by Kim Harrison
“I can’t really remember anything from that part of my life.”
“You mean from that day?”
“No. From that year. And the year after. Anything pretty much from when I was ten until when I turned twelve. And there are a few other holes, too.”
“You mean that stuff is just too painful to remember?”
“No, it’s just…gone. All I have are impressions.” And the dreams. Really really bad dreams.
“Like what?”
“Like that I wasn’t where I should have been and something happened and I let everyone down…” She stopped, waved a hand in the air.
“Wait, you actually think you could have stopped whatever happened to them? By yourself? When you were four years younger than me?”
Miranda’s throat felt like it was closing up. She’d never told anyone even that much of her real history before, never talked about it, not even with Kenzi. Ever. She swallowed hard. “I could have tried. I could have been there and tried.”
“Oh my gods, now this is some kind of pity party. Yawn. Wake me when you’re done.”
Miranda gaped at her in the mirror. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it but you kept bugging me and now you turn into the mayor of TellItLikeItIsVille?” Swallowing again. “You little—”
“You don’t even know what happened! How can you feel so bad about it? Plus, I don’t see how that can be your fault. You weren’t even there and you were only ten. I think you should stop obsessing about some mystery thing that is ancient history and live in the mo.”
“I’m sorry, did you just tell me to ‘live in the mo’?”
“Yes. You know, ditch the past and try focusing on what’s going on in the present. Like that the song on the radio right now? Sucks. And that there is a whole city of cute boys out there I am not kissing.” Miranda took a deep breath, but before she could say anything, Sibby went on. “I know, I know you say you’re sorry to the people you knock out because you never got to say sorry to your family, and you have to keep me safe because you couldn’t keep them safe. I get it now.”
“That is not what’s going on. I—”
“Blah blah blah, insert denials here. Anyway, why does ‘safe’ have to mean sitting in this car with you all night? Isn’t there somewhere we could blend in? Instead of hiding? I’m good at blending. I’m like butter.”
“Oh yeah, you’re totally like butter. In fact, in your Madonna-called-and-she-wants-her-costume-from-the-‘Borderline’-video-back outfit, you’re practically invisible.”
“Good one, Funkiller. Come on, let’s go somewhere.”
Miranda turned all the way around in her seat and said, “Let me sound it out for you. Someone. Is. Trying. To. Kill. You.”
“No. They. Are. Not. You keep saying that, but I’ve told you. They can’t kill me. You should really work on this obsession you have with people getting killed. And I have to be honest with you, I’m getting bored. What do you have the radio set to, K-CRAP? There is no way we are staying in this car for six hours.”
Miranda had to agree with her. Because if they did, it was now clear she’d kill Sibby herself.
That’s when she thought of the perfect place for them to go.
“You want to blend in?” she asked.
“Yes. With boys.”
“Guys,” Miranda said.
“What?”
“Normal American girls from this century call them guys, not boys. If you want to blend in.”
For a second, Sibby looked shocked. Then she gave a little smile. “Oh. Yes. Guys.”
“‘Yeah,’ not ‘yes.’ Unless you’re talking to a grownup.”
“Yeah.”
“And it’s ‘Oh my God’ or ‘God,’ not ‘gods.’”
“Did I—?”
“Yeah. And no one ever has or ever will say, ‘live in the mo.’”
“Just wait.”
“No. Never. Oh, and no paying guys for kisses. You don’t need to. They should feel lucky to kiss you.”
Sibby frowned. “Why are you being so nice to me and helping me? You don’t even like me.”
“Because I know what it’s like to be far from home, alone, trying to fit in. And to never be able to tell anyone the truth about who you are.”
After they’d been driving in silence for a few minutes, Sibby said, “Have you ever killed someone with your bare hands?”
Miranda looked at her in the rearview. “Not yet.”
“Ha-ha.”
8
“YOU’RE CRAZY,” SIBBY SAID as they walked in. Her eyes were pancake-size. “You said this would suck. This doesn’t suck. This is fantastic.”
Miranda shuddered. They’d snuck into the Grand Hall of the Santa Barbara Historical Society by an emergency exit that had been propped open so prom attendees could slip out to get stoned, and glancing around, Miranda could see how getting stoned would be super-appealing. The walls of the room had been covered in blue satin with white stars embroidered on it, the four big columns in the middle were draped in red and white ribbons, the tables off to the side were covered in American flag–print cloths with fishbowl centerpieces in which the fish had been somehow dyed red and blue, and around the edges major American landmarks such as Mount Rushmore, the White House, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and the Old Faithful geyser had been reconstructed—out of sugar cubes. Courtesy of Ariel West’s father. Ariel had announced the previous day at assembly that after the prom all the decorations would be donated to “the poor hungry people of Santa Barbara who need sugar.”
Miranda didn’t know if it was that, the balloons on rubber cords hanging from the ceiling that bounced lazily up and down as people passed under them, or foreboding, but she had a distinct queasy feeling.
Sibby was in heaven.
“Remember—most of the guys here came with dates, so try to be subtle with the Kissing Bandit stuff,” Miranda said.
“Yeah, fine.”
“And if you hear me call to you, you come.”
“Do I look like a dog to you?” Miranda gave her a sharp glance. Sibby said, “Fine, okay, Funkiller.”
“And if you feel like anything weird is going on at all, you—”
“—let you know. I’ve got it. Now you go and have some fun yourself. Oh, right, you probably don’t know how. Well, when in doubt, ask yourself, ‘What Would Sibby Do?’”
“Can I unsubscribe from that list, please?”
Sibby was too busy scanning the room to respond. “Whoa, who’s that hot dinner in the corner over there?” she asked. “The guy in the glasses?”
Miranda looked around for a hot dinner but all she saw was Phil Emory. “His name is Phillip.”
“Helllllo, Phillip,” Sibby said, plotting a direct course for him.
Miranda stashed her skate bag underneath a table and stayed close to the wall, between the White House and Old Faithful, partially to keep Sibby in view and partially to avoid being noticed by any faculty members. She’d changed in the employee bathroom from her work suit into the only other thing she had with her, but although it was red, white, and blue, she didn’t think that her Roller Derby uniform was really appropriate prom attire. There were two uniforms in her skate bag, a home uniform—white satin halter top and bottom with blue cape and red, white, and blue stripes on the skirt (if you could call something that was five inches long and required attached panties to be worn under it a skirt)—and an away uniform: the same thing, only in blue. She’d decided white was more formal, but she was pretty sure that wearing it with her black work flats was not helping the look.
She’d been standing there for a while, wondering how everyone but her was completely capable of being on a dance floor without debilitating anyone, when she heard a pair of heartbeats she recognized and saw Kenzi and Beth sliding through the crowd toward her.
“You came!” Kenzi said, giving her a big hug. One of the things Miranda loved about Kenzi was that she acted like she was on Ecstasy even when she wasn’t, te
lling people that she loved them, hugging them, never embarrassed about it. “I’m so glad you’re here. It didn’t feel right without you. So, are you ready to unshackle yourself from the insecurities of your youth? Ready to own your future?”
Kenzi and Beth were dressed to own anything, Miranda thought. Kenzi was wearing a skin-tight blue backless dress and had gotten a black panther with a blue sapphire eye painted on her back. Beth was in a red satin minidress and had a gold snake bracelet with two ruby eyes wrapped around her upper arm (or at least Miranda assumed they were rubies since Beth’s parents were two of the biggest movie stars in Bollywood). On them, adulthood looked like a totally cool and exciting party with an excellent DJ that you could only get into if you were on the VIP list.
Miranda glanced at her skating uniform. “I guess I should have known that when the time came to own my future I’d be dressed like a member of the Ice Capades B-squad.”
“No way, you look fantastic,” Beth said, and Miranda would have assumed she was being sarcastic except that Beth was one of those people who was born without sarcasm.
“Truly,” Kenzi confirmed. “You’re deep in H2T territory.” H2T stood for Hot to Trot. “I see great things for your adulthood.”
“And I see a visit to the eye doctor for you,” Miranda prophesied. In the distance Miranda saw Sibby pull Phillip Emory onto the dance floor.
Miranda turned back to Kenzi. “Do you think I’m a fun person? Am I a Grandma Grim? A funkiller?”
“Grandma Grim? Funkiller?” Kenzi repeated. “What are you talking about? Did you hit your head at derby practice again?”
“No, I’m serious. Am I fun?”
“Yes,” Kenzi said solemnly.
“Yes,” Beth agreed.
“Except when you get all MLAS,” Kenzi modified. “And when you have your period. And around your birthday. Oh, there was that one time—”
“Forget it.” Miranda’s eyes drifted to Sibby, who now appeared to be leading a conga line.
“I’m kidding,” Kenzi said, turning Miranda’s face from the dance floor to hers. “Yes, I think you are really fun. I mean, who else would dress up as Magnum P.I. for Halloween?”
“Or think of entertaining the kids on the cancer ward by reenacting Dawson’s Creek with Precious Moments figurines?” Beth added.
Kenzi nodded. “That’s right. Even children battling cancer think you’re fun. And they’re not the only ones.”
Something about Kenzi’s tone when she said the last part made Miranda worried. “What did you do?”
“She was brilliant,” Beth said.
Now Miranda was even more scared. “Tell me.”
“It was nothing, just some research,” Kenzi said
“What kind of research?” For the first time Miranda noticed that there was writing up the length of Kenzi’s arm.
Kenzi said, “About Will and Ariel. They’re totally not going out.”
“You asked him?”
“It’s called an interview,” Kenzi said.
“No. Oh no. Tell me you’re kidding.” Sometimes having a roommate who wanted to be a journalist was dangerous.
“Relax, he didn’t suspect a thing. I made it seem like I was making small talk,” Kenzi said.
“She was great,” Beth confirmed.
Miranda started wishing for trapdoors again.
“Anyway, I asked him why he thought Ariel asked him to the prom and he said”—here Kenzi consulted her arm—“‘To make someone else jealous.’ So of course I asked who and he went, ‘Anyone. That’s what Ariel thrives on, other people’s jealousy.’ Isn’t that perceptive? Especially for a guy?”
“He’s smart,” Beth put in. “And nice.”
Miranda nodded absently, looking for Sibby on the dance floor. At first she didn’t see her but then she spotted her in a dark corner with Phillip. Talking, not kissing. For some reason that made her smile.
“Look, we made her happy!” Kenzi said, and she sounded so genuinely pleased that Miranda didn’t want to tell her the truth.
“Thanks for finding all that out,” Miranda said. “It’s—”
“You haven’t even heard the best part,” Kenzi said. “I asked why he agreed to go to prom with Ariel if they’re not a couple and he said”—glancing at her arm—“‘Because no one made me a better offer.’”
Beth reminded her, “With that cute smile.”
“Right, with cute smile. And he looked directly at me when he said it and he was so clearly talking about you!”
“Clearly.” Miranda loved her friends even if they were delusional.
“Stop gazing at me like I’ve been one-stop shopping at the Lobotomy Store, Miranda,” Kenzi said. “I’m completely right. He likes you and he’s not taken. Stop thinking and grab him. Go live ITM.”
“ITM?”
“In the Mo,” Beth elaborated.
Miranda gaped. “No. Way.”
“What?” Kenzi asked.
“Nothing.” Miranda shook her head. “Even if he’s single, what makes you think Will wants to go out with me?”
Kenzi squinted at her. “Um, breezing past all the sappy stuff about how you’re nice and smart I have to say because I’m your best friend, have you looked in the mirror recently?”
“Ha-ha. Trust me—”
“Bye!” Beth said, interrupting her and dragging Kenzi away. “See you later!”
“Don’t forget! ITM!” Kenzi added over her shoulder. “Drink a can of man!”
“Where are you—” Miranda started to say, then heard a heartbeat close behind her and swung around.
Nearly banging her shoulder against Will’s chest.
9
HE SAID, “HI.”
And she said, “Ho.” God. GOD. Could she just say one normal thing? Thanks Crazy Mouth.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t know you were coming to prom.”
“I—changed my mind at the last minute.”
“You look nice.”
“You too.” Which was an understatement. He looked like a double stack of cinnamon apple pancakes with a side order of bacon and hash browns (extra crispy). Like the best thing Miranda had ever laid eyes on.
She felt herself staring at him, then looked away, blushing. There was a moment of silence. Another one. Don’t let it go beyond four seconds, she reminded herself. It had to have been one second already; that left three, now two, say something! Say—
“Are you wearing space pants?” Miranda asked him.
“What?”
How did it end? Oh, right. She said, “Because your butt is fine.”
He gazed at her in that way he had like he was measuring her for a straitjacket. “I think—” he started, then stopped and seemed to be having trouble talking. Cleared his throat three times before finally saying, “I think the line is ‘because your butt is out of this world.’”
“Oh. That makes a lot more sense. I can see that. See, I read it in this book about how to get guys to like you and they said it was a line that never failed but I got interrupted in the middle and the line before it was about china—not the country, the kind you eat off of—and that is where the fine part was but I must have gotten them confused.” He just kept staring at her. She remembered the other advice from the book, “when in doubt, make an offer,” reached out, grabbed the first thing she could put her hand on, held it up to his chin, and said, “Nuts?”
He looked like he was about to choke. He cleared his throat a few times, took the nuts from her, put the bowl back on the table, stepped toward her so that their noses were almost touching, and said, “You read a book about this?”
Miranda couldn’t even hear his heartbeat over the sound of her own. “Yes, I did. Because clearly I wasn’t doing it right. I mean, if you kiss a guy and he pulls away from you and looks at you like your skin just turned to purple slime, clearly you need to spend some time at the self-help section of—”
“You talk more when you’re nervous,” he said, still standing
close to her.
“No I don’t. That’s absurd. I’m just trying to explain to you—”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“No. I’m not nervous.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m cold. I’m wearing practically zero clothes.”
His glance went to her lips, then back to her eyes. “I noticed.”
Miranda gulped. “Look, I should—”
He caught her wrist before she could take off. “That kiss you gave me was the hottest kiss I’ve ever had. I pulled away because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from ripping off your clothes. And that didn’t seem like the right way to end a first date. I didn’t want you to think that was all I was interested in.”
She stared at him. There was silence again, but this time she didn’t worry about how long it went on.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said finally.
“I tried to, but every time I saw you afterward you disappeared. I got the feeling you were avoiding me.”
“I didn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Yeah, there was nothing awkward about you hiding behind a plant when I came into the dining hall at lunch on Wednesday.”
“I wasn’t hiding. I was, um, breathing. You know, oxygen. From the plant. Very oxygenated, that air is.”
Insert head in oven now.
“Of course. I should have thought of that.”
“It’s a health thing. Not many people know about it.”
Leave until no longer HALF BAKED.
“No, I’m sure they—”
Miranda blurted. “Did you really mean that? About liking it when I kissed you?”
“I really did. A lot.”
Her hands were shaking. She reached up and pulled him toward her.
Just as the music went off, the emergency-exit lighting went on and a tinny voice announced over a loudspeaker, “Please make your way to the nearest exit and leave the building immediately.”
She and Will were pushed in different directions by the crowd surging to the door, being guided by four men in full body armor. The message kept repeating, but Miranda wasn’t hearing it or Ariel West screaming that someone was going to PAY for RUINING her NIGHT or the person saying that dude, this was the sweetest way to end a prom ever, man, he was so high. She was hearing again the one-two-three cha-cha heartbeat of Deputy Reynolds, slightly muffled by body armor. This was no drill.
