Envy (Fury) (34 page)

Then he turned, and she was even more flustered. He didn’t look cute, like he usually did. He looked hot. His slim jeans, dark blazer, white shirt, and lime-green bow tie, the Converse sneakers peeking out from under his cuffs, his crooked grin—it came together just right.

“Um, hi,” she said, hoping the dim lighting was enough to hide her raging blush. “I just got here.”

“I know, I saw you come in,” he said as the band started playing again. Em waited expectantly for him to say something more, but nothing came.

“Who . . . who are you here with?” Em didn’t want to know the answer, of course, but she had to ask. She took one step forward to make sure she could hear his reply. He stayed put.

“No one,” he said, holding up his spare ticket with a shrug. “I was going to ask Drea—just as friends,” he added with a sarcastic
roll of his eyes. As if he owed her an explanation. . . . “But she said she had some other stuff to take care of.”

There was a brief moment of silence between them. His eyes went from her face to her dress, lingering for a moment at the draped neckline, which followed the lines of her clavicle.

Then he sighed, as though he didn’t want to say the words that came out of his mouth. As if he just couldn’t help himself. “You—you look beautiful,” JD said. “You’re, like, glowing.”

Em’s heart swelled. She had doubted she would ever hear such kind words from him again. She grinned and looked down at her shoes. “Oh. Thanks.” She looked back up at him, right into his hazel eyes, the ones she’d looked at so many times before. She found something there, something she wanted to crawl into, like a goose down comforter in the middle of winter. “Can we talk? Someplace a bit . . . quieter?”

Just then the song changed. It was a slow one this time, and couples started pairing off on the dance floor. JD looked wary. “I don’t know, Em. Things have been so screwed up. . . .”

“Can we dance, then?” She tried to keep her question light. She just couldn’t let him get away, not this time.

He hesitated. Then: “Yeah, I guess. Sure.” He spoke in a low, scruffy voice that Em had never heard before. She took his hand and led him to the edge of the dance floor; once they found a spot, neither of them knew how to proceed—how close to stand, or where to put their hands. Em thought about other dances,
other guys—Steve Sawyer holding her hips at last year’s homecoming dance, or Andy Barton putting her hands around his neck at the Spring Fling.

This was nothing like that. JD took one of her hands in his own and placed the other one on his shoulder. He put his free hand around her waist, and she could feel it there, burning through the white fabric covering her ribs and the small of her back.

She took one step closer. She could smell the clean scent of his peppermint soap. Being this close was overwhelming, exciting, and just as she’d imagined. It was like there was no one else in the whole room except the two of them. The music swept around them; Em imagined that both of their hearts were beating in time to its rhythm.

“Maybe I’m not so bad,” he murmured into her ear.

“What?” she said, pulling back a little to look at his face.

“At dancing, I mean. Remember? You told me Mr. Darcy doesn’t dance; he just has a heart of gold and all that crap.”

Em laughed, and held him tighter. “No,” she whispered. “You’re not so bad at all. . . .” She felt her grin widening uncontrollably, and she pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his familiar smell.

“This is nice,” he said, his voice quiet and gravelly.

“It
is
nice,” she said, squeezing his hand in hers. Finally. It felt like they had begun to reclaim something. “It’s always nice, with
us, JD. Or, at least, it used to be. We’ve had so much fun together.” Immediately, she scolded herself for being so inarticulate, for not saying what she wanted to say: that she was happy with him, always. Even when everything around them was falling apart.

“Fun. Right,” he echoed hollowly. He took a step away from her, running his hands through his hair, breaking the spell. “Good old JD. Always good for a laugh and a ride, right?”

Em didn’t know what to say. The song ended, replaced by fast beats that made it hard for Em to hear herself think.

“JD, no. That’s not what I was saying. You don’t understand. I came here . . . to tell you how I feel. About you. So I could see you, and explain—”

He cut her off. “I don’t think your boyfriend would be so happy to hear this.” He pointed to one of the fun house mirrors in the gym—and in it, she was shocked to see Crow’s reflection. He looked as tall, dark, and disdainful as ever, scanning the room full of his former classmates . . . looking for Em, she suddenly had no doubt. Em could hear people around her begin whispering and snickering, and all of a sudden Gabby was behind her, squealing, “What’s the Grim Creeper doing here?”

Crow strode purposefully in her direction. When he reached her, he pulled her aside without saying hello.

Em was aware that people were staring at her. Crow towered over her, looking wild and paler than usual. She shook his hand off her arm. “What the hell are you doing?” she whispered.

“Em, I just came from Drea’s house,” he said. “I rushed straight here to find you.”

“How did you even get
in
?” Em knew that something must be very wrong, but her mind settled on this, the most mundane of problems: Crow was a dropout. No way he could have bought a ticket.

“Who cares?” he practically barked. “Listen to me. It’s Drea. Something’s up with her, Em. I think she’s flipped a switch. I came to warn you—”

Just then, all at once, the music died, and all the lights in the gym went out. Someone screamed, and Ascension High was plunged into complete darkness.

Skylar had just arrived at the dance. She floated across the parking lot. A silk mask, made of delicate black lace that matched the somber black of her satin dress, brushed across her bandages. She touched her fingers to the mask, wondering where she’d gotten it, when she had put it on. The medication was starting to wear off, leaving a pounding sensation in her skull, making everything around her pulse in and out as though under a glaring strobe light. She couldn’t remember exactly how she’d gotten here, to Ascension, to the dance. It was Lucy . . . ? Lucy had taken her . . . no. That didn’t make sense.
Lucy can’t go anywhere. . . .

She was alone now. Alone at the dance. She drifted toward the freshman who was guarding the entrance to the dance. When he saw her, he stood up, knocking over his chair. He seemed . . . scared.

She smiled at him, not knowing if he could see her face through her mask. “One ticket for the dance, please,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice.

“We—we don’t sell tickets at the door,” the boy said shakily, moving away from Skylar almost as though she was a wild animal. He wouldn’t—or couldn’t—look at her straight-on.

“One ticket for the dance, please,” she repeated. Like one of those dolls again, who can only say one phrase over and over.

“Let me see if I can get Mr. Shields—to make an exception,” the freshman said. As he scurried away, he shouted over his shoulder, “Stay here, all right? Just stay here.” He disappeared through the double doors.

Skylar nodded dreamily, but she didn’t listen. Pulled by unseen forces, she floated after him, pushing aside, then replacing, the metal trash can that blocked the door. It made a squealing noise against the linoleum floor, but no one noticed.

The scene inside was nothing like the romantic ballroom she had anticipated. It was dark and chaotic. The lights were out—and not, apparently, on purpose. There were sputtering wails of feedback coming from the front of the room, where the band and its amplifiers were set up on a makeshift stage. There was a deep, rhythmic thumping coming from the speakers—someone must have been testing the sound system.

Glinting with limited light from the Exit signs and a few flashlights, tall mirrors offered shadowy, distorted reflections that
increased the sense of confusion in the room. Through her own fog and that of the swirling artificial mist that surrounded the students, it was like a subterranean maze. The pulsing in her head wouldn’t stop.
Is Lucy here? I’m so sorry.

Someone was speaking into the microphone on the stage—an adult—telling the kids to stay calm as the chaperones investigated the lights situation. Flashlight beams swept through the crowd and high-pitched squeals and giggles started to emerge from the corners of the room as boys used the darkness as an opportunity for a quick grope and girls pretended to be appalled. To them, this was a game. A fun twist to their night.

Maybe it
was
a game.

Skylar was all mixed up.
All this noise. I can’t see. I can’t hear.

She took a step backward, back toward the double doors. But she was disoriented now. She couldn’t tell which way she was going. There were mirrors everywhere, and they made it impossible to see straight. People spun by her, leering reflections with bug eyes and pointing fingers. Her breath started to come quicker, and fingers of panic licked at her arms and legs, encircling her, grabbing at her heart.

Where am I? Why am I here?
The dance beat sounded increasingly like static. Was the rhythm real, or was that in her head? She took several impulsive steps forward, walking directly into one of the glass mirrors. The impact was enough to make her stumble backward, lose her footing, and fall onto the floor. As she did so
her mask flew off, skittering across the waxed floor of the gym. She was uncovered now. No protection.

The drugs had mostly worn off by now, and when she glimpsed herself in the fun-house mirror, she felt like she had been shoved into a nightmare. Her starched pageant dress—
Lucy’s dress—
was hideous and ill-fitting. Her skin was bloated and discolored—what you could see of it, anyway, beneath the crisscross of bandages and stitches. Her hair was only half there.

Skylar looked like a monster.

The beam of a flashlight swept over her and lingered there, like a spotlight. Then more flashlights, all circling around her, until she was surrounded in a pool of light. A scream, and then another. People calling her name and whispering.
Skylar. Skylar. Skylar.

Through another mirror, Skylar saw Gabby, beautiful Gabby, a vision in pink and white with blond curls, comforting a freshman girl who appeared to be on the brink of a panic attack. Skylar watched Gabby soothe the girl and stroke her hair. Not even the distorted mirror could make Gabby appear ugly. No, she looked like a Disney princess, with disproportionately huge blue eyes.

Panic, humiliation, and confusion swept through Skylar. She tried to bring her hands to her face, to cover herself. She struggled to her feet and pushed through the crowd that had formed a ring around her. How could she get out of here? And
then, through a different tall mirrored pane, she saw Em across the room. Bent over? Talking to someone? She seemed gigantic and leggy, with the body of a spider like the ones Skylar used to find in webby corners of her garage.

And her face, Em’s face—it looked like someone else’s. Ty’s. Or maybe Ty had become Em? Either way, their features were nearly identical. Their beautiful, defined cheekbones. Their wide foreheads and deep-set brown eyes. Their dark hair. Their thin lips that widened into perfect, toothy smiles. It was like they were the same person.

Was Meg here too? Would Meg help her?

More screams then, and suddenly Skylar realized that people were screaming at
her
.

The freak. The beast. The monster.

Humiliation and fear boiled together in her belly, a rancid mix that burned and chafed at her insides.

She snatched the mask from the floor and ran, stumbling, for the doors, lost among the mirrors and smoke, searching for a red Exit sign that would be her beacon, a light at the end of this haunted tunnel. She pushed by the other students, who were becoming increasingly panicked. Was that a burning smell in the air? There was no order, no one in charge. Just screaming and shouting. People running out the doors. But Skylar didn’t care about any of them anymore. She just cared about herself.

By the time she made it to the exit, Skylar was shivering
and sobbing. Her body was wrecked—by the cuts, by the drugs, by the bewilderment, by the mortification of being seen like this.
I’m sorry, Gabby. I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry.
She felt weak. A bunch of kids pushed past her, running out into the hallway and then out into the cold night. She wobbled and stumbled over the trash can in the doorway; when she didn’t bother to set it right, it fell over and rolled down the hall. The door slammed shut.

But Skylar just kept running, and crying, and whispering her unheard apologies, so lost in her own misery that she could only barely hear the fists that almost immediately began to pound on the gym door from the inside.

As soon as the lights went out, Em felt Crow try to grab her, but there was confusion, with people going in different directions, and Crow and Em were separated.

They were here, the Furies—she knew it. They’d plunged the Ascension gym into blackness, and whatever they were planning, it wouldn’t be good. Panic filled Em’s chest, along with rage. She had to find them, figure out what they were up to, and stop it. She had to stop
them
.

She became disoriented quickly in the dark; her senses were all screwed up. After an initial moment of silence, the sound had been restored to the gym. She heard the thumping bass of dance music and Mr. Shields’s feedback-distorted voice on the microphone as he tried to make himself heard above the din. “The
lights will be back on in a minute,” he said. “Everyone, please stay calm.” People were shouting—an adrenaline-fueled combination of confusion and excitement. The noise came as an assault, making it impossible to think. She felt like the room was spinning around her, and she really didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing. She’d lost Gabby. JD. Even Crow. She was on her own, heading toward the shadows at the back of the gym, away from the crowd.