Chasing Midnight (6 page)

Before I can figure it out one way or the other, I’m surrounded as the rest of the lucky ones emerge from behind him like a peacock fanning out its feathers—Jared Call, Liv Sandstrom, Katie Lee, and Morgan Moeaki; only Brecke is missing now. They all smell of sugar and cloves, and in each of their hands are tall, fluted champagne glasses half-filled with varying colors of bubbly liquid.

I’m guessing nobody carded them.

“You go to Piedmont, right?” James asks above the noise of the crowd, his dark eyes drawn wide, trying to hypnotize me. And working. “I’ve seen you around, I think.”

“Yes, she does, silly,” says Katie, slapping his arm. Her athletic, bronzed body fits perfectly into a silver, strapless dress as she smiles at me reluctantly, her lips nude and glossy, her black hair in a high ponytail. Beside her, Morgan appears much more serious and polished, her hair pulled back into a low auburn bun, a single braid wrapping her head. She wears a basic black sleeveless dress with a tulle skirt poofing out around her, just above her knees. In other words, she looks perfect.

“So what—you’re a server?” Jared asks me, sounding as dumb as he looks with his long, unruly bleached hair and perpetually peeling red face. Not even a five hundred dollar tuxedo can help him.

“I’m filling in for—”

“Nice outfit,” Liv interrupts, scrutinizing me from top to bottom. Despite her put-down, her voice is all bubbly, her enthusiasm as wild as her messy blonde Bohemian hair. She’s in a lace ivory dress that stops an inch above heeled, open-toed boots. At least five or six thick, chunky gold necklaces circle her neck, with even more bracelets on her arms. Antique earrings clank and tinkle with every move she makes; it’s her signature sound.

I try to remove myself from their circle before anyone else comments on my clothing, but Jared steps in front of me, blocking my way.

More giggling.

“Where do you live, baby?” James asks, dimples dotting his cheeks and chin. Instant heat floods my face and I can’t help but try to get closer to him.

“Um . . . a little past the school, down by the creek,” I say, trying not to sound so mortified by my address.

Silence follows, though James is still smiling at me even if nobody else is. But like before, his smile is the kind of smile that can either flatter you into unconsciousness or make you feel small, depending on how much confidence you happen to have to start with. As of now, my confidence is in the red. Combine that with feeling like prey to a pack of wolves, well . . . you get the idea.

“That makes sense,” Jared finally breaks the silence, chuckling. At me.

My hands are calm but my insides are shaking. I want to get out of here now, away from all these condescending questions and pretentious looks.

Liv leans in close to Morgan and Katie, speaking loud enough for me to hear: “When did Brecke decide to let the riffraff in?”

A tap on my shoulder.

I whirl around, terrified to face the next attack. Instead, my view is the front of another tuxedo. I sweep my eyes up a long torso, past a pair of broad shoulders, finally stopping on a familiar face. A wave of relief sweeps through me.

Oh hello, Cale Blackburn. What are
you
doing here?

I almost laugh, surprised at how glad I am that he’s here. But I’m too stunned at his appearance to say or do anything . . . other than stare. After seeing him in that stupid T-shirt earlier today, I’m still having a hard time picturing him as a black-tie sort of guy. He looks so impressive all dressed up like this—sandy blond
hair shaved close on the sides, a little longer on the top, styled like an actual
style.
A close shave. The scent of sandalwood or something like that coming from his general direction. Cuff links.

“Looks like you made it after all,” he says, smiling at me and ignoring everyone else.

I wonder where he lives. Probably at a higher altitude, considering he’s here in a tux and not holding an hors d’oeuvre tray. But, when I finally take my eyes off him to survey the faces around me, I notice that James and the rest of the lucky ones seem to eye Cale as suspiciously as they’ve been eyeing me.

Like he wasn’t invited, either.

Nobody says a word.

Cale moves toward me like I’m just another girl looking for a dancing partner, not the kitchen help with sweaty armpits. “I thought you said you weren’t coming,” he says, biting into a piece of shrimp wrapped in prosciutto and smothered in plum sauce (see, I know these details).

I’m watching him eat. Yes, I am. “Huh?”

“You said something about not being a lucky o—”

I cut him off before somebody hears. “I wasn’t. But then I thought since I had nothing better to do, why not wait on a bunch of rich kids for the rest of the night? You like my outfit?”

“Yes. Especially the bow tie,” he says, straightening it out for me.

“It’s a long story, actually. I’m covering for my mom. Are you enjoying your Love and Rockets record, by the way?” But he isn’t paying attention to me anymore. His eyes have shifted, and are now focused on something behind me.

Before I can turn around to investigate, someone with long, cold fingers finds my arm and pulls me away. “Excuse me?” the distinctive low voice belonging to Brecke Phillips whispers in my ear. It’s the first time she’s ever acknowledged my existence. And she smells like roses too.

“Yes?” I answer, scared to breathe. Afraid she’ll demand I find my own air somewhere else.

“I’m not paying you to flirt. So I’d appreciate you getting back to work.”

I freeze, and so does my stomach and my nerves and anything else that keeps me alive. I can’t look at anyone. Not James or Tanner or even Cale now. “Sorry” is all I manage to say, offering her the weakest smile there ever was before turning away from them all.

As if delivering their very own message for me to beat it, the lights dim and the music shifts from classical to a hypnotic, thumping beat, throwing the whole room into movement. James and Tanner immediately blend into the throbbing crowd, with Brecke and Katie right behind them, their hands swaying above their heads.

“Let’s get this party started!” Jared knocks into me hard, pumping his fists into the air before vanishing into the crowd, leaving only Morgan and Liv beside me. I try to avoid eye contact with them, but they continue to stare me down, as if contemplating whether or not I might steal the jewelry off their necks. I look for Cale, but it appears he has abandoned me too.

“Have you tasted the champagne gels yet?” Morgan asks Liv over the beat of the music, loud enough for me to hear. The pupils of her dark eyes are rimmed with green, sparkling like the jewels around her neck.

“Not yet,” Liv says even louder, tapping me on the shoulder. “Hey. Will you bring us a tray of those champagne gels? The lemon ones.”

“Sure,” I mumble, averting my eyes from hers while twisting out of her reach. I weave through the circular glass tables topped with towering fruit and desserts behind her, trying to make my way toward the upstairs bar where the champagne gels are made. White, wispy gas orbits skewered pieces of fruit, forcing a cough from me when I inhale too quickly. Tears break out of the corners of my eyes at my coughing, nearly releasing a flood of emotions that I refuse to let loose no matter how miserable I feel right here right now. Instead,
I blink furiously and focus on the seashell of winding stairs in front of me, which take me away from the marble hall to the second floor, where I stop on the balcony above the mass of pulsing bodies. Over a hundred teenagers are down there, dancing and mingling, laughing and drinking and eating, all important and rich and beautiful enough to be here. All lucky enough to be here. All not me.

A shiver licks the spot between my shoulder blades.

I fold my arms, trying to fight off the chill, trying to get through this night. Trying to push this lump in my throat back down before it overtakes me.

I hate my life.

“Excuse me.” I squeeze through more rich kids, trying to get to the bar. “Pardon,” I say, bumping smack into some guy’s chest. “Sorry.” A lump catches in my throat.

Breathe.

“Hey,” Cale says, stepping in front of me. Again.

I try to go around him but he puts his hands on my shoulders and stops me.

Why isn’t he sick of me yet?

I’m
sick of me.

“Sorry, I can’t talk. I’ve got some champagne gels to deliver,” I say, slipping past him and stopping at the bar.

The bartender is down the counter a ways, pouring steaming clear liquid from a flask into two glass tumblers. It gives me time to get my emotions under control while I check my phone for any messages about Indy.

Nothing yet.

I text my mother:
Need update. All OK here. Everyone says hi. You are a rock star. They all wish you were here instead of me.

“Hey,” Cale says, coming up behind me. I drop my phone on the counter like I’ve been caught texting and driving. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He lowers himself into the swivel seat beside me.

I eye him, wondering why he’s not out on the dance floor like everybody else. “It’s okay. I’m just a little jumpy tonight. That’s all,” I lie. My hands are still shaking as I return my phone to the safety of my pleated pants pocket.

The bartender finally acknowledges us and comes our direction. He’s short and stocky, his head shaved bald. He looks like he could probably bench an elephant. “Hey, buddy,” he says to Cale. “You keeping me company again tonight?” “You guys know each other?” I ask.

He leans across the bar and eyeballs two half-filled glasses on the counter. “Looks like you brought a friend,” he says to Cale, ignoring my question.

“Fritz does all the parties,” Cale explains to me. “He’s the only reason I come. Otherwise, I’d have no one to talk to. Well, except for tonight.” He smiles.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’ve seen you out there dancing with the ladies,” Fritz says, whistling.

“You know we’d both rather be at home watching the game,” Cale says, turning to me. “They pay this guy too much to refuse. He’s in high demand.”

“True that.” Fritz pushes two fresh tumblers under a tab, filling each to the top with amber-colored liquid.

“If this party is too good for you, then why are you even here?” I ask, a little annoyed at his indifference when there are people like me who would give up a non-essential organ just to get invited.

“It’s complicated,” he says, shifting his eyes away from mine.

Of course it is.

Fritz slides two tumblers across the counter. “Drink up.”

I leave it untouched. “Actually, I need a tray of lemon champagne gels. I’m sort of on the clock.”

“You got it,” he says cheerfully, pulling out a glass tray lined with quarter-sized holes. I watch, fascinated, as he fills the holes with clear, cone-shaped tubes, each one filled with reddish-purple puree blending into pale lemon liquid.

He offers me one of the cones, and I sniff at it first, sensing
mint along with the raspberry and lemon. I look up at him, not sure I’m depressed enough to risk drinking on the job. Especially my
mom’s
job.

“It’s just gelatin, sugar, and fruit,” he says, somehow reading my mind. “Go ahead. Nobody’s looking.”

While Fritz and Cale look on, I place the edge of the cone on my lips, and quickly suck it up. Fizzy liquid explodes on my tongue—first a sour lemony zing, and then the sweetness of raspberry followed by cool mint sliding all the way down my throat.

“Wow,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut, wondering whether I should follow it up with a glass of water or just enjoy the intensity of it all.

Cale laughs.

“Not bad, is it?” Fritz slaps his hand against the granite.

I smile, savoring the gel’s aftertaste while considering asking for another one. Suddenly, my ears buzz and go blank, blocking the noise around me, almost like my head has been plunged underwater.

Cale looks at me sideways. I shake my head, trying to knock the silence free.

“Is this what you wish for?” a voice booms in my head deep and smoky, every syllable alive like the air has been awakened from a deep sleep.

I turn around,
knowing
that distinctive voice, that spicy aroma. “You,” I say, staring straight into eyes the color of midnight, feeling myself already simmering in the scent of roasted hazelnuts.
Bird Lady.
Her Mohawk hair is as majestic as before, maybe even more like a jay’s tuft now. With a long, black dress that bleeds into cobalt blue at her feet, she blends into the crowd like she’s always been part of it. My eyes go straight to her bare neck, where her dark skin glimmers gold under the strobe lights above.

Is she here to reclaim her lost charm?

Before I have a chance to confess the whereabouts of her
necklace, however, the room freezes with everyone in it—everyone except for Bird Lady and me.

I scan left then right, wondering if we are the only two aware that the room has been placed on pause. Cale still holds his drink to his lips, a grin stuck on his face. Fritz is mid-action, in the middle of wiping off the counter, his fingers clamped around a cloth. The music has even stopped, along with the hum of voices and the clanking of silver on china. I wait for an explanation, wait for the world to start up again . . . for music to ignite from the grand piano tucked into the corner beneath the winding staircase, or for the murmur of conversations to begin again.

But everything seems stuck.

The glass cone buzzes in my hands, the only thing here that seems real. My mind is blank; for some reason I can’t think of anything except the Bird Lady. I close my eyes, waiting for a cue . . . for something to click in my mind and tell me what to do next, other than remain here in a sea of paralyzed limbs.

When I open my eyes again, Bird Lady is still staring at me.

“What’s happening?” I ask her, my voice carrying across the room to the other side then bouncing off the wall and back at me.

“Look,” she says, pointing at the crowd. “You’ll see in a minute.”

I spin around and scan the faces, looking for something. She steps backward, as if giving me space. The glass cone slips from my hand and hits the counter as the piercing sound of glass bouncing off stone fills the room. I’m about to demand some kind of explanation, but my words die on my tongue the instant I recognize, even from this distance, the profile of a girl standing in the center of the crowd, at the center of attention.