Dead Girl Dancing (8 page)

Only when I called, her mother answered.

“Who is this?” Mrs. Perfetti asked in her typical clipped, irritated tone.

A simple yet impossible question to answer.

“I’m … um … Harmony Furrson.” This was the name we gave to the pet hamster I’d had when I was seven. “I sit behind Alyce in algebra and need homework advice.”

I added the part about algebra because (a) it was true—I did sit behind her in algebra and I hoped Alyce would pick up on that hint, and (b) her mother was militant when it came to homework, even locking Alyce in her room until she finished her assignments.

“Alyce doesn’t have homework over spring vacation,” her mother said coolly.

“It’s extra credit work.”

“Then it can wait till school resumes.”

“But it can’t wait—I really need to talk with her.”

“Sorry. Alyce is unavailable.” Then she hung up.

What was this? Hang up on Amber day? I wanted to call Alyce back but knew her mother never backed down when she got into one of her moods. So I dialed Dustin’s number—which wasn’t even breaking GEM rules since Eli had already told him about my body-swap.

When Dustin realized who I was, he whooped like I was Publishers Clearing House calling with a million-dollar offer.

“I was going to visit your body in the hospital but this is much better,” he said. “How’s everything going?”

“Better since I figured out what I’m supposed to do in this body.”

“What?”

“Make Sharayah a singing star.”

“Big job! How are you going to accomplish that?”

“By finding an audition or contest that she—I mean, I—can enter, that happens soon and is close to Venice Beach. Can you help?”

“Already on it.” I visualized him swiveling in his chair in front of several monitors. He didn’t have a bed in his bedroom, preferring a couch with a sleeping bag, conserving his minimal space for maximum strategizing. He called his room his “Headquarters.” He was as passionate about his quest for justice as he was with offering help to a friend.

His online search narrowed down the listings to open auditions for amateur singers in the Los Angeles area. He came up with five possibilities, but only two of them would be held soon. One had such a high entrance fee I was sure it was a scam. But the competition for
Voice Choice,
a new cable reality show similar to
American Idol
, was perfect. An open audition would be held in Beverly Hills in two days. Singers had to be amateurs, eighteen to twenty-nine years old with no professional experience—so totally Sharayah.

This was why my grandmother had chosen me for this assignment.

And I wouldn’t let her down.

Sure, I had a few obstacles like getting to Beverly Hills, making the finals, wowing the judges and winning the grand-prize singing contract—all while avoiding Dark Lifers and a psycho redhead.

But when I finished, Sharayah would be famous.

And for a brief moment, I would be, too.

As I handed the phone back to Sadie, it rippled musically with a pop song—and caller ID flashed Mauve’s name.

“Where are you?” Sadie demanded.

“Driving,” Mauve answered, loud enough that I could hear. “Where are
you
?”

“We made a potty and snack stop.” Sadie told her the exit.

“I’ll meet you there. Lonz and I aren’t that far behind.”

“Behind?” Sadie questioned. “I thought you were miles ahead.”

“We stopped for lunch and … well … let’s just say dessert. Details forthcoming.” Mauve giggled. “See you soon.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. In less than five minutes I heard a car honking and saw Mauve’s pink hair flying up in the air as Alonzo’s convertible screeched into the gas station, burning rubber as it skidded into the parking space beside us.

“Now that’s a ride! My next car is so going to be a convertible!” Mauve cried, reaching up for Alonzo’s hand as he helped her hop out of the car. “I had no idea my trade idea would turn out so thrilling.”

“We’ve had our share of thrills—but not in a good way,” Sadie said ominously.

“Oh?” Mauve asked with a dubious lift of her brow.

Sadie frowned in my direction. “Rayah’s stalker showed up.”

Mauve’s mouth fell open. “I can’t believe I missed all the action! I have to know everything.” She gave Alonzo a hasty kiss good-bye, explaining that this was “Girls Only” and she’d meet up with him later. When she shooed Warren out of her seat, he looked like he wanted to protest but only shrugged, then climbed back in the convertible beside Alonzo. Within minutes they were roaring out of the parking lot, my tension fading with their disappearing tail lights.

“I can’t leave you two alone for a minute!” Mauve complained with a peeved expression as if we’d been having a great time without her. She angled in her seat belt to look at me and demanded to know everything about the stalker.

I really didn’t want to talk about that whole freaky encounter—but there was no ignoring Mauve. I couldn’t stop wondering, worrying, what might have happened if Sadie hadn’t interrupted …

“I cannot believe that bitch followed you all the way here! She’s got to be seriously psycho or high,” Mauve said, shaking her pink head. “Sure you don’t know who she is?”

“I wish I did; then I might know how to stop her.”

“I stopped her,” Sadie said proudly. “I didn’t get a good look at her, but she was scared to get caught. She’s long gone by now. She wouldn’t have the guts to mess with us again.”

I nodded, hoping Sadie was right.

“Too bad I wasn’t here,” Mauve said as she pulled a lip gloss from a small sequined purse and dabbed at her lips. “I would have smacked her so bad she’d never forget.”

“I’ll bet you would.” I gave a faint smile.

“Hey, you know I got your back after all you’ve done for me.” She paused, her toughness softening for a brief moment, revealing a vulnerability I’d never expected to see on Mauve’s face. But then the moment passed, and the don’t-mess-with-me attitude returned. “Anyway, the drama is all over—except for what went on with me and Alonzo.”

“So what
did
go on?” Sadie asked as she drove out of the parking lot and merged back onto the freeway.

“A lot,” Mauve said with a low whistle. “Did you know he’s a champion surfer and kick boxer? And those aren’t his best talents.”

“Oooh! Dish!” Sadie flipped her turn signal and moved into the fast lane. “Anything I can add to the Layaway List?”

“Well … ” Mauve drawled. “Let’s just say that Alonzo didn’t disappoint.”

She went on to rave about Alonzo’s kissing skills, customized car and tattoos, and about how he was so brilliant he’d been offered an internship in a top law firm. I was skeptical, though, because no guy could be that perfect. Alonzo seemed nice enough, but arrogant, too. The more Mauve described every drama-centric detail, the less I believed even half of it was true.

Still, it was fun to listen.

We were out of the hills now, dipping down into a sprawling metropolis of concrete that stretched on forever with distant towering buildings blending into a gray skyline. Traffic congested; our speed slowed. Sadie didn’t seem bothered by the traffic as she kept pumping Mauve for details about Alonzo. Mauve didn’t hold much back; some of her answers crossed into the realm of
Too Much Information
. I turned to look out the window, pretending a fascination with LA traffic to hide my reddening cheeks. My body might have been of legal age, but my mind had some catching up to do.

“The ocean!” Sadie shouted suddenly as we left the freeway, pointing to a gap between towering buildings in the far distance. “There it is!”

“I can’t see it.” I pressed my face against the window, squinting at a horizon of drab, cloudless sky.

“Look beyond those buildings.” Mauve pointed.

I’d expected a shade of brilliant blue or green but there was only a gray smudge beyond high-rises. Then I blinked and the gray was gone. Oh well, I’d see the real thing soon enough, I thought with rising excitement.

Mauve pulled out a print-out with directions and told Sadie to keep driving straight for three miles. “Then turn right on Starfish Street and make an immediate left.”

“Are you sure?” Sadie glanced over at the print-out in Mauve’s hands, frowning.

“That’s what the directions say.”

“But that can’t be right. That would take us away from the beach. My cousin Abigail said the condo had a view of the ocean.”

“Haven’t you ever been here before?” I asked.

“Don’t be stupid. You know I can’t stand my cousin. Her side of the family thinks they’re better than the rest of us because they’re rich.” Sadie groaned as she made a right turn. “This can’t be the right street.”

“Unfortunately it is,” Mauve said.

Where are the condos? I wondered, peering out the window at old homes with high porches, rickety steps and fading paint on sagging wood. Junker cars decorated a few dead lawns and I spotted three pit bulls straining at their chains. Yeah, really nice neighborhood—not.

“I am going to kill my cousin,” Sadie growled.

“Me, too—after I kill you for trusting her,” Mauve added.

“Maybe the neighborhood will get better,” I said hopefully.

“It’s getting worse!” Mauve griped. “Sadie! Didn’t you wonder why the cousin you hate would be so generous to you?”

“I was too thrilled by a rent-free beach condo to ask questions. But I should have known it was too good to be true.”

“Look at that dump with all the junk in the driveway. The house is the color of piss and probably smells worse.” Mauve complained.

“Um … that dump is our condo,” Sadie said miserably as she stopped the car in front of a dilapidated, faded-yellow clapboard home. It had a peaked roof with a tiny attic window that seemed like an evil eye warning us to
leave now
.

“We can’t stay here!” Mauve cried.

“I repeat—I’m going to kill my cousin.”

Disappointment rushed through me in aching waves. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been looking forward to staying by the beach until now. A few hours sunning away my worries in the warm sand would have been wonderful. But we were miles from our beach dreams.

“What do we do now?” Sadie asked, leaning her head against the steering wheel. “It’s not like we can afford anything else—assuming we could find anything good.”

“Never happen,” Mauve agreed. “Even if we had the big bucks for a nice hotel, I’ve heard they’re all booked.”

I glanced over at the black purse that I’d tossed on the seat, and thought of the cash inside. This would be a good time to admit I was flush with funds … but suspicions about where the money came from held me back.

“So we have no choice,” Mauve decided. She opened her car door and gestured for us to follow. “We go inside.”

“Not me,” Sadie said with a shudder. “If I enter that dump, I’ll have to sanitize my whole body.”

“I’m not happy about this either, but it’s either go in or go back to the dorm. We have to make this work,” Mauve said, gritting her teeth as if preparing to go into battle. “If our rooms are dirty, we’ll clean them.”

“I’m used to cleaning big messes,” I said. “I don’t mind hard work.”

“You?” Mauve made a
humph
sound. “Your side of our room should be condemned. You can’t even find the bed.”

Oops. Brain blunder. For a moment I forgot I was supposed to be Sharayah—not the over-worked, underpaid older sister of toddlers.

“Just because I don’t take the time to clean,” I said defensively, “doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”

“This sucks.” Sadie stared out the window with a woeful expression. “Even if the inside of the house is okay, we can’t move it near the beach. Our week is totally ruined.”

“It will be with that attitude,” Mauve retorted. “We have a place to stay and the ocean isn’t that far. Bitch all you want—but I’m going to have fun—damn it!”

I nodded, feeling like I should applaud, but I settled on a small smile.

Sadie grumbled a little more but then followed us up the rickety steps, to a front door where a doormat said:
Home Sweet Hell.
How appropriate, I thought as I ducked under a hanging plant, a green vine poking me in the neck. Rubbing my neck, I waited while Sadie pulled a key out of her pocket and jiggled it in a rusty lock.

“Oh, gross!” Sadie covered her mouth as we stepped into a cluttered living room that smelled like spoiled food and stinky feet.

There were no carpets, only a few stained throw rugs on scuffed wood. Random furniture crowded into the small room: an oval, dark-wood coffee table covered with dirty plates and dishes, a saggy green couch, and four mismatched, worn recliners all facing a large flat-screen TV. Piles of papers filled one corner, a few sad plants wilted on a window shelf, boxes of all sizes were crammed in every empty space, and nearby on the wall, hung crookedly, was a calendar from 1982. Behind a leaning tower of boxes, I spotted a small Christmas tree with several unopened presents—as if time and housekeeping had left this room untouched.

“Still think we can stay here?” Sadie asked sarcastically.

“Well … ” Mauve stared around, at a loss for words.

“What’s that smell?” I asked, puckering my nose.

“Something died, I think, under those boxes,” Sadie said with disgust. “I’m not staying long enough to find out. There’s dust on the dust and all that’s holding that window together is duct tape. Civilized people cannot live like this.”

“Are you sure we have the right house?” I asked.

“Yeah—the key did open the lock. Besides, I recognize that picture.” Sadie pointed to a framed photo besides one of the dying plants, of a girl with long dark hair and thick brown glasses. “That’s Abigail—before her laser surgery fixed her eyes and she dyed her hair blond. When I see her, I’m going to grab that blond hair and twist—”

We couldn’t get out of the “crappo” house fast enough.

Driving to the ocean didn’t take long—the real challenge was finding a place to park. We drove in circles until we finally dove into a spot just as a SUV was leaving. Then we made our way down steep wooden steps onto a grainy carpet of sand that stretched across a vast beach to the emerald-blue ocean. It was a clear day, the sea calm and a sweet breeze cooling us.