Reconstructing Amelia (18 page)

Zadie snapped open the big steel door before I’d even rung her bell. I was just praying she hadn’t seen me talking to Mr. Woodhouse.

“You’re late,” she barked, looking over my head to the sidewalk like she was checking to see if I’d been followed. Then she yanked my sweatshirt, dragging me inside. “Jesus, don’t stand out there like a fucking asshole.”

I’d thought Zadie had been letting me into her building, not her house. But it was one big open space inside with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and exposed brick on the other. The floors looked like a sidewalk, except polished, and the little bit of furniture was superlow, cold, and modern. Except for a bookshelf full of photographs and a couple of expensive-looking vases, the place looked more like a furniture store than a house where people actually lived.

“Christ, come on.” Zadie brushed past me toward a set of suspended steel stairs. “Everyone’s already downstairs.”

I followed her down the steps into a finished basement. At the front was a small room with empty bookshelves and a set of reading chairs. Next to that was a hallway covered with a modern, patterned carpet—blues and reds and greens spiraling together down the length of the long hallway.

Zadie had said everyone was already there, hadn’t she? It was so weirdly quiet down there, though. Silent actually. What if there wasn’t anyone else there? What if the whole meeting had been some kind of setup? Zadie
really
hated me. I might not have known why, but I knew that much for sure. And now there I was, trapped down in her quiet basement, locked away from the world where no one would ever hear me scream.

“What are you waiting for?” Zadie asked, flapping a hand at me.

“It’s so quiet down here,” I said. Like an idiot.

“Um, that’s because it’s soundproofed, you freak,” Zadie said, like everyone had soundproofed rooms in their houses. She was glaring at me, too. “My stepdad’s media room is down here, and he likes it quiet. Now, do you want all the specs on the house before you get your ass moving?”

“Why do you hate me so much?” I heard myself ask. Part of me was glad that I had. The other, smarter part of me wanted to throttle that first part. “Tell me what I’m doing and I’ll try to stop, I swear.”

Zadie’s eyes thinned to blue gashes as she pushed her face into mine. I could smell cigarettes on her hair. I could see that white stripe up close, too. The hair was so completely colorless in that one perfectly geometric spot. Like she’d painted bleach on with a ruler.

“Can you stop being
you
?” Zadie asked quietly. Her face was so close now. Close enough that we could have kissed. “I mean, if you
can
, that would be awesome. Otherwise, I guess we’ll have to stick with me hating you.”

Dylan bounded into the room then from down the long hallway.

“There you are!” She smiled. My heart skipped, thinking she was talking to me. But she turned to Zadie instead. “Everybody’s getting tired of waiting, Zad. A couple of the girls told their parents they’d be home.”

“Okay,” Zadie said without taking her eyes off me. “I’m coming. But make sure Crazy Eyes sits far away from me. The stench of her perfection makes me sick.”

Zadie spun around and pounded off down the hall. I kept my eyes on the ground as I moved to follow her. I was afraid if I looked at Dylan, I might start to cry. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t deal with Zadie hating me that much just so I could hang out with Dylan.

“Sorry I was late,” I muttered to Dylan as I walked past her. “I didn’t mean to keep everyone waiting. I ran into someone outside and—”

“Shh,” Dylan whispered, holding a finger to her lips. She leaned over like she was checking to see if Zadie had really gone.

“Why did she let me in the club if she hates me so much?” I asked. “I seriously don’t get it.”

“Let you in?” Dylan asked quietly. She looked confused. “Zadie picked you.”

“Picked me? What are you talking about?”

“Dylan!” Zadie screamed from down the hall. “Get the fuck down here already!”

Dylan looked up at me and smiled—calmly, sweetly. “We could ignore her.” Her grin turned mischievous. “But I think today, she might actually kill somebody.”

“Let’s not risk it.” I shook my head and looked down the long hallway, which felt like it led to an electric chair. I wasn’t buying this whole idea that Zadie had been the one to tap me, but now wasn’t the time to press for details. “I’m pretty sure I’d be the first to go.”

Dylan smiled playfully. “Probably.”

And then she just stood there for a long time, smiling at me. With her smooth skin and arched cheekbones and thick, auburn curls, Dylan was the most perfect person I had ever seen. Flawless. Without flaw. It was hard to look at her, like she—like I—might shatter if I kept my eyes on her for too long.

Dylan smiled at me one last time then turned, headed the way Zadie had gone. I watched her go, feeling the wind getting sucked from me. But Dylan had taken only a couple of steps when she came back and linked her fingers tightly through mine.

I couldn’t take my eyes off our interlocked hands as Dylan tugged me onward down the long, dark hallway. I could hear voices now, far at the other end. There was light spilling back, too, and I could sense the distant movement of assembled bodies. I wanted that hallway to go on forever. I wanted to keep Dylan’s fingers knitted through mine. I wanted never to let her go.

Dylan froze on the edge of the rectangle of light reflected back on the hallway carpet from that far room. She dropped my hand. Her back was to me, her arms outstretched in a low cross when I bumped into her.

“So, the game,” I heard Zadie saying.

“What are you waiting for?” I whispered in Dylan’s ear. Zadie was going to lose it when she finally noticed I
still
wasn’t in the room.

Dylan didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly turned around. Her face was only inches from mine. I could feel her breath on my face. I could feel the beating of my own heart. I was sure Dylan could feel it, too. But the only sound was Zadie’s voice, floating up and away.

“And this game isn’t for uptight people or hung-up people or whatever,” Zadie was saying. “So speak now or you lame asses should hit the road.”

Then Dylan’s mouth was on mine. Her lips were so small and soft and delicate when I finally started kissing her back. Nothing like the rough saltiness of that lifeguard in Chatham I’d kissed two summers ago.

As our mouths pressed together, Dylan held a hand against my face. And in that second, I was sure. I didn’t just want to be her friend. I didn’t just want to be like her. I wanted to be kissing her.

Then, all of a sudden, with a gasp and a tug, Dylan was gone. And there I stood, alone in the darkness, on the edge of that small rectangle of light.

It took me a second to catch my breath. My heart was still banging as I slid into the room where everyone was gathered. I kept my eyes down, hoping my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. I pressed the back of my hands to my lips, but stopped short of wiping. Instead, I pressed my fingers to my mouth, trying to hold the kiss inside.

I glanced up once to see if anyone was watching me. But the girls—some sprawled over leather, movie-theater-style chairs, others leaning against the walls or seated cross-legged on the floor—all had their eyes on Zadie, who was standing at the front of the room, behind her some sleek electronic equipment and a huge flat-screen TV.

I looked around for Dylan as I slid down against the nearest wall. I was terrified that she was gone, that she’d somehow slipped away and disappeared. But when I finally looked at Zadie, there was Dylan, sitting on a chair to her right. And she was staring back at me, not frowning exactly, but not smiling either. She looked more surprised and maybe confused.

But she kissed me
, I reminded myself, recalling how absurd it had sounded when Sylvia hadn’t been sure if that had been the case with Ian.
Didn’t she?
Why is she surprised?

“We’ve got a blog—
Birds of a Feather
, it’s called.” Zadie looked proud of herself. “I came up with that. Anyway, everybody’s got a page with pictures of themselves up. The object of the game is to get as many people as you can to, you know, ‘like’ your pictures.” She went on and on about the pictures and how to get more people to “like” you. I wasn’t really listening. All I could think about was that kiss, and how exactly right it had felt. There was a pain in my foot a second later. It took me a minute to realize that Zadie was stepping on my toes. “Are you fucking listening, bitch?”

“Um, uh, yeah,” came out of my mouth in a blubbery stutter. I could feel the other girls looking at me, too. “I’m listening.”

Zadie crossed her arms and smiled, scarily. She was closer now, looming over me.

“You in?”

Did I have to be
in
anymore? After what had just happened with Dylan, maybe I didn’t. I hadn’t really been listening, but what I had heard of this game—blog, pictures, strangers—I didn’t like. I didn’t want any part of it.

I tried to see past Zadie to Dylan, to see if she’d give me some kind of sign. But she was leaning over, talking to Bethany. It didn’t seem like she’d noticed, much less cared, that Zadie was in my face. She’d completely disappeared, again.

If Dylan could get bored with me that quickly, how would I ever keep her attention once I wasn’t even a Maggie anymore? Once we weren’t seeing each other all the time at meetings and parties. Maybe Dylan would pretend she didn’t know me anymore. Maybe she’d take it as some kind of insult that I hadn’t stayed in the club for her. Maybe she’d be mad. If she’d just look at me, then I’d know. I thought of the kiss again, of the way that Dylan’s soft hand had cradled my face.

“So?” Zadie nudged at my leg again with her foot. “What’s it gonna be, Crazy Eyes? You ready to pack it in?”

I looked over at Dylan one last time. She wasn’t talking to Bethany anymore. She was staring at the ground, not looking very happy. What if Dylan secretly wanted me to go? No, that couldn’t be. It wouldn’t make any sense. She’d just kissed me. Hadn’t she?

“I want to stay,” I kind of squeaked, then cleared my throat. I forced myself to hold Zadie’s mean stare. “I’ll play.”

Zadie glared at me for a minute more, as if she were trying to make me change my mind.

“I’m staying,” I repeated, but my voice was shaky.

“Zadie, enough!” Dylan finally shouted from across the room. She’d stood up. Her arms were crossed, her hips pushed to the side in a bring-it-on kind of way that I’d never seen before. “Seriously, just leave her the fuck alone!”

It was the first time I’d ever heard Dylan sound like that—mad, and kind of tough. And it was all because she was defending me. My heart felt like it might burst. The kiss had meant something after all. Now I was sure of it.

On our way out twenty minutes later—after a bunch of way-too-vague “details” about this supposed “game” had been laid out—we ran into Zadie’s stepdad in the kitchen. He was tall and athletic-looking, with a thick head of dark hair. He had on a flashy European suit and a big tacky ring on one finger. He’d spent a lot of money on his clothes. You could see that. But he was still a supercheesy guy, not like the other dads in Park Slope, who were once in a while cool, but were mostly preppy and kind of dorky. They were never Eurotrash. Not even the ones who were actually from Europe.

There was a bottle of scotch open on the counter and a mostly empty bar glass next to it. Zadie’s stepdad was clicking through his iPhone as he stood there. He had a BlackBerry in his other hand. There was a woman in the corner, older, with graying blond hair swept up in a loose bun and faded black pants under an apron. She was fluffing the pillows on the couch. For a second I thought she must be Zadie’s mother, until I noticed that she was fluffing like her life depended on it. We had a housecleaner—most people in Park Slope did—but she looked like a full-on maid, maybe even an indentured servant.

“Hey!” Zadie’s stepdad called with a big, booming voice. “Look at what we have here! It’s the Maggies flapping up from their secret lair.”

He was smiling in a kind of drunk way that was sort of charming and also kind of gross.

“Ugh, shut up, Frank,” Zadie said, but playfully, as she swanned up next to him and scooped his drink out of his hand. She took one sip, then another. “Mmm,” she said. “You are always breaking out the good stuff when you think no on else is home.”

Her stepdad snatched the glass back when she tried to take another sip. “Your mom is going to kill me if she smells whiskey on you when she gets home. Now come on, introduce me to your friends here.”

I was at the front of the pack. I’d been trying to get out of the house as fast as possible, and now I was right there, on full display. Zadie rolled her eyes and leaned forward, her elbows on the granite countertop.

“Ugh,” she said, taking his iPhone out of his hands and tapping through screens. “They’re not my friends.”

“Come on now,” her stepdad said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He turned back to us. “I hope Zadie’s been a good host to all of you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome in our home anytime. I like this whole club business. I was in something like that once. Best thing ever. Those guys are still my best friends. Clubs keep life, you know, better organized.”

“I don’t think a gang counts as a club, Frank.” Zadie smiled back at us. She was showing off. “Frank here grew up on the wrong side of Brooklyn. He thinks the Skull and Bones society is about killing people.”

Frank’s eyes flashed once at her, then his face took back its easy smile. He shrugged.

“Maybe so,” he said. “But a brotherhood is a brotherhood. And I was also a cop, remember? That’s the club to end all damn clubs, trust me.”

“Oh right, it seems so impossible that anyone let you carry a gun that I hardly ever remember.” Zadie motioned to the door. “Anyway, they were just going.”

“Good, so you can go get to work on those college essays,” he said. “Because I finally made the bet with that asshole Teddy—you get into two Ivies, and that shit owes me five thousand dollars.”