Pretending to Be Erica (20 page)

“Ever think about being a DJ?”

He takes a sip of water and snorts. “You have to know how to work a crowd.”

“What’d you call the recital then? Making that dramatic exit and all?” Cass asks. “My mom’s friends were there—talked about it for a full week.”

“They were talking about the sprinklers, Cass,” Merril corrects. “Someone pulled the fire alarm. An emergency trumps a dumb piano recital.” She glances at James. “No offense.”

He laughs. “None taken.”

Taylor’s smug smile lasts until dessert rolls around. She takes two forks and piles them with cheesecake before turning to us.

“Open up, you two.”

“Why?” James dodges a creamy fork.

“You’re both skeletons. I’m trying to help you put some meat on.”

I laugh and take both bites off the forks, relishing the taste. I’d eaten all the roast beef I could handle, and the richest desserts. Violet is rolling in euphoria, and Erica is fretting over how the calories will mess with her waist. Their voices are faint. Fainter than they were when I first started this con. Is it the dark static trance music wafting from the speakers as the DJ gears up? Is it the way James’s hand interweaves with mine under the white tablecloth, sending spirals of warmth through my veins? Or is it the bitter cold in my stomach, the dense pit of nothingness, a black hole hungering for anything happy? Is it the dread circling me like a scavenger, waiting for the corpse to perish?

This is my last night of living like a normal person.

I smile and pull James to his feet the moment the music starts. The dance floor, a wide polished space near the tables, is completely empty. A few people edge around it, waiting for someone to be the first to take the plunge and dance.

James is hesitant. “I dance like crap.”

“We all do.” I smirk and put my arms around his neck. “There’s a trick to it.”

“And that is?”

I relax against his chest, the tempo of the beat too fast for slow dancing. But I’ll do what I want. This is my night.

“You just have to pretend. Pretend you’re someone else—a pro dancer. A guy who frequents clubs. Get in the mind-set, think like he might think.”

“And then what?” He raises a brow.

“Your body will follow your mind’s lead.”

“What about the heart?”

“Hearts don’t matter.” I smile. More people filter onto the dance floor, and our slow dance looks out of place. James sighs and presses his forehead to mine.

“Hearts matter. You know that.”

I just smile wider and make space between us. I spin out and back into him and dance like I’ve seen pretty girls in clubs do—arms in the air, moving sensuously and slowly to the beat. He stands there, then finally puts his hands on my hips, turning me, guiding me, doing nothing but swaying with me and burying his face in the crook of my neck.

“I knew,” he murmurs. I can hear him over the music only because he says it right in my ear. “Right after we talked in the mall, I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That you were going to be the first girl to break my heart.”

My breath catches. I force the smile now. “I haven’t broken anything yet, right?”

“You will. Someday. But everybody breaks everything. For now we’re fantastic. It’s just, the better we get, the harder I realize the fall will be.”

You’ve already broken my heart, James. Or I’ve broken it because of you. To make this pain less. To make this night, this parting, hurt less. That coin flip made me happy and ragged all at once—sealed my fate like a cement block over an open casket. I would love you. I fought it, and it still won in the end. It’s the one thing I can’t fake.

Who does he like more?
I wonder.
Violet or Erica?

It won’t matter after tonight, Violet shrugs.

But the question will haunt you until you die,
Erica whispers.

Neither of them knows I’ve already made up my mind. I keep it to myself and peck James on the cheek.

“Need something to drink.”

“I’m not dancing if you’re not here.” He frowns.

“I’ll get Taylor to come join you.” I wink, and before he can protest, I elbow through the dancing crowd. Taylor’s not hard to miss—her jet black ponytail standing out over the blonds and brunettes.

“Hey.” I grab her arm.

She turns, two cups of punch in hand, and passes me one. “Drink up, Fakey. Long night ahead of us.”

I down the punch gratefully, the slight burning aftertaste a dead giveaway. “You spiked it?”

She snickers and tucks an empty mini bottle of vodka into her clutch. My stomach twists—I need to be level-headed. Alcohol isn’t going to help my thinking, and this is the one night I need to think. I consider going into the bathroom to throw it up, but I quash that thought. Alcohol moves fast, hits faster. I clutch at her arm.

“James is over there. Dancing alone.” I point.

Her brow wrinkles. “Whaddya want me to do about it?”

“Entertain him.” I smirk. “Do that hard-to-get-bitch thing you do so well.”

“I can’t dance.”

“I can’t either.”

She snorts. “I’m not the happy-joy-joy type who can fake it like you.”

“Fake it,” I repeat softly. “Look, please? Just dance with him or talk with him for a bit. I have to go do something.”

She heaves a sigh and pats me on the shoulder. “Fine. But just this one time, and just for you.”

I watch her shove dancers out of her way to get to James. I feel a familiar viselike grip on my arm. Merril laughs and leans in to me.

“My feet are freakin’ killing me already!”

“Mine too,” I lament. “But you looked good out there.”

“Are you kidding? You and James totally stole the spotlight.” She giggles.

“I’ve gotta go the bathroom.”

“Oh! I’ll come with you!”

“And by bathroom, I mean ‘the curb outside for fresh air.’”

She leads me through the doors and away from the thumping music. I look back once, Taylor awkwardly leading James to the table. A sardonic half argument plays at their lips, and seeing it makes me smile.

Everything is back to normal. Revert.

People linger on the sidewalk, taking in the cold air. Older kids smoke a good ways away. Merril leads me to a bench near the golf course and we sit. I take deep breaths, and Merril adjusts her bodice, wincing.

“How’s Kerwin?” I ask. “Dance-wise, I mean.”

A grimace. “He’s okay. I mean, nothing special.”

I quirk an eyebrow and smirk. “A month ago you would’ve shouted that he was a dancing god, and then rolled out a red carpet for him.”

“Hey, I can grow up too, you know. I totally got out of that phase. We’re more down-to-earth now.”

If my hunch about him is right, he’ll leave when I do. Tonight.

She wrinkles her nose. “You think you and James are going to last?”

“Nothing lasts, Mer.”

She sighs and lays her head on my shoulder. “I know. But you don’t have to say it. Saying it makes it too real.”

We enjoy the silence for a moment longer before a shriek of laughter and the rustling of a nearby bush makes us look. In the faint light from the streetlamp, I barely make out girl’s and boy’s legs sticking out from the bushes. I clear my throat. A squeak resounds, and the legs disappear to be replaced by heads.

“Cass?” Merril’s eyes widen.

Cass smiles, hair riddled with leaves. Below her, Alex sits up quickly.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Cass stands, adjusting her skirt as she frees herself from the bush. “Alex, are you just gonna lie there?”

“Yes.” His voice reverberates from the bush. “Come back in when you’re done talking.”

Merril and I shoot each other a look. Cass fluffs her hair out. “Well? What are you two doing out here?”

“Too stuffy in there.” Merril sighs. “And they were playing Lil Jon. Ew.”

Cass laughs and sits on my right side, leaning her head onto my shoulder. Now both shoulders are occupied by tired prom-girl heads.

“I’m feeling a little sick,” I say, moaning. “And I forgot my birth control.”

It’s a lie, but it gets both of their attention.

“Really?” Cass’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know you and James were so far already.”

“There’re taxis just down the road.” Merril points. “I mean, teachers won’t let us off the grounds, but it’s just a few yards. We could sneak to Safeway, buy some stuff.”

“Safeway? In our prom dresses?” Cass laughs. “We’d be so out of place. We can get all that stuff at the hotel. Besides, Erica can’t leave yet. They’re going to announce prom queen.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I fidget with my clutch. “There’s no way I can be queen.”

“Erica, get real. You’re the prodigal returned daughter or whatever. We grew up with you missing. Now that you’re back, it’s a dead giveaway you’ll be prom queen.”

“I don’t deserve it. You do, Cass. Or you, Merril.”

“I would have a heart attack and die of joy if I were queen.” Merril purses her lips and pats on some lip balm. “I don’t wanna die this young.”

Cass smiles and helps me up. “You two, go inside. Get crowned, dance, get crazy. The night’s really young.”

“And you?”

“I’ve got some unfinished business.” She winks and nods at the bush. “But I’ll be in to see you crowned.”

Merril rolls her eyes as we get up.

Me? Prom queen? I shake my head to clear it. That’s wrong. Revert. It all needs to revert, as if I were never here. I rummage in my purse and take out a piece of paper and a tiny pen. I scribble:

I hereby officially give the crown of St. Peter’s prom queen to Merril Breton.

Erica Silverman

Merril looks at me, then at the paper. Those huge eyes of hers get even bigger. “Rica, what are you playing at?”

I put on my best smile. “I really do have to go. I’m not feeling well.”

“I’ll come with you! You don’t need to do this! We’ll get medicine and then come back in time—”

“That crown isn’t mine, Merril. My time to shine is over. I’ve taken up the attention of this town for years. I’m stepping down. It’s your turn. Your moment.”

“Rica, what’s going on? Why are you being like this?”

“You don’t want to be prom queen?”

“I do!” she answers immediately, too quickly. Her desire is palpable, sweet desperation in her words. “But, if it’s yours first—”

I clasp at my sapphire necklace. “Mom gave me this tonight. It was my grandma’s. She left it in her will for me. So it was never Mom’s to begin with. This crown, queen thing, is the same. You get that, right?”

She scrunches her face, an argument on the tip of her tongue.

“I’ll be right back. Just going to get some Tylenol. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Merril nods reluctantly. I push her toward the open doors.

“Go on. You’ve gotta give Kerwin at least one more dance.”

And distract him while I make my getaway
.

Her smile finally feels real, and she walks into the music and the lights. I take a breath and turn to the darkness. They might not accept the note, but when they find out I’m gone and Merril shows it to them, they’ll have no choice but to crown her, as per my wish. I’m the kidnapped girl. They’ll do it for me. The teachers are watching me. I wait. Mrs. Anderson is too old to stand long in one place, and Mr. Gregory is too hungry-looking, chewing on his toothpick like it’s gum. They’ll go in and switch shifts very soon.

Five minutes, and they both walk in together. Sometimes I love my gut feelings.

I get up and start down the sidewalk, to the darkness and clamor of the main street.

“Rica!”

I turn. Cass peeks her head from the bushes, a bright hickey just beginning to solidify on her neck, her cheeks flushed.

“It was nice. Getting to know you.”

The choice of words is so final. Her eyes glint, a little wet. She knows I’m leaving, and not temporarily. She’s sharper than she lets on. Neither of us is skilled at good-byes. I smile.

“You too.”

She ducks back into the bushes, and I turn on my heel and stride behind a hedge. A cab waits just outside the mall, scouring for late-night stragglers. I tap on the window and slide in.

“Home Depot, please.”

The cab driver puts out his cigarette and chuckles. “And what is a fancy-dressed girl like you going to buy there?”

“I need gloves, a pickax, a shovel, a flashlight, and twenty glow sticks. Let’s get on with it. The night is only so young for so long.”

Home Depot’s parking lot has fewer eyes watching it than prom.

When I was thirteen, Sal taught me how to break in to and hot-wire any car made earlier than 2006, using a nail file, the heel of a shoe, and gum.

The road goes on forever.

I know that’s not true. It has to stop somewhere: the edge of a sea cliff, a gravel dead end in a peaceful neighborhood, or the cracked fissure of a canyon leading down into the earth itself. I tap my fingers on the wheel of the stolen Range Rover and pull onto Kalstead Road. A hula girl doll sways her hips on the dashboard.

I slow at mile marker twelve and pull over. The road is dead. I lace the bag with the pickax and glow sticks over my arm and grab the shovel in my right hand and the flashlight in my left.

I’m being followed.

I wait fourteen seconds. The glimmer of headlights in the distance is from the same direction I came from, but they cut out when they crest the hill.