New Year's Eve (19 page)

“But not till death do us part?”

“Maybe someday. But not this day. Come on, anybody would think you were eight hundred years old. You're not Noah, this isn't the Ark, you're just a kid, so dance, Matt, dance.”

She danced with such vigor it was like calisthenics.

He laughed. “Happy?”

“My father's here. He's sorry. I have a home again.”

“And that's what counts, huh?”

She stopped dancing.

“You count first, Matt. I've been counting you all evening.”

“No. You counted me out.”

She stopped dancing and glared at him. She took off the narrow gold chain she wore around her neck and undid the clasp. “Give me that ring, Matthew,” she said. He didn't move. She reached in his pocket dug around and found it. She threaded the chain through the ring, closed the clasp, and wiggled her head back through the chain.

“Now. We're somethinged. I forget what you call it. It's not pinned, this isn't a pin. It's not engaged, it's not on my finger. We're somethinged.”

Matt said. “Okay. I accept. We're somethinged.”

“Happy New Year,” Emily whispered.

He couldn't get the words out. He choked. He looked over her head, and wished for different things.

Matt said, “Happy New Year, M&M.”

Molly could not believe it.

Anne and Con stood around, not even deducing that what Christopher snatched out of Jamie's little hand had originally fallen from Anne's purse. Anne's head tilted gracefully and Con's eyes narrowed handsomely and that was it.

That was their whole reaction.

Molly wanted to see Anne cry, police close in on her, Con step back from her, and people sneering and laughing and abandoning her. But it wasn't happening. Anne didn't even know. Anne hadn't even seen. Anne was still safe inside her smooth little black gown, untouched, slick as the silk that wrapped her.

“Happy New Year!” a kid near Molly cried. He handed her a glass of punch so she could drink toasts, too. Molly just tipped the glass back against the kid, so it spilled down his beautiful shirt and trickled into his cummerbund, staining the glorious red of the satin. Molly was pleased. Something had gone right anyhow.

She slithered after Christopher, but Kip was faster than she was. Out like an avenging angel because her little filthy urchin brother Jamie was crying. Molly thought Jamie belonged in a gutter.

Well, things might still go all right. Here came the police! Christopher didn't manage to get anything away from Kip, and Kip marched right to the cops! Kip would be crushed in front of her little brothers. Kip, who was supposed to lead the entire school to greater things, would be arrested for selling drugs.

Of course it wouldn't take the police long back at the station to find it was only talc But Molly had had a lot of experience with rumors: you could never get rid of them. Never. Once the mud was thrown at Kip, it would stick. And no matter what Christopher said to anybody now, there was no way he could get Molly mixed into it: nobody would believe Christopher on anything. Of all her plans for revenge, this was the most perfect: it could not harm her and it had to harm her victims.

But the police, far from nailing Kip to the wall, obeyed Kip's instructions to go after Christopher. Molly was incensed. Where did Kip get off, pushing policemen around? Wasn't there anybody in this whole state who could look Kip in the eye and tell her to get lost?

Mike, of course.

Mike had abandoned her.

But that had not hurt Kip. Kip just moved over two paces and had Lee. Molly resented terribly that the loss of the boyfriend she'd dated off and on for a year didn't hurt Kip.

I'm the only one who ever gets hurt! she thought, raging.

She raced through the screaming crowd.

She had to see that Christopher didn't rescue Beth or Kip.

Especially Beth. Such a sap. And such a wimp. And such a sugary nothing.

And having fun.

And people calling out her name.

And laughing with Beth.

And dancing with Beth.

While she, Molly, who was astonishing, stood alone.

I
N THE SWAYING SHOUTING
crowd, Beth Rose stumbled, knocked into another couple, and like a lot of people that night, got punch spilled on her gown. “Oh no!” she cried, but they had to read her lips—the shouts of Happy New Year drowned her out. She pantomimed to George that she was going to the girls' room to wash it off. My loveliest dress! she thought. The loveliest dress I've ever owned! It's going to stain, I know it.

“Where are you going?” George shouted. “Midnight just started.”

She leaned right into his ear. “Wash it out,” she yelled, and forced her way through the crowd.

Once through the large doors, and out of the revolving room, the noise level dropped and the halls were dizzily quiet. Beth Rose ran her fingers through her short hair, and thought what a sight she must be. She started fishing in her purse to find her brush.

Christopher Vann accosted her. His big football player body spread across the entire hall and he was panting, as if he'd come from a game instead of a dance. “Hi, Beth!” he said, grabbing her tiny purse. “Have a match? Can I borrow your matches?”

She tried to yank her purse back. “I don't smoke, Christopher.”

He took her purse anyway.

“Christopher!” She looked around for help. But she could have yelled all night and nobody would have heard her. They were all yelling louder.

“Whatssa matter with you, you don't smoke?” he demanded. “I need matches.” He handed her purse back. “Who's got matches?” He said to nobody, and stumbled away, drunk. Beth Rose immediately looked down into her tiny purse, frowning and upset. There was certainly nothing missing. For a moment, feeling pity, she stared after him. Then she remembered her dress and rushed on into the bathroom. The stain was larger than she had thought. Making a face, Beth slithered right out of her gown and held the whole front under the tap, rubbing frantically.

Kip was so filled with rage she thought her skull would burst. Shoving her little brother around? And he was not drunk either. Kip knew that for sure. This was the most booze-free party she had been to—except for the ones she had organized—and Christopher had had nothing but soda or punch.

He's just mean, she thought. Violent and mean and crazy. I hate him.

Kip saw Molly in the corner of her eye. Dreadful girl. Wearing that hideous dress with its sick caricature of love. Matched Molly's personality, actually.

Aha! she thought, closing in on Christopher, who stood alone and cornered away from the elevators. She looked around for the police, but they were still in the ballroom, slowly making their way, less willing than Kip or Christopher just to get in there and shove.

But it was Christopher who spoke first. In a low tight voice, he said to her, “Kip, Molly was out to get revenge on the girls she hates. You're one. She put drugs in your purse and told the police to search you.”

Kip's jaw fell.

“I'm not drunk. It's true. Quick before they get here let me take it off you.” He was ripping her purse open even as he said it. A tortoise shell comb fell out, a Kleenex pack hit the floor, coins spattered, lipstick and lipstick case parted company, a miniature perfume bottle shattered—and an envelope Kip did not recognize fell lightly by her foot.

Kip Elliot had not taken care of four little brothers all these years without learning to react fast. She put a slender slippered foot over the envelope.

The police emerged from the ballroom just as she bent over to retrieve the rest of her belongings.

“Christopher Vann,” Kip said in a fury, “you broke my perfume bottle. I will never forgive you. I don't care if you won the bet, it's not funny, I am not amused. And whoever called the police is not amusing either. Nobody is amused.” She stood up, lipstick halves in each hand. “I apologize for him,” she said to the police. “He never knows when to stop. He's racing around here like a madman because I bet him he wouldn't have the nerve to wear lipstick.”

Kip dumped the lipstick in his hand. “You had enough nerve to go into my purse and get it,” she said. “Now let's see if you'll actually wear it. Place your bets,” she added to the cops.

Christopher said, “Do I have to? It was more fun purse snatching lipstick than wearing it.”

“Well …” said Kip, putting just the right combination of embarrassment and ruefulness on her face. The police, not entirely convinced, moved slowly to either side of Christopher.

“Hi, guys,” Christopher said brightly.

“Christopher, you can at least say you're sorry.” Kip stamped her safe foot. “He's sorry,” she told the police. “And furthermore it stinks in here,” she went on. “My perfume is smelling up the whole hallway.”

“You should have picked out a nicer smelling perfume then,” Christopher said.

Beth Rose, her entire dress front soaked but clean, came out of the bathroom. “Look at me,” she said. “Oh, well, I guess I'm lucky I got off this easy.”

She did not see Christopher suck in his breath, and she did not see Kip frown. “I'm wet to the skin,” she said. “Somebody dumped punch on me, and I didn't know how else to clean it up.”

Kip could pick up any conversation any time, any place. She launched into lengthy descriptions of stains she had known and stain removal techniques that she, her mother, her aunts, and her grandmothers had used over the generations.

The police listened for a while, and then they moved off, not entirely convinced. They did not leave the dance. They positioned themselves at the door where they could frown effectively.

“Well, I'd better go find George,” said Beth Rose, overwhelmed by the various possibilities for removing food stains from fabric

“Happy New Year,” Christopher told her.

She beamed, and left them.

“Her purse, too?” Kip said.

He nodded.

“Who else?”

“Anne.”

Kip had never been hated. It was terrifying. She was almost afraid to look over where she knew Molly stood and see the hatred pouring out of Molly's eyes. But Kip rarely gave in to her fears. She raised her eyes to drill a look of anger back at Molly—and Molly had vanished back into the ballroom.

“Why did she hate us enough to do that?” said Kip. She didn't lean down to get the envelope. The police were still within sight.

“You have everything, I guess,” Christopher said. “She's very bitter about girls who seem to have it all. She wanted to see you come crashing down.” He took a Kleenex out of her little pack, although he hated tissues, and wiped his brow. He was exhausted, as if he really had played a big game.

In the ballroom, five hundred throats sang “Auld Lang Syne.”

Five hundred teenagers broke open the confetti bags, scooping it up by the armloads. The girls used their skirts as sacks to collect more and the boys stuffed it in their hair, and down their dresses, and threw it at each other and screamed energetically.

“Oh, Christopher,” she said, suddenly getting the full import of what Molly had tried to do. “We would have been—the police—the drugs—records—jail—our parents—and my little brothers—and—”

“You got it,” he said, nodding.

She took his hand and held it. “Thank you,” she said intensely. “For all of us.”

“Don't tell the others. Just drop it.”

“But how will Molly pay if—”

“She'll see to it that I pay instead.”

Kip nodded. Yes, Molly would do that. Look how easily she had extricated herself from any blame where that fire was concerned; she would do it even more easily now. Proof was gone, if proof there had ever been.

“You saved me,” she said. The shock of being hated enough to be the subject of a plot like that made her ill. “Thanks,” she whispered again.

A crowd of kids surged past. They were the first battleground of a beginning confetti war. Kip kicked backward and felt the little paper fly away. Lee and her brothers were at the rear of the pack. “Are you all right?” Lee said. “What was that all about?”

“An old bet,” Kip said. “Tell you later. It was his thing, Jamie, don't worry about it, okay. And you guys know what? I haven't had a chance to toast the New Year! I missed the most important moment of the dance. Come on, let's all get something to eat. Lee, there's Gary and Gwynnie, let's see what they're up to.”

Get the attention off Christopher, Kip thought. Sure enough, there was a more interesting event there: Gwynnie was riding piggyback on Gary. Kip made a big deal out of it, teasing Gary about being Superman. “The wig alone weighs enough to tire a man out,” Kip teased.

“I'm hungry,” Gwynnie said imperiously. “Somebody hand me some food.”

Lee handed her a glass of soda and cake on a paper plate. Gwynnie waved them in the air.

“You look like you're setting up housekeeping on Gary's back,” Kip said. At great risk, Christopher had stopped Molly's plan from working. But what if there was another plan? Another Saturday night?

“Well, it could be worse,” Gwynnie said. Kip jumped a foot, knowing exactly how much worse it could have been. “I could have brought along my three little brothers for him to take care of,” Gwynnie pointed out.

Kip managed to laugh. “Speaking of my three little brothers, Gwynnie, we've got to get them home.” She could not get out of here fast enough. Molly had reappeared. She was hovering just behind Lee, trying to figure out what had happened. And still trying, incredibly, to be part of the gang! “And by the time Lee and I have tucked them into bed,” Kip went on, “your party will be over.”

“My party will last past dawn,” Gwynnie said firmly. “You accepted my invitation and you are honor bound to materialize. No excuses are accepted.”

Jamie waved good-bye to Gwynnie. “You're my favorite person here,” Jamie said solemnly. He climbed up on Lee's back so he was eye to eye with Gwynnie.