Bewitching (22 page)

But that was stupid. People went to parties, and they (mostly) didn’t die.

I told Kendra this. She looked doubtful.

“Have you ever read ‘The Masque of the Red Death’?” she asked.

“Edgar Allan Poe, where the guy has a party and someone shows up with the plague or something?” I noticed Kendra visibly shuddered when I said the word
plague
. “What about it?”

“Based on a true story. People don’t know that, but it’s true. Poe said so himself. Parties can kill. Do you know where Marie Antoinette met Louis XVI? A party. It cost her her life.”

“Wait. Are you sure? I thought they were married by proxy. That’s what it said in our world history book.”

“Yeah, but when she finally got there, you can be sure they had a party. The French royal family were huge partiers, I know. Same with Ann Boleyn. She met Henry VIII at a party. Next thing you know…” She drew her finger across her throat.
“Kkkkkkk.”

“I know that’s not true. I read a book that said—”

“Historical fiction? There’s a reason they call it fiction—though the history books are sometimes even worse. Trust me, bad things have happened to people at parties. It’s a good way to lose your head.”

“Yeah, they don’t behead people in Miami.” Kendra’s versions of history were often, um, unique. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t go out with Warner?”

She seemed to remember that this was a bad idea. “We must not let fear stand in the way of true love.”

“Right.”

“Just watch your neck.”

Subject-change time. “So, what should I wear then?”

Look who I was asking
.

“Wear something that looks like you. That’s what he likes, right?”

But I had no idea what that was. In the end, I wore a sundress, remembering that he’d liked me in that at the hoedown.

We pulled through the wrought-iron gates of a house on Old Cutler Road. I breathed in, savoring the air inside his car, Warner’s car. He’d picked me up at exactly seven, and I’d flattered myself that he was as excited about our date as I was. I’d been ready at six-thirty, but I hadn’t let myself sit by the door.

“Here we are.” Warner looked at me in the reflected light from the big house. “You look so pretty.”

I felt myself blush. “Thanks. You too. I mean, not pretty, but … wow, this is some house.” Through the car’s window, I could hear shrieks of partygoers and the ocean roaring in the background. “And on the water too.”

“Brendan’s dad does … well. We went to a Christmas party here once, and they had women doing water ballet for the entertainment.” He took his key from the ignition, and as he did, his arm brushed mine. I felt myself shiver.

“Wow,” I said.

I heard a scream coming from above. I looked up to see a figure on the roof, a girl in a skimpy bikini. “Here goes!” she yelled before plunging forward.

She actually was jumping off the roof.

“I hope the pool’s down there,” Warner said.

“No one’s screaming like they saw a dead body.”

“They could be too drunk to notice.” He led me up the path to the open double doors. “I thought we were early.”

Inside was worse than the high school movies I’d seen. It was more like the college movies, the ones where people go on spring break. If the Red Death had been here, they’d never have noticed him through the haze of pot smoke. I had on twice as much clothing as any other girl. They mostly wore butt shorts and camisoles. Many wore less.

This was so not the type of party I went to. If this was the kind of friends Warner had, or wanted, he’d never be into me. On the sofa, a blonde reached her hand down her date’s pants. I tried not to stare, tried not to cling to Warner’s hand like a scared three-year-old either. I wished I was home, reading
Sense and Sensibility
, or my namesake novel,
Emma
.

“Warner, my man!” Brendan, his Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned and breath smelling of beer, greeted us. “You made it.”

“Yeah, when did this party start?” Warner voiced my own question.

Brendan glanced at his wrist, saw that he didn’t have on a watch, and shrugged. “Yesterday, I think. That’s when my parents left.” He noticed me. “Hey, you brought your mom.”

Warner frowned. “Funny, Bren. This is Emma. Emma, Brendan.”

Brendan had gone back to studying his wrist. He looked back at Warner. “Dude, there’s someone who’s been waiting to meet you.” Finally he spoke to me, but only to say, “Can you excuse us a sec?”

Warner said, “I don’t think—”

“It’s fine.” What else could I say? Brendan was already pulling him out onto the patio.

I walked into the kitchen. Wall to wall people. A couple was making out on the table. I turned to leave.

“Want some punch?” A guy handed me a cup.

I took it. As I did, I got a better look at the girl on the table. Lisette. Yes, this was her type of party. I took one sip of the punch, even though I knew it was probably spiked. It tasted like cough syrup. Maybe it was cough syrup. I shoved through the crowd to the patio and almost got hit by another roof jumper. I escaped, but my dress was swamped by the splash from the pool.

This was all wrong. This was wrong, and I was stupid. I’d put all these hopes onto Warner, and not just for the past few days, but longer, if I was willing to admit it to myself. I’d had this fantasy about this guy who liked me, even though I wasn’t that pretty, who somehow didn’t think I was all wrong because I liked reading and didn’t wear a negative jeans size. Obviously, I was delusional. I stared down at my soaked, ruined dress and felt about to cry. I had to leave. I couldn’t find Warner, but I really didn’t want to. I’d have to call Mother, get her to pick me up, admit that the night, my first real date, was an epic fail. And I’d have to deal with her disappointment on top of my own. I started back toward the house.

Then suddenly the patio went silent and everything seemed to freeze. Was I hallucinating? Was there acid in that one sip of punch I’d taken? I dumped it out. I surveyed the crowd. They looked turned to stone—Aéropostale-clad versions of the White Witch’s victims in Chronicles of Narnia.

Then, a black-clothed figure emerged from the crowd. The first thing I noticed was, she was dressed even wronger than I was, in a black lace dress, purple flowers in her hair. The second thing I noticed was, it was Kendra. Kendra? What was she doing here? She glided through the frozen mob. How did she do that?

“Lose your head yet?” She smiled.

I must be drunk. Yet, other than the small fact that the patio looked like a digital sports photograph, complete with the hanging feet of another roof jumper, I felt fine. What was happening?

“I need to go.” I started toward the house again.

“Not that way.” Kendra blocked my path. “Go out through the back. The police will be here in a minute.”

“How do you know?”

“I know things.” She took my arm and led me through the motionless crowd to the coral rock steps that led down to the ocean. It was too dark to see, but her hand steadied me. “Cut through the yard next door, and you’ll be in a park, the one by the library. Call your mom from there. I’ll tell Warner.”

“I don’t care about Warner.”

“Of course you do.”

She was right. I was still hoping the date could be salvaged somehow, but it couldn’t.

I looked around. “How is this possible?”

She shrugged. “Lots of things are possible, Emma. We must talk sometime. But now, just go.”

She led me to the bottom of the stairs, then released me, pointing down and to the left. “That way.”

I obeyed. In the silence, the ocean’s roar was louder, harder. The wind whipped my face, and I realized my dress was now completely dry. My high-heeled sandals sunk into the sand. I removed them. I heard a splash in the pool. The jumper. The music started back up, though it was different, something from the Black Crowes’
Croweology
album. Then other noise from the house, and suddenly the wail of sirens. Kendra had been right! I ran in the direction she’d pointed.

Her voice followed me. “Warner likes you too!”

4

I ran until my calves hurt and I wanted to fall down on the damp sand. Suddenly someone else was on the beach. I heard my name.

“Emma! Emma, wait!”

Warner. In spite of myself, I felt a surge of relief, and hope. Still, I said, “I’m leaving. The cops are here. I’m just not cool enough for this party. I’m calling my mother and going home.”

“I know. I don’t blame you. I’m sorry. You have to believe me, I … can I at least walk with you? Please, Emma.”

“I can’t stop you.”

“I’ll leave you alone if you want, but I’m really sorry.” A siren squealed.

“Do whatever you want. Just be quiet, okay?” I knew I was full of it. I still liked him. You didn’t stop liking someone you’d fantasized about for two years. Up on shore, I could see the red and blue lights above the house. The sirens were loud now, and people were screaming, scattering. Thanks to Kendra, we had a good head start. Kendra. I still couldn’t wrap my head around what I’d seen back there. It was so weird. It must have been that punch.

I stumbled across the crunchy sand, Warner following. When we reached the fence of the next property, I started to try and climb over it. Warner stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Wait! There’s a broken piece farther down. I remember from when we were kids.”

I followed him. The bougainvillea hedge scraped my bare arms. Warner must have noticed because he stripped off his jacket and held it up to me. “Take it. Please.”

“This doesn’t make me not mad,” I said, taking it, even though it sort of did.

“Understood.”

His hands felt warm and competent as he helped me on with the jacket, just like Daddy had when I was little. The fabric felt old and soft, like it had been washed a hundred times. It smelled like Warner. Warner and bleach. We felt along the fence until we found a broken spot, squeezed through, then ran through that yard to the park on the other side. Warner held my hand. I felt a shiver at having him close, having him hold me in the salty night air. It was so exactly how I’d wanted the evening to end.

And so exactly not.

Once we cleared the second fence, we stopped. I couldn’t hear the party or the sirens anymore, only the ocean and Warner’s breathing, heavy from running.

“They won’t follow us this far,” he said. “If you want, we could hang out until the cops leave, then I’ll drive you home.”

“You ditched me.” It was appealing, though, not to call my mother.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. Brendan and I were best friends growing up.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence in you.”

“I know. He was nicer then. I was shy. Maybe his mom made him be nice to me. Anyway, I guess I thought that connection was worth something, even though he’s turned into a complete jerk. I just didn’t want to admit we weren’t still friends.”

I nodded, remembering how I’d clung to Courtney and even Lisette. “I understand.”

“And I guess…”

“What?” I turned toward him. In the moon’s light, I could see his face clearly. His eyelashes were white, which made his eyes look even bluer, bluer than the stars.

“I guess I wanted to impress you too, the big house, my popular friend.”

“Wow. That really backfired.” But it was sweet.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here. This party isn’t who I am.”

I looked around at the black sky, the deserted park overhung by shadowy palms. The surf pounded against the seawall. I said, “This is nicer, actually.”

So much nicer. Here, alone with Warner, I felt safe. No one was watching me. No one judging. The night air enveloped me like a blanket.

“We could still do something,” he said. “I could buy you ice cream.”

“Next time.” I realized I was admitting there would be a next time. I thought of Lisette, at the party with the cops coming. Would she get arrested? Would she be okay? Why did I even care? Lisette certainly wouldn’t have cared, if it was me. Besides, nothing bad ever happened to Lisette. The girl led a charmed life. She’d get out of the party, no problem.

I got a jagged rock stuck in my shoe, and I leaned down to pick it up. Then I walked toward the water.

“What are you doing?” Warner said.

“The stars are so pretty. And the water. If you hadn’t brought me to that lame party, we wouldn’t be here, looking at it.”

“That’s true.” He followed me. The air was silent except for the sound of wind in the palmettos and our feet crunching against the coral rock. Warner’s hand brushed mine as we walked. I was still clutching the rock. We reached the seawall, and I raised my hand to hurl it into the water. Warner grabbed my elbow.

“Wait!”

I stopped, surprised. A chill ran up my arm where he’d touched me. “What?”

He pointed out at the still, dark water. “See that?”

At first I didn’t see anything. Then I noticed the dark blob in the water. “A manatee. Cool.” I dropped the rock and stepped closer.

“Did you know that in West African folklore, manatees are considered sacred?” When I shook my head, Warner said, “It’s true. And in days of old, sailors used to mistake them for mermaids.”