Deadly Offer (8 page)

And it’s me, she thought.
It’s me.

T
HE THREE OF THEM
made their way out of the school, bumping into one another, laughing, pushing on the steps, sheltering one another against the wind. Althea, confused about why they were a threesome, said aloud, “Michael, are you coming, too?”

Michael and Ryan roared with laughter.

“It’s my car he’s inviting you to use,” explained Michael. “Old Ryan here is without a vehicle. If you plan to see much of the guy, keep in mind that he’s going to need a chauffeur from now on.”

“What about the car with three broken doors?” said Althea, who yearned to slither and slide in and out with Ryan.

Ryan sighed heavily. “The police. The cops.”

She was horrified. “You were arrested?”

Ryan looked hurt while Michael grinned. “I was not arrested,” Ryan said with dignity. “The police pulled me over because they could not understand how I was able to get out of such dented doors. It seems that vehicle inspection standards require that the driver and passenger should be able to get out of the car. I argued that we
are
able to get out of the car—it just takes a little while. The police said, What if I had a passenger who wasn’t that agile? I said, Well, I just wouldn’t take him along, would I? The police said, What about in situations where we didn’t have a while to take? Like breaking down on the train tracks. I pointed out that there are no train tracks. He didn’t care. He said I can’t drive a one-door car until I get it fixed.”

“But he’s not going to get it fixed,” said Michael. “It would cost a fortune.”

“So yesterday,” said Ryan, “I buried my servant, the car.”

“It’s gone to that great junkyard in the sky,” said Michael.

The boys stood reverently for a moment, hands on hearts, mourning the passage of a really good vehicle.

Althea laughed helplessly, adoring them both.

She had never been able to comprehend a girl who would dangle two boys. You would think the girl would choose the better boy, get rid of the crummier one, and settle into having a great time.

Now she could see this was not such a great course of action.

Here was Ryan: sweet and funny. Cute and built and bright.

Here was Michael: all of the above, but more so.

They traveled in a pair, obviously.

She had her own car; she could drive Ryan; they could dispense with Michael. But what girl in her right mind would dispense with Michael? On the other hand, what girl in her right mind would dispense with Ryan, either?

Ryan, Michael, and Althea drove around for a while, all three in the front seat. Althea was wonderfully crushed between their thighs, and when Michael took a sharp turn, his arm on the steering wheel brushed against her, and when Ryan leaned forward to talk to Michael, his shoulder pressed on hers.

Althea thought that probably nothing, including sex or being elected president, could be as splendid as sitting in the front seat, Michael and Ryan talking to her at the same time, their wonderful masculine presence and scent and attitudes filling her with utter contentment.

Eventually, they arrived at Pizza Hut.

Of course Pizza Hut is a perfectly public restaurant, open to the world, and Althea had been there many times. And yet, if you walked in and passed the salad bar and went to the rear of the restaurant, there was a booth in the corner that was virtually a private club.

The high school club.

It was occupied continuously by one group or another, its numbers changing, diminishing, increasing, as one popular person drifted away, only to be replaced by another.

Only six could actually fit in the booth.

Usually seven or eight were crammed in, while several more sat at right angles in the adjoining, non-corner booths, which lacked the special status of the crammed corner.

In her previous life, Althea would hardly have had the nerve to lift her eyes even to look toward this corner.

In her wildest dreams, in her most desperate prayers, she had never hoped to be escorted to it by Michael and Ryan.

They had hardly been seated, hardly begun to argue over whether the pizza should have peppers and pepperoni, when Kimmie-Jo and Dusty arrived.

How interesting popularity is, thought Althea. I am with Michael and Ryan, and that is perfection, and everybody is envious, but the real stamp of approval is from the girls. Kimmie-Jo and Dusty will decide it. Boys come and go, but girlfriends stay, and judge, and count.

Kimmie-Jo shrieked, “Hi, Althea, how’s your throat?” and slid into the seat.

Dusty said, “Althea, thank goodness you’re here. There’s so much to talk about.”

Althea laughed to herself, and when Ryan tugged her backward, so that she was leaning against his chest, she cooperated fully.

Becky came into Pizza Hut.

Althea was amazed to see Becky pause by the salad bar, unsure of herself. Becky’s eyes quickly scanned the booths, to see where she would be welcome. Michael, Ryan, Althea, Kimmie-Jo, and Dusty were in the corner booth. A bunch of juniors had taken the booth on one side, and some seniors the opposite booth. Becky, like Althea, was a sophomore. A cheerleader, yes, but not old enough, and with too little status to break into the Kimmie-Jo/Dusty booth.

I’ve already moved ahead of Becky! thought Althea, seeing popularity suddenly as a sort of board game, where a throw of the dice, or somebody else’s lost turn, had you whipping ahead, gathering points, heading for the winner’s circle.

Althea waved to Becky, calling, “Come on over here, Becky, we have plenty of room.”

Kimmie-Jo and Dusty frowned slightly. Becky came up breathlessly, her cheeks turning pink with excitement. Ryan and Michael acknowledged her politely.

Becky was really only a fringe member of the popular crowd. Only being on the Varsity Squad had moved her onto that fringe. Only during games and practices would she really count. Here, at Pizza Hut, Becky was minor.

Althea was overcome with a sense of power. She—who had been nobody! Nothing! Invisible! Inaudible! She could bestow popularity on Becky.

Ryan said to Althea, “So when’s the next party? That one was so much fun.”

Parties, thought Althea. She landed slightly, not all the way; part of her was still flying. But part of her was grounded. As Jennie had been. As Celeste had been. She had made two choices. And now Jennie was absent; Celeste was trudging. And for what? For a slice of pizza eaten in this corner instead of that?

“I had a great time,” agreed Michael.

“Me, too,” said Becky quickly.

“I don’t know how often I can open up the house like that,” said Althea carefully.

“I know just what you mean,” said Kimmie-Jo, although that seemed unlikely. “My parents get so anxiety-ridden when I even suggest a party that it’s pathetic.”

Talk turned to parental rules. Ryan quickly lost interest and stood up, handing money to the cashier. “Hey, Mike,” he said, “you want to haul us back to the high school so we can get Althea’s car?”

“Sure.”

They got up. A trio. A successful popular trio. Althea was dizzy with it. “Bye, Kimmie-Jo,” she said. “Bye, Dusty.”

Becky shrank down into the booth. She was excess baggage now. Her hostess had left; the rulers of this booth had better people to associate with.

Althea cringed for her. “Becky?” said Althea quickly. “You want to sleep over one night this weekend? Saturday?”

“Hey,” protested Ryan. “I’d like to sleep over one night this weekend.”

Althea laughed, although her soul and body burned at the thought, and kept her eyes safely on Becky.

“I’d love to,” said Becky, no longer shrinking. She sat tall and relaxed. Althea had spoken to her. Althea had included her.

No wonder the ancient Greeks portrayed the god Zeus with a lightning bolt. Althea could have held electric power lines and made them do her bidding. She was popular now, and the words looked and sounded alike:

Popular.

Powerful.

So Jennie was absent. So big deal. It was like any football game: You had some winners, and you had some losers.

Althea had become the winner.

T
HEY HAD TAKEN ONLY
one step into the parking lot—a trio of dancers getting one beat into the choreography—when a gleaming black SUV drove up. Several laughing girls rolled down their windows and called, “Hi, Michael.

Hi, Ryan.”

The girls were seniors—and one of them was Constance.

“Hi, Althea,” the girls chorused.

Althea was awestruck. Her name was known to this set? Constance and her beautiful friends? “Hi,” she whispered.

The black SUV rolled on, inch by inch; the driver had decided not to stop all the way, but to creep ever forward. Althea thought that was just right for the personality of this crowd: Nothing would stop them, and they would stop for nothing. They were the girls who would have it all.

Oh, to be one of them!

As the SUV glided past, Althea let a fantasy drift through her mind in which she mixed with this group, and laughed among them, and danced among them, and was the girl who had it all.

Ryan stepped back, pulling Althea with him, but Michael stood still, as if waiting to be run down.

Although the SUV slipped on, Constance opened the passenger door and leaned out a few inches. How lovely she was! Constance deserved to be the only model for an entire magazine. Softly, as if alone with him in a shadowy room, Constance said, “Michael. How are you? I miss you.”

Michael flushed and said nothing. He seemed unprepared, like a child among adults. What had happened between these two, to make Michael stiff with nervousness and Constance soft with hope?

“May I join you?” said Constance, half out the door.

Michael smiled courteously, opened the door the rest of the way, and said, “Of course.”

Now the SUV stopped.

Constance emerged. She was wearing a white wool skirt and a white silk blouse. A brilliant scarf lay carelessly around her throat. She looked the way every girl dreams of looking: beautiful, romantic, and mysterious.

Althea felt dumpy and dumb. No longer even felt sixteen—maybe eleven. A little kid stumbling behind a beauty queen.

The SUV moved on, circling Pizza Hut and vanishing. Michael got behind the wheel of his car with Constance beside him in the front. Althea and Ryan got in the back. It was an entirely different drive. There was no silly joking. Michael drove with great concentration, never looking at the passenger on his right. Constance sat sideways, stretching her safety belt out like a first-prize ribbon to be admired, and never took her eyes off Michael.

Constance was trying to make peace. Over what rift, Althea would have loved to know. Michael and Constance were extremely courteous to each other. Their dialogue might have been heard a hundred years ago, in more elegant times, perhaps over teacups and lace doilies. Althea was glad they had not had to talk over pizza.

She remembered Ryan and looked his way. Ryan was picking grumpily at some torn threads on his blue jeans. “Michael,” he said, “you’re just steering. You forgot about driving us back to get Althea’s car.”

Michael grinned in embarrassment. He said, “I thought I’d circumnavigate the globe. Skip high school.”

“As long as you don’t skip me anymore,” said Constance.

For the first time Michael looked at his girlfriend and then rested his hand on her knee. She covered his hand with hers, and Althea sighed with contentment. True love had won.

Michael and Constance both laughed a little, and then were suddenly self-conscious in front of Althea and Ryan. Constance smiled at the backseat. “I don’t know if Michael’s ready to be alone with me,” she said cheerfully. “I think we need you two in the backseat. So how are you enjoying Varsity, Althea? I was so glad you made the squad.”

“I love it,” said Althea shyly. “I’m making friends already. I didn’t think I would make friends so quickly.”

“We’re writing essays on friendship for English,” said Michael. “It’s a tough subject. The first essay was what friendship
gives
to you. You had to be specific and name three friends who gave you something: one from elementary school, one from a sport or an activity, and one who’s not your own age.”

Althea’s hands were so cold. She felt as if blood had stopped circulating through her. Perhaps it had. Perhaps that was how the vampire migrated. Perhaps the vampire could dictate what they talked about, perhaps he could give out English assignments.

What if I had to set down on paper what my last two friends gave me? she thought. They gave me popularity. Jennie’s the friend from elementary school, and Celeste’s the friend from a sport. They gave me this. They’re the reason I’m sitting here, with Ryan putting his arm around my shoulder, Constance smiling at me, and Michael talking to me.

And that third category … a friend not your age. Could that be what the vampire wanted next?

“Now the second essay, which I have to write tonight,” said Michael, “is what
you
give to others in a friendship.”

What I gave, thought Althea, is unspeakable. Unwritable. Unthinkable. But I did it anyway. I did it twice.

Ryan’s large smooth hand had encircled her now and was pulling her against him, so that she was snuggled into the curve of his arm. He tilted his head against hers, and the warmth of him, the masculine presence of him, oh, it was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced.

I wouldn’t change my mind, thought Althea. I wouldn’t have done it differently.

I’m sick. I’m horrible. I’m the worst person on earth. Because I’m glad it happened. I’m glad I have this ride, and these new friends, and Ryan!

Constance was still facing Michael, drinking him in almost. Her lovely profile was outlined by the setting sun, and the perfection of her gave Althea shivers.

I want to be like that, she thought. I want to be just like Constance.

She thought: I just won’t think about Celeste and Jennie anymore. That’s the important thing. Not to dwell on it. I have what I have. The past is past.

“It’s a tough essay question,” said Michael, frowning slightly. “I mean, what
do
I give to my friends?” He sent Constance a look of deep meaning, and she returned it by lifting his hand and holding it against her cheek. Althea loved the privilege of being there to see it.