Wraith (15 page)

"Yeah, he has a rich fantasy life,"
quipped the guy beside her, a hulking football-player type with pale skin and
light blond hair. "I’m Ryan," he said with a grin, shaking my hand.

With a stroke of perfect timing, the DJ put on a new
song whose first few, obviously familiar chords had the crowd howling with
excitement. The group around me headed at once for the dance floor, and I was
more than willing to be swept along with them.

I watched as the whole room swelled with motion,
myself in the midst of it, moving to the music, letting all cares go—at least
for the moment. I laughed inwardly as I noticed that the guys here, though
perhaps more
willing
to dance than my classmates in Cheyenne, were no
different in their execution. All the guys I knew danced in one of four ways.
The stiffest just stood there, swaying a little from side to side, snapping an
occasional finger or shifting an occasional foot. Those who were a little more
adventurous, but no more coordinated, liked to shake things up by bobbing up
and down like corks. Beyond that, you had the guys who
thought
they
could dance, but for the most part just managed to look goofy. Matt, like the
vast majority of guys in the room, was in the second category.
David-with-the-purple-hair was in the third. Only one guy—whom my eyes caught
immediately, although he was clear across the room—rated the fourth category:
naturals who moved instinctively with the music, effortlessly and without
self-consciousness.

As David twirled around in circles, jerking one long
leg like he was being electrocuted, my gaze drifted repeatedly from him to the
other dancer. Even though that guy was facing away from me, his fluid motion
drew my attention to an exceptionally handsome physique, and I found myself
wondering why the girls nearer to him weren’t watching as raptly as I was. They
were, in fact, totally ignoring him—while everyone around David (who was now
simultaneously playing air guitar and prancing a hoedown) was egging him on
with whoops and hollers.

It made no sense. Couldn’t those people see—

I clapped my hand over my mouth as it hit me. I
wanted to laugh out loud, but if it looked like I was directing my gaze at
anyone but Zane, it would seem very rude indeed. He turned for just a moment,
his blond curls bouncing around his face, and caught my eye with a grin. But
just as quickly, he turned away again—determined, apparently, to keep the low
profile he had promised us both.

I understood completely. Sometimes, when the music
calls, you
just gotta dance
.

I turned my attention back to Matt and friends,
feeling suddenly much more at ease. These were friendly people, and I liked
them—even if Matt did jump up and down so wildly I feared for the safety of my
toes. With their smiles and laughter, and the music beating in my ears, I could
almost forget everything weird and scary and bizarre that had happened to me
since I got to Oahu. 

Almost.

I danced with Matt’s crowd for nearly an hour before
thirst and exhaustion got the better of us and we all decided to take a break.
Matt went off to get some drinks while I headed for the restroom.

I was just about to open the stall door when I heard
the voices. Maybe I felt something before that—I wasn’t sure. I only knew that
as little as I wanted to spend any more time than was necessary cooped up in a
gym toilet, my hand hung in midair over the bolt, frozen in place.

"I can’t believe he’s even here," a girl’s
voice whispered, her tone striking in its simmering hostility. "I mean, it
would be bad enough if he showed up by himself, but to bring
somebody
else?!"

A cold prickle of angst swept down my spine. I knew
I had no reason to assume the girls were talking about Matt and me. I also
knew—beyond any doubt—that they absolutely were.

"I know," another voice answered, this one
less hostile, but equally upset. "It’s awful what happened. I’m still not
convinced, though, that he… does he even know? I mean… why
would
he
come, after that? It would be so stupid!"

"Stupid’s right," the first girl snapped.
"Rod’s going to kill him. I know he will."

"Don’t say that! Even if Matt did do it, it’s
not Rod’s business."

The hostile speaker let out a snort. "Yeah, try
telling him that. Sofia will
always
be his business."

"How bad is…" the second girl paused.
"Have you seen her?"

The door to the restroom swung open, admitting
several other chatting voices. I waited, breathlessly, until the shuffling
footsteps subsided and the restroom door had swung open and shut again. As the
new chatter continued (something about an English assignment), I slipped out of
the stall, washed my hands, and hastily made my way out the door to see if I
could catch sight of the speakers. Two girls, just a few paces ahead of me,
were making their way toward the refreshments. I knew instantly that they were
the ones. Anger and confused concern, respectively, radiated from them like a
bad case of B.O., and whether I was seeing it or feeling it made no difference
at the moment.

Rod’s going to kill him.

The girls grabbed plastic cups of punch off the
drink table and walked out a set of propped-open double doors to the lawn. I
was in the process of following, as surreptitiously as possible, when I felt a
hand on my elbow.

"Where are you going?" Matt asked
jovially. "I’ve got our drinks over here." He pointed to the table,
and with a last, studying look at the girls, I followed him and sat down. 

I stared mutely at the drink in front of me, unable
to pick it up—my thoughts oscillating between extreme thirst and a fierce,
impending nausea.

"You  okay?" Matt asked, downing his own,
second cup of peach-colored liquid. "You seem a little… preoccupied."

There didn’t have to be anything really wrong. The
girls could be drama queens. There could be two Matts. Two Rods. I could have
been imagining the hatred and rage I had felt pouring out of the guy at Saint
Anthony’s. The word "kill" could have been used euphemistically.
People said it that way all the time.

I noticed that my hands were shaking.

Honesty, Kali
.

"Matt," I began, my mouth dry as
sandpaper. "I overheard a couple girls talking in the restroom. They were
talking about you."

His eyes lit up with nothing more than simple,
mischievous pride. "Yeah?" he responded, in a tone that was oddly hopeful.

My own brow furrowed. Either Matt was an incredibly
good actor, or he was a guy with amazingly little to be ashamed of.

"What was the name of the girl you were going
to bring tonight? The one who got sick?"

His eyebrows rose at the obviously unexpected
question. "Sofia. Why?"

I tried to swallow, but my throat was so dry I
nearly choked. Matt quickly handed over my drink, and I drained it, gratefully,
before answering.

"They seemed to be a little scandalized that
you would come," I explained, choosing my words carefully.
"Especially that you would bring someone else."

Matt’s face crinkled, clearly perplexed. "Who
was scandalized? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard." He drummed his
fingers on the table a moment, thinking. "To tell the truth, Kali, I’m not
even sure I believe Sofia
was
sick. I think she just wanted out of the
date. She’s barely talked to me the last couple weeks."

I blinked. "So, you two weren’t, like…
dating?"

He scoffed. "I barely know the girl. She just
transferred to Frederick at Christmas; she used to go to Saint Anthony’s. She
asked
me
to the dance, weeks ago, but like I said, I’ve hardly spoken to
her since." He gave his head a brisk shake. "Whatever. Girls pull the
weirdest crap sometimes. Don’t let it bother you, Kali. Everybody here thinks
you’re great. You ready to dance some more?"

He started to rise, but I stopped him with a hand on
his arm. "Were Sofia and Rod ever an item?"

His eyebrows rose; he sank back down into his chair.
"Wow, where’d you pick that up? You’re like a private investigator or
something. Yeah, I heard they used to go out. When she was at Saint Anthony’s.
But they’ve been over for a while now. Why?"

I took in a deep breath. It was clear to me, now,
why Matt was so unconcerned. Whatever those girls
thought
was going on,
he was clueless.

"They seemed to think that Rod was really mad
at you."

Matt stared at me, not moving, for several seconds.
Then he lifted his hands, palms up, into the air. "What is it with this?
You tell me yesterday that he’s glaring at me, now people are whispering about
it in bathrooms? Why would Rod be mad at me? For
not
dating his
ex-girlfriend?"

I gritted my teeth. Put that way, it did sound
pretty ridiculous. Furthermore, I had obviously pushed the topic as far as I
could push it without seeming like a drama queen myself.

"You’re right," I agreed, attempting a
smile. "Maybe I misunderstood them or something."

He smiled back, his relief obvious. "Awesome.
Now
are you ready to dance some more?"

I should have been. But I wasn’t. Logic was all well
and good when it was the only information you had. But when other people’s
feelings rocked you like a slap, they were harder to ignore. At least two
people were harboring a strong degree of malice toward Matt. That wasn’t a
guess, or a matter of  perception; it was a fact I knew to be true.

"Yes," I answered, trying hard to keep my
voice cheerful. "Just let me grab another drink first. I’ll catch up to
you."

Without giving Matt a chance to argue, I slipped
away from his side and headed for the punch bowl, which was being guarded by a
particularly large Hawaiian man whom I presumed (perhaps wrongly) to be Matt’s
football coach. Despite his size, he looked less than fearsome as he ladled out
another glass of punch, complete with two ice cubes, and handed it to me with a
smile.

I thanked him and moved away to my left, where an
empty alcove by the vending machines provided some semblance of privacy.
"Zane?" I whispered.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, I stepped out of the alcove and scanned
the dance floor. He was still out there, still rocking out, still being
completely ignored by the crowds, even as he strategically placed himself in
the middle of a large dance circle. It took me a minute to catch his eye, but
when I did he was beside me in a second, looking sweaty, exhilarated, and—as
always—frustratingly gorgeous.

"Sorry," he said unconvincingly.
"Wasn’t sure why you were hanging around back here… I love this song.
What’s up?"

We stepped back into the alcove and I gave him a
quick summary, my eyes searching his with no small amount of apprehension. I
was afraid he would believe the most obvious explanation—that Matt was lying to
me. That he had done Sofia wrong in some way and knew darn well what Rod and
bathroom girl #1 were so ticked about. In which case, the whole situation was
his own stupid fault, and certainly no business of mine.

I finished talking and took a breath. Zane said
nothing for a moment, studying me in turn. "So," he said finally, his
words seeming carefully measured, "you really believe Matt has no idea
what’s going on?"

I exhaled heavily. "I’m sure of it."

Zane’s green eyes locked on mine. I braced for the
expected lecture about how I had already done all I could do—I had warned Matt,
hadn’t I? He was a big guy, he could take care of himself. Yada, yada, yada.

"How about this?" Zane suggested.
"You point out the girls you overheard, and I’ll see if I can overhear
some more. I am rather gifted at reconnaissance."

A wave of warm relief swelled up within my chest,
and once again my arms lifted, quite unintentionally, to wrap themselves around
his strong, sun-bronzed neck. This time, however, I caught myself in time and
replaced them at my sides.

"Thanks," I offered, my voice choked with
a sudden, acute sense of loss. I could not hug him, would never be able to. But
what did it matter, really? I had plenty of guy friends with whom I was not on
hugging terms.

The painful, hollow feeling would go away.

"I’ll point out the girls," I murmured,
pulling my gaze away from his and leading him toward the exit to the lawn. When
I turned back to face him again, my melancholy dissolved.

The figure that followed me was wearing a
double-breasted tweed overcoat, pinstripe trousers, and a deerstalker hat.
"Just point out the suspects, Madam," he said with a British accent,
taking a drag on a curvy pipe that exuded a wisp of very real looking smoke.
"And I’ll attend to the necessary inquiries."

Suppressing a giggle, I cast a glance out the doors
and over the green space outside the gym. The girls in question were not hard
to find; they had joined a group of several others hanging out under a tree
about twenty yards away. I described them to Zane as succinctly as possible,
being careful not to point—or move my lips too much. He nodded in understanding.
My eyes caught his again, and I tried hard to make them convey the gratitude a
hug could not. "Thank you, Zane," I whispered.

His returning gaze held a sparkle of pure pleasure,
which would have warmed me had it not been for the unexpected flash of anguish
I thought I glimpsed, ever so briefly, behind it.

He winked at me and disappeared.

Matt’s friend Lacey was true to her word. She
"found" me midway through the evening, appearing quite conveniently
just as the DJ decided it was time to slow things down.

As the gal pal of Cheyenne, I was used to timing my
rest breaks over slow dances, so heading off to "get some air" with
Lacey seemed a natural enough move. Still, I couldn’t help feeling a little
guilty when I saw disappointment written so largely on Matt’s previously
cheerful baby face. "We’ll catch the next one then," he said
charitably, turning to join some guy friends who were talking in a cluster in
the far corner.