Envy (Fury) (11 page)

“To the car?” Skylar looked confused, and Em had to let out a little snicker. Clearly, she hadn’t been enrolled long enough in the School of Gabby’s Whims.

“Yeah, just to the end of the driveway! It’ll be a fun little adventure.” The Doves had a very long driveway. Their big house sat on top of a small hill.

The three of them set out into the freezing rain, squished together underneath the umbrella, with Gabby and Skylar giggling about wearing flip-flops in the icy rain and Em feigning the same carefree joy. She shrieked when Gabby threatened to push her out from under their protective hood, and she told the girls she couldn’t wait to pour herself a teensy glass of Bailey’s from her mother’s stash when she got home. But really, all she was thinking about was the story Skylar had told about the three women who’d died in the woods.

As they neared the end of Gabby’s epic driveway and came within sight of the car, Gabby elbowed Em. “Hey, babe? Why is there writing on your car?” She pointed.

Em squinted into the darkness. Sure enough, all the windows of the Honda were completely fogged up, and on the rear windshield, in finger-scrawl, someone had written:
Who’s the fairest of them all?

She stopped short and stared. Her throat went dry.

The words had not been there when she’d driven over. She was sure of it.

But she couldn’t let Gabby and Skylar see her freaking out.

“Oh, that? Probably Drea’s idea of a joke,” she said with a lame laugh.

“I didn’t know Drea Feiffer was so into Cinderella,” Gabby said dryly.

“That’s actually Snow White,” Skylar interjected. “That’s what the evil stepmother asks her mirror every night because she’s jealous of Snow White’s beauty.” Then Skylar broke off, clearly embarrassed by her knowledge of childhood fairy tales.

Who’s the fairest of them all? . . .
The words reminded Em of something, and she hated that she couldn’t think of what.

“I gotta go,” she said, grabbing Gabby for a quick hug.
“À bientôt, escargot,”
she whispered—their special way of saying good-bye—before slipping out of the jacket and handing it back to Gabby. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Em, keep it,” Gabby pleaded. But Em was already in the car.

•  •  •

The rain dissipated on her ride home, leaving misty pockets where her headlights shone. She had wiped off the inside of her windshield, practically frantic, but still she thought she could make out the ghostly silhouettes of the letters there:
Who’s the fairest of them all?

She couldn’t wait to be back at her house, out of this car, in her own bed. She didn’t even want to turn on the radio; she was too jumpy. She tapped the steering wheel and bit her lip.

Her eyes flicked to her rearview mirror for a second. A face was smiling back at her.

Em screamed, nearly skidding off the road.

It was Ali’s face. Ali with the white-blond hair, Ali with the bloodred lips. Ali who’d given her her first orchid.

Em hit the brakes, swinging her head around. Nothing. Her heart pounded heavily. Nothing but a few textbooks, an ice scraper, and a knit hat. No Ali.

She was shaking. She threw the car into park and swung open her door, getting out and into the backseat to wipe away, with ferocity, the words in the window. She banged her fist against the seat. Her cold fingers stung.

Back in the front seat, still not moving, the minutes on the car’s digital clock getting ever closer to ten o’clock, she let her head fall back against the headrest. What did they want? What did it mean, to be bound to them? She knew it was worth it, to save JD’s life. To save the life of the one she loved. But what had she actually agreed to? Had she agreed to be driven insane?

She couldn’t stop the tears from coming. She swiped an arm across her face. “Quit it, Em. Shut up,” she muttered. With eyes cloudy from crying, she looked into the rearview mirror and saw herself—paler than she’d ever been, with the circles
under her eyes only adding to her ghostly appearance.

What the hell is happening to me?

She slammed her palm against the steering wheel and shoved her way out of the car. “I know you’re out there somewhere!” she shouted. But there was no response, no movement. She spun around in the middle of the road, the wind blowing through her wild dark hair, her skin feeling like it was on fire. “If you have something to say to me, say it!” she screamed. Again, no response, just the sleet hammering against her face.

“Fine, then,” she intoned, getting back into her car and slamming the door. She was starting to feel like this was war. She was up for the battle. The Furies were not going to fuck with her head anymore.

Skylar’s second week at school flew by, filled with party prep and obsessing over her new crush. She was splitting her free time mostly between Meg and Gabby, and Aunt Nora was thrilled that Skylar was adjusting so seamlessly. “You’ll have to bring your friends over so I can meet them,” she said, bustling about in the kitchen one morning. Skylar nodded and looked down at her cereal. She’d been trying to avoid that, actually—she didn’t want to risk bursting the lie bubble that she’d created about her former life. It would be just like Nora to overshare and somehow let the ugly facts slip.

Skylar wasn’t lying only to her new friends; she was spreading her deceptions. She’d told her aunt that she was going to a party at Gabby’s tonight (conveniently not mentioning the coed
pajama part), but she hadn’t divulged that
she
was throwing a party the following weekend in the Haunted Woods.

Skylar was excited for Gabby’s party, but she was more psyched for her own. Everyone was coming. Skylar knew that people loved any excuse to drink, but she liked thinking that all those kids were coming to the party for
her
. According to Gabby’s mom, it was even supposed to be unseasonably warm.

It was like the fates were smiling down on her. She’d been distributing invitations all week; they were printed on pink paper with an old-fashioned typeface that lent an antique edge to the lacy pastel.

In keeping with the old-fashioned theme, they were going to serve spiked cider and mulled wine out of kegs and oversized pots at the party—Skylar had already arranged for all of it to be delivered next Friday afternoon. (Meg was instrumental in this part of the process too—she had a fake ID.) Skylar felt a little bit guilty about the booze; it had been way expensive.

“Let’s just get a few bottles of wine,” she’d said to Meg early in the week, knowing she couldn’t afford much more than that. “And maybe people will BYOB.”

Meg had looked at her like she’d suggested serving cod-liver oil. “A few bottles of wine? For a party you want the whole school to know about? Sweetheart, you need to go all out.”

“But . . . how am I going to pay for it?” Skylar fretted.

Meg had looked around Skylar’s room, taking in the Victorian
moldings and Aunt Nora’s antique mirror that leaned against the wall. “You can find a way. You’ll have to! Couldn’t you ask your aunt for some extra cash?”

Skylar knew she couldn’t ask Aunt Nora for money without telling her what it was for. So she’d come up with another plan. On Wednesday afternoon, her heart hammering with guilt, Skylar had crept into her aunt’s bedroom and grabbed a few necklaces. Then she’d had Meg bring her to a dingy store on Route 1, where she’d pawned them for a couple hundred bucks. Skylar was betting on the hope that Nora wouldn’t even notice. She had tons of jewelry! The earnings made up the difference in the alcohol bill, thank god. Still, as they drove away from the pawnshop, Skylar felt sick to her stomach. “Maybe we should go back . . . ,” she’d started to say.

“Guilt is a pointless emotion,” Meg had cut in with a soft smile. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. You just did what you had to do.” She’d looked at Skylar sideways. “Right?”

“Yeah, totally,” Skylar had said, trying to believe the words. This party next week was so important for her. She
had
to give it her all.

More importantly, she would figure out some way to make it up to her aunt, or find a way to buy the necklaces back next month. Maybe Meg would get her a job at the ice cream shop after school. But she couldn’t focus on that now. She had other things to worry about.

Like the pajama party. It was Saturday afternoon, and Gabby’s Popcorn & PJ’s party was starting in a few hours. Gabby claimed that it was going to be low-key and exclusive, just a chance for her and her friends to recharge after what had been a really hard winter in Ascension.
Two
suicides, not even a month apart.

Gabby’s way of lifting people’s spirits was to remind them that life was fun and worth living, and what better way to do that than with a cozy get-together? It was amazing, Skylar thought, the way people responded to Gabby’s vibrancy.

Not only would tonight be a chance to observe the way Gabby played hostess, but Pierce would be there! Gabby had been so great about hounding him to make sure he was coming. And she’d been telling Skylar all about him, so that Skylar could dazzle him when they talked. Pierce was something of a football prodigy, with an arm that had astounded coaches since he was a kid. With Chase dead and Zach—Gabby’s ex, about whom she’d said practically nothing—at boarding school, the Ascension football team was depending on Pierce to carry them through next season.

“I know nothing about football,” Skylar had complained to Gabby earlier this week. “He’s going to hate me.”

“That’s the whole point, silly,” Gabby had replied. “Ask him about it! It’s what he loves talking about! Besides, boys like when they get a chance to explain things.” Gabby grinned, rolling her eyes.

Skylar had become slightly obsessed with the idea of Pierce asking her to the Spring Fling. He’d been talking to her a little bit more—asking her questions about the math homework, and dance committee, and Gabby (her pajama party, whether she was stressed out planning so many social events)—and Skylar was the tiniest bit hopeful that he was interested in her, too.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Gabby was always saying. “Just be yourself, be open to it, and it’ll happen if it’s meant to be.”

Skylar couldn’t help but think,
That’s easy for you to say.
And then she shook her head and reminded herself,
It’ll be easy for me, too. Soon.

Ascension had a tradition of naming a King and Queen of Spring at the dance. Unlike prom and homecoming courts, this honor was open to any student, no matter how young. Apparently, Pierce was a shoo-in for King of Spring this year, given how he’d already—gracefully, humbly—stepped up to fill the void in Ascension’s athletic department. Skylar got butterflies in her stomach when she thought about the logical next steps: If Pierce was voted King, and she was his date (or better yet, his girlfriend!), she had a solid chance of getting the Queen of Spring crown. And that . . . that would be a dream come true.

Okay, Gabby kind of deserved the royal title. After all, she’d planned the dance practically single-handedly—“Until
you
came on board,” Meg had helpfully reminded Skylar—and she was
doing her best not to let Ascension turn into a permanent place of mourning. But still, Skylar wanted it. What a triumph it would be for a nobody like her to sweep into town and be voted queen after only a month! She already knew what dress she was going to wear. It was an old one of Lucy’s—black, with a V-neck and a full skirt, belted. She would look great standing up there on the stage next to Pierce.

Maybe he’d even ask her tonight. For now, she had a lot to do: curl her hair, put on a fresh coat of nail polish, exfoliate her feet. She needed to look
perfect
. Skylar took a deep breath. Maybe she’d have some wine to loosen up before Fiona came to get her.

She found a bottle of something called “hydromel” in her aunt’s pantry—a sweet honey wine that stuck to the side of the glass as she sipped it. She didn’t usually like the taste of wine, but this drink was sweet on her tongue, like dessert. It reminded her of licking powdered sugar off fried Greek doughnuts with Lucy as a child. Then she took a long shower, using her mud scrub on every inch of her body. She shaved her legs. She applied vanilla-scented body lotion. She put her hair in rollers—Meg had gotten them for her as a gift—and listened to the Dusters as she waited for her hair to set. She went downstairs to pour herself some more. Then, back upstairs, a light coat of tinted moisturizer, a swipe of mascara, a smudge of blush. They were supposed to look like they were going to bed, after all. Rollers out, a flip of her
head, on with the pj’s. She spun in the mirror, happy with the way the lime-green and pink complemented her newly highlighted hair. She looked like . . . she looked like summer. And the bit of lace that tickled her chest and hung from the hem of the shorts—it was just the right amount of sexy.

Fiona would be here soon. She had just enough time to paint her nails—a watermelon pink that matched the color of her pj’s. She felt good. She belted out the chorus of her favorite Dusters song while texting Meg:
Hey girl, off to the pajama party—wish me luck!
And just before she turned off the light in her bedroom, Skylar caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She gave her head a toss, shaking out the curls, and smiled. She barely recognized herself.

•  •  •

“Who wants more cheddar popcorn?” Gabby came in from the kitchen holding a big red bowl. “And why is this the most popular flavor?” She surveyed the still-half-full bowls of caramel and plain popcorn.

“Because it goes best with beer,” Sean said from his perch on the living room couch, raising his bottle. “Cheers.”

Skylar was in the living room, where a cozy fire was going. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the window with Lauren, Jenna, Nick, and a few other boys, trying to quell a feeling of frustration. The evening wasn’t quite going the way she’d hoped.

Pierce was there, but he’d quickly settled in the kitchen to play poker with a bunch of boys wearing L.L. Bean flannel pants and white undershirts. Apparently, every boy in Ascension wore the same thing to bed. They were all whining, too. “If we don’t get to sleep over, why did we have to wear our pj’s?” Secretly, Skylar wondered the same thing.