Prom Date (4 page)

mother. They had the same coloring. But the simimer she was thirteen, she had suddenly spurted up to her full growth and grown into her adult face. Then the truth was inescapable. She had inherited her mother's eyes. But that was all. She'd been furious, that whole summer and for most of the following school year. She couldn't remember now exactly when it had stopped making her mad. One day she had told herself that if she looked exactly like her mother, she might meet someone like her father. Then he might want to marry her and she might say okay. Then, one day when she thought everything was great, he'd get drunk because although he was cute and charming and tons of fun, he had never really grown up. He would try to race a train at a crossing, a really juvenile thing to do, and he'd lose. Then, like her mother, she'd be left alone, without any money, to raise any children they'd had.

The dismal, imagined scenario had gone a long way toward helping her be grateful for who she really was. Not to mention appreciating who her mother was and what she'd been through.

"She is gorgeous. You've seen her?"

"Nope. Never."

Puzzled, she glanced up at him. "Then how

do you know your brother was right about what she looks like?"

Without returning her glance, he said very casually, "The second thing my brother said was that her daughter had the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen, including his wife Becky's. So, I figure, since I can see for myself that he was right about that, I know he had to be right about your mom being gorgeous, too. Fd like to meet her some time."

Caught off-guard by the roundabout way in which he'd told her she had nice eyes, Margaret could only ask lightly, "Because she's gorgeous?"

He laughed. "No. Because Eddie said she was really nice."

Although the prom was still more than two weeks away, Margaret felt like dancing right there on the dusty, rutted road. He wasn't going to the prom. Not with Liza, not with anyone. And he had said she had nice eyes. And he was keeping up with her, stride for stride, so that Pops or no Pops, they were definitely going to be walking onto the picnic grounds together.

He's just being nice, she thought to herself. His brother told him about the demise of the dresses and he thought it was rotten, that's

all. Don't go making this into something it isn't, Margaret Dunne. That's just not like you.

She tried. She really did. But he was so nice, bending his head against the wind to ask her about the shop and her family and what she liked to do when she wasn't working at the store and had she played Softball all of her life because he'd been watching her play and was impressed with the way she hit the ball every single time, whacked it right out of the park almost and had she ever thought of playing in a summer league because he was going to and they could always use new players.

It almost undid her when he talked about summer, as if there were no reason on earth why, come summer, they wouldn't still be walking like this and talking like this and even playing on the same softball team.

She was about to respond with something truly inane like, ''I just adore softball," something Margaret Dunne would never, ever have said if she'd been in her right mind, when they heard the scream.

an electrical outlet. Her headband would be useless in keeping her hair in place against the ferocious wind up at the Point-But when someone came up to her just as she was leaving the rest room and whispered in her ear that her boyfriend had gone to the lighthouse with a cute, red-haired girl, what was she supposed to do? Pretend she didn't believe it? Of course she believed it. Wasn't the first time, was it? Not everyone knew she sometimes had trouble keeping him on a leash, especially lately. Truth was, she had actual nightmares that he dumped her two days before the prom, with her dress hanging right there in her closet and her appointment at Alphonse's Salon all set for Saturday morning at eleven. Even she wouldn't be able to dredge up a decent date in two days.

Everyone at school would laugh at her when she walked through the halls.

Any other time, she'd have dumped him so fast for the way he was treating her, he'd feel like he'd been tossed out of an airplane without a parachute. But she couldn't, not now. Not this close to the prom.

Everyone said she was a cinch to be queen.

And even if she wasn't, which wasn't at all

likely, she still didn't want to miss the prom.

She was convinced he already had a replacement in mind. She had no idea who it was, but envisioned some stupid little underclassman holding her breath, waiting to see if the breakup would come in time for her to be taken to the prom by a gorgeous, popular senior.

Never happen. Never! Not while she had a breath left in her own beautiful body.

"The lighthouse?" she asked, her head jerking up as if someone had punched her in the chest. "He took someone to the lighthouse?"

"Yes. You're not going to let him get away with that, are you?"

The girl in yellow hesitated. If she went after him, if she made a fuss, wouldn't she have to break their date for the prom? Was that what he was aiming for? Trying to make a fool of her here at the picnic so she'd lose her temper and give him an easy out? Or . . . was it simple arrogance? Figuring he could get away with anything he wanted to because he was so sure she wouldn't want to break their prom date?

Well, he was right about that. He knew her so well.

Neverthe/^5S. One person had already seen him take that bimbo, whoever she was, up to the lighthouse. Others could see him, too. Humiliating. She wasn't going to stand for that. Fortunately, the someone who had already

spotted him had been kind enough to alert her.

"No," she said, deciding. "Fm not going to let him get away with it. I hate that place, but I'm going up there/'

"I'll come, too. Let's take the back way, through the woods to the beach. So he won't see us coming."

Because the rest room was hidden behind a grove of ash trees, no one saw the two leave the park.

Nor was there anyone at the lighthouse when, breathless because they had hurried, anxious to catch the faithless rat, they arrived at the lighthouse and went inside.

"They're probably already up on the observation deck," the girl in yellow was told.

"Right. Let's go. If he's stabbed me in the back again, I just might forget myself and give both of them one good, solid push against that disintegrating old railing. It would serve them right."

But it wasn't the faithless boyfriend who went over the edge of the observation deck, nor was it a conniving underclassman with red hair.

Because there was no boyfriend in sight when the door was pushed open and the pair burst out onto the circular decking. There was no red-headed flirt. There was no one up there

but the two girls who had hurried through the woods.

The girl in yellow turned to her companion. "Are you sure you saw him coming this way? He's not here." She sagged against the railing. It jiggled slightly in protest. "We shouldn't have come the back way. If we'd taken the road, we'd have caught them on their way back."

No reply. Just a cool, even stare.

The chill wind tugged at their clothing, at their hair, made their eyes water as they looked at each other. Then the girl's beautiful face fell. Her eyes narrowed as the truth dawned. "Oh, man, I don't believe this! I am such a fool. You never saw him coming up here with a girl! You never saw him coming up here at all. You made the whole thing up!" Perfectly arched brows drew together. "What for? Why would you say something like that when it wasn't true? It's so mean! I hate this place, I told you that. It's dangerous. What are we doing up here?"

The companion explained, slowly, measuring the words carefully, finishing with, "It's not so much to ask, is it? Such a little thing, really. How about it?"

The girl in yellow laughed. There was scorn in the sound. "That's the most ridiculous thing

IVe ever heard. Why would I do that?"

A head tilted, eyes went cold. "Because I

asked you to. Because I need you to say yes."

"Not in this lifetime. That's crazy!"

The cold eyes narrowed. "Crazy? Crazy?"

"Well, it ts. I would never agree to that."

"He wants to go with me. I wasn't going to

tell you that. I was hoping I wouldn't have to.

But he does. We've been . . . well, I've seen

him a couple of times. When you were busy."

A cool smile. "You are awfully busy, you know.

He complains about that a lot. Anyway, he

didn't have the guts to tell you what was going

on with us. He knew you'd go ballistic. He's

such a coward. Look, I don't want him forever.

Just for that one night. How can you be so

selfish?"

A jaw dropped. "You? You've been seeing him? No, that's impossible. That's just as crazy as everything else you've said."

The voice dropped, became soft as a butterfly's wings. "It was me. Just say yes, okay? Just say you'll do this one tiny little thing for me. You can't care that much about him, or you wouldn't have ignored him the way you did. All of your activities wouldn't have been more important than he was. So let him go, just for this one night. He won't break your date. No guts. You have to do it."

"Never. Fm not missing the prom. Everyone thinks ril be queen this year. How can you even ask that?"

In that same butterfly-wing voice, "Oh, but you are missing the prom. One way or the other, you are^ A foot stamped petulantly on the rotted wooden floor. "Why are you making this so hard? It was supposed to be easy.''

Alarmed by the look in the eyes regarding her, the girl in yellow took a step backwards-But she remained defiant. "You are really insane, you know that?" Her first mistake.

''Don't say that again!"

"I ... I didn't mean it. But I am going to the prom. Of course I am."

''OK are you? I don't think so."

The girl's eyes narrowed. Her voice was cold and remarkably unshaken as she said, "I don't know what your problem is, but I'm going back down. Right now. Let me pass!" Her defiance was her second mistake. But then, she was quite used to getting her own way.

"I can't do that. Not until you promise. Promise me you'll break your date with him, so he can take me. Do that, and I'll let you leave."

The girl in yellow, finally accepting that she was in real danger, instinctively took another step sideways. In her sudden fear, she forgot

about the decrepit, weather-beaten railing. Her third mistake.

The instant her side slammed against it, the section of the railing gave way, crumbling like stale bread. Unprepared, she lost her balance and tumbled sideways, off the edge of the deck. She made no sound beyond a small, startled gasp. At the very last second, one well-manicured, ring-laden hand flew out and clutched a post.

Above her, hands flew to a mouth open in shock and horror. The fall, clearly not part of the plan, had created in the observer a frozen helplessness that did the victim no good at all.

The girl in yellow dangled by one hand, legs kicking frantically against the solid white stone of the lighthouse, her free hand clawing wildly at the wall for something to hang onto, seeking something substantial to clutch. "Help me!" she cried. "Please, help me!"

The figure standing on the deck above her immediately sank to her knees to lend a helping hand, crying, "Hold on, hold on, don't fall, FU get you, hold on!" Both hands reached out, bent down . . .

And then pulled backwards slowly, as the shock and horror left the face and were replaced by something very different. "What am I doing? Why am I helping you? You wouldn't

help me. I begged you, and you said no. You said I was crazy." The figure sank back on her heels, hands in her lap, eyes staring down into the face of the dangling girl. The girl in yellow's eyes were so full of terror, they should have melted even the hardest of hearts.

But they didn't. "No, no, I just don't think it would be right for me to help you," the voice said slowly, thoughtfully. *Tou can understand that, can't you? I mean, you weren't being the least bit cooperative. Not the least bit." The voice gathered speed. "And the thing is, it's not my fault you fell. I never touched you. It's not my fault, right?"

The horrified shock on the face of the girl's only hope of rescue had slowly but clearly turned into something very different. Slowly, gradually, the look in the eyes staring down at the white-faced victim clawing at the lighthouse wall, legs still now because kicking made it harder to support her weight, became that of a fox who has unexpectedly trapped its prey and is surprised by its good luck. A look of cold cunning. That look, in turn, changed again, became undisguised delight. Or, more accurately, maniacal glee at such good fortune.

The girl in yellow watched the face changing and her last shred of hope died. She knew then that she was going to do the same. She was

going to die. Now, Right now. Because the face of the only person who could save her from plunging down upon those cruel, jagged rocks directly beneath her, a face that only moments ago had been white with shock and terror, was no longer quite human. Every shred of decency, of kindness, of forgiveness, of compassion, was gone, replaced by the unmistakable look of a predator.

And what she thought then was, I will get no help from such a face.

The figure above her stood up. The black, pointed tip of a shoe moved forward, ever so slightly and, nudging gently, began uncurling the fingers clutching the post. One finger left the post. Two . . .

"It wasn't my fault. I never touched you. You just feU, that's all."

The girl was not petite. The body that looked so perfect in sweaters and skirts, designer jeans and Tshirts, formal dresses, was too substantial to be supported by a mere three-finger grip when gravity was tugging at it with great force.

The figure still on the deck suddenly reached down and snatched away the yellow headband the girl was wearing, and pocketed it. Then she straightened up and the toe slid forward one more time. "I am sorry, though.

But you should have been more careful."