Shuffle: A Novel Part 20

She hung up. I got another bowl of cereal and did the Stevens Peak Journal Sat.u.r.day crossword. Don't be impressed a one of the clues was a six-letter word for "orange vegetable that rhymes with parrot." The New York Times it ain't. I finished in about ten minutes and went upstairs to wash my hair.

While I was in the shower, I heard the phone ring. Thinking it was Callie, I jumped out of the shower all sudsy, whipped a towel around myself and dashed down the staircase, trying not to slip on the wood. I picked up the phone, pink and out of breath.

"Should I go for the...?"

"Yes."

"Even though...?"

"It's not, I promise."

"Maybe..."

"The satin will wrinkle and you will literally die of embarra.s.sment."

"But..."

"Just remember to squeeze your legs together whenever you sit down."

Britta sighed. "Okay."

I put down the phone, rolling my eyes. Just then there was a knock at the door.

d.a.m.n. Still naked.

Ah well, probably just a package. I wrapped the big, fluffy towel more securely around my body, still wreathed in tendrils of steam from the bathroom, and went to the door. I opened it a smidge, just enough to poke my wet head out.

"Evangeline."

Arbor Vitae Damo da Rosa. Of course.

When he saw how I was dressed a or rather, how I was undressed a he breathed in slowly, looking up and down for a moment before his veneer of implacability returned.

"Arbor, what are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to..."

"I have no interest whatsoever in your bedroom," he said. "That's not true," he immediately added. "But what I want to, um... What I mean is that you shouldn't feel unsafe. I won't come in."

I sighed, and opened the door wider. "What do you want?"

"Don't go to the dance."

I laughed. "What, are you jealous? It's not like I have another date. Unless you count Ellen."

"Please," he said. There was a new note in his voice, one I'd never heard before. If I didn't know better, I'd say that Arbor sounded desperate. I stopped smiling; my face clouded over as I saw that he was serious.

"Why?" I asked.

"There's something on the horizon. Dark. Like a plague of locusts." He seemed look through me to some near future that suffused his face with pain.

"How... biblical."

"If you go to the dance," he said, "I don't think I can protect you. Someone will be there."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "Someone who wants only to hurt other people."

I shrugged. "I already knew Amanda was going. She's up for Homecoming Queen, remember?"

Arbor shook his head again, more forcefully this time. "Someone worse. That's all I can say. So please, if you care about me at all... Don't go."

Then he turned around and marched down the driveway to his car. He swung himself in and gunned it, backing out into the street with a squeal of his tires.

I shook my head and watched him go.

Screw Arbor. I was obviously going to the dance. What made him think that he and he alone was the person I was relying on to guarantee my safety? There would be chaperones at the dance, and the school's security guard. Plus all those people... Friends. Acquaintances. High school students. Come on! I mean, I'd feel more unsafe just sitting at home alone.

I closed the door and padded back into the living room, leaving wet footprints behind. The phone was ringing again. Le sigh.

Ellen picked me up at eight on the dot. The sky was a bruised, b.l.o.o.d.y sunset. I'd managed to wrangle my hair into soft curls somehow, and my eye makeup was cooperating. I wasn't wearing anything special a just some random green thing from the back of my closet. Ellen, however, was rocking a tight bandeau dress that I'd never seen before. She looked hot.

"Sick! Where are you getting this stuff?" I asked, mouth falling open as she stepped out of her car.

"My cousin let me borrow it."

Callie had just pulled up in the black and white about ten minutes before. She came out of the house now with her camera and a couple of embarra.s.sing-looking corsages in dewy plastic that she'd picked up from the grocery store.

"Put them on," she warned. "I never went to a high school dance, as you remember, Evi." She also never wore a dress. Like, ever. She's literally never worn a dress in her entire life. "... So I want to get plenty of pictures of you two."

We posed dutifully, giving each other bunny ears and making disgusting faces into the camera. I threw some devil horns and stuck my tongue out like Gene Simmons from KISS.

Callie made a frustrated noise with her throat. "One nice one? Please?"

We finally got going at around eight-fifteen. Callie made me take out my phone and show her that it was fully charged.

"If, for any reason, you two need a ride," she said, "just call me. No judgment."

"Yup."

"Okay, I love you both." She gave me a hug and a kiss, and I climbed up into the pa.s.senger seat.

Ellen unstrapped her high heels so that she could drive more safely. I waved out the window at Callie, who was already looking through the pictures on the camera and shaking her head. We were on our way.

I slid the itchy corsage off my wrist and tossed it in the backseat. "Time to party!"

Ellen laughed. "Oh boy... You don't even know what you're in for."

"What?"

She smiled mischievously. "Ignorance is bliss."

"Um, I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"I hate you more."

I seriously love Ellen so much.

Dusk gathered, and sharp slivers of sun faded from the horizon. We pulled into the student lot, pa.s.sing groups of made up girls lurching unsteadily in their heels, and disembarked into the chilly air. The night was laced with perfume and m.u.f.fled ba.s.s, not to mention the scattered hopes and romantic daydreams of half the student body.

We hurried toward the open fieldhouse doors. Music and strobing light poured out, splashing over the worn blacktop. A hip-hop song was playing, one I didn't recognize. We ducked our heads into the noise and the mess. Crepe paper decorations and cutouts covered the walls, obscuring the trophy cases and the pennants. A crowd of students was writhing in front of the DJ while chaperones and teachers stood around awkwardly sipping punch; plastic-covered tables were set up around the edges of the room. I saw Ms. Martz stalking the perimeter. She seemed deeply disturbed by all the cosmetic changes that had been forced upon her beloved fieldhouse. And there was Quentin, bouncing to the beat and smiling beatifically, as usual.

"Here we are," I said, dubiously.

"And yet, I don't feel the magic."

"Maybe it's because all the swear words are bleeped out."

"Clearly, that's it."

We wandered around the edges of the action, trying to find Shelby. Vi and Luke were already here. They'd come with a larger group that included Jim and Amanda (back on, apparently, but looking even more uncomfortable together than the parent chaperones) and Britta and Casey. All of them were dancing up at the front of the stage, right below the DJ. Looked like Britta'd decided on the red dress. I smiled to myself a it was obviously the one she'd wanted to wear from the beginning; she just needed to call me eighty times as a sort of penance, since it was so d.a.m.n short. You don't need my permission, girl. Wear that thing!

"There." Ellen smacked my arm and pointed across the way. Shelby was standing in line for the bathroom, hastily trying to slip her heels back on before having to walk on the germy, fluorescent-lit tile. We joined her.

"You just got here," she snapped. "You have to pee already?"

"Have you seen Arbor yet?" I asked. "I'm afraid that Jim is going to punch him or something."

Shelby sighed. "Yeah, there's been talk that s.h.i.t might go down." She shrugged. "Just rumors, though."

"He was definitely worried earlier today."

"Ka-what? When did you see him?"

Efffff. First those stupid shoes, and now... I hadn't meant to say anything about Arbor showing up at my house. Apparently I have discovered a special new flaw about myself. A certain tendency to spill the beans. Let the cat out of the bag. Anyway, I told them everything, only paraphrasing Arbor's weird way of talking so that our conversation sounded more normal.

"Like, he just warned you not to come? That's so bizarre."

"Yup."

We all kind of slumped against the wall, wondering what it could mean as the music blasted us and the air grew heavy and warm. Shelby dragged herself up to go claim her stall, and for a moment the beat stopped.

People were turning their heads. They were staring. I inched my shoulders up, stretching myself to my full, average height. The crowd was too thick to see anything.

"Come on," I said, grabbing Ellen's hand. "There's only one thing that could a "

"Yeah," she answered. "It's either Arbor or Princ.i.p.al Davis in lipstick and a wig."

"Princ.i.p.al Mavis," I mused.

It was Arbor. He was wearing a fitted blazer over a black and white-striped shirt and leather pants with heavy boots. On his head was a top hat, and he had black liner around his unsettling eyes. There was a red carnation in his b.u.t.tonhole. He escorted George (looking hot in a rented tuxedo) onto the dance floor as a slow song started up. Everyone just stared at them as they began to dance. They weren't all over each other, of course. There was nothing to see. They were just swaying to the music and, in George's case at least, trying not to throw up.

"Have this dance?" I extended my arm to Ellen.

"Boris, I thought you'd never ask."

I led us out there and we joined them, dipping, twirling, switching off the lead every three seconds and generally looking like a couple of crazed circus clowns with Lyme disease. Which is to say, we took a little pressure off George.

Arbor, obviously, was cool as a cuc.u.mber. (Why is that a phrase? I've always thought that the coolest vegetable was the radish. Get it? Rad-ish. Ha. Oh dear.) When he saw me, he didn't bat a lined eye. He simply maneuvered George over and said, "So you showed up."

"Yes I did. Your observation is correct."

"And? Having fun?"

"I am very clearly having tons of fun."

"You look good, by the way."

I felt that stupid flutter in my chest again. "Thanks," I said.

He nodded, and we spun off in different directions. I saw Britta and Casey out of the corner of my eye. And a few other couples. Operation Dancing With Your Friend Just Really Isn't A Big Deal, People had succeeded. Ellen and I finished out the song. The night seemed to be back on track now, with just a few couples refusing to join in. Jim and Amanda were among them. But George didn't seem to notice a he was looking much more relaxed, thanks to Arbor's support. They were making quite the splash.

Shelby reappeared from the bathroom, asking what she'd missed.

"Britta's wearing Casey like a coat of paint and grinning at us every three seconds," Ellen said. "Vi and Luke are about to make out."

I shrugged. "So nothing much."

"Sweet," said Shelby. "Let's go get some punch."

We did. The punchbowl was being policed by Princ.i.p.al Davis himself, because apparently every high school dance is a teen movie from the sixties where some greaser spikes the drinks and all the students go WILD. At least the cookies were good. We managed to sneak a whole plate of them to a table we'd staked out near the back of the fieldhouse.

"Okay," mumbled Shelby, her mouth full of crumbs and frosting. "Time to play a game. Would you rather... have s.e.x with... Princ.i.p.al Davis or Ms. Martz GO!"

"Ewwww," Ellen and I both whined, simultaneously.

"You answer first," I said.

"Fine." Shelby straightened her shoulders. "I've always though Reg was kind of a hottie. You know. Especially when he wears that PHS track suit of his. When he walks, you can hear his legs go swish, swish, swish..."

"Gross! I need to go scrub my brain like, immediately."

Instead I tossed my cookie at her, smearing the front of her dress with blue frosting. Shelby laughed and called me an a.s.shole. Then some sh.e.l.l-shocked parent crawled out of the woodwork to warn me against "using violence" to solve my problems. She also admonished Shelby for her "language choices." The woman's blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her thin arms looked like tiny bundles of sinew. Pilates cla.s.s, probably. At the expensive country club.

"Settle down, girls," she said, in a severe, overstrained voice. "Let's display some of our decorum. Like ladies." So random!