Dark Companion (19 page)

Chapter 17

As Mary Violet drove us to the country club in her Saab, she blasted a silly musical song where someone trilled, “I feel pretty, oh, so pretty!” I kept touching the silky material of my dress and the soft shawl as MV navigated winding, unlit roads into the hills. She stopped at a gate with an elderly guard at the booth. A narrow sign read
GREENWOOD COUNTRY CLUB
in small white letters.

Mary Violet rolled down her window. “Hi, Mr. Haggerty.”

“Hi, sunshine.” He pressed a button so that the big gate swung open. “Have a good time.”

“Thanks! See you later.” Once through the gate, we drove along the golf course. “Mr. Haggerty has been here since the dawn of man,” Mary Violet said. “He once caught my mother and her friends skinny-dipping, and she still gets as red as a tomato when she sees him. That’s why you should never ever skinny-dip near where you live.”

“I think I lose brain cells whenever I spend time with you, MV,” Constance said.

“Someday you’ll appreciate my important life lessons.” MV parked in a lot by a low building near swimming pools that glowed aqua in the night. Another older and more impressive building was set farther back.

Constance said, “This depressing warehouse is the Teen Center.”

“They keep us away from the civilized people,” Mary Violet added.

Kids were getting out of cars and going into the building. The guys wore suits, most of them with loosened ties and tennis shoes, and the girls darted to greet one another, as vivid as butterflies in their party dresses.

I asked, “Where’s the security? I mean, besides Mr. Haggerty, to handle people who crash?”

“No one crashes,” Constance said. “The police watch any car that comes into town.”

“And I’d thought this place was so different from the hood.”

We walked inside to a cavernous hall. A DJ, stationed on a platform in the corner, was spinning an indie tune that sounded familiar. Strings of lights radiated out from central points on the ceiling, like starbursts. Chairs, sofas, and trees in large pots created nooks around the periphery of the room. Tables with refreshments were set up at one end of the hall. At the other was a stage with band equipment.

Most people clustered in small groups, and there were so many tall guys here that I couldn’t see over the crowd as I searched for Lucky.

Constance led the way, speaking loudly so we could hear her. “What were the parties like at your old school, Jane?”

“A lot like prison riots. I’d get away before anything serious went down.” When I was thirteen, I’d whined until Hosea agreed to sneak me out of the house for a back-to-school dance. We’d walked by the police cars parked at the entrance, been patted down by security, and passed through metal detectors into City Central’s packed gymnasium. Excitement and danger had electrified the atmosphere. We hadn’t been there half an hour before a shouting match started. I’d wanted to see what was happening, but Hosea had put his arm around me, protecting me with his big body, and calmly maneuvered me through the mob, saying, “’Scuse me, bro,” and “Pardon, sister.” The guards had been barreling inside, but Hosea shielded me, saying, “Just leaving, thank you, sir.”

We’d gotten halfway down the block when we heard the sharp crack of gunfire. Hosea had kept his arm around me. “Listen up, Jane. In an emergency, this is what you do. Try to stay calm. Figure out where the danger is. Don’t show fear and talk respectful. Get away as soon as possible. You listening, Sis?”

I’d nodded and he’d made me repeat his instructions all the way home.

Mary Violet, Constance, and I claimed a spot near the DJ’s stand and put our sweaters and shawls on the chairs. Mary Violet and Constance left their clutches, but I kept hold of my small bag.

We went to the refreshment table, where people were ladling red punch from big silver bowls to glasses. “It’s the famous Greenwood Country Club punch,” Mary Violet said. “In the old days, someone always had the decency to put rum in it. Now the club’s so strict that we have to drink outside like animals.”

Constance said, “You can’t drink anyway. You’re the designated driver.”

“They let you drink in the open?”

“Only if everyone pretends it isn’t happening,” Constance said. “It’s part of Greenwood’s see-no-evil, hear-no-evil moral code.”

“Hey, guys!”

We saw Hattie coming toward us, holding hands with Jack. Hattie’s tousled dark hair hung down her back and she wore a strapless scarlet dress that exposed her pale and perfect skin. Glittering gold earrings with red gems dangled almost to her shoulders.

I felt a complicated pang of admiration for my friend and self-pity because I would never be beautiful.

Standing beside Hattie, Jack seemed less ramshackle and more arty and rakish. He wore a battered old tuxedo jacket over a black t-shirt, ancient jeans, and black boots. He hadn’t shaved and his curly hair looked like he’d been cycling in a hurricane.

I hung back as MV squeezed Jack’s arm. “Oooh, muscles! I can’t believe your mother let you go out like this.”

“I’m a grown-ass man.” He gave MV a loud smacking kiss on her cheek. “You’re very
blond
tonight, Mary Violet.”

“I hear that sarcasm in your voice, Jacob Radcliffe, and I’ll have you know that Albert Einstein was very blond as a child.”

“Is that true?” he asked suspiciously, and MV turned her head and winked at Constance and me.

“Speaking of spectacular blondes,” she said, “is your brother here yet?”

“Not that I’ve seen. Don’t look so disappointed. He always shows up eventually.” Jack was facing MV, but I thought his comment was directed at me. “Jane, did you come to hear Dog Waffle?”

“Dog
what
? You never make any sense.”

“Dog Waffle. It’s my band. I guess the answer is no. Doesn’t Hattie look amazing?”

“Yes,” I said, but I was thinking,
jackass,
because he always needed to remind me that I didn’t look amazing. “Very.”

Hattie touched my hand. “You’re so pretty in that dress. I love that color.”

“I thought red was your favorite,” Jack said. “Valentines, roses, strawberries, blood—”

Hattie interrupted him. “Red lipstick, rubies, beets.”

“No one likes beets,” Mary Violet said.

“MV, you always make these grand pronouncements,” Constance said. “With you it’s always
everybody
or
nobody
. You have a binary approach to life.”

“That’s because my mind is like a super computer,” MV said. “Let’s do a lap of the room. Hattie, are you coming or will you be acting all groupie with the band members?”

Hattie said, “Thanks for reminding me, MV. I better get started on that.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows. “How do I get in on the groupie action?”

Hattie slapped his arm and said to us, “I’ll catch up with you.”

I followed Mary Violet and Constance as they began making their way around the room, which had quickly become packed with mostly upperclassmen and lots of college-age people. My friends were so busy that it was easy for me to edge away, keeping to the comfort of the periphery, where I could observe things and hear bits of conversation.

The music stopped, the stage lights came on, and the other lights dropped further. Jack and three other guys hopped onstage. One guy went to the drum set, another carried a bass, a guy with bleached white-blond hair and a guitar went to the center mic, and Jack picked up a guitar from a stand.

The DJ announced, “Greenwood’s own … Dog Waffle.”

The crowd clapped and hooted as the singer at the center thrummed his guitar and shouted, “
Uno, dos,
three, four…”

I moved back around to where my friends had left their things. I stood half hidden by one of the potted trees and watched the band as best I could between the people standing.

At City Central, most everyone listened to hip-hop, much of it performed by students who used their closets as recording booths and sold their CDs out of their backpacks. I didn’t know much about rock, and the acoustics of the room were so bad that I had to listen hard to make out the lyrics. It was a song about deceit. The more I listened, the more I liked the band.

Even I could tell that Jack on lead guitar was the best musician. He played with his head down, his curls tumbling over his face, but then he’d lift his head, and the light would catch the gleam of his eyes. Even when the songs rocked hard and fast, each note he played was clear and distinct.

The singer was good, and everyone else seemed to like all his posing and preening. But I could tell the lyrics were Jack’s because they sounded exactly like him, with lots of wordplay. For the last song of the set, the bass player picked up a stand-up instrument and another guy came onstage with a cello. The singer stepped up to the mic and said, “Jack and I are gonna switch it up for this one, even though I’m a better singer.”

Jack gave the singer that one-sided grin as he went to the center mic. “You mean you’re a better screamer.” He waited until the singer had moved into place before saying, “This is something I just wrote for someone special.” Everyone looked at Hattie, who looked shy and happy as she stood near the stage. “It’s called ‘My Titania’ and it’s for the most extraordinary girl I’ve ever met.”

The crowd grew quiet as the cellist sounded out the first deep melancholy notes of the song and Jack began singing in a resonant, gravelly voice.

Tangled in the darkest woods, the paths twisting,

All direction lost,

I try to follow my Titania,

As she slips from reach and grasp

Like a dream that wants to be forgotten

Like a ghost condemned to wandering

I turn my head and she is gone.

The song sent a shiver through me and Jack’s eyes searched the crowd and seemed to meet mine and I felt as if he were singing right to me.

Titania, stop for me, Titania, stay for me.

Let me take your cloak of pain

Let me hear your laugh again

Titania, stop for me, Titania, wait for me

She bewitches and bewilders me,

Hesitates, then flees from me,

Titania, stop for me, stay for me

Titania, I can’t bear you away from me.

I thought,
It’s about Hattie sitting in the amphitheater like a ghost,
as the crowd clapped and stomped until the floor and walls reverberated.

Jack and the singer traded places again, and the singer said, “Okay, one more before our break.” The music cranked up with a harder, faster edge. Someone shouted out to Jack and he laughed, and I got a completely different sense of who he was.

I caught sight of Lucky’s golden head near the front of the stage and I hurried through the crowd, excited to see him. And that’s when I saw a tall, amber-haired person beside him: Catalina. Lucky was leaning close to talk to her. His hand went up to stroke her hair. She was smiling at him, her hand on his shoulder.

I stood transfixed by the sight of them flirting and felt as if someone were squeezing my throat.

How completely
stupid
was I to believe Lucky’s “girlfriends are temporary” speech? How
stupid
was I to think that I might have meant something to him when he was only playing me … because he wanted adoration from the pathetic, lonely, desperate foster kid.

I tried to find the anger that would overcome the pain, but all I could feel was the agony of rejection because I knew the truth: that no boy would ever choose me when he could have Catalina. I needed to get out of here fast.

“Jane! There you are. What’s the matter?” Hattie caught my arm as I reached the door.

“Nothing! I have to go. I’m … I don’t feel well.” I despised myself for letting my crush on Lucky make me so vulnerable.

Hattie hooked her arm in mine and headed to the exit. “There’s no air in here. I’ll go with you.”

Outside, I gulped down the cold air. Across the lot, the swimming pools glowed pure and bright, the blue of Lucky’s eyes. Voices floated from behind a tall hedge. Glass crashed and shattered somewhere, and drunken laughter followed.

“Jane, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“I can tell you’re
not
fine.” Her expression was too earnest and she wavered slightly. She’d been drinking.

“I’m not really good at social things, Hattie. I’d rather be home.”

“If you stay at home, you’ll never learn to deal with social things. People here are okay, but you have to put some effort into getting to know them.”

I nodded even though I didn’t want to
ever
get to know them. Finally, I admitted, “I saw Lucky in there. With Catalina. She’ll probably talk smack about me to Lucky just when we’re starting to be friends.”

“Is that all? Hey, Lucky knows that she talks smack about everyone. She even told him that he was ‘too provincial’ for her to ever date.” Hattie laughed. “I don’t think he’d ever been so insulted. She did it in front of everyone and MV told Lucky that provincial was French for ignorant hick.”

“Then why is he all over her?”

“Lucky gets a kick by making other girls jealous, because it keeps all the attention on him.” She twisted her lips to show her disgust. “As if I give one damn about who Lucian Radcliffe hits on.”

I wanted to believe her. “He said the girls here are all jealous.”

“Let’s go back in. Unless you want to get your drink on first. Some of my friends set up a bar behind the pool house.”

“No, thanks.”

“Don’t you ever get loose, Jane?”

“It’s not fun for me, because … thinking clearly is all I have.” I tried to explain. “If you’re small and live in a sketchy place, you’ve got to keep your wits about you all the time.”