I feel gorgeous.
When I enter the living room, Jason is sitting on the couch. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers. He stands when he sees me, looking shy. He is drop-dead handsome in his dress slacks and shirt and stylish street sneakers. His hair is gelled back from his face but a few pieces have gotten loose and fallen onto his forehead in a “men’s model” sort of way. He takes my breath away.
“Wow, you look beautiful,” he says, taking in my outfit, hair, and face.
I feel shy, too, and a bit awkward. Mom buzzes around us giddily, snapping pictures. I shoo her away, and she retreats to the kitchen to make some tea, unable to contain the smiles she sends in our direction.
Jason nervously shifts from one foot to the other. “Here,” he says, thrusting the flowers at me. They’re gorgeous white tulips but inside the bouquet, nestled in the center, is a lone daisy.
We exchange a private look. I thank him and kiss him lightly. A tingle zaps my heart.
You are drop dead gorgeous, Winter. You’re going to make me the envy of every guy there.
Our eyes meet, and a smile dances in his eyes. I smile back.
“Hey you two, just one more picture,” says Mom. We pose together with the tulips and daisy between us, smiling like any other couple going to a special dance.
A shadow passes across my heart. From the outside world, no one would know that one of us would be kissing another tonight.
We say goodbye to Mom who tells us to be safe tonight, and Jason ushers me to the car. A shiny black Mercedes sits in the Visitor section of the complex. When Jason walks over to it and opens the door, I gasp.
“I borrowed it from my dad,” Jason says, unable to hide his huge grin.
“But how? Did you drive all the way down to San Diego to get it?”
“Yep, last night. There and back in three hours. He’ll be driving my van for a few days. I’d love to see him pulling up to his law practice in my clunker.”
I squeal and jump into his arms. I’ve never been in a Mercedes before. It’s too exciting for words!
In the car, he turns on the leather seat warmers, adjusts the rear view mirror, and hits “Play” on the CD player. He’s made a playlist of our favorite vintage ‘80s songs. Thompson Twins “Hold Me Now” comes on. He leans over and kisses me.
You are my dream girl.
“And you’re my dream guy,” I reply. He laughs and starts the car. He backs out carefully, the electronic side mirrors adjusting automatically so he can see the curb properly.
“This thing could probably drive itself,” I say.
“That’d be great. Then we could sit in the back seat and make out while the car chauffeurs us.”
I laugh, giddy with excitement at being with Jason in this car, dressed up, and going to the homecoming dance together.
Soberness descends on me again, remembering that it’s not really our special night because we have a mission to accomplish. I gaze out the window into the darkness, silent.
Jason puts his hand on mine. “You’re thinking about Kirby Cahill, aren’t you?”
“I don’t want to kiss him. It’ll feel like I’m betraying you.”
Jason’s jaw clenches, that involuntary movement that happens whenever he’s thinking about something he doesn’t like. “I can’t stand the idea either. But we both know kissing people could solve Annika’s murder. Nothing more or less. We owe it to her. She should be going to this dance, too.”
We’re both quiet. Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back, willing myself not to ruin my makeup. I remember my beautiful, gentle friend. Jason’s right—she should be here. Some twisted person snuffed out her life, and my ESP power is the only chance I have of securing her justice. Jason supports me, and this gives me an inkling of peace. He gets it. As long as I know this, then I can go forward. Even if I hate it.
“Don’t worry,” says Jason. “You’re not betraying me. I know how much Kirby repulses you. Just get through it. I support you. It’s something we need to do.”
“But what if he’s not the guy? How many more people am I going to have to kiss?” I’m twisted up inside. Jason is the only person whose lips I want on mine.
“I’ve thought a lot about that,” he says. “It really bums me out on the one hand, but on the other, if you can find out who killed Annika, it’ll be worth it. We have to start somewhere. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
I’m glad he’s so convinced it’s Kirby because I don’t know what the hell to think. I just want this over with.
“So as soon as I know, we’ll call the cops?” I ask.
“Yes, but be sure to look for some clear evidence in his mind. We have to be able to point to something concrete.”
“I just hope it’s him so we can call the cops and be done with it. I want to get on with our lives. After I solve Annika’s murder, I don’t plan on ever kissing anyone else again. Except you, of course.”
He takes one hand off the wheel and strokes my cheek. “But what if you can help other people? What if you can find out things that can even help our country? I know I’m looking way ahead, but think about it. If you use this thing right, it could be something invaluable to the world.”
“And you’d be fine with that? With your girlfriend kissing all sorts of random people?”
“Actors kiss each other, right? All in a day’s work. I guess I could get used to it if I had to, as long as I know your heart is always with me and that you’re using your ability to help the world.”
I contemplate this. “You’re a stronger person than I am.”
“Trust me, I don’t like the idea, either. But we have to look at the big picture.”
I gaze out the window at the passing darkness. The idea of this kissing ability becoming a regular, welcomed part of my life seems daunting. Impossible, in fact. Both Jason and Miranda are excited about my power and see the potential to do bigger things with it. I just want it to go away so I can live a normal life. No one knows what it’s like to have this thing. They’re not the ones living with it.
We pull into the school parking lot. The parking lot is mostly empty, except for a few early-arrivers. We park under a tree with a view of the auditorium. A door is propped open and light streams through. Balloons and sparkly silver streamers are visible, hanging from the ceiling of the auditorium. The band is setting up and going through a series of warm-ups. The dull thump-thump of the drum and cymbals matches the nervous jumping of my heart.
Jason gets out, opens the trunk, and comes back with a silver bucket. Inside sits a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “We might as well enjoy ourselves while we plot our takeover of Kirby Cahill’s brain.” He pops the champagne with a loud bang. It fizzes on the asphalt next to the car. He pours me a glass and hands it to me through the open window, then slides in and closes the door behind him.
The glass is cool in my sweaty hand. I’m afraid I’m going to drop it. I don’t know if Jason’s sheer gorgeousness or the stress of my mission, but either way I’m terribly nervous. I want to smile, laugh at his jokes, but my lungs are constricted, like an elephant has its big hoof—or whatever you call the damn foot—on my chest, pressing down, down, down. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. I need to relax if I’m ever going to pull this thing off.
Jason lifts his glass to me.
“Here’s to the prettiest girl in school,” he says.
My heart, already jiggling from anxiety, does large flip-flops. I smile and raise my glass. “Here’s to you, too.”
We clink glasses, and I take a sip. The champagne is fizzy as soda and better-tasting than beer. It instantly warms me up. Either that or it’s Jason’s proximity.
I study his profile. With his chiseled face and champagne glass, he looks like James Bond. He’s so handsome, but now that I know his personality, all I see is kindness. I wish I could just enjoy this moment, but instead my mind roves over the possibilities of what could happen tonight.
What if my plan with Kirby fails? W
hat if I’m ostracized at the dance because I’m known as the school slut? What if Darcy tries to beat me up? Or what about Damen Ratliff with his plate-sized belt buckle and ten-gallon hat? I know his secret, after all. He would hit a girl, I’m sure of it. But worst of all, what if Jason gets upset when he sees me kiss Kirby—even though he assures me he won’t—and I lose him . . . again?
I lean back against the leather seat, trying to relax, but can’t shake my unease. I wish Jason and I were an ordinary couple, going to the homecoming dance in a normal way. But I’m not ordinary anymore, and this is no longer an ordinary relationship. This is my new reality, like it or not.
“What are you thinking?” asks Jason. “You’re doing the Mona Lisa thing again.”
“Oh, just wondering if we should be doing this, drinking alcohol in the car,” I lie. “What if a cop comes?”
“Sometimes we need to take chances in life. We’ve got a difficult night ahead of us, not exactly the homecoming dance experience I’d hoped to have with you. So let’s enjoy our time together before we go in. Just promise me I’ll get at least one dance with you tonight.”
I’m glad to hear he also wishes we could have a normal dance experience. It makes me feel less alone.
“Absolutely,” I say. “A nice, long, slow one.”
We toast again, and I take another sip. The bubbles tickle my nose. I’m starting to get buzzed. Even though I’ve only had half a glass, my stomach is queasy. Nerves.
I hand the glass to Jason. “I’d better not have any more. I need to keep my wits about me.”
He nods and tosses my champagne out the window, then puts both empty glasses in the bucket. He looks pensive. Champagne is for another night. Not tonight, with so much on our minds and ahead of us.
“Do you know who Kirby’s date is?” I ask.
“I assume it’s Darcy, right? Aren’t they seeing each other?”
“Yeah, off and on. I hope it’s not her. She’s already threatened me.” I rub my forehead. “It seems now I’ve got a pretty bad reputation at school.” The thought of going to the dance and seeing myself through everyone’s eyes, as the school’s kissing slut, makes me feel ill.
“What do you mean, Darcy threatened you?” asks Jason.
“She told Miranda she wanted to kick my ass.”
“I’ll take care of her.”
I stare. “How?”
“She’s got a thing for me. Everyone’s been telling me. I’ll seduce her while you’re executing your plan with Kirby.”
“What?” I say, my voice rising. “Seduce her?”
“Well, not literally,” he says, laughing. “But I’ll distract her.”
I look away. I guess it’s only fair, but the thought of Jason flirting with Darcy gives me a stomachache. On top of it all, I have to go pee. Bad.
“There’s something else you need to know about me,” I say.
“What?” He looks alarmed. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. Another secret?
“I have a small bladder,” I say.
He throws his head back and laughs. “I can live with that.”
“You say that now,” I say, trying to lighten the moment and push away the sense of doom in my heart. “But just wait. Any time I drink even a drop, I have to go pee. It’s the curse of my family. My mom’s the same way.”
“Are you saying you have to go now?”
“Unfortunately.”
Jason looks around the parking lot. “If you can’t wait until we get inside, there are some bushes over there.” He winks.
“I am not hiking up this fancy dress and roughing it behind a bush!”
Jason laughs. “I’m kidding. Let’s head inside.”
I pull down the sunshade mirror and apply more gloss, stalling for time despite my aching bladder. I snap my handbag shut, close my eyes for a moment to gather my courage, then open the door.
Around us, the parking spaces are now filled with cars. People are getting ready for the dance, girls touching up their make-up and guys surreptitiously passing around bottles of liquor. Marijuana smoke sifts through cracked windows, and music thumps from woofers. The atmosphere is charged with excitement.
A large, white truck races across the parking lot. It looks like Kirby Cahill’s vehicle, lifted high on huge chrome wheels with tinted windows and bright roof lights. It’s blasting hard-core rap music that can be heard all the way down to us. It circles through the lot, kicking up dust, then jolts to a stop near the front of the building, parking at an angle and taking up two handicap spaces.
Sure enough, Kirby gets out wearing a sports coat and scarf, strutting like a peacock (emphasis on cock, Miranda would say). He stops to preen in the reflection of the window. Only Kirby Cahill would wear a sports coat to homecoming when all the other guys are wearing dress shirts. What a joke.
Jason comes to my side. “Looks like our test subject has arrived.”
Kirby saunters around to the passenger side of the truck and helps Darcy out. She’s wearing a fluffy white dress, boobs perched high on her chest. Her hair is styled into an elaborate up-do, clearly sprayed stiff by the way it sits, unmoving, like a fruit basket perched on top of her head. She looks like the Good Witch of the West. Or, based on her personality, the Wicked Witch of the East.
Jason snorts. “What’s that chick wearing? She looks like a marshmallow.”
“How else would you dress if you were dating the biggest ego in school? Wouldn’t you want to stand out, to have some glory too?” Although I’m trying to be light, my tone sounds forced.
“She needs a mirror,” Jason says. “Big time.”
“So she can ask who’s the fairest one of all?”
“I’m having second thoughts about trying to distract her. She is the distraction.”
We riff off each other a bit as we head toward the auditorium, giving Kirby and Darcy plenty of space to go in ahead of us. People are arriving in large numbers now. Everyone is dressed in their best, girls in flowing or clingy dresses in a multitude of colors, guys dressed mostly alike except for a bright embellishment here or there, such as flashy suspenders or a side-cocked hat.
Hordes of people greet Kirby and Darcy as they enter the building. The whole school is in their pocket, I think with a sinking stomach. My body is trembling. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Jason, sensing my distress, stops and takes my cold hand. He kisses it, gazing at me with his long-lashed brown eyes. He looks as apprehensive as I feel.
“Is the killer in there?” I whisper. He doesn’t answer, pulling me close. I hold on to him, not wanting to let him go.
Couples pass by us, and light shines brightly through the auditorium doors, oblong rays of gold against black. People are milling about inside. The band covers a pop song and music blares through loud speakers, echoing throughout the auditorium and out to us. Groups gather out front, and laughter wafts over.
Jason squeezes my hand. “Ready?”
I hesitate. Even though my bladder is begging me to hurry, I don’t want to go in there. Not just yet, when I have Jason here with me and the night is still simple and uncomplicated. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” I force myself to say.
“Remember, things might change and don’t be afraid to improvise. I’ll have your back.”
“Miranda is ready too,” I remind him. She’s the only other person who knows our strategy.
“Listen, no matter what happens tonight, remember this . . . ” He leans over and kisses me.
I’m yours.
I run my fingers through his thick hair, gazing into his eyes. “I feel the same about you.”
I wait a moment longer, leaning into him, gathering energy to go.
Then it’s time. At the door, I meet Jason’s eyes and take a deep breath.
“Here we go.”
20
When I step into the auditorium, Miranda squeals and runs over, dragging Victor behind her. She is wearing a straight loose shift dress that obscures her belly. She’s got a f
eather in her hair and looks like a flapper. The look suits her. Victor is all dimples, giving me a hug like a long-lost brother. He and Jason make small talk while Miranda takes me aside.
“Kirby’s here,” she whispers. “And Darcy is throwing daggers at anyone who dares to say hi to him. She’s in rare form tonight.”
“Great.” I exhale. “She’s going to flip when I kiss her boyfriend.”
“I’ll watch out for you, don’t worry. I practiced some karate moves last night.”
I roll my eyes. “Miranda, you’re pregnant. You can’t be getting in fights. No, it should go all right. Jason is going to distract Darcy so I can get to Kirby.”
“Kirby’s over by the soda table, hanging with his buddies. You should go strut by and flirt with him, just to get him primed. You look hot tonight. Way better than Darcy. She looks like she just fell off the turnip truck.”
I laugh. “Turnip truck? That would mean she’s a country bumpkin.”
Darcy is standing by the dance floor with a group of her giggly cheerleader friends, gesticulating about something. She’s wearing too much fabric. It dwarfs her and makes her look like a lacy cow with a little over-sprayed blonde head sticking out the top.
“Who else would wear a dress like that and think it looks good?” asks Miranda. “She thinks she’s princess of the county fair or something.”
“Stop,” I say, giggling. “Don’t get started.”
My bladder is killing me, so I drag Miranda to the bathroom. On the way, I decide to take her advice and present myself to Kirby. I strut by him with my chest pushed out, feeling like a fool. I toss my hair and stare at him, with what I hope are smoldering eyes.
He notices. He stops talking to his friends and looks me up and down appraisingly.
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