Unbroken (21 page)

Rebecca walked past girls with elaborate hairstyles and shiny short dresses, and boys wearing jackets from Brooks Brothers
or Perlis. Tuxes, Rebecca remembered, were not allowed at the Spring Dance, so nobody would get it confused with Senior Prom. All that meant was that lots of boys turned up in their fathers’ blazers, which made them look even younger and skinnier than they really were.

Anton reached for her hand, and Rebecca felt her face reddening. People were staring at them: Of course they were. Especially the girls. Anton looked so much more grown-up than most of the boys here. He was wearing an actual suit, dark blue and slim fitting, and his tie wasn’t a stupid Saints tie — Rebecca had counted three of those just walking through the lobby — or something decorated with tiny crawfish or alligators. She was too nervous and self-conscious, so after gripping his hand way too hard she just let it drop.

“OK,” said Ling, catching up with her. They walked toward a vacant table while the boys fell behind. “I’ve seen two girls with those weird fishing feather things in their hair. I have to say, I kind of like them.”

“The humidity is going to your head,” said Rebecca. She was trying not to look too closely at the crowded tables in case she saw someone she recognized from Temple Mead.

At some tables every single person was either talking on their iPhone or texting. Anton told Ling that there were numerous after-parties at various people’s houses and at clubs, and a lot of people were probably trying to decide what they’d do next.
Rebecca didn’t get it. Girls at Temple Mead talked all year about what a big deal the Spring Dance was, but so many of them seemed eager to move on. Maybe when they finally made it here, they discovered that all school dances were essentially the same, and not that glamorous after all. It was just the same girls from school, sitting with the same boys they’d known all their lives.

Servers in black and white ferried food out to a big round table in the middle of the room. One of them was probably Raf’s brother, but Rebecca couldn’t see anyone who looked particularly like Raf, and it was hard to see much in this room anyway, because the lights were so dim. Ling insisted on them both walking over to the buffet to check out what was on offer, expecting it to be good: Food was usually
really
good in New Orleans. In fact, Rebecca had promised Ling that it would be a cut above the usual school-dance fare. But actually it was a weird mix of kiddie food, like mac-and-cheese and slimy hot dogs, with heavy grown-up stuff, like braised pork belly and oyster dressing.

Phil seemed delighted with the food, piling up his plate with sticky barbecued shrimp and hamburgers, but Rebecca had realized that Phil was one of those people who made the best of everything. He was a cheerful person who liked to join in, take part, and look on the bright side.

“I think Phil might be kind of weird,” she muttered to Ling after he came back from the bar with another round of Shirley
Temples and said they were the best he’d ever tasted. “It’s like he’s in some kind of cult.”

“He’s not weird. He’s just from the West Coast.” Ling nudged her. “What
is
weird are these cupcakes. I swear they’re from a Betty Crocker mix.”

“Everybody go whoop, whoop!” boomed the DJ. “Put your hands in the air, and give it up for the Milkshake song!”

“I love this song!” Phil licked barbecue sauce off his fingers. “It’s, like, so retro!”

“I know, right?” agreed Ling, and they raced off to join the throng on the dance floor.

“Want to dance?” Anton asked Rebecca without any enthusiasm.

“No,” she said. It was happening again. The night Anton took her to the Bowmans’ Christmas party it was just like this — the two of them sitting by themselves, glum and awkward, while other people had a good time. She wondered if he would kiss her again tonight, but it seemed unlikely. There was a tension between them now, not to mention way too many Temple Mead girls staring.

“I feel sick about what happened today,” Anton said to her in a low voice, as conscious as she was, it seemed, of other people overhearing.

“It’s not your fault,” said Rebecca. Anton was leaning in so close, their foreheads were touching. She wished everyone else
in the room would vanish — like ghosts. Unfortunately, Rebecca had just spotted Amy and Jessica only three tables away. They were looking over, and probably trying to eavesdrop as well. Wishing they’d set wiretaps in all the floral displays, no doubt.

“The locket looks good,” said Anton, and they both smiled, knowing it was a big lie. The locket was beyond ugly. Rebecca couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

Ling staggered back off the dance floor, laughing and whooping, and persuaded Rebecca to walk with her to the ladies’.

“If I get through this without running into anyone,” she whispered to Ling as they waited in line, “then I …”

“Rebecca!” Jessica lurched out of a cubicle, the door banging behind her, and practically ricocheted into one of the sinks. “I’m so glad you came!”

Rebecca and Ling exchanged glances. It sounded as though Jessica had been drinking more than Shirley Temples. She turned on the faucet and water splashed all over her lacy blue dress.

“Weeee,” she giggled. “Oh my god, Anton Grey looks hot! You are so lucky!”

Ling gave Rebecca a “told you so” look.

“Oh, um, Jessica. This is my friend from New York, Ling.”

“Ling?” Jessica held out a soapy hand, almost falling over. “Ling-A-Ling! Ding-A-Ling! That’s a cute name!”

“Thanks,” said Ling, raising an eyebrow. “You having a good time?”

“The best,” sighed Jessica. “Oh my god, you won’t believe who else is here tonight. Marianne Sutton! She came all the way from Miss … Mississ … Mississippi. It’s like — the old days!”

Rebecca felt her smile straining.
The bad old days
, she wanted to say.

“Amy says,” Jessica stage-whispered. “Amy says that Toby Sutton is around, too. Somewhere.”

“What? Here, at the country club?” Rebecca instinctively put her hand to her neck.

“Who knows?” Jessica shrugged, then half flounced, half stumbled out.

When they left the ladies’ restroom, Rebecca was on high alert. Toby might be here. And his sister, too. Rebecca remembered the warning Jessica and Amy gave her when she first started school at Temple Mead.
Watch out for Helena Bowman and Marianne Sutton. They could make a lot of trouble for you if they don’t like you.
Helena might be gone, but Marianne was still around.

In fact, she was right there in the lobby, smiling at Rebecca as though they were long-lost friends.

“Hey, Rebecca,” she said, and Rebecca felt herself blushing. There’d always been something about Marianne — Marianne and Helena — that had made her feel awkward and ungainly, at some kind of disadvantage. Marianne looked even thinner
these days, Rebecca thought, and her eyes were the palest washed-out blue. She was smiling at Rebecca but there was no warmth to the smile, no warmth in her eyes. It was that same haughty, appraising look she’d given Rebecca the first time she’d ever spoken to her, on the stairs at Temple Mead. Rebecca felt inept, unable to speak.

Ling, however, wasn’t intimidated at all.

“So, is this the one with the insane brother who likes to burn things down?” she asked, staring at Marianne. “The one who tried to run your dad over in the street this afternoon?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Marianne protested, her smile fading. “What Toby gets up to has nothing to do with me, OK? I don’t even know where he is.”

She stepped closer to Rebecca, as though Ling weren’t there, and held out a hand.

“Everything else is in the past, yeah? Let’s make peace, and be friends. You and me.”

Rebecca gazed at Marianne’s pale hand. She really didn’t want to shake it. She just wanted to walk away.

“That’s an … unusual necklace,” Marianne said, stepping even closer.

“It’s a locket, actually,” Rebecca said.
As if you didn’t know
, she wanted to snap. Marianne was almost bending over to stare at it, drinking in every detail. Marianne might say that she had no idea where Toby was, but Rebecca didn’t believe that for one
single minute. She was feeding Toby information. Anton’s guess was probably right: Marianne had heard about the locket from her old cronies at Temple Mead and had let her crazy brother know right away.

“Did you buy it here?” Marianne asked. Rebecca couldn’t believe that Marianne had managed to fool her last year, pretending to be her friend when they were getting ready to ride in the Septimus parade together. Right now she was utterly transparent.

“I didn’t buy it,” Rebecca told her. “I guess it’s … it’s really a family piece. It has huge sentimental value.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were wearing it because it was pretty.” Marianne grimaced. Some of the other girls standing nearby tittered.

“I’m wearing it,” said Rebecca, resisting the urge to slap them all, “because it will always remind me of a very dear friend I made in New Orleans last year. Needless to say, I didn’t meet her at Temple Mead.”

Julie Casworth Young sashayed over, turning to stand at Marianne’s elbow as though she were a Miss America contestant taking her appointed spot on the stage. Rebecca hadn’t seen her for a year, but of course, she remembered Julie — blonde, pretty, spiteful. She was one of Helena’s exclusive set, one of the girls who used to hang out with Anton and Toby in the cemetery. As far as Rebecca could remember, Julie had never, ever spoken to her directly before.

“Rebecca, isn’t it?” she squeaked. Anton was right: She did sound like a hyperventilating mouse. “And that’s …”

She was peering at the locket as well. Really, these girls would make terrible spies. They weren’t subtle at all.

The strangest look passed over Julie’s face, like a cloud passing across the moon, and Rebecca wasn’t sure how to read it. But she’d put up with their scrutiny long enough.

“Let’s go,” she said to Ling, and they marched away, back toward the ballroom.

“Have a good time at Jazz Fest tomorrow!” Marianne called.

“How do they know we’re going to Jazz Fest?” Rebecca hissed at Ling.

“Keep walking,” Ling murmured, and they wove through the obstacle course of tables as fast as they could. “Man, these girls are mean. You know why they hate you, right?”

“Because I’m an outsider. I’m not one of
them
.”

“Doesn’t matter where you come from,” said Ling, dodging a waiter carrying a tray of dirty plates. “You stole their number-one man.”

“Anton?” Rebecca said, pretending to sound surprised.

“Duh. Look around you. It’s like Brad Pitt surrounded by the seven dwarves. He’s like the crown prince of St. Simeon’s.”

“He’s just a guy,” muttered Rebecca.

“There are guys,” said Ling, sighing, “and then there are
guys
.”

She nodded toward their table, where Phil was in the middle
of some long and apparently hilarious story — though he was the one doing all the laughing.

“If I were you,” she went on, leaning close to whisper in Rebecca’s ear, “I would dance with that guy of yours and drive these witches even wilder with jealousy. Why not? What have you got to lose?”

Ling was right, Rebecca decided. So the next time Anton asked her to dance, she said yes. It was a slow number, which was better in almost every way. Slow dances were much easier for most guys to manage, because they basically involved walking and hugging. A slow dance also meant she could be close to Anton, feel his arms around her again. And, of course, Rebecca couldn’t help wanting to annoy the sneering Temple Mead girls.

Anton pulled her close, and Rebecca relaxed into the warmth of his chest. The song playing was cheesy, but she didn’t care — everything about this dance was cheesy. She felt Anton’s lips on her hair and her skin flushed with delight.

“You look real pretty tonight,” he whispered to her, and she hid her smile against his jacket lapel.

She wanted to close her eyes and block the rest of the world out. But even if she could zone out the eyes boring into her, and all the muttered comments, it was hard to enjoy the moment. Too many distracting concerns were beeping in her brain like unanswered messages. Toby. Frank. The fake locket. The real
locket. The house on St. Philip Street. Her father. Aurelia. Gideon Mason …
beep beep beep beep
.

The dance let out around midnight, and she and Anton walked out with Ling and Phil. She held Anton’s hand again, squeezing it gratefully. Things were easier when they faced them together. And who knew what they’d have to face in the parking lot?

Their little group walked slowly to Anton’s car, everyone trying to act casual but, Rebecca knew, intensely aware that Toby might pop up at any minute. Ling pulled Phil away for a moment, showing a sudden interest in a vintage Jag parked in the middle of the lot.

Rebecca knew what she was doing. Toby was more likely to confront Rebecca if the only person with her was Anton: He thought Anton was on his side.

The stupid locket was so heavy, it was giving her a neck ache. Rebecca couldn’t wait to be rid of it. It bounced against her dress with every step. She peered into the dark trees lining the golf course. Where was Toby? What was he waiting for?

Anton was nervous, too, she could tell. He even checked the trunk of the car before they got in, as though Toby might be hiding inside. But there was no sign of him, and soon Ling and Phil rejoined them.

“Well, so much for your brilliant plan,” Rebecca said to
Anton when everyone was safely in the car, doors locked. “Marianne was interrogating me in there, but where’s Toby?”

“I have no idea,” Anton admitted.

“I’m still wearing this locket. What happens now?”

Anton started the engine, staring straight ahead.

“And Marianne knows all about us going to Jazz Fest tomorrow,” Rebecca added.

“That means Toby knows it, too,” said Anton.

Rebecca felt a stab of fear. “He’s not going to attack me in public, is he? Not with thousands of people around.”

Anton frowned. “Easy to get lost in a crowd. Easy to steal things as well.”