Long Black Veil (8 page)

Devon walked to her locker after the last bell rang, mentally going over the list of things she had to do this weekend. There was the paper in AP English that was due Monday, a test in AP History to study for, calculus homework, some physics problems, not to mention more forms to fill out for college scholarships. She expected she’d be spending all of her time at the library this weekend. But first there was her shift at the drugstore, stocking the shelves and working the register.

The combination lock stuck, so she had to try the combination three times to get the stupid thing to open. Devon rummaged in her locker, stuffing the books and notes she’d need into her messenger bag. If the year kept up with the teachers giving this much homework, Devon was pretty certain that her bag would not make it to graduation.

“Hey Devon.”

She jumped when she heard the voice behind her. She hadn’t realized anyone was there with the sound of the kids pouring out of classes and on their way to the parking lot. She closed her locker and turned to talk to Brock.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Sorry about that.” He had his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his own backpack slung over one shoulder. It looked considerably lighter than hers.

“No problem. Mind’s on other things, I guess.” Devon tried not to stare at him, but then she realized she was looking everywhere but him which had to look even weirder. She settled for looking at the tip of his nose. She tried to stay calm.

“That’s cool.” He looked around, eyeing the students passing by them for a few moments. “So, you’re coming to my Halloween party, right?” He still wasn’t looking at her when he asked.

Devon blinked. And blinked again. Brock Cutler had just invited her to his huge Halloween bash. It wasn’t something that she’d been expecting. She’d never been invited, and she’d always turned down Gil’s attempts to get her to go with him to it. She knew she didn’t belong there. The popular kids, the ones with money, the pretty girls and the hot guys, those were the ones that got the invites. Devon knew she was pretty, but she also knew that she came from the wrong family. Everyone knew her mother was in prison for drugs and prostitution, and nobody wanted a girl with a mother like that within fifty feet of their social gatherings. Devon knew she’d probably have more success if she had leprosy and stuff just fell off of her at random intervals.

But here was Brock, actually asking her himself! She wiped suddenly sweaty palms on her jeans. “I’ll have to check my work schedule.”

He nodded. “Cool. Hope you can make it.”

“Make what?” a deep voice asked.

Devon saw Micah and Skylar walking up to Brock and she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but where she currently was. Skylar was frowning at her, as if Devon was something she stepped in and had to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.

Devon hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder. “I’ll catch you at the Records room,” she said, and didn’t wait any longer to make her escape.

She heard Skylar asking Brock what Devon had meant by that, and then she was too far away to hear what he said. Devon was glad to hit the fresh air and began her walk to the drugstore. As she walked she thought about Brock’s invitation and Skylar’s frown. If she went to the party, then she’d most definitely be rubbing elbows with the high and mighty Miss Preston and all of the other girls just like her. Devon would rather gnaw her foot off than socialize with them ordinarily, but she might make an exception for one night. It wasn’t as if she was going to suddenly start campaigning to be prom queen or anything with them.

She began to think while she walked. She certainly wasn’t an it girl, and Devon knew her background better than anyone. If she went to the party, Skylar and her harpies weren’t going to like it, and while it was Devon’s last year—hopefully—in this town, she still had to make it to graduation. And she had no doubt that Skylar could make Devon’s life a living hell until then.

Still. Brock had asked her to go. And it was his party—he could invite whoever he wanted to. Devon shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Whether or not he invited her, it wasn’t like she was required to attend. She could say no. But he’d been so nice to her at the Records room over the past couple of weeks. He was funny. And pretty cute. Maybe he was trying to feel her out, to see if she might be interested…

No. Devon stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. She was being beyond ridiculous now and well into unicorns and rainbows and fairies fantasy territory now. There was no way Brock was going to ask her out, no way that the captain of the basketball team and local heartthrob was interested in her. This wasn’t a Disney fairytale; things like this did NOT happen in real life, and to pretend otherwise was just stupid. And Devon Mackson was not stupid.

*****

Devon walked up the wide brick steps that led to the large wraparound porch and the Cutler’s front door. She could already hear the raucous sounds of music and talking, and suddenly she felt like she should be anywhere but where she was right now. She froze, knowing deep in her bones that she didn’t belong here.

Gil’s hand in the middle of her back propelled her forward. “You can’t be chickening out now,” he taunted.

Devon glanced back at him. He was dressed as the anti-Bieber, presumably to annoy his little sister who had a massive thing for the singer. Every time Devon looked at him, she had to resist the almost unstoppable urge to roll her eyes right out of her head. Gil committed to his costumes.

She shook her head. “Not really, it’s just….” she trailed off, searching for the right word. Finally she shrugged. “I feel weird.”

“Come on,” he assured her, taking her hand and leading her up the rest of the steps. “It’s a party. You’ll have fun.” He eyed her critically for a moment. “Although you could have come up with a more creative costume.”

Devon looked down at what she was wearing. She didn’t have money for a proper costume, so she’d just grabbed her Gammy’s dowsing rod and threw on a flannel shirt. Water witch wasn’t the most exciting costume, but it was cheap. And at least it wasn’t slutty, like all of the store-bought costumes for teen girls seemed to be. Really, Little Red Riding Hood with a skirt that barely covered her ass? She highly doubted Red dressed like a truck stop stripper, even with all of the sexual overtones in the fairytale.

Gil knocked on the door, then let himself in. Devon followed behind, unable to get away even if she’d wanted to due to the tight grip he had on her hand. Maybe he suspected she was likely to bolt at the first opportunity. He was right to be suspicious; she wanted to break for the hills right now.

The living room was packed with people from school. Gil greeted them loudly as he shoved his way through the press of people. Devon noticed the curious looks she got as they passed. This wasn’t her crowd, not that she had one. These kids were popular, good-looking, and had money, along with the entitlement to go with all of it. She wondered for the fifteenth time why she’d agreed to come in the first place.

Brock stopped Gil at the doorway between the cavernous dining room and the kitchen that looked like something out of the future. Devon swallowed nervously. There was the reason she’d agreed to come, standing there, all six feet of him. Brock Cutler: even his name sounded chiseled and refined, like the name of someone on a soap opera. For a second, Devon wondered if that’s where his mother had picked it out from.

He looked up from greeting Gil, who had finally let go of her hand so he could head into the kitchen to get a drink. Devon shook the feeling back into it and tried not to stare at Brock. His invitation was the only reason she was here; she could admit that to herself, even if she wouldn’t dare do so to anyone else.

They stared at each other. Brock broke the silence first. “I’m glad you came.” He smiled a little, and it felt like it was just for the two of them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at any parties.”

That’s because I’m never invited to them
. Aloud she said, “I have to work a lot.”
Yes, that’s the reason; it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m the equivalent of social napalm
.

“No work tonight though.” Brock gestured to the kitchen. “Help yourself.”

“Your parents don’t mind you having a party like this?” Devon would not have pictured the upstanding Cutlers being at all okay with their middle son holding a rager at their finely appointed family manse. But before a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have pictured Brock talking to her either.

He frowned the slightest bit, but Devon caught it. Brock cracked his neck and then answered, “They’re out of town and it’s Halloween. And it’s sort of expected since my brother threw them all the time. It’s like a tradition.” He shared a look with her, acknowledging their conversation about expectations. He took a closer look at her. “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

Devon held up her split stick. “A water witch?” She hated the way she answered him like a question. “Because it’s Halloween?” Gah, she had to stop doing that!

Brock gave her a half-hearted chuckle. He probably couldn’t wait to get away from her and her lameness in case it was catching. He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud “Bro!” swallowed whatever it was he was going to say.

Devon slid away into the safety of the kitchen as more pinstripe suit clad guys crowded around him. They were all guys from the basketball team, although Bro—Micah Landsdown—was the quarterback of their high school’s football team. He thought he was a huge playa with the ladies, but all that meant was that he had no idea what the cheerleaders said about him in the girl’s bathroom. He was Brock’s best friend.

He was also a giant douche.

Devon saw him point at her and nudge Brock. She turned away, not wanting to see what he might do next. She found Gil talking to Tara, a tall girl from the volleyball team, and sipping a beer. She joined them.

“You’re drinking beer?!” Devon mocked as she leaned against the countertop.

“I’m in costume, remember?” He took a swig and made a face.

“You’re in costume yes, but you’re not an alien. What have you done with the real Gil?”

Tara laughed. “Hey, Devon.”

They were in National Honor Society together, so Devon knew her from meetings. They’d had a few classes together their junior year, but this year they barely had any of their AP classes together so their paths hadn’t really intersected much.

“Hi Tara. Nice costume.” Tara was wearing short shorts and a white t-shirt that read Merlotte’s and her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“Thanks.” She cocked her head, appraising Devon. “Um, are you in costume?”

“Yeah,” Devon said, again holding up the dowsing rod, “I’m—“

“Sad is what she is,” Gil interrupted, throwing an arm around her. He handed her a can of PBR. “Come on, let’s see who else is here.”

Devon waved goodbye to Tara, following Gil once again, like some kind of puppy. He knew everybody, which wasn’t surprising since his family was one of the richest in town. Money bought a lot of friendship, but it didn’t bother Gil, especially since it had saved him from any number of beatings from the hilljacks at school once his sexual orientation became widely known. Between his parents and his own social clout at school, he was pretty much accepted anywhere, and if kids didn’t like it, well, they kept it to themselves.

Devon cracked open her beer and took a sip just to be doing something. It tasted like all beer did to her—like her Gammy’s liniment mixed with gutter water—but it gave her hands something to do and if she looked like she was drinking she’d probably fit in better. Gil dragged her into a conversation with a few of his newspaper friends and they all talked about school papers and the horrible teachers for a while. Devon found her gaze straying to Brock.

He was surrounded by his teammates in the living room. A few of them were playing a game on the X-Box, but most of them just hung around drinking. Devon noticed Brock didn’t have a drink in his hand. She set her nearly full can on a console table and tried to pay attention to what Anthony was saying, but her eyes kept sliding to the other room.

This Brock felt so different from the one she had glimpsed during their afternoons in the Records room at City Hall. That Brock felt real, this one felt like a put on. She remembered what he’d said earlier, about the Halloween party being a tradition from his brother’s time, and she wondered if he’d really wanted to throw it at all. The two Brocks didn’t add up—it all just felt so disjointed. She got that he had a certain status to uphold, but which Brock was the real one?

He caught her looking at him. He smiled and lifted his chin in greeting. Devon waved, giving him a smile in return, then returned her attention back to the argument over who was tougher: Mr. Sweeney for Calculus or Ms. Denton for AP Chemistry. Gil was arguing heatedly for Ms. Denton, even though Devon knew he hadn’t ever had either teacher for anything. He just liked arguing.

Gil left to get another beer—his fourth maybe? Devon hadn’t been keeping track, but it looked like she’d be designated driver tonight. She stayed, finally feeling a little closer to belonging. A few of her classmates from yearbook had joined the little group hanging out in the hallway between the bathroom and the kitchen, and Devon was beginning to relax. Maybe Gil had been right in making her come. Maybe she wasn’t the social leper she thought she was.

Brock edged his way through the crowd of people, coming to a stop next to her. Devon was amazed how many of her schoolmates were here—at least half of the senior class, as well as some of the more popular juniors from the basketball and football teams had crushed their way into Brock’s house.