League of Strays (24 page)

All I could think about was my viola: defenseless and unprotected in the bush. I ran as fast as I could, chased by the rain, until I reached my yard. Dropping onto my knees, I crawled through the puddles, under the kitchen window where Mom was chopping vegetables, to rescue my instrument.

Up in my room, I grabbed a towel and dried off my viola case first, then myself. As I peeled the wet denim from my legs, the ring in my pocket tumbled out, rolling across the floor like a wayward tire. I fell to my knees, flattening the glint of gold beneath my hand before it reached the heat register. Then I threaded the chain through the ring and hid it under an overdue math graph.

I felt completely alone. Uncertain of anything. I picked up my instrument, tucked it into the crook of my neck, and began to play.

I hadn’t memorized the concerto by Seitz, not consciously, but the bow seemed to draw the notes out. I remembered how Mr. Watson had played it for me a while ago, demonstrating how
a wider vibrato would make the tone more beautiful. He was right. I didn’t know why I’d never tried it before. As I played, I felt the joy of the piece for the first time. Like cliff-diving into a deep lake and thrusting to the surface again.

The tempo picked up speed as my emotions drowned out my thoughts, driving away the fears that seemed to tether me to the everyday world. The cold ugliness inside me melted, leaving a happiness that surged through my fingers. Somehow, my bow kept up as the music swelled inside me, filling the emptiness and making me solid.

That’s when the realization hit: I
did
like playing. I hadn’t known how much I’d missed it.

But do you love it? I asked myself. Not every minute, I realized. I detested the endless scales, the exercises, the measures that needed to be repeated until my fingers went numb, but I loved the music. The creation of something so beautiful, so perfect. And even more important, I loved how it made me feel to play it.

Kade hadn’t known one thing about me—because I hadn’t known it myself until now. Music was a part of who I was, and I couldn’t be whole without it. He’d tried to take away what mattered to me most so he could step into its place and control my life without distraction.

The letter from Barrymore flashed through my head. I laid my instrument down on my pillow and rushed to my desk, yanking the drawer open and rifling through so many songs practiced, accomplished, and filed away. There it was, still in the
envelope with a clean tear across the top. I slipped it out and read it, this time in full.

My heart came crashing down. I’d missed the deadline. How could that be? There had to be something I could do, something that would make it all better. I glanced at the clock. Barrymore was closed. It would have to wait. Later, I would try to beg my way into my rightful spot.

I returned to the concerto, my last source of comfort. My heart became the metronome, ticking an unrelenting beat, accompanied by the distant chime of a telephone: One, two, three,
ring
. One, two, three,
ring
.

A knock on the door. My finger stalled on a B-flat.

“Charlotte, are you in there? How did you get inside the house?” Mom opened the door, poking her head inside. “Your hair! It’s wet.”

“Mr. Watson wasn’t feeling well. He let me out early.” I couldn’t hide the depression in my voice.

“Why didn’t you call me? You’ve been sick. You shouldn’t walk in the rain!”

“I’m feeling better, and it didn’t start to pour until I was almost home.”

Tiny lines darted from her mouth. “What’s wrong with Mr. Watson?”

Why was it that every lie required six more? My brain, the remarkable fabricator, had short-circuited in the rain. I shrugged.

Mom shook her head, frustrated. “Anyway, Charlotte, someone’s calling.”

I waited until she was gone, then lifted the receiver. Terrified, but with a tinge of hopefulness, perhaps out of habit, I said, “Hello?”

“Hey, Charlotte. It’s Richie.”

“Oh.”

“Hi to you, too. Are you OK? I didn’t see you in school.”

“I’ve been sick.”

“Listen, I was thinking about the Prom with the Dead tonight when I got this great idea …”

I glanced at the clock. In two hours I was supposed to show up at Lowell’s Cemetery with my party face on.

“We could pretend it’s like a real prom,” Richie was saying. “You in a dress. Me in a suit. Kade will
love
that.”

I winced at the word “love.”

“Wearing a gown in a torrential downpour doesn’t sound very appealing,” I said.

“The weather’s fine now. You can see the stars and everything. Come on, Charlotte.”

“I still feel lousy”—I started to lie, but changed direction—“about a lot of things. I don’t think I can come tonight.”

Richie paused. “Charlotte, it’s our chance to have fun. Maybe we can have a mindless night for once. Just enjoy ourselves.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Please, Charlotte. Be my date.” Then he added, “Kade will be really upset if you don’t show up.”

I glanced away, thinking. How upset would Kade be?

“Please,” Richie said. “Do it for me and Zoe.”

“OK, fine,” I said, defeated. From where I sat, I could see into
my closet. The red bridesmaid dress I’d worn to my uncle Jay and aunt Lin’s wedding was still there. I’d missed it somehow in my Salvation Army purge.

“I’ll pick you up in my dad’s behemoth Chevy at seven thirty,” he said.

I hung up the phone. How was I going to pull this off? I hadn’t even mentioned the prom to my parents.

I dragged myself to the banister. “Mom!”

“What?” she called back from the bottom of the stairs.

“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t see you there. I’m going to the prom tonight, OK?”

“You’re going to the
what
?”

“My friend’s prom date has the flu. Richie asked me to go in her place.”

“Who’s Richie?”

“Just a boy. From math class.”

“Oh, just a boy.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you didn’t mention the prom before! It’s a huge deal. Or at least it used to be when I was in high school.”

My insides fluttered with anticipation. For a moment, it felt like we were talking about the
real
prom.

Mom studied me, her face softening. The wrinkle on her forehead went back into hiding. “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough? Well, never mind. You shouldn’t let a cough get in your way. I’m so happy you’re going! Do you need help getting ready?”

The relentless fingers of guilt reached out, pinching my heart. I hated lying to her. “Oh, sure. That would be great.”

She smiled. “How about that red dress you wore to Jay and Lin’s wedding? You looked beautiful in it.”

I’d looked like a stick of licorice. But tonight, it would have to do.

“Great minds think alike,” I said.

MOM GATHERED MY HAIR INTO A FRENCH TWIST, ADDING A
few ringlets with a curling iron. She stepped back to appraise me.

“It took me a while to get used to it, but I think that new hair color suits you,” she said.

“Is my lipstick too dark?”

“It’s perfect.”

“Do I have too much blush on?”

“You look like Cinderella at the ball,” she said. “Let’s show Daddy.”

I looked in the mirror, and for the first time, I saw it. Just a glimpse, but there it was all the same. I could see pretty with my own eyes. I didn’t need anyone else’s.

“What’s wrong? Do you want more eyeliner?” Mom rummaged through her makeup case.

“No, everything’s fine,” I answered. The truth was, I wished I were going to the real prom, not some consolation party in a forgotten graveyard.

I heard a familiar clank against my sliding glass door. I launched into a coughing fit to cover the sound.

“Can you get me some tea?” I hacked. “My throat’s dry.”

“I knew that rain wasn’t good for you,” she said, heading out.

Once she was gone, I darted to the door. An appreciative whistle rose from the dark.

“My mom will be back in a minute,” I whispered. “You have to go!”

Kade, halfway up the tree, looked unconcerned. “Make up an excuse, Charlie. It’s party time.”

I glanced behind me. “I thought we were supposed to meet at Lowell’s … Richie’s supposed to pick me up in ten minutes, and—”

He climbed to a higher branch, then swung his legs onto the deck like a gymnast. “I spoke with him. He’s already there. Everyone’s waiting for you.” He inserted a finger into one of my ringlets. “You look very sexy, by the way.”

What was I supposed to say to my parents, that my date stood me up, and I was going to the prom alone? Forget it.

He waltzed past me into the room.

“What are you doing?” I protested.

The door flew open. The steaming mug in Mom’s hand tipped, dribbling tea onto the rug by the foot of my bed.

“Hello, Mrs. Brody,” Kade said with a nod. “I apologize if
I scared you. I was trying to pull off that corny
Romeo and Juliet
balcony act. You know, with it being prom night and all.”

“You must be Richie.” Mom lowered her eyes. It seemed no one was immune to Kade’s charm.

“That’s me,” he said, lifting my hand to kiss it.

Mom took in his sweatshirt, faded blue jeans, and Nikes. He shifted, blocking her view.

“I bet you’re wondering why I’m dressed this way, Mrs. Brody,” he said, turning back. “It’s embarrassing. I spilled something on my tux and had to get it dry-cleaned. My mom picked it up after work, and I was hoping Charlotte could come with me to get it from her. We’ll go to the prom from there.”

“Would you mind if I get a picture of you kids before you go?”

Kade covered my hand with his. “As long as you make a copy for me.”

I stiffened. His lies were landing in my mother’s trusting ears. Never mind that I’d spent the past few months avoiding the truth myself.

Mom introduced “Richie,” the world’s most perfect date, to Dad. Then she arranged us in an awkward pose and snapped pictures. In between shots, she kept reminding me to smile.

“Gosh, Charlotte, we’d better get going.” Kade eyed his watch.

His act was as contrived and sappy as the photos my mom had just taken. Had he really said “Gosh,” for chrissakes?

“Somehow, I doubt my tux would fit you.” Dad chuckled, rubbing his stomach.

I started for the door. Mom dropped a hand on my arm while Kade kept going. She whispered, “Richie seems like a nice boy.”

Where had my overprotective mother gone? How could she not see through Kade’s act? Moms were supposed to have a sixth sense about these things. How could she be so annoyingly on top of my every move and yet unable to sniff out his lies? And there was Dad, flipping through the
Wall Street Journal
while his only daughter left home with a guy whose last name he didn’t even know.

She pressed a hand to my back and ushered me out the door. I jerked away, hurt that her maternal instinct had failed to kick in.

“Have a wonderful time, honey.” She smiled at me, her eyes full of pride.

This was my last chance to stay home. I didn’t have to go to the Prom with the Dead. It wasn’t too late to turn back.

“I hope you have fun with your friends,” she added.

Friends
, I thought to myself. Is that what they were? I thought of Richie’s phone call, of Zoe and Nora helping me dye my hair. It’s just a party, I said to myself. If we all hung out together, I wouldn’t have to be alone with Kade.

“It was so nice meeting you, Mrs. Brody,” Kade said. “Time to go, Charlotte.”

Mom kissed my cheek, and Kade and I headed for the sidewalk. When Mom shut the door, he quickened his pace, leaving me behind.

“What’s going on?” I demanded, running to catch up with him.

“I’ve got a surprise for everyone.”

“What do you mean?” I asked warily.

“We have a lot to celebrate.” He turned around to face me, walking backward. “Come on. We only have a few minutes until the party starts.”

Was Richie in on this? Why was he already at the party?

“Just
trust
me, Charlie.”

I pictured him and Nora on the
Majestic Seas
, discussing my so-called trust issues. I bit my bottom lip to stop my imagination from taking off. Instead, I thought about my phone call to Jenny Carson. She was a complete stranger, and yet I trusted her more than Kade. And then there was Tiffany Miller, who’d turned out to be a decent person.

Who
was
Kade Harlin, anyway?

He was watching me, I realized, watching me stand there in an ugly prom dress, my high heels glued to the sidewalk.

“OK, I’ll tell you the surprise,” he said, stirring me out of my thoughts. “Remember how those guys tore Zoe’s shirt off at that fake party Wanda made up? Well, Wanda’s under the impression that her friends are having a pre-prom party at Lowell’s. When she shows up, we’re going to blindfold her and rip off her prom dress. She’ll have to make her way back into town in her birthday suit.” He laughed. “It’s going to be hilarious. It’s time for Zoe to get back at her for what she did.”

I smiled weakly.

“Good one, huh?” Kade asked, searching my face.