nightclub.

  “But my I.D. shows I’m twenty-one.”

  “I.D. isn’t so hard to come by … one way or another.” His smile always curved a little unevenly, which was so cute. He was dressed in black slacks and a button-down beige shirt—probably too formal for a beach-themed nightclub where half the dancers wore swim trunks or bikinis, but I thought he looked perfect.

  I gestured for him to sit down, but he shook his head and pointed to the dance floor. “Want to dance?”

  My feet were tapping and my body swaying, so the answer was yes. I did want to dance, and specifically with him. I stood and clasped his hand; his gentle yet firm, warm, comfortable hand that I wanted to hold forever.

  As we neared the dancers, a familiar pink-haired girl slipped out of the crowd and hurried toward us.

  “I see you changed your mind about dancing.” Although the sound was louder on the dance floor, the acoustics must have been better because I could hear Mauve fine.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Eli asked me.”

  “You’re going to dance with him?” she asked incredulously.

  Eli and I immediately dropped our hands and stepped apart.

  Mauve rolled her eyes, then looked closer at Eli. “Too young, but cute enough for some fun. Go find someone who doesn’t share your DNA, Rayah, and I’ll dance with little bro.”

  Then she grabbed Eli’s hand and jerked him toward her. Eli shot me a helpless what can I do? look before he was swallowed by the crowd and I lost sight of him. Embarrassed, I stood there—not sure whether to retreat back to the table or join the dancers.

  After sitting alone for what felt like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes, I felt someone tap my shoulder.

  “Guess who,” a deep voice whispered in my ear.

  I’d only heard him once before, but with my shoulder tingling from the gentle touch, I knew exactly who stood behind me.

  Slowly, I turned around.

  Dyce wore his cap slightly tilted to one side, along with dark blue slacks, a gray windbreaker and a satisfied smile. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Me either,” I told him. “But I hope you aren’t planning to ask me to dance. I was in the mood, but that’s over and gone now.”

  “Who wants to dance at a dance club?”

  “You’re teasing me,” I protested, blushing. “And it’s not that I don’t like dancing. I do, a lot, it’s just that … ” Babbling Alert flashed in my head and I stopped before I completely lost all my pride. “Anyway, what brings you here?”

  “I came with some friends, but they’ve ditched me and I’m getting tired of waiting around for them.”

  I frowned at the writhing dance floor. “I know what you mean.”

  “You’ve been ditched, too?” he guessed.

  “Not exactly. Everyone else just wanted to dance.”

  “Except you,” he guessed with a sympathetic nod. “This band is all noise and no substance. I can’t stand another minute in here. Come on, let’s go outside.”

  I didn’t agree with Dyce about the band—the music was rockin’ with a raunchy edge that almost lifted me out of my chair. I peered through swaying bodies, searching for Eli or my friends, but a spinning strobe light distorted colors and shapes, making my eyes ache. I wanted to dance—but only with Eli. Although he hadn’t intentionally left me, it bothered me that he’d gone along with Mauve, who thought he was cute. And why hadn’t they come back yet? The band was on a new song, yet there was no sign of Sadie, Mauve or Eli returning for me and I wasn’t about to dive into that crowd searching for them. I was done waiting around—they could just come and find me.

  I followed Dyce past the bar and its cushioned stools, through a door and then outside. Clouds blew fiercely, chilling my bones and making me almost turn around and run back into the warmth. But as if reading my mind, Dyce took off his windbreaker and wrapped it around me.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” That feeling I’d noticed yesterday, a deep hot stirring inside, rippled through me. “Um … this wasn’t a good idea. I should go back in.”

  “Why? Will your friends miss you?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Until they do, stay and talk with me.”

  “Well … f
or a few minutes. You did save my life yesterday.”

  “I was lucky to be nearby at the right time. Anyone would have done the same thing.”

  “Not just anyone,” I pointed out. “You were really brave.”

  “And you’re really beautiful tonight,” he said, in such a sincere way that I forgot how to breathe for a second.

  “Um … I just feel cold.” I rubbed my hands together.

  “If you’re too cold, we can go inside.”

  I glanced back, unable to see more than reflections and light through the tinted windows. The raucous music seemed to rock the building and the buzz of voices—shouts, laughter, squeals—spilled through the air. Sharayah would never have left; she’d be dancing like a force of nature until she dropped. That’s what I should have done, too. But I just couldn’t work up the energy. Standing outside, under clouds that shifted to allow glimpses of a half-moon, with wind tousling my hair and tasting of salty surf, both bitter and sweet, I felt content. Underneath my party dress and makeup, I was still me. And I’d always loved quiet moments alone with nature.

  But I was far from alone—Dyce was leaning close, studying my face as if it were a map.

  I shrugged. “I’ll stay outside for a while.”

  “Then you should move around, get your blood flowing so you don’t freeze.” He pointed beyond the parking lot to where night lamps twinkled over roofs and pavement. “Let’s walk on the path.”

  I followed his gaze to a graveled path leading toward the marina; high masts and sails swayed in the distance like pale ghosts. Walking was the least offensive type of exercise, so I followed him.

  We went along the path for a short way until we stepped up onto a wooden dock. It swayed slightly with the undulating breath of the sea, waves slamming against the wood and spitting spray.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Dyce said, leaning against a rail and staring off into the night-ocean.

  Standing beside him, I stared off too, and nodded. Beautiful hardly began to describe the glinting half-moon’s glow on the silvery waves. I wrapped his jacket around me tighter, inhaling salty sea and a whiff of something I could only define as “Dyce”: musky, spicy, and mysterious.

  “This night reminds of me of Robert Browning’s famous lines,” he said. “And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap, In fiery ringlets from their sleep.” He turned to peer down into my face. “I sense something in you, Sharayah, some sort of fire. Tell me about yourself.”

  “What’s to tell? I’m here for spring break, just like a thousand other girls.”

  “But you’re different than other girls.”

  “That can be good and bad.” Okay, I was flirting a little, but it was harmless because he had a girlfriend and I (hopefully) had a boyfriend.

  “From my view, it’s all good. You have a poet’s soul,” he said.

  “Me? I can’t recite any poems, except a silly one about a fuzzy bear.” I laughed, taking all his flowery talk like a game. I mean, really! What normal guy talked like this? It was like he was a throwback to the Renaissance era. Still, I have enough of an ego that I loved the flattery.

  “I can teach you poems and much more,” he said huskily.

  “Whoa,” I said with a firm shake of my head. “This has been fun and all, but we both know it’s not going anywhere. I have a guy I like and you already have a girlfriend.”

  “I do?” He arched his brows in a question.

  “Come on, Dyce, you told me how you couldn’t wait to get back to her yesterday. Your girlfriend—Emmy.”

  “Oh … Emmy.” The confusion on his face spread into a dazzling smile. “Right, she’s amazing and I can’t wait to get back to her.”

  “That’s what I guessed. She’s probably waiting for you right now, so you should go.”

  “I will, and you should, too. Come with me. I want you to meet her.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “But I am.” He reached for my hand, and while I knew I should resist, I didn’t. Our fingers touched with such a delicious tingle that I almost forgot how to think.

  “I-I can’t.” It took all my energy to pull back my hand, and when I did, the sweet warmth faded away to a numb chill. “I really can’t. I’ve already been gone too long,” I added trying to convince myself. I glanced up the hill to the bright lights of the dance club.

  “But it’ll only take a few minutes. Emmy is just over there.” He pointed toward the marina. “You’ll love her as much as I do.”

  “I guarantee you—your girlfriend won’t love meeting me.” Guys could be so dense sometimes … yet it was kind of sweet. “Now I really have to get back to my friends.”

  “Five minutes, that’s all it will take,” he persisted.

  There was something so vulnerable and sincere about him that I hesitated, touched by how much he loved his girlfriend. And I owed him a lot after rescuing me yesterday. If this was all he wanted in return, how could I refuse?

  So with a sigh, I nodded.

  I followed him down a graveled path, around a boat repair yard and down steep steps to the marina. We passed sailboats and two huge yachts, then stopped abruptly at a mid-sized boat. Dyce pointed proudly. “Here she is.”

  Under the yellowy light from a nearby lamp, I looked around for a girl but only saw boats. And then I noticed the name of the boat we faced: Emmeline.

  “Emmy,” I said, finally getting it.

  “She’s my girl,” he told me. “And my home.”

  “You live here?” I asked, surprised because the boat didn’t look bigger than thirty feet, or deep enough to have more than a cramped room below the deck.

  “Temporarily,” he answered. “I don’t sleep well on land, perhaps because I come from a long line of seaman and have saltwater in my blood. Although this isn’t actually my boat. It’s a rental, but she’s still a beaut. A 1991 Bayliner Cierra Sunbridge—fully equipped galley with stove, fridge, sink, shower, digital depth sounder, pinion power steering, and AM/FM stereo with four built-in speakers.”

  I nodded appreciatively, although I only understood part of what he said.

  “So come aboard and I’ll give you a tour,” he invited me, with such a sexy, intriguing smile that I was sorely tempted—which is exactly why I refused.

  “Can’t,” I told him. “My friends will worry if I don’t return soon.”

  “It won’t take long. And I think you’ll be interested in some special things I have—a poetry book that belonged to my great-great-grandfather and dates back to the mid-1800s.”

  “Wow—that’s old.”

  “Leather binding and signed by the author. It’s a work of art.”

  “Is it safe to travel with such a valuable book? Shouldn’t it be under glass?”

  “Books are meant to be read, not hidden. Besides, I keep it in an airtight trunk, along with several others.” He cocked his head, watching me expectantly.

  “No. This all sounds interesting, but I have to go now. Thanks for the rescue and everything.”

  “Come on, Sharayah,” he said in a tone as lulling as a gentle surf.

  “I’ve already stayed longer than I should.”

  As I stepped back, he pointed behind me. “Wait!” he shouted. “Watch where you’re—”

  It all happened so fast. I wasn’t sure how my feet got tangled in the thick coil of rope, but I felt my spiked heel snagging, then my arms flailing and Dyce lunging for me. As I fell backward, my shoulder slammed into a gate leading down to a dock bordering the ocean, cracking the hinges with a sharp metallic sound. Crying out from the pain, I tried to steady myself but couldn’t grab hold of anything solid, and I careened backwards …

  “Sharayah! Take my arm!”

  Dyce grabbed for me, only he seemed to lose his balance, too, and next thing I knew I was falling through an opening where there used to be a gate. Screaming, I tumbled and fell …

  Into the ocean.

  Stabbed by needles of icy water, I went
down, down, shocked beyond thought. Salt water filled my mouth and pain ripped through me. I couldn’t breathe or think; the world blurred with freezing horror. Panic exploded; my own screams were drowning in my head. A voice somewhere inside me shouted Kick! Swim! Fight!

  But my arms were heavy weights wrapped in fabric and my shoes anchors dragging me down. Gagging on salt water. Can’t breathe, need air, sinking … until something splashed next to me and strong hands pulled me, lifted me, and I gulped air.

  “Don’t struggle,” Dyce’s words swam in my head.

  I hadn’t realized I was struggling, and stopped. Then I was literally carried away in his arms. My teeth clattered with cold. I couldn’t stop shivering. Coughing, gasping, spitting salt water. Then the chill eased as we went down a staircase, out of the biting wind, and onto a boat. Emmeline, I realized.

  Dyce bent slightly, opened a door, and carried me down a folding staircase into a dark but cozy and warm cabin. Then he gently lowered me onto a cushioned bench. There was a click as he turned on a wall switch and light flooded the room.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning over me. “I’m so sorry that happened—I tried to warn you about the rope but you fell too fast and I couldn’t stop you. Damned rope. Can I get anything for you?”

  “Sooo cold,” I chattered through clenched teeth.

  “Right.” In two steps, he crossed the compact room to a built-in cabinet and opened a drawer. He tossed me a striped blue towel. “Here.”

  I caught the towel. “Thanks.”

  Taking off the jacket he’d loaned me, I rubbed the towel over my soggy blouse and skirt, noticing with some embarrassment the dripping wet puddle I made on his bench cushions.

  “S-sorry, I-I’m getting your boat all … all wet,” I shivered.

  “That doesn’t matter, but you do, and you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t put on warm clothes.”

  “I-I don’t have anything else—and only one shoe.” I pointed to the single black spiked shoe. The other must have been still stuck in the rope or sunk to the bottom of the sea.

  “Fortunately, I keep spare clothes in my cubby up top. I’ll be back in a minute.” He climbed up the steps and pushed through the narrow doorway.