Lost Girls

by Merrie Destefano

  I couldn’t ignore her anymore.

  She was me.

  ...

  We were moving away from the central dance floor, although I didn’t want to leave. I kept dancing as I walked, twirling and spinning, inhaling the perfume of a thousand sweaty dancers, my attention wandering from one visual experience to the next. Girls waved their arms as they rode atop their boyfriends’ shoulders and faces blurred beneath the colored lights, while a huge screen displayed an ever-changing psychedelic light show. I knew there were other things going on below the surface here, dark and dangerous things. Kids were taking drugs and some of them would possibly overdose, girls might go home with boys who had bad intentions, people were selling drugs that weren’t what they were supposed to be, and guys would get robbed on the way back to their cars.

  It was horrible and wonderful, evil and perfection combined.

  But the dancing and the music were heavenly.

  The girls and I walked down a long hallway, past the bathrooms, the music sounding muffled now. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, wishing I had a bottle of water. Stephanie had one arm draped over Lauren’s shoulder and they were whispering.

  “Where are we going? We’re not leaving already, are we?” I asked.

  Zoe giggled and gave me a hug. “The party’s only getting started.”

  Lauren continued to lead the way, looking different tonight, her hair pinned and braided, the set of her shoulders even more confident than usual. Something was coming. Something I needed to be ready for. A heightened awareness kicked in, stirred by a sixth sense I’d forgotten I had.

  “Do you trust me, Rach?” she asked, spinning around to face me, stopping all four of us.

  “Of course,” I answered, although my pulse quickened in the hollow of my throat.

  “Good. ’Cause we’re just about to enter Phase Two.” She held up four tickets that looked almost exactly like the stubs I found in my closet. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about this the other day at school, but you were the one who brought me here and you made me promise to never tell. None of us can tell, can we?”

  For the first time tonight, Zoe and Stephanie looked at me with serious expressions. Zoe drew an X over her heart and shook her head.

  “We’ll never tell,” they both vowed.

  “Okay,” I said, starting to feel a bit spooked. “You’ll never tell what?”

  “What happens on the other side of those doors.” Lauren pointed toward a pair of steel doors at the far end of the hallway. We were about twenty feet away. We still had time to turn around.

  “You guys aren’t talking about some kind of sex club, are you?” I asked, remembering those condoms in my drawer. “Because if you are, I’m not going!”

  “It’s definitely not a sex club. It’s better than sex.” Lauren watched me, excitement in her voice. “Just one thing, before you go in, you have to choose a fake name. Nobody uses their real names once they get inside. Okay?”

  I frowned. “What name did I use before?”

  She shook her head. “This is like a new beginning. You get to choose one. Anything.”

  I didn’t have to think long. I chose the girl I imagined myself to be. “Odette,” I said, knowing she was the Swan Queen.

  Zoe laughed, holding out her palm. Stephanie groaned and handed over a five-dollar bill.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You picked the same name as before,” Zoe said, linking arms with me. “I knew you would.”

  Then the four of us linked arms, an act that gave me a little more courage than I would have had if I were alone. Lauren knocked on the doors, producing the tickets when a burly six-foot-six guy appeared, looking like he spent his days at the gym and his nights guarding the River Styx. He ran a quick gaze over the four of us, tickets in his palm.

  “Team?” he asked, his lips barely moving, a cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth.

  “The Swan Girls,” Lauren answered, her chin held high.

  “Good. Haven’t seen the whole team here in a while. Thought you broke up.” He kicked a low, silver platform toward us—a scale. “Weight, one at a time.”

  I gave him and the girls a weird look, but we all did what he asked, each of us getting a necklace with a letter dangling from one end after we’d been weighed. I glanced down, saw that Lauren and I both had Fs, Stephanie had a B, Zoe had an S.

  Then he held up a plastic Ziploc bag. “Phones.”

  “What?” Lauren asked.

  “New rule. Upper management says you gotta leave your cell phones and cameras with me. Look, I’ll mark your bag.” He took a black permanent marker and drew a large, sloppy S on the bag. “You’ll get ’em back when you go home.”

  The girls grumbled as they dug out their phones, but a flash of warning thudded in the back of my head. I narrowed my eyes. “When did this new rule start?” I asked.

  “’Bout ten days ago.”

  A shot of panic fanned across my chest. They changed the rule after I was kidnapped. That horrid memory returned—that time I’d tried to call 9-1-1 and someone had knocked my phone out of my hand, then tied a gag around my mouth.

  Had that happened here?

  “Come on, give me your phone.” He held his hand outstretched toward me.

  “Don’t have one with me,” I answered, glad that I’d made a last-minute decision to leave mine behind.

  I probably should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. Another emotion was taking over, something stronger than fear. I was determined. It was finally time to find out the answers to the questions that kept me awake at night. I pushed my way past him and the other girls who were still digging through pockets and purses. Lauren lifted her head for a brief moment, as if she had wanted to be the one to go inside first, me on her arm. I merely nodded at her, knowing she would be at my side soon. But I didn’t wait for her or the others.

  Something was calling to me, something I could no longer ignore.

  Destiny.

  I walked through the door and into the unknown. Alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A brilliant chaos waited for me on the other side. A crowd of teenagers cheered, all facing the center of the room, bright lights shining down on a stage, raised a few feet off the floor. Two guys were up on the platform, skin glistening with sweat, both of them naked to the waist, their muscles straining, the sounds they made being amplified by a loudspeaker system. They were fighting, a style that mixed boxing and wrestling and some form of martial arts, every punch spraying sweat that spun away like diamonds in the bright light. The sounds of oof and uh and thud echoed louder than the cries of the people who faced the stage, fists clenched.

  The energy from the crowd was infectious.

  The room was huge, about half the size of our high school gym, and it was packed with kids my age, most of them standing in clusters like mini-gangs, dressed in ways that distinguished them from the rest of the crowd. Six boys to my left wore long-sleeved green shirts with the word “Orcs” printed on the front and the back. Three girls wore rainbow wigs, hot pink shorts and matching sport bra tops; five boys had shaved heads and the word “Skulls” tattooed across their backs in big, violet Gothic letters.

  I flashed on that photo of Nicole Hernandez, her hair streaked with pink, standing with a group of girls all wearing shirts that said “Pink Candi” in glitter.

  Had that been her team? Had I met her here?

  I spun around slowly, taking it all in, the feeling like I was at a big party, the smells of sweat and cologne thick in the air, smoke bombs bursting at the edges of the room, black in one corner, violet blue in another, everyone chanting words that I couldn’t distinguish, not at first.

  Then I recognized one of the words being chanted.

  Poe—Poe—Poe.

  Despite the steamy heat from the crowd, a chill washed over me. Poe. That was what Lauren had called Dylan earlier and he had gotten angry, telling her she could get kicked out.

&
nbsp; He was here. Dylan was here.

  The thunder of music beat against my feet and my chest—I hadn’t even realized music was playing until now, a wild techno mix—and I started pushing my way through the crowd, through the boys and girls who chanted Poe, Poe, Poe! I had to get to the front of the stage. I didn’t wait for Lauren or the girls. All three of them were my girls, I knew that now, the Swan Girls were my team and I was their leader. But I didn’t care about them. I bounced as I walked, shoving myself up on my toes with each step, trying to see above the shoulders and heads of tall guys who shouted and growled and cheered.

  Was my boyfriend up on the stage? Was he fighting?

  I could see two guys up there, one with his back to me, a large, intricate tattoo spreading across his shoulders, a black bird with wings spread wide as if captured in mid-flight. A raven. Even though I didn’t remember ever seeing Dylan with a tattoo like that, I knew it had to be him. I thought about the poem that circled his wrist, the first line from The Raven. Dylan was up there and he was fighting one of the Skulls; his opponent’s head was shaved, a red iron cross painted on his forehead that stretched down over his nose. It made him look inhuman and a shudder raced through me.

  This place was both exciting and scary, the rush much stronger than anything I’d ever felt when attending other sporting events. It was more like white-water rafting, wild and untamed.

  I made it to the front, although even here I continually had to fight to claim my position, shoving elbows into ribs and knees in crotches. Twice I had to turn around and slam my fist into somebody’s gut to make them back up and stop pushing me against the edge of the platform.

  My blood thrilled through my veins, hot and fast.

  I watched Dylan’s every move, instinctively understanding his game. Standing and delivering kicks wasn’t how he would win. He needed to take this Skull to the ground and pin him down in a wrestling hold.

  “Grab him by the waist and take him down!” I yelled.

  I didn’t think about the fact that he would hear me or that my voice might be a distraction. Dylan twisted his head, searching the crowd and finding me, an astonished look in his eyes.

  “Get him on the mat!” I screamed.

  The other guy took advantage of the situation and punched Dylan in the stomach; Dylan curled over, then took another punch, this time in the side of his head.

  I winced when blood flowed down his face.

  Poe—Poe—Poe—

  It seemed like everyone in the crowd was yelling his name, although some of them had to be cheering for the Skull. The crowd parted behind me, a soft cool breeze wafted forward and I looked over my shoulder. Lauren, Stephanie, and Zoe had made it to the front and they joined me, all four of us linking arms to keep the others back, as if our presence alone could make him win.

  He had to win.

  He stumbled, blood dripping from his nose and we all thought he would fall, that he would end up on the ground—but not the way he was supposed to, not in a dominant position. We were wrong. Dylan used his forward motion to propel himself into his opponent, to knock the other guy off-balance, a wicked grin on his face as he wrapped his arms around the Skull’s waist, then slammed him down.

  Wham.

  The Skull’s head hit the floor.

  A moment of silence swept the room. We all sucked in a breath and held it, waiting. For the first time I saw the video cameras that were positioned around the room, high up on the walls, some of them scanning the crowd, most of them focused on the fight, all of them pointing in different angles.

  Closed circuit TV.

  I remembered that somewhere, safe and anonymous in their homes, adults were watching this on big-screen TVs. They were placing bets. Money was flowing, changing hands. We were the event, we were the fighting dogs, and we didn’t even care that we never got paid. Adrenaline was why we did it. I could feel it and taste it, like I was soaring high above the earth, invincible, impervious to pain.

  This was better than any drug.

  I felt electric, more alive than I had in weeks, blood rushing, my heart a machine effortlessly thumping, thumping, thumping—damn, how I’d missed this. Up until now my life had been boring, everything black and white, instead of color, instead of this brilliant blood red—

  The real me had been hiding until now, just like my tattoo.

  Meanwhile, an ominous silence continued—the only sounds were the air flowing into my lungs and the high-pitched whine of cameras as they panned from right to left, as their lenses refocused for close-ups. Even the music got put on pause.

  Then—as if I was the only person who could step outside of time, outside of this unending moment where the Skull lay on the ground helpless, the wind knocked out of him—I lifted my clenched fist high and I screamed.

  “Poe—Poe—Poe!”

  Time started again, other people shouted and cheered. A deafening rush of noise bounced off the walls, reverberating, sounding like the cry of an army going into battle. Dylan punched the guy in the gut and the side and the face. He wrapped his legs around the guy’s waist, pinning him in place. The Skull tried to open his eyes, blinking several times, but finally his head thudded back to the floor. Unconscious.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The crowd cheered even louder, something I didn’t think was possible. Then someone pushed his way through the mob, someone taller and broader than the rest of us. It was a man wearing a dark gray business suit and a red and black lucha libre mask, his identity concealed. He made his way onto the platform and his voice proclaimed over the loudspeakers, “We have a winner!” He took one of Dylan’s arms and lifted it high. I didn’t recognize the man, but his Brooklyn accent sounded familiar. I’d probably heard it here many times.

  Dylan stood, bowing his head slightly to the frenetic crowd. A girl came onto the platform and wiped away his blood, then handed him an ice pack. All the while, his gaze remained fixed upon me and heat flowed from my shoulders down my back, all the way to my feet. He pointed at me, maybe telling me to stay where I was, then he turned to descend.

  The crowd came alive to me then, for the first time since I had walked into the room and realized that Dylan was onstage and in the midst of a fight. Faces came into focus. I saw several other guys surrounding the stage, all without shirts, large black ravens tattooed on their backs. When they turned, I recognized them—Brett, Jim, and Mike, all the crowd we hung out with at lunch. I was temporarily stunned.

  The boys from school were the Ravens, the girls were the Swans.

  I glanced down at the F that dangled from my neck, my fingers running over the letter, trying to remember what it stood for. Lauren leaned nearer and shouted in my ear.

  “You’re a flyweight, just like me,” she said. Then she held up her letter, an F. “Stephanie’s a bantamweight and Zoe’s a strawweight.”

  I still wasn’t sure what it all meant, but I nodded. Acting like I was in charge was crucial here. I knew there was no room for confusion—it could be interpreted as weakness. I grinned at Brett when his eyes met mine, giving him a thumbs-up sign. He hadn’t expected to see me—that much was clear in his eyes—but he also knew that we both had to feign strength. He returned the gesture with enthusiasm, adding a loud whoop along with it. The other Ravens turned and saw me, a slightly surprised look on their faces that quickly turned to joy.

  One of them bowed toward me. The other gave me a salute.

  Their actions caught the attention of the crowd and soon many of the teens surrounding the stage were looking at me. I recognized many, some from Brett’s party, the boys who had been watching me throughout the evening, whispering about me, saying I was hot. A few feet away stood the boy I had kneed in the crotch. He gave me a wry grin and a nod. I returned the gesture.

  Unfortunately, not all of the crowd was friendly.

  To the left, I caught a glimpse of blue hair, five girls clustered together, one of them staring at me with her jaw clenched.

  Janie Deluca. The girl I�
�d left lying in the street last night.

  I lifted my chin and she lowered her gaze, bowing her head, a public act of submission. When she finally raised her head, I gave her a smile. She stared at me, puzzled at first. Maybe I’d never been kind to someone I’d beaten before, maybe it wasn’t proper etiquette, but I didn’t care. I’d beaten her and won. There was no need for bad blood between us. Her smile came back, hesitant at first, then with more confidence, the steely look in her eyes softening.

  I turned back toward the stage, an unsettling feeling in my gut as I realized I had been a real bitch this past year—just like Molly said yesterday. A Prima Donna Bitch.

  A huddle of people worked up on the stage, all overseen by another disguised man, this one wearing a gold and blue lucha libre mask. He directed the rest of the Skull team as they tended to the loser’s wounds and then carried him offstage. A couple of creepy old guys were mopping up blood and sweat from the floor, getting the stage ready for another match. Excitement buzzed through me as I wondered who was going to compete next. I had just started to examine the chattering huddles around me, trying to figure out which of them would be going up on the stage when Dylan pushed his way toward me.

  “Look out,” Lauren said, rolling her eyes. “It’s gonna hit the fan now!”

  Zoe took a step back, a startled expression on her face. I held her by the arm, preventing her from retreating any further. “There’s nothing to worry to about,” I told her.

  “You don’t know,” she said.

  Stephanie stood beside me, silent, not moving, as if she would be there for me if I needed her. Dylan’s eyes narrowed and he pointed a finger at Lauren, his voice raised as he approached.

  “What the hell are you doing, bringing Rachel here?” he demanded.

  Lauren shrugged, trying to look tough, but it wasn’t working.

  “What kind of friend are you?” He was in her face now, his muscles gleaming from sweat, his chest and arms still naked. His brow furrowed when he glanced at me and for a second I could see how glad he was that I was here and that I had watched him fight. Then that expression faded when he turned on Lauren again. “You’ve always been jealous of her, haven’t you? And you know it’s Open Floor Night—”