Dead Girl Dancing (10 page)

Suddenly it was like—wow! I had lots of new friends! Crowds multiplied, bodies pressed closer together, laughter bubbled like exotic champagne, and I felt fan-freaking-tastic.

“Fun, huh?” Mauve whispered in my ear.

“Oh, yeah!” I raved. “The best time ever.”

She nodded, grinning as she clasped my arm, and said something that I couldn’t hear. When she tugged on my arm, I guessed she meant for me to come with her.

I kind of floated away as Mauve led me toward a line of girls. I didn’t stop to wonder why it was only girls who were lining up, or ask what we were doing here. Thinking too much only caused stress, so I shucked it all off and just gave in to the moment. Dancing, drinking and hanging with my friends. Cool.

“Your name?” A guy with a blue cap squashed down over his sleek black hair sat at a small table and looked up at me.

“Which one?” I giggled.

Mauve pushed me forward and whispered, “Answer him.”

“I can’t. It’s a secret.” I giggled. Having two names seemed hilarious, and I was really tempted to tell this nice guy my real name.

“Her name is Sharayah Rockingham,” Mauve said, rolling her eyes with annoyance as she spelled out my first name.

“Got it. Here.” Blue Cap Guy shoved a plastic card with the number nineteen at me.

The number looked kind of blurry. “What’s this for?”

“Stick it on,” he told me. Then he looked at Mauve and said, “Next, please.”

I turned over the number, trying to decide where to place my number. What was it for, anyway? I’d ask Mauve when she was done talking to Blue Cap. I waited, my skin stinging from the warm sun and my throat dry. I kept sipping my drink—until I looked down and saw that it was empty. I must have spilled it. Oops. Oh well. Someone handed me another one.

Then Mauve bounced over, excitedly waving her number-twenty sticker. “I am so going to score and rock this beach.”

I held my number nineteen and squinted at it. It seemed an odd way to sign up to play volleyball but then what did I know about sports? As long as there wasn’t running involved, I should do okay. Anyone could hit a ball, right?

“I’m not really good at this,” I told Mauve.

“Don’t be modest. I’ve seen you in action before and you’re a natural.”

“I am?” Hmmm, was Sharayah a jock? Her body seemed too skinny, not toned enough for an athlete.

“Copy everyone else and flaunt your assets.”

“Flaunt?” That seemed an odd word to use for volleyball. “What if I fall down?”

“The crowd will go wild and you’ll score big.”

“You get points by falling? Beach volleyball must really be different than what I played in school.”

Mauve stared at me, then sputtered with laughter, spilling the bubbling amber liquid from her red cup to her sneakers. But she didn’t seem to notice, she was cracking up so hard. When she came up for air, she gave me a hug.

“You’re hilarious, Rayah! If I didn’t know how much you’ve been looking forward to this, I’d almost believe you didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“We’re not playing volleyball?”

“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “You need to take off your bra and change into a tight shirt. Let’s go. We’re competing in a wet T-shirt contest.”

I sobered up fast.

All the way to the car, I tried to talk Mauve out of the contest. If she backed out, then I could cancel too without breaking any GEM rules. But Mauve was determined. She was excited about the prizes, too—eager to win schwag like sunglasses, beach towels or passes to Universal Studios. In my opinion, free stuff wasn’t worth being drenched on stage and paraded half naked in public.

Yet this is what Sharayah planned to do, so as her temporary replacement, it was my mission to experience this for her. No matter how humiliating.

“Hurry! Change into something sexy,” Mauve told me as she popped the trunk of Sadie’s car.

“Sexy?” I stared at her like she was speaking to me in a foreign language.

“Wear your
I’m a Creature of Bad Habits
T-shirt. That should get some laughs and score you some extra votes. Also, ditch the jeans and put on your neon-purple thong.”

“A thong! You can’t be serious?”

“It’ll look like a bikini bottom.”

“I’ll be practically naked!” I protested.

“If you got it, flaunt and shake it.”

“I’m shaking already,” I grumbled.

But hey, this was supposed to be fun. Living the college-girl life, finding out what it was like to be older, mature and … terrified. How was I ever going to find the nerve to get through this? An even bigger question—which one of the suitcases was mine?

Frowning, I studied the trunk crammed tight with a black, a red, and a blue suitcase, plus several bags and a red overnight case. Which one was mine? I was trying to figure out how to ask Mauve when I noticed the initials SR on the black suitcase. One problem solved. Relieved, I clicked it open.

The clothes had been randomly tossed in: shirts, jeans, bras, undies, etc. When I found the purple thong Mauve mentioned, I dangled the micro-tiny suit on one finger and groaned. How was I supposed to fit my ass into this? There wasn’t enough material to cover one cheek, much less two.

“Hurry up, Rayah!”

“I’m hurrying already,” I snapped.

“Do you hear that cheering, Rayah?” Mauve asked. “The contest is starting without us! You’d better get—”

But I’d stopped listening to her because I’d found something small, round and startling at the bottom on the suitcase. My body went from chilled to burning to numb as I lifted up a tiny silver ring.

I stared at the two-word inscription etched in the band:

Promise Me.

If the ring was real, the dream was real.

And if the dream was real …

Gabe was a monster.

Sharayah had been too trusting. If only she’d listened to Eli’s suspicions about Gabe. Then she wouldn’t have gone through a horrible betrayal high on that remote ocean cliff. She’d loved him so much, she’d been ready to take off her silver ring and commit to him. So why had Gabe turned violent? Sharayah would have eagerly done anything he asked. It just didn’t make sense. She loved him and he seemed to feel the same way about her … until he pulled out the tape.

What was that about? Definitely not love.

I touched my cheek, remembering Gabe reeling back with his hand as if to strike Sharayah. But instead of hurting her, he’d been the one falling over the cliff. What had happened next? Had he survived? And what about Sharayah? She might not have physical injuries, but there were scars buried inside. Sharayah’s heart—the depths of her soul—had been broken. And if Gabe had died, she’d had to live with the guilt of his death. I didn’t know the complete horror of what had happened on that cliff, but I was beginning to understand the reason for Sharayah’s crisis.

“Rayah!” Mauve smacked her hand impatiently on the side of the car. “Are you ready?”

I jerked around, forgetting where I was until I focused on Mauve’s face and the real world rushed back with sounds of voices and surf and traffic. It was jarring to fit the pieces of my memory with all the spring break craziness on the beach. But the silver ring proved I was here for a reason. I slipped it on and made a new promise, both to Sharayah and myself. I would restore her confidence and show her that life could be fun again—even if part of that fun meant competing in a wet T-shirt contest. Heaven help me (and I meant that literally … Grammy, I could have really used some help!).

By the time I’d changed into the purple thong and the T-shirt Mauve insisted I wear and we reached the stage, number sixteen and her obviously surgically enhanced breasts were shaking up a dripping-wet storm. The crowd—even other girls—hooted for her to take it all off. To my surprise, she did!

“Strategic move. She’ll take first place,” Mauve grumbled beside me. “I’ll have to flash the crowd, too, if I want a chance at winning.”

I wrapped my arms around my sheer T-shirt. “Don’t even say that.”

“What’s the harm in a little flash?”

“Aside from the chance it could end up on YouTube?”

“You think?” She actually sounded excited by this possibility. “Now I’m definitely going for it—and you should, too.”

“Forget. It.”

“Then you’ll lose.”

“I’m already losing my nerve about going up there.”

“That attitude is so not like you. Snap out of it, Rayah.”

Oops. I was forgetting who I was supposed to be—not a high schooler with only a few kisses to my name, but an uninhibited college girl. Still, I had a frantic urge to flee, and was coming up with a zillion reasons why this was a bad idea. But then I remembered Gabe’s raised hand and the cruel look on his face right before he tumbled off the cliff. Sharayah had gone through so much and deserved some fun. I could do this small thing for her.

But when my number was called, I couldn’t make my legs work.

“Go!” Mauve pushed me.

“I-I … I don’t know what to do.”

“Dance! Shake your booty! Geez, Rayah, it’s not like you haven’t danced on a stage before—and wearing much less!”

Mauve gave me another swift shove forward. I found myself front and center on a beach podium beside a smooth-talking DJ who held a mike in one hand and a bucket full of water in the other. I gazed across a sea of heads. All except Mauve were strangers, but united in a mass of shouts and waving hands urging me on.

The being on stage part didn’t bother me. I was President of the Halsey High Hospitality Club and had to welcome new students and even give speeches at school assemblies. But this wasn’t about speaking or school … and when a tsunami of icy water splashed over me, I screamed.

“Ahhh! That’s cold!”

I stumbled, slipping in puddles and momentarily blinded when my hair dripped in my face. My arms flailed as I tried to keep my balance. My feet slid sideways. To avoid sailing off the podium, I found myself curling into a forward flip—then I landed flat on my feet, like a gymnast. Wow! Where had that come from? Obviously, this body not only liked exercise but knew some cool gymnastic moves.

The audience went wild! I was getting down with the rhythm now, swaying to the music. Pushing my wet hair from my face, I got a thrill from all the waving hands cheering me on. My body seemed to take over again as the music amped up—a jazzy dance song that sent my hips swaying. My skin tingled with goose bumps but I felt warmed from the shouting audience (and probably all those red cups). I danced with abandon, sucked into the rhythm.

What the hell? This wasn’t my real life, and the energy sizzling around me was contagious. My inhibitions washed away like the droplets of water streaming down my skin, and I just danced. I hoped when Sharayah returned she’d remember this moment and know that she could overcome anything and dance in her own power.

More shouting, whistling, hooting—a blur of insanity. Then the music stopped and I was ushered off the podium. Mauve slapped me a high five as she hurried past for her turn. A skinny girl covered in tattoos led me to the side of the stage, where I joined the other dripping-wet girls.

Then, amid shouts of “Take it off!” Mauve strutted onto the stage.

When it was all over and the awards were passed out, I was actually disappointed not to place in the top five. Ridiculous to care, right? I never expected to win. I mean, there was little honor or sport in winning because of the “topography” of my temporary body. Still, I’d always had this killer competitive streak and hated losing.

“I danced better than that tattooed girl who took fourth place,” I complained while I waited with Mauve to pick up her second-place prize.

“Your flip was cool but I told you about flashing. That’s what won me a free sushi dinner for two,” Mauve said. “You’ll do better next time.”

“No next time.” I shook my head, which caused me to sway dizzily. “But I’m glad you won and dinner is a cool prize. I could go for some solid food. Unless you’ve got plans with Alonzo, I’m up for sushi.”

“With your allergies?” Mauve stopped to stare at me like I was crazy. “Last time you ate sushi, you swelled up so awful I thought you were dying.”

“Well … yeah. I was just joking about eating sushi.”

“Rushing you to emergency was
not
funny.”

“Sorry,” I said, hiding the panic racing through me.

What other important facts didn’t I know about this body? Navigating someone else’s life was perilous. If Mauve hadn’t warned me about the allergy, I might have had an accidental slip. I had to be extra careful or not only would Sharayah miss her chance with the
Voice Choice
competition, but we both could end up dead.

“He’s here!” Mauve cried out, bouncing excitedly and waving her hand.

I started to ask who, but knew the answer the moment I turned around and saw the mass of black curls and the mega-watt smile. Alonzo had found us. At least I didn’t see Warren.

“You made it! I wasn’t sure you could find us!” Mauve jumped gleefully into his open arms.

“You’re easy to find, babe,” Alonzo said huskily, then glanced around. “Where’s Sadie?”

“Shopping, as usual. She’ll show up eventually.” Mauve lifted her coupon and waved it in his face. “Check out my prize!”

“Superior,” he said, squinting at it. “Sushi, huh? I’m up for that. So sorry I missed the show.”

“Stick around,” Mauve said with a suggestive raise of her brows. “I could be persuaded to give an encore performance.”

“Keep talking,” he urged, pulling her closer.

Awkward third-wheel moment. Wringing out a corner of my dripping shirt, I murmured that I was leaving to change my clothes. We made plans to meet at the car in two hours. Mauve loaned me the car keys and then waved as she hooked her arm in Alonzo’s and walked away.

Although my buzz had faded, my head ached and my legs felt rubbery as I left the beach path. How many red cups had I had anyway? At least four … well, maybe six, but no more than seven. I was following through on Sharayah’s plans, but shouldn’t I also guide her to better choices? Balancing the role of a Temp Lifer was complicated. Regardless, acting too wild was a bad idea. If I didn’t keep a clear head, I’d never succeed at this assignment.

Breathing in and out until my head felt a little clearer, I followed a pathway to the street, dreading another long hike to the car. It had to be at least a mile—maybe even two—and no matter whose body I was in, I detested exercise.

Clouds had rolled in and a breeze shivered my shoulders. I thought longingly of the windbreaker I’d seen in Sharayah’s suitcase. What else would I find there? I wondered, pressing the button on a crosswalk. I’d only glanced through it before, too startled by the ring to look any further. This time, I’d take the time for a thorough search without anyone looking over my shoulder.

When the crosswalk light flashed green, I hurried ahead of a large family group pushing strollers. Then I spotted a near-extinct curiosity—a pay phone. Digging into the jacket pocket where I’d shoved some money and a credit card, I trotted over to it and called Eli.

Only he didn’t answer.

I left a short “Call ASAP!” message and gave him Sadie’s cell number. We hadn’t talked for hours, so he should have been by the phone waiting to hear from me. Or was I expecting too much from him? It wasn’t like we were officially going out. We’d only known each other a short time—most of it while I was in someone else’s body. It was unrealistic to expect him to stop his life for me. But to be honest with myself (a self-help book called
Bullshit Belongs in the Pasture
advised honest self-talk), that’s exactly what I had expected. Had Eli grown tired of waiting? This was his spring break, too, so he probably had plans with his family or buddies, plans that didn’t include me.

Wallowing in pity, I’d walked a few blocks before I noticed the prickly feeling in the back of my neck. I stopped and rubbed it. I recognized that “being watched” warning. Maybe it was my imagination … or maybe not. Had the red-haired stalker found me again?

Don’t turn around
, I cautioned myself. Keep walking like nothing is wrong. Force a smile and don’t freak out.

I freaked anyway, but only inside my head where no one could see. I could feel the gaze, as sharp as a knife stabbing into my skin. He or she was still close by, and watching.

Although my shirt had dried, goose bumps rippled across my skin. My chill had more to do with fear than the weather, although with the sun dropping the temps had cooled. Nervously, I scanned the street and sidewalk for any sign of red hair. There was a bald guy walking his dog and an elderly couple holding hands while they waited to cross the street. No one suspicious … yet the feeling persisted.

Remembering advice from a book on self-defense, I shifted the car keys in my right hand, knuckling my fingers and positioning the longest key to poke out like a weapon. Of course a key wouldn’t protect me from a gun. I had to stay alert and close to other people. I listened anxiously for pursuing footsteps. But traffic whizzed by, making it impossible to hear more than my own thoughts.