Even though the hallway was wide enough for us to walk several feet apart, we drifted closer together with each step. It was strangely comforting to be with someone who felt just as awkward, and from the way Marcus’s arm kept bumping mine, I knew he was thinking the same thing. As we passed the woman, he whispered, “Your spirit is free, old one. You’ve done your duty.”
I laughed but stopped short when a guy and a Little Debbie hurried past us, and I was almost blinded by her crystal-covered tiara.
She was wearing a tiara. I didn’t even own a headband. And her heels were high enough to cause serious head trauma if she were to stumble.
“Man, I knew I should have worn my crown jewels,” I said.
Marcus didn’t seem to catch my joke. “I should have worn a tie,” he mumbled. “Or different shoes.”
For someone who’d spent sixth grade shoving people’s heads into toilets, he seemed awfully concerned about opinions now. Maybe he had changed since his Swirlie Bandit days.
“You look fine,” I told him. “That kid’s the overdressed one. I mean, what twelve-year-old wears cuff links?”
He nodded. “I was just hoping to make a good impression, like you said at the beach.”
“Oh. Right. The beach.” I pressed my lips together before a guilty confession could slip out. He’d actually taken me seriously and wanted to improve his social standing, but I’d brought him for my own amusement. Now I felt bad. I needed to hate him. I needed to interview him and hear him say he couldn’t wait to dunk more kids.
But first I needed to check on Ben and Ava.
They weren’t hanging around with the few couples outside the Crystal Ballroom, but I did see the girl from the Little Debbies gift bag table. She was sitting at yet another table outside the doorway, and this time she was in charge of a stack of purple picture frames and stick-on name tags. I wandered over to her, wondering how much money she’d be after this time.
“Name?” Table Girl addressed my midsection.
“I can write my own name tag,” I said, grabbing a Sharpie.
Table Girl slammed her hand on top of mine, as if I’d been trying to pocket her marker and run away. “Your name tag is over here.” She pointed to the stack of picture frames, and I indicated the one with my name on it.
When she gave it to me, my hand dropped a little from the weight. I turned the frame over and saw someone had glued a giant safety pin to the back.
“Do I really have to wear this?”
She answered me with a sour look, so I pinned the picture frame to my purse. “It clashes with my dress,” I explained.
“Whatever.” She uncapped the Sharpie and turned to Marcus. “Name?”
“Marcus.”
Instead of writing, she stared at him.
“Marcus,” he repeated louder.
“I know,” she said. “But unless you’re Fergie, you should have a last name too.”
“Taylor. I’m Marcus Taylor.”
“The Swirlie Bandit!?” Table Girl’s cry demonstrated a lung power I wouldn’t have thought possible of a Little Debbie. Like choreographed dancers, the other couples all whirled and glanced at us, faces frozen in varying stages of alarm.
Marcus turned red, the spikes in his hair needing no gel to help them stand on end. “I … uh … don’t really go by that. I haven’t dunked anyone since I left school.”
Table Girl’s eyes widened and she sucked in her breath. “You dropped out?”
“No! I mean, since the first time I left to go to a different school.”
“Ohhh.” She nodded and winked. “A ‘school’ behind a wall of razor wire?”
“Okay, we’re gonna go now.” I was starting to get the same irritated feeling from Friday morning, when Ben had been insulting Marcus for no reason. This time Marcus could defend himself, so it shouldn’t have bothered me—but it did.
I grabbed his arm and as we walked away, I could hear Table Girl tell everyone, “They really should screen pledges better to find out who they’re dating.”
Marcus didn’t argue or even laugh at the D word. He seemed to be interested in drawing as little attention to himself as possible, and when we walked into the Crystal Ballroom, he hurried off to the left, away from the dance floor and the tables surrounding it.
I dug my heels into the carpet and tugged him to a halt. “Okay, if this is your idea of making a good impression, it’s not working.”
“It’s never going to work,” he said. “I’ve changed my mind. You don’t have to interview me.”
“Well, I already told everyone I would, so I kinda do.” I glanced around for the darkest, most secluded table I could find. “We can go over there. By that window.” I steered him toward it just as Paige hurried over.
“What are you doing?”
“Being antisocial at the social,” I said.
“I mean with him.” She pointed at Marcus as if he were twenty feet away, not close enough for her to poke in the shoulder. “You brought the Swirlie Bandit?”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Actually, I don’t—”
Paige blocked him with a hand to the face. “I told you not to embarrass me, Delilah!”
I thought I’d enjoy seeing her freak out, but even the fact that her face matched the pink in her dress didn’t amuse me. “It’s not a big deal,” I said. “He’s changed, and nobody at the social is in danger of a dunk and flush. But if you’d rather we leave …” I grabbed Marcus’s arm and made like I was headed for the door.
“Wait …” Paige tugged on the halter straps tied around my neck. “You have to at least stay for another half hour, when everyone gives their progress reports.” She eyed Marcus suspiciously and leaned close to me. “Just keep him under control and out of the way.”
I nodded. “Do you want me to chain him to the wall or just hit him with my shoe whenever he acts up?”
Paige crossed her arms and exhaled out of her nostrils. “Whatever … it … takes.” She stormed off to yell at someone for double-dipping chips in a bowl of guacamole.
I rolled my eyes at Marcus. “Let’s try this again.” I headed for the window, but he didn’t follow. “Marcus?”
“I’m gonna go.” He nodded toward the door. “This was a really bad idea.”
It was a bad idea … even worse than my Renee Mercer story. But I needed the interview, and I couldn’t be dateless when Ava waltzed in with Ben. “If you leave,” I said, “everyone’s going to think it’s because they’re onto you and that you haven’t really changed. You have to show them that you’re not a threat … and you can’t do that if you’re not here.”
He sighed and dropped his shoulders. “I know.”
“And you can also show them by talking about what really happened.” I started walking toward the window again, and this time he followed me. I sat at the table and pulled a mini cassette recorder from my bag. “Why did you do it?”
When I flipped the recorder on, Marcus didn’t answer right away.
“The first time I did it …” He spoke slowly, thinking about each word. “The first time it was to prove a point.”
“That you could fit someone’s head in a toilet?”
Marcus smirked. “There was this kid … this eighth grader who kept calling me a wimp. So, I dunked him.”
I frowned. “An eighth grader? I thought your first victim was someone from our class.”
Marcus shook his head, then realized my tape recorder wouldn’t catch that. “No, but the guy wasn’t going to admit that he’d been flushed by a sixth grader, so nobody ever found out about it.”
“But you had your revenge,” I pointed out. “Why didn’t it stop there?”
Marcus looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “Because it was fun. It was power. And even if kids didn’t know who did it, for a moment, I wasn’t …” He faltered, and the spark of happiness fizzled out.
“You weren’t what?” I prompted.
He shifted in his chair and watched the other students.
/> “Marcus, you weren’t what?” I repeated.
“Do you know all these people?” He pointed to a couple admiring an ice sculpture shaped like a giant high heel.
“A-a little,” I stuttered in my confusion. “The girl’s in the drama department, and her date’s some guy who wins the talent show every year.”
Marcus nodded. “Everyone knows them.”
Now I understood what he was getting at. “But they didn’t know you. You were—”
“Invisible.” He folded his hands on the table and studied the thumbs.
We sat quietly while the cassette player continued to record our silence. I’d never been invisible; writing for the paper made sure of that. But if I hadn’t gotten involved in any school activities … if I’d been a loner, I wondered what I might have done to feel like I mattered.
“Well,” I finally said, “you definitely have everyone’s attention now.”
Marcus glanced up at me. “Yeah, I guess I do.” One corner
of his mouth turned up. “Of course, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
I laughed. “Well, what did you have in mind? Tell me everything you’d like people to know about the Swir—” I stopped myself. “About Marcus Taylor.”
Chapter Twelve
Interviewing Marcus turned out to be less painful than I’d expected. The entire time we talked, he didn’t remind me once that I’d ruined his life, and, as it turned out, he had been doing a lot since he’d left Brighton. He’d been the Snappin’ Sea Turtle mascot at Sheldon Academy, played striker in the local soccer league (and helped them win the district championship), and been a movie extra the previous summer.
“No way.” I grinned. “You … an actor?”
“An extra,” he pointed out. “I pretty much walked through the scene and that was it, but I got to meet Fritz Fulton.” He pulled out his cell phone and showed me a picture of him with possibly the hottest teen actor of all time.
“That is so cool. I got my picture taken with a celebrity this summer too.” I handed over my cell phone and Marcus groaned.
“Smokey the Bear?”
I laughed. “When we went camping, my stepfather made us sit through a fire safety seminar before we could strike a single match.”
Marcus clicked through my pictures. “That explains this one of a fire extinguisher … I guess.” He smiled at me. “Were you afraid you wouldn’t remember what it looked like?”
He flipped the phone around so I could see the image. It was the red globe from Katie’s locker.
“So, it is a fire extinguisher!” I grabbed the cell phone from him.
“Yeah. There’s the handle to fire off the foam.” He pointed at the nozzle. “You really didn’t pay attention during that seminar, did you?”
“Who keeps something like this in their locker?” I jumped up from my seat, scanning the room for Paige, and saw her at a chocolate fountain, dipping strawberries … with Ava and Ben.
“Crap!” I sat down just as quickly without considering the attention my jack-in-the-box antics would draw. Ben glanced over, squinting into the darkness, and waved. Luckily, Marcus’s back was turned. I waved and got up again, intending to hurry over to Ben before he could see Marcus.
“I’ll be back. Just sit here and don’t turn around.”
Knowing his disregard for rules, I should have predicted what would happen next.
Marcus stood up … and turned around. “Who were you waving at?”
I stepped in front of him. “Ben Hines, the guy you were attacking when I caught you last year.”
“Really?” He peered around me. “He looks a lot different.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Ben doing the same thing, trying to figure out who my date was.
“He’s grown,” I said. “And he really doesn’t like you.”
A rational person would have said “Yikes” and sat back down, but Marcus said, “I’ll go talk to him”—and headed straight for Ben.
“Oh, this won’t end well.” I followed on his heels.
The closer Marcus got to Ben, the darker Ben’s expression became, until there was practically a storm brewing in his eyes. Ava fixed me with a similar glare.
“Hey … Ben,” said Marcus. “I was wondering if we could talk.”
“What are you doing here?” Ben was taking full advantage of his new, deep voice to practically growl at Marcus. “Shouldn’t you be waiting by the punch bowl to shove people into it?”
“He’s with me.” I said. “And he’s not here to cause trouble.”
Ben recoiled as if I’d slapped him. “You’re dating this loser?”
“How shocking,” said Ava in a sarcastic tone that indicated it wasn’t.
“We’re not dating,” I said. “I’m interviewing him for my article.”
“And I just came over to apologize,” said Marcus.
Ben’s anger faded a little. “You did?”
“You did?” I was just as surprised.
Ben reached past Ava and grabbed my hand. My fingers instantly tingled, and I prayed nobody could see the goose bumps on my arms. “Come talk to me for a second.” He led me out of the room and over to the leather couches in the foyer.
“Please tell me you’re not dating that guy,” he said.
“I already told you no.” I did my best to act offended, but I was secretly pleased.
Ben was jealous of me and Marcus.
“Good,” he said. “Because he isn’t the guy you should be with.”
My heart threatened to pry my jaws apart and leap onto the floor. “Who … who should I be with?”
Ben scooted closer and grabbed both my hands. “Someone who has a plan for his future and is smart and funny and knows how to treat you right.”
“I completely agree,” I said, bowing my head modestly. “But who could that be?”
“Delilah, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you this sooner, but …” He leaned toward me, speaking in a whisper. I could smell his cologne and the chocolate on his breath. His mouth was close enough to kiss.
So I did.
I rose off my seat, grabbed his face, and pressed my lips against his chocolaty, strawberry ones. I knew I wasn’t supposed to watch, but I wanted to have a visual memory of every moment of my first kiss. I gazed up into Ben’s eyes, but instead of seeing the same bliss that I felt, I saw only confusion. My stomach tightened as he placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back.
He didn’t like me.
I’d attacked him with my lips and let him know how I really felt—and he didn’t like me.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “I’m with Ava.”
“Well, I … I thought …” I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling, and brushed my hair back several times, my cheeks aching with suppressed emotion. “You said that … that I should be with … I thought you meant—” The last word caught in my throat, drowned in the beginnings of a sob. I could feel the tears building behind my eyes, and my nose started to run.
I jumped off the couch and sprinted down the hall opposite the Crystal Ballroom, looking for a door to hide behind … preferably one that led to some alternate universe where I hadn’t kissed Ben. I spotted a ladies’ room and ducked inside, collapsing onto a chaise lounge in the waiting area, where I promptly burst into tears.
I’d never been so wrong or so embarrassed about something in my entire life. Kissing Ben had been such an impulsive and stupid thing to do, especially since he already had a girlfriend and was my editor on the newspaper. My levelheadedness had always been one of my best traits, but ever since I’d seen “the new Ben,” that had fallen by the wayside. I should have known better. I wasn’t the kind of girl who won at romance. I was going to be the thirty-year-old lady having dinner conversations with her cats.
“Delilah?”
I smelled Chanel and then felt Paige sit beside me, her arm wrapped around my shoulder. “What happened? I know it can’t be the dress, because that looks fabulous.
”
Despite myself, I blubbered a laugh and wiped at my eyes.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t do that. You’re not wearing waterproof mascara.” Paige grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the black lines trailing down my cheeks. “Was this about a guy?”
I nodded and sniffled. “How did you guess?”
“Because I’ve never seen anything get you down before.” She crumpled up the tissue and smiled. “And because it’s always about a guy.”
While she reapplied my makeup, I calmed down and told her what had happened. “I guess I’m a fool,” I ended the story.
She nodded and swiped blush across my cheek. “I’d have to agree with that.”
“Hey!” I pulled back, frowning.
“Well, I did tell you he was lame.” She grabbed my jaw and turned my head from side to side. “God, I wish I had your cheekbones.”
“I wish I had an escape route.” I walked to a hanging mirror to study my reflection. Paige had actually succeeded in making my face look like nothing had gone wrong. If only she could apply the same flawless coverage to my life. “He’s going to be out there. I know it.”
“Well, you can’t spend the rest of your life hiding in here.” She wrinkled her nose. “This is a public restroom, for crying out loud.”
“You’re right.” I stood tall and threw my shoulders back. “I have to act like I didn’t run away, wailing like an infant.”
Paige shook her head. “You actually ran in a fancy party dress? We have got to work on your poise. If you become a Debutante, that’ll be your next task.”
Her comment reminded me of how the mess with Ben had started in the first place. “Hey, I meant to tell you earlier—remember that thing in Katie’s locker that looked like a time bomb? I was right. It’s a fire extinguisher.”
Paige mulled this over. “Hmmm … a girl with a clique named Hot Stuff has a fire extinguisher in her locker. That’s very … what’s the word? Iconic.”
“Ironic,” I corrected her. “But the big question is, why does she have one? Is she planning something that involves potential fire hazard?”
Paige’s eyes widened. “Some big publicity event that’ll make Hot Stuff even more popular?”
Front Page Face-Off Page 9
