Buried (16 page)

“Not if he screws her over—literally. What if she gets pregnant?”

“She wouldn't be dumb enough not to take precautions.”

“But she's not acting rational!” Rune stamps her black boot. “She told me she'd been saving herself for the perfect guy and now that she's found him, they're going to be together forever. She's fallen so hard that when he dumps her, she'll go psycho like Rebecca.”

“If Amerie falls, we'll be there to pick up the pieces,” I say, which results in the first real smile from Rune.

Homeroom is torturous due to all the stares. Whispers and rumors swirl around me. One girl who has sat next to me since the beginning of school asks if I'm a new student.

I get a similar reaction in all of my classes. No one recognizes me, and a few mistake me for a new student. I like shocking people, but this is just annoying. I hurry through the halls with my head down.

“Thorn!” I hear as I'm rushing to fourth period, and I'm so stunned that someone recognizes me, I whirl around.

Skarla, looking like my dark-haired twin in her pink costume, wraps me in a hug before I can push her off. “You're gorgeous!” she exclaims. “That's your natural hair, isn't it? I love it! I'm so honored you did this for our group.”

“That's not exactly why I did it,” I say. “I really have to get to class … ”

“Of course. I just wanted to invite you to a celebration party at my house after auditions.”

“You can't be sure we'll make finals.”

“Oh, I'm sure. We're fabulous! So can you come?”

“I don't think so.” I hesitate. “I'm sort of grounded.”

“Your parents will let you go to something this important.”

“Yeah, they might.” I remember Dad's rare smile at breakfast when he saw me in pink. “I'll talk to them.”

“Great. See you at the contest!”

She bounces off with such cheerfulness it's hard to believe she's my top suspect. But I can't forget her hidden stash of baby clothes. Highly suspicious, although not proof she had anything to do with the locket or grave. I need to search her room more thoroughly. If I can find the locket, I'll know for sure.

At lunch, I meet Rune on the cafeteria steps. I tell her that K.C. won't join us since he's working on a history project in the computer center.

“Whatever. Have you heard?” she asks excitedly.

“About the pink truck?” I guess.

“Wasn't it hilarious? But the big news is that everyone is sure the Grin Reaper did it—which means that Clive was the one who tagged K.C.'s car!”

“Why would he do something like that?” I ask innocently.

“I don't know. Maybe because he's a jerk. The smiley face painted on his truck sends out a clear message that this was payback for what he did to K.C. Everyone knows that Clive deserves it, even if they can't prove it.”

“It really sucked, what happened to K.C.'s car,” I say, anger rising with the memory. “I'm all for getting even with the vermin who did it.”

“So you don't hate the Grin Reaper anymore?” Rune teases.

I shrug. If she knew I had a Vigilante Night Out with the Grin Reaper, she's totally freak—and want every detail plus his phone number.

“The Reaper is brilliant. Pink-sweet revenge.” Rune sighs. “He's so hot and I just have to meet him. Hurry up and find him for me.”

I open my sack lunch, avoiding her gaze. “He's not an easy guy to find.”

“But you said you'd recognize his voice.”

“It's harder than I thought. Maybe he goes to another school.”

“You really think so?” Rune's shoulders slump. “Then it's hopeless. I'll never meet my soul mate.”

“You're not missing much.”

She purses her purple-lined black lips. “How do you know?”

“I don't. Only guessing.”

“You're giving off a serious lying vibe.”

I let my blond hair fall across my face, hiding my eyes. “A guy who breaks the law, even for a good cause, must be bad news. You're better off without him.”

She sets her iced tea on the step and says, “You
do
know who he is!”

“Not exactly … I mean … ” I glance down at my pink cowgirl boots. I'm sick of the lies. “You're right. I do know.”

“Who is he?” Rune demands excitedly. “Tell me!”

“I—I can't say.”

“Can't or won't?”

“I'd tell you if I could, but I promised him I wouldn't tell.”

“A promise to
him
and lies to
me
!
” Rune explodes with such fierceness I reel back. “Why would you take his side over mine? Do you care about protecting him more than helping me?”

“No … it's just complicated. I don't even like him.”

“But you're lying for him—to your best friend.”

“If I were lying, I'd say I didn't know, but I'm telling the truth and admitting I know, but I'm bound by a promise.”

“You aren't fooling me. I know what's really going on.” Her kohl-shaded eyes narrow in a hostile way that I've never seen directed at me. “You won't tell me because you want him for yourself. You're in love with the Grin Reaper.”

N
i
n
e
t
e
e
n

R
une leaves me sitting on the steps, reeling from her
accusation. My ham sandwich tastes stale and my butterscotch pudding remains unopened. This is all Jay's fault. I could have explained things to Rune if he hadn't blackmailed me.

The masked Grin Reaper may still seem thrilling to Rune, but if she knew his real identity, she'd be sooo not interested. Last week, Amerie, Rune, and I made a list of lust-worthy fictional characters that we titled “Dudes We'd Do If They Existed.” No shock that Amerie put down Harry Potter, Spiderman, and Peter Pan (even though we told her Peter was traditionally acted by a girl on stage). Rune picked Captain Jack Sparrow and Moriarty. I added Dracula, Mr. Hyde, and the evil scientist in the
Rocky Horror Picture Show
. I'm into outrageous dudes with wild hair and wicked attitudes, not a guy handsome enough to be a Disney prince. Sure, Jay is intriguing and I admire his passion for justice. But not hating him doesn't mean I like him—especially in a romantic way.

When sixth period ends, my thoughts shift to the auditions. My nerves tighten like guitar strings at the thought of being on stage in front of an audience. Music has always been personal for me, a secret refuge that's mine alone.

I really, really don't want to do this …

But I sling my guitar over my shoulder and enter the boisterous, crowded room. Seats are filling fast with parents, teachers, and students. I can hardly move without bumping someone, and all the “Good luck!” calls only add to my anxiety.

Elevated on stage under bright lights, Philippe and his spiraling raven curls are hard to miss. He's leaning forward in conversation with Collette. I can't see his face, but there's tension in his body language like he's no happier to be here than I am. Or maybe Collette gave him bad news, like his latest CD only earned a million not a billion. She's all glam and gorgeous in a plunging-neck scarlet chiffon dress and red stilettos, and doesn't look any older than Philippe. She seems agitated, though, and scowls when she glances across the stage at Amerie.
What's that about
?

I weave my way down to the front rows where contestants have assigned seating. Three pink western hats pop out in the second row. We're seated in performance order, for quick-on, quick-off access. My gaze fixes on the subtle drama unfolding on stage.

Amerie's iridescent fairy wings, tucked delicately behind her shoulders, shimmer like stardust. She glides over to Philippe, coming up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist. When he turns toward her, the flash of his pearl-white smile could stop a hummingbird in mid-flutter. He gazes at Amerie as if she's the only girl in the room, seemingly unaware that Collette is glowering at both of them.

Amerie glances in my direction and lifts her arm to wave. “Thorn!” She gestures excitedly for me to come over.

I nod, hoping she'll introduce me to Philippe. Not only do I have the two interview questions to ask for Manny, but I want to find out if Philippe is serious about Amerie. There
is
a chance he's sincere and not leading her on—but it's a very slim chance.

When I reach the steps to the stage, Philippe's husky bodyguard blocks my way, but Amerie intervenes. “Richard, she's a friend. Let her pass.”

The brawny, shaved-head guy smiles at Amerie, then drops his arms.

“Thorn!” Amerie exclaims. “I hardly recognize you!”

I frown at my bare hands, which are usually bejeweled with wicked rings. “It's for the contest.”

“Totally adorable,” she says, mischief in her eyes.

“Abominable is more like it.”

“Love the pink hat—it's so you!”

“Say that again, Fairy Girl, and I'll rip off your wings.”

“No one touches my wings—except my special guy.” Amerie's face softens as she looks over at Philippe, who's mobbed by fans at the edge of the stage.

“As long as that's all he touches,” I say.

She whispers into my ear. “Not yet, but I'm hopeful.”

“Amerie, don't do anything you'll regret.”

“I won't.” She presses her lips together in a secret smile. “Seriously, Thorn, you look great and I owe you a zillion thanks for rescuing the Cotton Candy Cowgirls. They were good before, but with your sound, they're amazing. You're way better than Priscilla was. The girls know it, too, because when Priscilla asked to come back to the group, Skarla turned her down.”

This is news to me. “Priscilla wanted back in?”

“Yeah. But Skarla is too smart to let you go. She's thanked me like a dozen times for hooking you up with the group. You're so talented.”

“Well … thanks.” Praise isn't something I'm used to, but I've had more of it today than in my whole life before. Looking like a Cowgirl Barbie has changed how everyone acts around me, which makes me act different. I've always believed that appearance doesn't matter, but on some level it must, because how you look is the first clue to others about who you are. So even though I see myself in goth black, others see a Cotton Candy Cowgirl and they like her better.

“—group has such a great sound and it's because of you,” Amerie is saying. “I've been bragging to everyone that you're my best friend.”

“I'm not your only BFF,” I say in a softer voice. “Rune is too.”

“Do not speak her name.” Amerie stiffens and lifts her chin defiantly.

“She was trying to help because she's worried about you. She's really sorry.”

“She should be. But you can see how amazing Philippe is and understand.” Her gaze sweeps over to the spiral-haired heartthrob kneeling on the edge of the stage to sign autographs. “I still can't believe he loves me.”

“Yeah,” I say, with a completely different meaning. I want to drag her away and slap some sense into her love-struck head. But tact is required. So I tell her about Manny's interview questions and ask for an introduction to Philippe.

“Sure!” Amerie says enthusiastically. “I've already told him about you.”

“Nothing good, I hope.”

“The worst.” She grins. “He's super sweet and he'll answer your questions if I ask him. We have about fifteen minutes before the contest starts.”

Amerie drags Philippe away from the mob of squealing fans (mostly girls, but also a few guys and even a teacher). We move to a corner of the stage, out of the bright lights.

He introduces himself. “I'm Philippe.”

“Yeah … I know. I mean, who doesn't? I'm Thorn.” I'm struck by sudden shyness. It's his grin, I realize with a traitorous heart-flutter. Even I am not completely immune.

“I've never met anyone named Thorn. Cool name.”

“My real name isn't Thorn, and yours isn't Philippe.”

“So you've discovered my deepest secret,” he says, in a teasing flirty way.

“Not a big secret. I saw your junior-year yearbook photo.”

“Hideous photo.”

“Hideous is a prerequisite for school pictures.”

“So true.” He grimaces. “If it were possible, I'd burn every yearbook from that forgettable part of my life.”

“School can't have been all bad,” I say, leading into Manny's first question. “Did you have a favorite teacher?”

“Teachers had it out for me. I skipped school more than I showed up. But there was one teacher who was cool. We talked about big-band era musicians and he was blown away when I showed him my collection of vinyl. He's still working here, too.”

“Who?” I ask taking out a pen and paper from my backpack so I don't miss any details for Manny.

“Mr. Sproat.”

I nearly fall off the stage. “No way!”

Amerie gasps. “He's the nastiest, rudest teacher ever. He's like the Professor Snape of our school. Everyone hates him.”

“Exactly why we got along.” Philippe flashes his mega-watt smile. “Next question.”

“Make it quick,” Amerie tells me, pointing to her Tinker Bell watch.

Manny's second question has to do with boxers or briefs, which is boring. So I mentally scratch that question. I watch Amerie touch Philippe's arm, her face luminous with trust and vulnerability. She needs to know that Philippe will crush her heart and devour her like a whipped-cream dessert.

“My next question,” I say with a misleading smile, “has to do with your romantic reputation.”

“Don't believe trashy tabloids,” he tells me.

“Everyone knows you've gone out with gorgeous actresses and singers. Weren't you engaged to the last American Idol winner?”

“No engagement. But if the right girl comes along, you never know what could happen.” He looks meaningfully at Amerie, who blushes happily.

“I heard you had over thirty girlfriends last year?”

“Paparazzi exaggerate everything. If I'm photographed with a girl, it's suddenly all over the news that we're engaged. But I'm very picky about who I go out with and only want to be with someone special like Amerie.” He gives Amerie another of those smoldering looks that seems to suck out her brains.

“Was Rebecca special, too?” I say this more like an accusation than a question. He's too perfect to be real. I don't trust him.

“Rebecca?” He pushes his spiral curls behind his shoulders. “I don't know who you're talking about.”

“Rebecca Moreno. You met her at a concert in Ohio.”

“Nope.” He shrugs. “Never heard of her.”

“Really?” I say with sharp skepticism. “Even though she traveled on your tour bus until you dumped her and—”

“
Philippe!” A woman interrupts with the force of a hurricane.

We turn as Collette sweeps between us with a warm smile, but her icy green eyes are fixed on me. She's been listening and isn't happy with my question.

“Hey, Col. What's up?” Philippe sounds relieved as he turns to his manager.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we're starting soon.” She tugs on his hand. “Come with me.”

Philippe reaches out to caress Amerie's cheek, then walks off with his manager to a table and chairs at the edge of the stage.

“What was that about, Thorn?” Amerie turns on me. “Why were you being so rude to Philippe?”

I glance down at the wooden floor as if the scuff marks are suddenly fascinating. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Oh, yes you do. You're trying to break us up! You don't approve of my going out with Philippe.”

“You're right. I don't,” I admit.

“I knew it! You're as bad as Rune.”

“We don't want you hurt. Philippe is a player and he's too old for you. You deserve better.”

“No one is better.” She glares. “You and Rune think I'm a stupid little girl who doesn't know anything, but I know that Philippe loves me.”

“He's loved a lot of girls and it never ends well.”

“It's different with us.” Her tone dares me to argue.

I want to argue, but there's no winning when she's blinded by her heart. So I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I just want you to be happy,” I say quietly.

“I am very happy—with Philippe,” she insists. “Later I'll tell you some of the sweet things he's said to me and you'll understand. But there's no time now. Five minutes! I've got to hustle. I'm rooting for you. Good luck, Thorn. I'll be crossing my fingers that the Cotton Candy Cowgirls makes the finals.”

I watch grimly as Amerie flutters back to Philippe.

After that everything is a blur of pep talks and anticipation, waiting for the audition to start. I'm sitting beside Skarla and only half-listen as she goes over the clog sequence with Micqui and Barbee. My guitar is propped between my knees next to my shiny pink boots. I drum my fingers on my metal chair, impatient to get this over with. There are eight acts auditioning today. We're number eight.

First up is Christiana Lee, a tiny freshman who speaks in a squeaky baby-mouse voice, then bellows out like Aretha.
Wow
, I think. She'll be hard to beat. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Am I hoping to win or lose? I honestly don't know.

The next three groups are forgettable. Already forgot their names. Don't care.

Then Jaden Ming struts out dressed like a very tall Elvis. He's in my Spanish class and I purposely always choose the seat behind him because I'm rarely called on to answer questions when hidden from the teacher's view. Jaden rocks out an Elvis song that causes the audience to clap and stomp, including me.

After him is another forgettable act.

Skarla nudges me—the cue that it's time to go backstage. I pick up my guitar and follow the girls around to a side entrance, then we wait in the wings.

I don't see the group before us until we're in position in the wings. When I do see them—four guys wearing blue shirts and pressed dark slacks—I gasp.

The Jay-Clones! I briefly wonder why Jay isn't with them. And of course, they don't call themselves the Jay-Clones. When Collette announces them as “Four Play,” the audience explodes in laughter. Some teachers look angry but no one drags the guys off the stage.

Wiley is on electric guitar, and the brute with the bad temper (what was his name?) plays the drums. And they're good. I mean, really, hot, sizzling, oh-my-sweet-eardrums good.

“We're dead,” Barbee whines.

“Dead and buried deep,” Micqui groans.

But Skarla says firmly, “We will win. Be positive. Be stars.”

When the applause fades for Four Play, the Cotton Candy Cowgirls are on.

I can't say exactly what happens next because I'm in the moment, focused on the music and shutting out the audience. Skarla's powerful voice rings pure and sweet even while she clogs. I harmonize some “la la's” and “ohhhhh's” while strumming. The other girls kick up their clogging heels and my fingers fly. Barbee does a gymnastic flip as a finale, flashing her pink ruffled pettipants, then landing in the splits. The audience roars with applause and gives us a standing ovation.