Wraith

by Edie Claire

  Chapter 11

  I was ridiculously, insanely, pathetically nervous. More so than when my date to homecoming in ninth grade called me three hours before the dance to say that he had just "come out" to all his friends and was wondering if I would mind if he took his boyfriend instead. (I didn’t, really, once I got over the shock.) I was more nervous than when I got talked into asking a minor crush of mine to the sophomore Sadie Hawkins dance, knowing full well he already had a girlfriend at another school. (He had said no—right there in the middle of the cafeteria. I was mortified.) I was even more nervous than I had been when, three-fourths of the way through last year’s semiformal, I had discovered something green and leafy stuck between my front teeth. (Kylee swore that it had not been there the whole night, but I knew darn well people had been looking at me funny since dinner.)

  This was worse.

  "Come on, Kali," Matt said encouragingly, his blue eyes twinkling. "They’re going to love you. I promise."

  My eyes roved warily over the front lawn of Frederick High. The troubled boy was headed for the imaginary flagpole again, but I didn’t see the smoking girls, and the dozens of living people that buzzed about exuded more than enough positive energy to give the atmosphere an excited, hopeful, almost frenetic air.

  I was still nervous.

  Matt let out a chuckle and took a few steps back to where I stood, effectively paralyzed, by the side of his car. "If you really hate it, we’ll leave," he assured, "but you’re not going to hate it. You’re going to meet some people you really like—you’ll see." He wrapped his muscular arm around the length of mine, took my hand, and propelled me forward.

  "You’re right," I responded, my voice giving a betraying quiver. I cleared my throat and steadied it. "I’m excited to be here, really… I’m just a lot more nervous than I thought I would be."

  "Yeah, I can see that," he answered merrily, swinging my arm as we walked. My traitorous feet tried to dawdle, but Matt’s steady pull kept us going.

  "Sorry," I offered genuinely. "I’ll try not to be too much of a drag on your evening."

  Matt looked back at me with a smile. His smile was neither as magnetic nor as mesmerizing as Zane’s, but it was friendly and honest. "Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that," he said lightly, eyes dancing. "Nothing’s going to ruin my evening."

  He squeezed my hand, then continued to propel us both forward toward the open double doors of the gymnasium. As we neared them, my heart pounded, and I realized with some amount of shock that I had been unconsciously moving closer to his side.

  "Matt!" shouted a short, blonde girl who was stationed at the doors taking tickets. She was slightly overweight, but dressed very attractively in a tie-dyed aquamarine sundress that emphasized her striking blue eyes.

  "Hey, Lacey," he answered amicably. I loosened my hold on his hand, giving him the option of dropping it. He responded not only by readjusting his grip, but by throwing in an added thumb caress on the back of my hand. "You look nice," he praised the girl. "Gorgeous dress!"

  She smiled widely, showing perfect teeth. "Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself, macho man." She turned to me, her expression pleasant, albeit slightly puzzled. "Hi, I’m Lacey. Have we met?"

  "This is Kali," Matt answered for me. "She’s from Wyoming, just visiting for a week. But she’s moving here this summer—her dad’s going to be working with mine on the base."

  "Cool!" Lacey answered with enthusiasm. Our eyes met, and a large degree of my nervousness evaporated. "What do you think of Oahu?"

  "I love it," I said without hesitation. "Matt’s been a great tour guide."

  "I’ll bet," she said with a chuckle, still looking at me. "Catch up with me later and I’ll give you the real story. About something other than water polo."

  "Hey!" Matt protested good-naturedly, "I showed her La'ie Point and Chinaman’s Hat and everything!"

  Lacey's eyes rolled. "While talking about water polo?"

  I laughed out loud. A few people had come up behind us, and Lacey moved to take their tickets. "I’ll find you later," she said conspiratorially, offering a wink.

  Matt steered me through the doors and inside, but before he could say anything more we were bombarded by shout-outs from what appeared to be his cheering section. Multiple voices, both male and female, chorused his name as I plastered a smile on my face and hastily scanned the crowd.

  First off, my outfit was okay. There were a few girls in shorts, but the vast majority were wearing sun dresses, and no one was in a formal. The guys were a mixed bag, wearing everything from nice tee shirts to polos to button-down shirts, with any manner of shorts and shoes. Hawaiian prints were not considered too touristy, as I had halfway feared; at least half the kids were wearing them. But "party-store luau," the atmosphere was not. The smallish gymnasium was tastefully decorated with nothing but bright-colored table cloths and a few, well-placed clusters of fresh cut flowers.

  Perfect.

  Second, much to my delight, I could see that these people knew how to dance. In my high school, it would take a good hour before any significant number of people hit the floor. This party was only just starting, and at least half the attendees were already burning it up. Despite my nervousness, my feet began to itch.

  "Hey, everybody," Matt announced over my shoulder to whomever was within earshot. "This is Kali. She’s just visiting from Wyoming, but she’s moving here in June. I’m trying to convince her to come to Frederick, so everybody talk it up, okay?"

  A dozen or so friendly faces responded from the dance floor with a smile and a wave, while two couples standing nearby stepped closer to greet us.

  "Does that mean we can’t tell her about the dog burgers?" laughed a tall, skinny guy with a streak of bright purple in his otherwise dark hair.

  "David!" a freckled redheaded girl chastised as she smacked her date on the shoulder. "Shut up about that!" She smiled at me. "I’m Julia. Nice to meet you."

  Recognizing the name from Matt's text, I thanked her for the what-to-wear tip. She was wearing a beach dress herself, very similar to mine.

  "I’m Madison," said a pretty, dark-skinned girl with long black hair. If I had had to guess, I would say she looked Asian, whereas David looked more traditionally Hawaiian, but I couldn’t tell for sure, nor did I really care. "It's good to see you," Madison said with a grin. At lunch we thought Matt was just making you up."

  "Yeah, he has a rich fantasy life," quipped the guy beside her, a hulking football-player type with pale skin and light blond hair. "I’m Ryan," he said with a grin, shaking my hand.

  With a stroke of perfect timing, the DJ put on a new song whose first few, obviously familiar chords had the crowd howling with excitement. The group around me headed at once for the dance floor, and I was more than willing to be swept along with them.

  I watched as the whole room swelled with motion, myself in the midst of it, moving to the music, letting all cares go—at least for the moment. I laughed inwardly as I noticed that the guys here, though perhaps more willing to dance than my classmates in Cheyenne, were no different in their execution. All the guys I knew danced in one of four ways. The stiffest just stood there, swaying a little from side to side, snapping an occasional finger or shifting an occasional foot. Those who were a little more adventurous, but no more coordinated, liked to shake things up by bobbing up and down like corks. Beyond that, you had the guys who thought they could dance, but for the most part just managed to look goofy. Matt, like the vast majority of guys in the room, was in the second category. David-with-the-purple-hair was in the third. Only one guy—whom my eyes caught immediately, although he was clear across the room—rated the fourth category: naturals who moved instinctively with the music, effortlessly and without self-consciousness.

  As David twirled around in circles, jerking one long leg like he was being electrocuted, my gaze drifted repeatedly from him to the other dancer. Even though that guy was facing away from me, his fluid motion drew my attention to an exceptionally hand
some physique, and I found myself wondering why the girls nearer to him weren’t watching as raptly as I was. They were, in fact, totally ignoring him—while everyone around David (who was now simultaneously playing air guitar and prancing a hoedown) was egging him on with whoops and hollers.

  It made no sense. Couldn’t those people see—

  I clapped my hand over my mouth as it hit me. I wanted to laugh out loud, but if it looked like I was directing my gaze at anyone but Zane, it would seem very rude indeed. He turned for just a moment, his blond curls bouncing around his face, and caught my eye with a grin. But just as quickly, he turned away again—determined, apparently, to keep the low profile he had promised us both.

  I understood completely. Sometimes, when the music calls, you just gotta dance.

  I turned my attention back to Matt and friends, feeling suddenly much more at ease. These were friendly people, and I liked them—even if Matt did jump up and down so wildly I feared for the safety of my toes. With their smiles and laughter, and the music beating in my ears, I could almost forget everything weird and scary and bizarre that had happened to me since I got to Oahu.

  Almost.

  I danced with Matt’s crowd for nearly an hour before thirst and exhaustion got the better of us and we all decided to take a break. Matt went off to get some drinks while I headed for the restroom.

  I was just about to open the stall door when I heard the voices. Maybe I felt something before that—I wasn’t sure. I only knew that as little as I wanted to spend any more time than was necessary cooped up in a gym toilet, my hand hung in midair over the bolt, frozen in place.

  "I can’t believe he’s even here," a girl’s voice whispered, her tone striking in its simmering hostility. "I mean, it would be bad enough if he showed up by himself, but to bring somebody else?!"

  A cold prickle of angst swept down my spine. I knew I had no reason to assume the girls were talking about Matt and me. I also knew—beyond any doubt—that they absolutely were.

  "I know," another voice answered, this one less hostile, but equally upset. "It’s awful what happened. I’m still not convinced, though, that he… does he even know? I mean… why would he come, after that? It would be so stupid!"

  "Stupid’s right," the first girl snapped. "Rod’s going to kill him. I know he will."

  "Don’t say that! Even if Matt did do it, it’s not Rod’s business."

  The hostile speaker let out a snort. "Yeah, try telling him that. Sofia will always be his business."

  "How bad is…" the second girl paused. "Have you seen her?"

  The door to the restroom swung open, admitting several other chatting voices. I waited, breathlessly, until the shuffling footsteps subsided and the restroom door had swung open and shut again. As the new chatter continued (something about an English assignment), I slipped out of the stall, washed my hands, and hastily made my way out the door to see if I could catch sight of the speakers. Two girls, just a few paces ahead of me, were making their way toward the refreshments. I knew instantly that they were the ones. Anger and confused concern, respectively, radiated from them like a bad case of B.O., and whether I was seeing it or feeling it made no difference at the moment.

  Rod’s going to kill him.

  The girls grabbed plastic cups of punch off the drink table and walked out a set of propped-open double doors to the lawn. I was in the process of following, as surreptitiously as possible, when I felt a hand on my elbow.

  "Where are you going?" Matt asked jovially. "I’ve got our drinks over here." He pointed to the table, and with a last, studying look at the girls, I followed him and sat down.

  I stared mutely at the drink in front of me, unable to pick it up—my thoughts oscillating between extreme thirst and a fierce, impending nausea.

  "You okay?" Matt asked, downing his own, second cup of peach-colored liquid. "You seem a little… preoccupied."

  There didn’t have to be anything really wrong. The girls could be drama queens. There could be two Matts. Two Rods. I could have been imagining the hatred and rage I had felt pouring out of the guy at Saint Anthony’s. The word "kill" could have been used euphemistically. People said it that way all the time.

  I noticed that my hands were shaking.

  Honesty, Kali.

  "Matt," I began, my mouth dry as sandpaper. "I overheard a couple girls talking in the restroom. They were talking about you."

  His eyes lit up with nothing more than simple, mischievous pride. "Yeah?" he responded, in a tone that was oddly hopeful.

  My own brow furrowed. Either Matt was an incredibly good actor, or he was a guy with amazingly little to be ashamed of.

  "What was the name of the girl you were going to bring tonight? The one who got sick?"

  His eyebrows rose at the obviously unexpected question. "Sofia. Why?"

  I tried to swallow, but my throat was so dry I nearly choked. Matt quickly handed over my drink, and I drained it, gratefully, before answering.

  "They seemed to be a little scandalized that you would come," I explained, choosing my words carefully. "Especially that you would bring someone else."

  Matt’s face crinkled, clearly perplexed. "Who was scandalized? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard." He drummed his fingers on the table a moment, thinking. "To tell the truth, Kali, I’m not even sure I believe Sofia was sick. I think she just wanted out of the date. She’s barely talked to me the last couple weeks."

  I blinked. "So, you two weren’t, like… dating?"

  He scoffed. "I barely know the girl. She just transferred to Frederick at Christmas; she used to go to Saint Anthony’s. She asked me to the dance, weeks ago, but like I said, I’ve hardly spoken to her since." He gave his head a brisk shake. "Whatever. Girls pull the weirdest crap sometimes. Don’t let it bother you, Kali. Everybody here thinks you’re great. You ready to dance some more?"

  He started to rise, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Were Sofia and Rod ever an item?"

  His eyebrows rose; he sank back down into his chair. "Wow, where’d you pick that up? You’re like a private investigator or something. Yeah, I heard they used to go out. When she was at Saint Anthony’s. But they’ve been over for a while now. Why?"

  I took in a deep breath. It was clear to me, now, why Matt was so unconcerned. Whatever those girls thought was going on, he was clueless.

  "They seemed to think that Rod was really mad at you."

  Matt stared at me, not moving, for several seconds. Then he lifted his hands, palms up, into the air. "What is it with this? You tell me yesterday that he’s glaring at me, now people are whispering about it in bathrooms? Why would Rod be mad at me? For not dating his ex-girlfriend?"

  I gritted my teeth. Put that way, it did sound pretty ridiculous. Furthermore, I had obviously pushed the topic as far as I could push it without seeming like a drama queen myself.

  "You’re right," I agreed, attempting a smile. "Maybe I misunderstood them or something."

  He smiled back, his relief obvious. "Awesome. Now are you ready to dance some more?"

  I should have been. But I wasn’t. Logic was all well and good when it was the only information you had. But when other people’s feelings rocked you like a slap, they were harder to ignore. At least two people were harboring a strong degree of malice toward Matt. That wasn’t a guess, or a matter of perception; it was a fact I knew to be true.

  "Yes," I answered, trying hard to keep my voice cheerful. "Just let me grab another drink first. I’ll catch up to you."

  Without giving Matt a chance to argue, I slipped away from his side and headed for the punch bowl, which was being guarded by a particularly large Hawaiian man whom I presumed (perhaps wrongly) to be Matt’s football coach. Despite his size, he looked less than fearsome as he ladled out another glass of punch, complete with two ice cubes, and handed it to me with a smile.

  I thanked him and moved away to my left, where an empty alcove by the vending machines provided some semblance of privacy. "Zane?" I
whispered.

  Nothing happened.

  Frowning, I stepped out of the alcove and scanned the dance floor. He was still out there, still rocking out, still being completely ignored by the crowds, even as he strategically placed himself in the middle of a large dance circle. It took me a minute to catch his eye, but when I did he was beside me in a second, looking sweaty, exhilarated, and—as always—frustratingly gorgeous.

  "Sorry," he said unconvincingly. "Wasn’t sure why you were hanging around back here… I love this song. What’s up?"

  We stepped back into the alcove and I gave him a quick summary, my eyes searching his with no small amount of apprehension. I was afraid he would believe the most obvious explanation—that Matt was lying to me. That he had done Sofia wrong in some way and knew darn well what Rod and bathroom girl #1 were so ticked about. In which case, the whole situation was his own stupid fault, and certainly no business of mine.

  I finished talking and took a breath. Zane said nothing for a moment, studying me in turn. "So," he said finally, his words seeming carefully measured, "you really believe Matt has no idea what’s going on?"

  I exhaled heavily. "I’m sure of it."

  Zane’s green eyes locked on mine. I braced for the expected lecture about how I had already done all I could do—I had warned Matt, hadn’t I? He was a big guy, he could take care of himself. Yada, yada, yada.

  "How about this?" Zane suggested. "You point out the girls you overheard, and I’ll see if I can overhear some more. I am rather gifted at reconnaissance."

  A wave of warm relief swelled up within my chest, and once again my arms lifted, quite unintentionally, to wrap themselves around his strong, sun-bronzed neck. This time, however, I caught myself in time and replaced them at my sides.

  "Thanks," I offered, my voice choked with a sudden, acute sense of loss. I could not hug him, would never be able to. But what did it matter, really? I had plenty of guy friends with whom I was not on hugging terms.

  The painful, hollow feeling would go away.

  "I’ll point out the girls," I murmured, pulling my gaze away from his and leading him toward the exit to the lawn. When I turned back to face him again, my melancholy dissolved.