Dancergirl (12 page)

I have to find Jacy and get my messenger bag with the keys to my apartment.
If
they haven’t been stolen.

The street is crowded, the concert definitely over. I keep my head down and retrace my steps. The bleating of a horn gets my attention. I shift my weight, ready to run—

“Ali! It’s us.” Clarissa sticks her head out of a taxi’s front passenger window. The cab pulls to a stop a few feet ahead of me. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“What about Jacy?”

“He’s here, too. We got your stuff.”

The back door opens. Sonya slides so she’s between Jacy and me. My messenger bag lies on the floor. I scramble through it: cell, wallet, keys. Nothing missing.

“Was there smoke?” Sonya asks. “Is that why you ran?”

I can’t seem to open my mouth.

Clarissa shakes her head at Sonya. “It’s okay. Tell us when we get home.” She tells the driver, “425 Clinton.”

Jacy, on the far side of the cab, doesn’t move. He stares
out of the window as if the secret to the universe is being revealed—or like he’s furious at me.

When he finally speaks, he doesn’t sound mad. “He was there, Ali, wasn’t he?”

My breath catches. “How do you know?”

“Who was where?” Sonya asks.

Neither Jacy nor I say anything.

Clarissa gasps. “Omigod! Did somebody do something to you backstage?”

“No,” I whisper. “I just know the creep was at the show.”

Sonya turns to Jacy. “How did
you
know?”

Jacy’s words float through the cab like a boat adrift in the Hudson River. “Besides the fact that Ali
bolted,
I smelled him.”

Sonya’s mouth drops open. “What on earth does a perv smell like?”

“Burnt leaves. At least this one does.”

The cab stops in front of my building. I fumble for money but Clarissa’s already got her wallet out. I look back to make sure no one’s come after us. Jacy stands on the sidewalk, disoriented, not sure where to go. The expression on his face says it all—he can’t see a thing.

I scoot over, slip my arm through his.

“Follow me,” I whisper and guide him into the lobby without either of the girls realizing what’s going on.

For once, the elevator is on the ground floor. When we get to my apartment, I turn on every light. Sonya discovers a bottle of brandy at the back of a cabinet. “It’s so dusty, Ali, your mom will never miss it.”

She brings four glasses and a bag of Doritos in from the kitchen. “Comfort food!”

No one looks the least bit comforted.

Sonya settles on the floor beside the couch. “Okay, Jacy, how exactly did you smell the stalker?”

“I caught a whiff of something as people began to push up the aisle. I’m sure I smelled the same thing in here after Ali got back from Baltimore.”

“Could you tell who it was coming from?” Clarissa asks.

Jacy hesitates. “There were too many people. And I was trying to see if Ali would come back onstage. That’s why I didn’t move when everyone started evacuating.”

“Wait!” Sonya cries. “If you smelled the stalker in here, then that means—”

“He broke in to the apartment. When Ali and her mom were away.”

My hand tightens on the glass.

“Are you okay?” Clarissa asks.

“I don’t know.” My tongue feels thick, awkward. “Breaking in to the house? That’s pretty extreme. Nothing’s missing. Why would someone go through all that trouble and then not take anything?”

Jacy’s cheeks grow red. “Maybe he took… I don’t know. Personal stuff. Clothing…underwear.”

“Eww!” Clarissa shrieks.

I take a sip of brandy to avoid seeing the unasked question on each face.

“I don’t know, okay?” I finally say. “It’s not like I have Day of the Week panties so I can go, oh, where’s Tuesday?”

“Just Hello Kitty,” Sonya mutters.

“Sonya!” Clarissa says.

“Sorry.” She grabs a handful of chips. “Ali, how did
you
know the guy was there tonight?”

“He sent flowers.”

“No way,” Clarissa breathes.

“Lynette brought a bouquet into the dressing room just before the show began. There was a note.”

“And he signed it? What? Tom the Peeper?” Jacy slaps his glass onto the coffee table. “Stan the Stalker?”

“‘Your best friend.’ He also wrote, ‘See you after the show.’”

Clarissa’s hand flies to her mouth. “Did he follow us?”

She runs to the window and peeks through the closed venetian blinds. “No one’s on the street.”

Now you know how creepy it feels.

I cradle the glass. “When I was in the wings, I saw all these people with cameras. It wasn’t until I went onstage that I realized
he
sent the flowers and was probably in the audience.”

Clarissa turns from the window. “Could it possibly have been Charlie? Maybe he sent them to apologize for being such a turd. Did anyone see him at the concert?”

“Not me,” Sonya says.

“Charlie hasn’t spoken to me since that day in the library.”

“I didn’t see him, either,” Jacy says a little too casually, which I take to mean
he couldn’t see anyone.

“It could be anybody, actually,” I tell them. “Some
dancergirl
freak who found out about the concert. Or Cisco.”

“Blue eyes? Works out?” Clarissa asks.

“Yeah.”

“Then I saw him.”

Too agitated to sit, I pace the room. “That doesn’t actually prove he’s the stalker. Lynette asked him to tape the performance for the DVD—”

“Hold on!” Clarissa’s eyes have grown so big they look like CDs. “Luke Sorezzi was there. I saw him by the bathrooms.”

I stop dead. “Are you sure?”

Clarissa nods. “Thought maybe he had a sister in the show.”

I shake my head. “I do the class cards. I would have noticed the last name.”

“Did he have a camera?” Jacy asks.

Clarissa shrugs helplessly. “I didn’t see one. But why else would he go—”

“Because Ali’s bookmarked on his computer,” Sonya says.

Clarissa stares. “How do you know?”

“I was at his apartment one day. With Laura Hernandez.”

I blink. “What were you doing with them?”

Sonya lifts her chin defiantly. “You were all busy.
Dancergirl
this,
dancergirl
that. It’s all anyone cared about. Except geniusboy, here, and he already jumped ship. Laura asked if I wanted to hang out after school one day, so I went to Luke’s with her. She hates you, you know.”

“Me?” I ask. “Because of the videos?”

Sonya shakes her head. “Before that. She thinks it’s your fault that Jacy ignores her.”

“My fault?” I appeal to him. “I never said anything about Laura! Right?”

“Right.” Jacy’s hair flops emphatically. “I’ll tell her—”

“Don’t bother,” Sonya says. “I made it perfectly clear that after you moved to private school, you dumped all of us, so she shouldn’t take it personally.”

“I didn’t dump you…” Jacy mutters. “I’ve been busy.”

“Whatever. Then
dancergirl
hit—and that didn’t help Laura’s attitude. Or Charlie’s. Or Josh’s for that matter. If I had to hear one more time—” Sonya’s hurt is obvious. “Who cares if people thought it was real? It’s whatever anyone thinks it is, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clarissa asks.

“Laura Hernandez took one look at the party video and
decided, ‘Ali’s a show-off.’ Sorezzi thinks she’s a wild girl. Neither’s right—and neither’s wrong.”

“I was
not
showing off. Charlie asked me to do it.”

Sonya shakes her head. “This isn’t about you, Ali. That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s about them. It’s the internet, for goodness’ sake. Once you put it out there, you can’t control it. Even if it’s innocent. That’s the very definition of
viral,
right? Whoever watches is going to think whatever they think for their own reasons.”

Somewhere in my brain, a light trips on. “Like Keisha.”

“Who?”

“Keisha Watson. At the studio. She’s convinced
shyboy
’s younger and that’s why he’s afraid to talk to me. But Keisha’s only fourteen, and really shy herself, so maybe that’s the reason she came up with that.”

“Exactly!” Sonya looks at us looking at her. “Right now you’re all staring at me like you’re shocked. Because I’m not as ‘smart’ as Jacy, or as ‘arty’ as Ali, or as ‘cool-looking’ as Clarissa. You think I don’t know anything—”

“That’s not true,” I say loyally.

Sonya waves it aside. “I’m not mad. I’m just saying. People look at me and think, ‘boring fat chick.’ They do, I know. But they don’t realize I read philosophy books and other hard stuff. Even your best friends might not know your deepest secrets.”

Jacy stares at the floor like he wishes it would open up so he could disappear into his living room. I think about Sorezzi and his mom. But Sonya’s on a roll and doesn’t notice.

“That’s why you’re so upset, Ali. I mean, of course, it’s totally evil that there’s a stalker or Peeping Tom or whatever, but it’s worse because of what went out online. The videos Charlie shot were fine because you wanted to do them. They
looked like you and danced like you, but it was never really Alicia Ruffino. It was a made-up character. But the stuff in your bedroom
was
you—your private self that you never agreed to show anyone.”

Clarissa sits up straight. “Does this mean Laura Hernandez shot the bedroom video? Because she hates Ali?”

Sonya shrugs. “Seems like way too much effort for her.”

“But according to your theory,” Jacy says, “that slacker attitude could be her public face. So we can’t count her out.”

“Or Sorezzi,” Clarissa says. “The smell might be some hopped-up weed he’s smoking—”

I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure it’s not Luke—”

Clarissa’s cell interrupts. Two seconds later, Sonya’s beeps, too. Clarissa’s face turns ashen.

“What’s wrong?” Jacy asks.

Without a word, she holds out her phone. A video plays on the screen. Bright lights on a stage so there’s no mistaking who’s frozen in arabesque. To my everlasting shame, I watch myself flee into the wings like a frightened rabbit.

“The atom is almost all empty space. If the nucleus of a plutonium atom were a grapefruit sitting in front of you, the electrons orbiting around it would be like ninety-four grains of sand revolving around the entire borough of Brooklyn.”

Out of everything Mr. Kuperman talked about in physics, that’s the only thing I understand. As I lie on the pullout couch the morning after the concert, his gravelly voice fills my head.

“Sometimes an electron jumps to another orbit. Scientists call that a quantum leap. When an electron makes that leap, it either takes in or gives up energy, but it never stays the same.”

That’s me. An electron that disappears from one orbit only to reappear in another. In this new one, I lose energy. I feel the emptiness of the universe as I’ve never felt it before.

My worst nightmares. Plural. The pervert’s definitely stalking me. And I made an absolute, total fool of myself. Not only onstage but, with the wonder of the internet, for the entire world to see, forever.

I’m not sure how long I lay without moving. Mom’s asleep,
having come home to a somewhat disheveled pajama party. Only no one had on pajamas. It wasn’t just Jacy and me that she found passed out in the living room. Clarissa and Sonya stayed, too. Like campers huddled around a fire to keep the bears away, nobody wanted to sleep in my room. After we put away the brandy bottle and washed the glasses, Sonya and I unfolded the pullout. Clarissa, Sonya and I squashed in together. Jacy laid out a sleeping bag half-under the coffee table.

The phone rings. Jacy grabs the receiver before it can awaken Mom. I struggle up.

“Lynette,” he mouths.

“I’m not taking it,” I whisper.

Clarissa stirs. “You should talk to her, Ali. Explain.”

Jacy brings the phone into the kitchen. I go to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. When I return, both Clarissa and Sonya are wide-awake.

“What’s going on?”

“Lynette wants you to do the show tonight,” Jacy says. “She’ll cut the solo but says it’s important for you to remain in Quentin’s piece. She said you danced beautifully—”

My hand goes up to stop him. “No way!”

Clarissa looks seriously worried. “It’s like falling off a horse. If you don’t get onstage tonight, you might never go back.”

“Fine with me. I am never dancing again.”

“Ali!” Clarissa breathes. “You don’t really mean that—”

Jacy gives me a look that says,
I understand.
“Let her be, Clarissa. I’ll call Lynette back. Tell her Ali can’t do it.”

I return to the couch, crawl under the blanket and huddle against my pillow. A short while later, a finger gently pokes the quilt.

“I asked about the flowers,” Jacy says.

Something in his tone makes me sit up.

“Lynette said the regular deliveryman from Carson’s brought them, so I called the store. The person who answered remembered the order because it was strange.”

Sonya and Clarissa settle beside me in a vain attempt at protection.

“Yesterday afternoon, the lady was alone in the shop. She went into the storeroom for just a minute. By the time she got back, an envelope was on the counter. Inside were specific directions on where to bring the bouquet, instructions for the card and cash. She didn’t see who put it there.”

Clarissa shivers. “The guy’s definitely sneaky.”

“I also asked Lynette to email me the reservation sheet. I made up some excuse about how we need to call your friends who reserved tickets. She said she had it on her computer.” He stands. “Let me see if she sent it.”

Nobody says anything. We hear the printer’s ratchety noise. When Jacy returns to the living room, he doesn’t look happy.

“There are a lot of names.”

“We sold out,” I remind him. “Plus, how do we know the stalker used his real name to reserve a seat? He could have lied.”

Sonya looks startled. “I never thought of that!”

Jacy shakes his head. “The person would use his—or her—real name if they live around here. If someone at the box office recognized them, using a fake name would be suspicious.”

“But what if it’s some
dancergirl
creep?” I ask.

“Even if it is, the creepoid lives in the neighborhood. The flowers are the key. Think about it. Dropping off an envelope at the exact moment the florist goes into the back room means someone watched the place because they didn’t want to be recognized.” Jacy holds up a hand. “It’s not a hundred percent, but I bet it’s someone who lives around here.”

“Okay, but at least we can rule out people at school. You know, Charlie, Sorezzi.”

Clarissa looks up at me. “How come?”

“Because of what Charlie said when Jacy and I met him at the Promenade. The first stalker video was uploaded during a football game. The big one between WiHi and Marshall. Charlie insisted he couldn’t have done it because he was at the game. And you know Sorezzi was there, selling weed under the bleachers like always.”

Sonya sits up. “Ali, do you remember exactly what time the video hit the net?”

“Why?”

She runs her hand through her coal-black hair. “Just tell me.”

“8:25. Something like that, right, Jace?”

A perplexed look crosses his face as he nods. Whatever Sonya’s going for, she’s ahead of both Jacy and me.

“Charlie could have done it,” she announces.

“But he was at the game—”

“That’s what he
said,
” Jacy interrupts. “But, really, Ali, do we have proof?”

“Well, yeah,” Clarissa says. “I saw him. We both saw him, right, Sonya? Charlie sat a couple of rows in front of us.”

Sonya nods emphatically. “I remember what he was wearing. A navy-blue coat and that Harry Potter scarf.”

“What the heck’s a Harry Potter scarf?” Jacy snorts. “Low-rent Invisibility Cloak? Only your neck disappears.”

Sonya waves her hand impatiently. “It’s maroon and gold, which are Gryffindor colors in the books. They’re also USC colors. You know, USC film school, the school he never stops talking about—”

“I’ve seen the scarf,” I say. “But what does that have to do with Charlie being at the game or not?”

Sonya’s eyes move rapidly, like she’s watching a movie. “He was there at kickoff, which was at 7:00. Remember, Clarissa, I brought my dad’s camera. He’s into electronics and had just gotten a new lens. Telephoto. I wanted to try it out. He said, sure, just don’t break it or lose it.”

Somewhere outside, a horn honks. Inside the living room, no one moves.

“It’s not even fifteen minutes later,” Sonya continues. “I’m fooling around with the lens, using it like a telescope, watching the other side of the bleachers. I move it over the field, taking a picture whenever something looks interesting. Then I swing it toward the end zone. I want to check how far I can see with it. That’s when I notice the scarf.” She looks at me. “It was weird, because Charlie was just sitting two rows below us. So I look down, and sure enough, there’s an empty spot.”

Clarissa’s confused, too. “He could have been buying a hot dog from the senior-class stand.”

Sonya shakes her head. “No, he was on the other side. By the exit. Charlie was definitely on his way out, talking to someone really tall.”

My heart pounds. “Who?”

“I don’t know. The guy’s back was to me but I know it was Charlie talking to him because of the scarf.”

“It’s possible that someone else at the game had a USC scarf,” Jacy says. “Doesn’t quite prove that Charlie lied.”

“It does if I still have the photo.”

Jacy pounces. “Do you?”

“I think so. When I got home that night, I downloaded everything I shot to my computer before giving the camera
back to Dad. I’m pretty sure I didn’t delete it.” She holds up a hand. “I know what you’re going to ask. I waited for Charlie to come back to the bleachers because I wanted to take another shot. A close-up. I thought I could play around in Photoshop and do something cool with the two pictures. But I didn’t see him the rest of the night.”

Jacy glances at me. “So now there are two questions of the day. Why did Charlie lie to us?”

“And who was that other guy?”