Lost Girls

by Merrie Destefano

  That was all I could think about.

  Dylan. Hurt.

  I wasn’t going to lose another person I cared about.

  The crowd opened up, most of them boys, the air testosterone-charged, as if lightning flowed from one pair of biceps to another, all the guys flexing their muscles as if they were the ones fighting.

  I saw the two of them then, best friends in a thickly muscled heap on the balcony floor, Dylan on top, arms and legs wrapped around Brett, pinning him down, Brett with a bloody nose and unable to break free.

  “Okay,” Brett muttered, each syllable coming out with difficulty, as if he really needed to breathe more than he needed to speak. “I give.”

  “You’ll get rid of the drugs?” Dylan demanded, his voice loud enough to carry through the party and beyond, words echoing down toward that black canyon below, the abyss that would have loved to claim every single one of us, that would have wanted all of us to disappear. Just like I had.

  “Yeah.”

  “You know what’ll happen if you don’t?” Dylan asked, his voice ominous.

  “Yeah, I said I’d do it. Let me up, okay?”

  Dylan released him slowly. All the while, I watched, astonished. I’d never thought Dylan could take Brett down. I didn’t think anyone could take that guy down. But it was obvious Brett had been beaten; there was a difference in his countenance when he pulled himself up and began to move through the throng of party-goers. There was an unspoken hierarchy here. Brett had challenged it and Dylan had put him back in his place.

  Dylan was the alpha.

  ...

  The party temporarily took a somber turn, the dancing stopped, the music sounded muted and far away, no one drank or laughed. Brett marched like an errant schoolchild throughout the house, moving from one room to the next, gathering up three different Skittles bowls, each filled with a variety of colored prescription drugs, some with names stamped on the side. Xanax, Valium, Vicodin, Percocet, Viagra. Mixed in with familiar drugs that populated our medicine cabinets were candy-colored mysteries that could have been tabs of acid, Ecstasy, GHB, Special K or Meth. I shivered as I thought about the highs and lows that could come from mixing handfuls of that stuff.

  But while Brett disposed of the drugs and Dylan watched over him with arms crossed, I noticed how kids—especially boys—from other schools stared at me. I guess I’d been pretty low-key until I forced my way through the crowd, knocking several boys to their knees, boys who were still having trouble getting up.

  They were whispering to each other.

  Lauren, Stephanie, and Zoe stood at my side, scowls on their faces.

  The boys were saying things like—

  She’s the one who went missing—

  I’ve heard about her—

  She’s even hotter in person—

  I frowned. What was hot about a girl who’d been kidnapped? Heat gathered in my chest as I glared at the nearest boy, the one who had just let a loud whisper escape, not realizing that I would hear it.

  “You think it’s hot to go missing?” I asked, stepping nearer, my gaze focused on him like he was prey. Beneath my skin, the need to do something burned, but this guy wasn’t worth it. Still, I grabbed his collar and twisted, pinching his throat.

  The silence around us grew even louder. I realized that no one was watching Dylan or Brett anymore. I’d stolen the show.

  It was like they were all waiting for me to do something.

  I just wasn’t sure what.

  “Jerks,” I said, dropping the guy’s shirt like it was on fire. Then I joined the girls, all of us gathering on the far side of the living room. Dylan had paused, just long enough to make sure everything was okay, his pale gray eyes studying me, then flicking briefly to the guy. Dylan gave a small nod as his gaze moved through the room, focusing on each and every guy.

  He was telling everyone that he had my back.

  That strange, bizarre thrill flowed through me again when our eyes met, just like it had when I’d first seen him with the bruise on his cheek. It was hot and steamy, and I found myself smoldering as I watched him leave the room, continuing his hunt for drugs spread throughout the house.

  Once he was out of the room, Lauren lifted her chin toward the guys who still shot admiring glances in my direction. “Didn’t I tell you there were lots of boys who’d give just about anything to be with you? Take a look at your fan club, girl.”

  Puzzled, I swept another gaze across the room. She was right. I hadn’t deterred these guys, not one bit. If anything, I’d made them more interested.

  “What the heck? What’s wrong with this crowd tonight?” I asked.

  “All in good time, Rach, all in good time,” Lauren said, again acting like she enjoyed her role as Keeper of the Secrets. “Meanwhile, since the ‘overlords’ are busy, what do you say us girls rev up our engines?” She gestured toward one of the sofas, chasing a small cluster of Misfits away with a grimace. The four of us sat in a row, the other girls with gleaming eyes, me a confused onlooker. She opened her Kate Spade purse, pulled out a small, black leather case, then held a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone I brought this, K? It’s just, what’re we supposed do now that the boys have taken away all the fun stuff?”

  She flicked the black case open, revealing four pristine syringes filled with a pale pink liquid. She rolled up her sleeve, exposing a row of track marks, and before I could react, she plunged the first needle into her arm, her head sinking back, her eyes closing, a slow grin spreading over her face.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” she said when she pulled the syringe out, a deep sigh filling her lungs. “Which one of you wants a hit of Pink Lightning?”

  Stephanie grabbed a syringe and pumped the needle into her flesh, looking like she did this on a regular basis. Zoe shook her head. “I had some before I left home. Still buzzing.”

  “How about you, Rach?” Lauren asked, a gleaming syringe rolling in her palm. “It’ll put you right back in the game, where you belong.”

  “What is this stuff?” I asked. But we’d all been so engrossed in what we were doing that none of us noticed Dylan and Brett had returned to the living room. A shadow fell over us and I glanced up, surprised to see Dylan glaring down.

  “Are you effing kidding me?” he asked, grabbing the syringe and leather box from Lauren.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Poe!” she yelled, jumping to her feet and trying to get her drugs back. “Give it back—”

  “Don’t call me that!” he said as he handed the stuff to Brett. He leaned closer, grabbing her by the wrists and talking just loud enough for our group to hear. “You’ve just broken two rules and I could get you kicked out. Right now. No one would even ask any questions. You’ve been walking a fine line these past few weeks and I understand why, but this—” He pointed back toward the black box in Brett’s hand. “This is the kind of trouble even I can’t protect you from.”

  “You should leave,” Brett said. “Now.”

  “Like your party is so much fun! Oh, boohoo, you’re breaking my heart. Come on, girls, let’s go someplace where we’re wanted,” she said. Stephanie and Zoe stood up hesitantly, watching me as if wondering whether they were making the right decision.

  “Why do they have to go?” I asked. “Other people were taking stuff. You took her drugs. So let her stay—”

  Lauren stuck her face dangerously close to Dylan’s. “See, she doesn’t even remember everything yet and she’s already on my side. Just wait until she remembers. It’s gonna hit the fan then.” She poked him in the chest with her finger.

  “You better not get her back on that shit,” he said.

  “Hey, both of you.” I stepped between them, pushing them apart. Everyone watched me with stunned expressions, as if I’d just put my hand inside a pit bull’s mouth. “Neither one of you is going to make decisions for me. I don’t even know what that stuff is, but I was obviously taking something.”

  I rolled up my left sleeve, showi
ng them and the world the track marks that had faded so much you could barely see them. Dylan and Lauren looked away.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m no angel. None of us are. But if you guys would tell me something—anything—about what’s been going on, I might be able to figure out what happened to me.” I put my finger on Dylan’s chest, surprised by the anger flooding my veins. “And you. Get the hell out of her face.” I lowered my voice until it came out in a threatening rumble. “Nobody touches one of these girls, ever.”

  He blinked. I’d hurt him more than if I’d hit him.

  “I wasn’t going to hurt her. I’d never do anything like that,” he said, shock and betrayal in his eyes. He took a step away from us, dropping his hold on Lauren’s wrists. “I thought you knew me better than that.” Bitterness crept into his voice then and I realized he could use his gift of words to cut, just as easily as he could use them to seduce. “I thought you remembered me, that tonight you had remembered who we were to each other. But I guess I was just fooling myself. The girl who knew me is gone. Forever.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The party changed then, all the colors turned gray and black, all the music downbeat and hollow. I knew that the girls and I should have left, but I couldn’t. Dylan sulked away from us, joining the beer pong game in the kitchen and slugging down one beer after another. Before long, all the girls out there started flirting with him, casting an occasional nervous glance back in my direction. My mood changed, sinking lower, deeper, darker.

  I’d just had my first date with Dylan—at least the only one I really remembered all the way from beginning to end—and now we’d had a huge fight.

  Had we just broken up?

  I watched him from the shadows, how his face lit up as he joked with everyone, how he gave a sultry grin to some blond in heels and tight jeans, how Brett joined him and they now competed on opposite teams, laughing, shouting, cheering.

  It felt like my mouth was full of dust. His words turned things to gold, mine destroyed them.

  “Hey, girl, enough with the sad face.” Lauren took me by the hand and pulled me to my feet. “Don’t you hear the music? This is your song.”

  Taylor Swift was singing, something about heartbreak and getting revenge. It felt like her song poured out of my soul. Stephanie and Zoe were already dancing, arms wrapped around boys I didn’t know, and I had a feeling they didn’t know these guys, either. Lauren cocked her head to the side, closed her eyes and started singing the words to the song, pretending she was strumming a banjo. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

  And I joined the party.

  One of the girls handed me another beer and I chugged it down, my dance turning into something more like ballet. I spun on my toes, my movements sensuous and graceful, despite the fast tempo of the music. I flowed from one song to the next—not paying attention to the rest of the crowd. I imagined I was playing the part of the Black Swan, dancing an adagio—slow, lyrical and seductive—waiting for my partner to join me, my steps including plié, arabesque and fouetté en tournant.

  That was when I realized I was the only one dancing and everyone else was standing around, watching. The old me would have stopped or gotten embarrassed. But I didn’t. I flashed a big grin and kept going, doing a slow turn that ended when I faced the kitchen.

  Dylan had stopped playing his game and now stood in the doorway, staring at me, his mouth slightly open. That blond chick stood at his side, trying to get his attention, but it wasn’t working.

  I lifted an eyebrow, then stretched out an arm suggestively.

  Wanna dance?

  If he didn’t, I knew half the guys at the party would say yes.

  I didn’t wait for his answer, instead I swirled back around, my eyes closed, still moving to the music, changing my style to something with more jazz in it, swaying my hips.

  A moment passed before an arm slid around my waist. I leaned back, my head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, knowing it was Dylan. He kissed my neck, his lips trailing up toward my ear. Then he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

  “I know,” I told him, although I wasn’t sure. I wondered if the girl I used to be—the one he had fallen for—would ever come back. I had a feeling she might be lost forever.

  ...

  Lauren, Stephanie, and Zoe pouted when I climbed on the back of Dylan’s bike, getting ready to head home. Behind us, a glass or a beer bottle shattered inside the house, the sound of tinkling glass followed by a boom of laughter. Somebody cranked up the music and bodies jumped and people cheered in response.

  “The party’s just getting started,” Stephanie said, a whine in her voice. She stood on the front steps, one of her arms draped around the waist of a black-haired boy wearing big, silver gauge earrings.

  “Yeah, nobody goes home at eleven thirty. No. Body.” Zoe crossed her arms, her short hair changing from lavender to pink to blue when Brett switched on a set of colored strobe lights.

  Lauren watched me silently, a determined expression that I couldn’t quite figure out. She’d already tried to talk me out of leaving, claiming that Dylan was too drunk to drive. Surprisingly, he wasn’t. He didn’t act like he’d been drinking at all. I guess it was one of those mysteries about how boys and girls were different.

  Dylan flashed her a look when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. It was as if he was saying, don’t even think about it.

  There was something strange going on between the two of them, some power play I couldn’t figure out. I’d gotten so caught up in the emotion of the evening, the wild electricity of being with Dylan again, that I had ignored some of the puzzling things that had arisen. It wasn’t until he and I were flying back down the mountain, leaning into the curves that made me feel like we could go plummeting into midnight skies at any moment, that those questions came back.

  Why had Lauren called him Poe and what was Pink Lightning and why had he gotten so mad at her, threatening to get her kicked out?

  Why was everyone I met always talking about getting kicked out? Kicked out of what?

  Those questions chewed away at me, leaving me unsettled. And no one would give me answers. Not Lauren. Not Dylan. Not any of the spiraling notes on that blasted cherry tree.

  I fought against the useless questions, wanting only to feel Dylan’s warmth. We’d argued and made up. Shouldn’t that have been enough? Maybe I should just leave all the puzzles alone, at least for one night.

  We breezed over city streets, back in the valley again, the mountain a hulking shadow behind us, the party a memory. Dylan was the only thing that was real, his scent, his touch, his taste. He was my visceral reality, he was the one thing that connected my mysterious past with my unknown future.

  I trusted him. Somehow even when he’d been angry, I’d had a feeling it was because he was trying to protect me. But why would I need to be protected from Lauren?

  The familiar houses of my neighborhood surrounded us now, slipping away behind us like running dogs, eager to keep up. We passed Mrs. Daniel’s house and then the place where the Reyes triplets lived and, after that, a house that had been in foreclosure for more than a year, a weathered sign posted in the yard. There was the vacant lot—surprisingly still vacant—where Kyle, Dad, and I had played Ultimate Frisbee when I was thirteen, and there were the townhouses where Molly had lived when we were both younger, back before her father left. My childhood surrounded us, memories that made sense, a life I understood.

  And there was my house up ahead, porch light on, just like at Nicole Hernandez’s house, a soft voice calling me to come home, come home, even though I wanted nothing more than to keep on going, to drive right past and stay out all night long.

  Dylan’s resolve was stronger than mine. Maybe it was a guy thing. Maybe my dad had proven he was the alpha dog when he’d been alone with Dylan earlier, while I was still upstairs, figuring out what to wear.

  I fought a grin.

  Dad was definitely a take-charge kind o
f guy. As tough as Dylan and Brett and all the other guys at the party were, I knew they were no match for my father. I’d never been afraid of him, but I’d seen how other men reacted to him, when we were at the mall or a car show or a Dodgers game. They always took a step back and let Dad pass. It was an unspoken rule.

  Nobody messed with my dad, not if they had any sense.

  Dylan’s bike slowed to a stop in the driveway and a quick glance at my cell told me it was eleven forty-five. Not bad. I climbed off the bike and Dylan grabbed my hand, pulling me toward him. His lips found mine and his arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Why don’t you like Lauren?” I asked, when we both finally came up for air.

  He stared down at my lips, maybe wishing we were still kissing instead of talking about some other girl. “She’s a bad influence.” He ran his thumb over my chin, tempting me to lean back into him. “Just like me.”

  I let out a short laugh. “So I should just walk away from both of you.”

  “Basically.” But the expression in his eyes said the opposite. It was if he was begging me to give him a second chance. “I tried to stay away from you,” he confessed. “That’s why I didn’t come see you. I wanted to visit you in the hospital, even if all I could do was look at you through a window. I needed to know you had survived—” A pause followed while he searched for the right words. “I drove past the hospital every day and then when you were released, I drove past your house, hoping I’d see you standing in the yard or in front of one of the windows.”

  A sigh flowed from him to me, his chest emptying of air.

  “I tried to stay away,” he said, “but I couldn’t.”

  “Why?” I wanted to know why he tried to stay away—instead he told me why he hadn’t been able to.

  “Because I’m so in love with you.”

  I blinked and took a half step away. I hadn’t expected to hear this. I’m not sure what I imagined our relationship was, but I’d never guessed it was this serious.