“Going where? We already did the bracelets, and you said the only other thing you cared about was the dancing, so—”
“Enough.” He grabs her coat sleeve, but she pulls away and waves at someone across the room.
“There’s Netta. I’m going to go say hi to her.” And with that, she takes off, leaving us alone together at the cookie table. Not at all awkward.
“Great job up there. With the dancing.” For the first time, Darius looks up at me, and the hurt in his eyes sends a pang of regret through my heart.
I hate that I caused that pain. Is there anything I can do to take it away? Jaycee said it was his idea to come see the “Waltz.” Does that mean it’s not too late? I gather up a shock of tulle from my skirt and smooth it in my hand. “Thank you. And thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.” He says nothing, so I force myself to go on. “I know I screwed up. I can’t believe I messed up something so amazing, and I know you don’t owe me anything, and I don’t actually expect you to forgive me, but I hope you’ll at least accept my apology. Because I’m sorry. I am really, truly sorry.”
Darius’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he nods. “Apology accepted.” He walks toward me, and for one wonderful, horrible moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he stops and tosses his cup in the garbage can.
He glances around and takes another step toward me. His lowers his head so that his lips are just inches from mine. I drop the tulle. As much as I want to close the gap between us and kiss him, I know I’ve lost the right to do that.
“Know what you reminded me of up there?” he asks.
I shake my head because I don’t trust my voice.
“A butterfly. The way you kind of … floated.”
“Me? Float?”
“Yeah. And you know what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” And with that, he crosses the room, wrangles Jaycee, and walks out into the night.
Ouch.
After our last dance of the evening, we all pull on our coats and scarves to go out to the courthouse. This is my favorite part of First Night, when all the performers—musicians, artists, dancers, actors, puppeteers—gather with the spectators and shopkeepers at the courthouse by candlelight to count down to midnight.
I spot Mom, Dad, and Andrew by the courthouse wall and make my way over.
Andrew gives me a thumbs-up. “Nice job tonight, Al.”
“Thanks.” Our second performance of the “Waltz” was not as successful as the first, judging from Ms. DuBois’s reaction, but we got through it without any major mistakes.
“There was one part I didn’t quite get,” Andrew says.
“Didn’t get?”
“Yeah. When you were doing your spins—”
“Foettés.”
“Whatever. All the other dancers were slowly moving toward the back of the stage.”
“I wondered about that too,” my mom says. “Did that signify isolation or veneration? It was a bit confusing.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure Ms. DuBois just choreographed it that way so that if I started to lose my balance, I wouldn’t kick anyone.”
Mom and Andrew laugh, but I can tell they’re not convinced. Everything has to have a deeper meaning with those two. I decide to change the subject. “So how did everything go tonight at the gallery?”
“Oh, it was wonderful.” My mom clasps her hands together. “We had our biggest crowd yet. And we sold almost every piece in the student show.”
“Really? That’s amazing.” I force a smile. Does that mean they sold Darius’s pieces? My stomach sinks. I’d waited so long to see his artwork, but tonight, when I had the chance, I ran away. What if I never get to see them? I turn to my father. “Hey, Dad, I need to use the bathroom. Can you give me the key to the gallery?”
Dad pulls his keys out of his pocket and hands them to me. I snatch them and take off across the street, into the arts building, and upstairs to the gallery. Please, please let Darius’s exhibit still be here.
I rush down the hallway toward the student art alcove. I round the corner, and—whoa. I catch my breath. Displayed at the center of the alcove are three canvases on easels. Each depicts an angel—one surrounded by a swarm of monarch butterflies, one wearing a leotard and skirt in a classic arabesque pose, and one balancing atop a perfectly symmetrical snowflake. The pieces are all very different, but their ethereal vibe and the identical haloes gracing the crowns of the angels tie them all together. They’re made from a medley of magazine clippings, tissue paper, cloth, paint, and what appears to be wood shavings. “Wow.”
“You like them?”
I turn around with a shriek.
“Sorry.” Darius raises his hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you running up here, so I followed you.”
“I thought you went home.”
“I took Jay home and came back. You know, you really should have locked the door behind you. What if someone had followed you in here? I mean, someone besides me.”
“You’re right. I should have, but I was kind of in a hurry, and … ” I turn and point to his artwork. “These are amazing.”
“Thank you. I had an amazing subject.”
My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help but smile despite the tears that have sprung to my eyes. I was once his angel bright. Someone he cared about enough to create these. His muse, as my mother would say. Who would ever have imagined I, Alicea Springer, could be someone’s muse? Perhaps that’s what it means to be someone’s perfect match.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“This might seem like a weird question, but … ” I hesitate. It is a very odd question, but I feel like I need to know his answer. “Tonight, in the ‘Waltz,’ when I was doing the foetté spins and the other dancers were creeping toward the back of the stage, what do you think that signified?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry. This is silly. You probably don’t even remember.”
“No, I remember. Those were some impressive spins.”
“But why do you think the other dancers moved away?”
He gazes into the distance as though considering this. “I don’t know. I think maybe sometimes the ‘Waltz of the Flowers’ is just about flowers waltzing. I’m not sure it needs to mean more than that.”
I grin. “Oh my gosh, thank you. That is so perfect.”
He looks confused, but he laughs. “Okay.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Go ahead.”
I point to his artwork. “Why are these still here?”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom said most of the student artwork sold. Why not these? They’re some of the most beautiful student pieces she’s ever shown.”
Darius reaches past me and points to a small sign in a bracket below one of the easels: ANGEL BRIGHT: NOT FOR SALE.
“That’s why,” he says. “They’re a gift. For you.”
I gasp. “What? No. I can’t accept them.”
“Please.” He places his hand on the small of my back. “I want you to have them.”
His touch sends a thrill through me, and I turn to meet his gaze. “Thank you.” My voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. “Darius?”
“Yes?”
“I know you said you accepted my apology, but … do you think you can ever forgive me?” I feel myself shaking as I wait for his reply. I wouldn’t blame him if he said no, or if he simply turned and walked away, and for a long moment, I fear he might.
Instead, he pulls me toward him into a kiss that takes my breath away. It’s hard at first, but it mellows into the crazy, mind-jumbling, thought-erasing, whole-body-tingling kiss I know and love and can totally lose myself in.
It takes me a while to realize the explosions and cheers I’m hearing aren’t all in my head. I pull away with a laugh, grab his hand, and pull him toward a win
dow facing the courthouse, where the crowd has erupted into a raucous edition of “Auld Lang Syne,” with fireworks bursting overhead.
“Happy New Year,” I say.
“Happy New Year.”
I pull him down for another kiss. Perfection. Surely nothing could go wrong after ringing in the year with a kiss like this.
Things do go wrong, of course, two days later when school starts back. The gossip machine is in high gear. Every time I turn around, I hear Darius’s rap coming from someone’s phone, and when I walk into PE during third period, I catch Bailey Ingraham imitating one of my weirder dance moves.
But none of that matters. What matters is that Darius and I are back together. I don’t care what other people are saying about me and Ty, or me and Darius, or me and that stupid dance.
“I’m telling you, it’s cool. Especially with the rap.” Maggs is playing it across the lunch table from me and keeping time—tap-tap-tapping her plastic yogurt spoon against the table—and bobbing her head to the music.
Brie joins in. “It’s true. I don’t know why you can’t see it.”
“I can’t see it because I refuse to watch it because it’s horrifying.”
“What does Darius think about it?” Maggs asks.
“I have no idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“We haven’t talked about it. I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”
“I’m so glad you two are back together.” Brie grins at me. “I’ll bet he loves it. Because he sees what we see. Which is you, being awesome.”
“Speaking of things that are awesome.” I reach over and tug at Maggs’s daisy-bead bracelet. “Where’d you get this? Super cute.”
She blushes, a rare occurrence for Maggs, but she simply shrugs. “It was a Christmas present. You really like it?”
“It’s adorable.” I shoot Brie a look.
“Did your mom pick it out?” Brie’s tone is so innocent, even I almost believe she has no idea who gave Maggs the bracelet, and I’m the one who told her.
“No.” Maggs puts her hands over her face. “It was from a secret admirer.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“How did you not tell us you have a secret admirer?”
Brie and I look at each other, incredulous. Did Aiden send it to her anonymously, or is she being coy?
“I’m telling you now.” She leans forward, her voice low. “Someone left it on top of my ballet shoes on New Year’s, after we went over to the courthouse. The tag had my name on it and said it was from a secret admirer.”
“That’s crazy.” Brie clasps her hands together. “And so romantic. I repeat. Why are we just now finding out about this?”
Maggs covers her face again and squirms. “I don’t know. I guess didn’t say anything because I’m sort of … I mean … I have someone I want it to be.” She squeals. “What if it’s not him? It has to be him. But what if it’s not?”
“Who do you want it to be?” I pry one of her fingers away from her face. “Maybe we can find out for you.”
“No. I’m not ready to tell you guys yet.”
“Can we try to guess?”
“No.”
“Can you give us a hint?”
“No.”
“Is he a senior?”
“Does he play a sport?”
“Stop. I’m not telling you, and I’m not giving out any hints. Not yet.”
I sigh and finger one of the beads. “Well, whether this is from your mystery crush or not, it’s perfect. Whoever gave it to you deserves a shot.”
Maggs finally takes her hands away from her face and admires the bracelet. “It is perfect. Especially if it’s from him.”
I turn the block over and over in my hand and read the letters out loud. “A. R. N. O. S. B. This has to mean something.”
“Nah. It’s a red herring,” Darius says.
“A red herring?” Jaycee takes the block from me and looks at it. “What does that mean?”
“A red herring is something they plant in here to throw you off from the real clues.”
We’re locked in an escape room—a simulated classroom detention—and all of the puzzles so far have had an elementary school theme. We opened three of the five locks within the first half-hour, but since then we’ve been stuck.
On the wall next to me is a chart with dozens of brightly colored dots along with some simple math formulas:
Red + Blue =
Green – Yellow =
Orange – Red =
Purple – Blue =
Presumably the four answers will be the numbers we need to open the combination lock on the safe next to the chart. Problem is, I added and subtracted all the colored dots just like the formula says twice and tried every combination of the four numbers and came up with nothing. Which is why I’ve decided to move on to the block.
Darius walks over, and Jaycee hands it to him. He tosses it in the air, catches it, and spins one corner of it on his fingertip. “Oh, now I see.”
“What?” Jaycee and I ask him in unison.
“B. A. R. N. O. S. Duh.”
“Ha. Ha.” I stick my tongue out.
Jaycee punches his arm and heads over to a bookcase in a far corner to search for more clues.
Darius puts his hand on my hip, and I half wish we could end up locked in here forever. Minus his sister and the spy cams.
“Should we ask them for a hint?” I ask.
“No. Not yet.” Darius is very anti-hint.
I look around. “Have we opened these yet?” I walk over to the teacher’s desk and begin opening the drawers. Inside one is a flashlight. “Interesting.” I switch it on. “Hey. It’s black light.”
Jaycee runs over, and I hand it to her. She rushes around the room, shining it on every surface, until she stops and grins. “This is it!” She picks up a sheet of paper and brings it over to us. It has a series of partial words written in invisible ink:
Y E _ _
A _ E
W A _
B _ R _
“What the heck?” Jaycee cocks her head to one side. “YELL APE WAR BIRD?”
Darius and I laugh, but neither of us has a better guess.
“Wait a minute.” I give Darius a triumphant stare as I slowly reach for the block. “Look. There are six missing letters. I’ll bet these are them.”
Together we try a few combinations until at last we piece it together: YEAR ABE WAS BORN.
“That has to be it. Do you happen to know when Abe Lincoln was born?”
Darius shakes his head. “Eighteen something?”
“Great. So we’ll just try all the combinations starting with eighteen. That should only take about two hours.”
“Oh, wait.” Jaycee jumps up. “I think I saw something … ” She rushes over to the bookcase and returns with a book called Honest Abe. She flips to the first page, and sure enough, it starts with, “Honest Abe Lincoln was born on February 12, 1809.”
“Cool.” Darius grabs one of the two combination-lock safes we have not yet opened and tries it, and pop! It opens up to reveal one of the keys we need to escape.
After high-fives all around, we turn our attention once again to the colored-dot puzzle.
“This is our last one,” Darius says. “The only thing standing between us and recess.”
“I feel like we’re missing something,” I say. “Just adding and subtracting all the dots is too easy. There must be some other—”
“Aha!” Darius jumps up and runs his hands through his hair. “It’s so obvious.”
“What is?”
Darius points at the puzzle. “This isn’t about math class. It’s about art class.”
I squint and stare again at the dots, and finally it occurs to me. “Oooh. So red plus blue equals purple.”
“So we count up the purple dots!” Jaycee gets to work figuring out the combination using our new formulas, and with almost two minutes to spare, we retrieve our final key and escape.
�
��We are free! We are free!” Jaycee bounces out the door and down the hallway.
“Nice work, Sherlock.” I stop Darius, taking his hand in mine.
“You too.”
“If I ever have to be stuck in detention, I want it to be with you.”
“That’s my kind of detention.” Darius wriggles his eyebrows at me. “I think it’s time to take Jaycee home.”
After dropping Jaycee off, we head over to a party at Jack Baldwin’s. I’m a little nervous. This is the first time Darius and I have shown up together anywhere, unless you count a basketball game, and that was with Jaycee. People could only be so rude when you have a ten-year-old kid sister with you. But tonight … this could be a disaster.
The first person I see when we walk through the door is Ty and two girls from the swim team who are fawning over him. I turn away, not because I can’t bear to see him with those girls but because I don’t want Darius to catch me watching him.
“Hi, Alicea.” It’s Lauren, and her sidekick, Michelle, is right behind her. “Hello, Darius.” Her voice drips with disdain.
“Lauren.” I wish I could smack the smirk off her face.
“So you two are official?”
I throw Darius a bemused look. “Apparently this matters to people.” I sound a lot more confident than I feel as I glare at Lauren. “Guess I’d better change my Facebook status.”
She sniffs. “No need for sarcasm.”
“Also no need to explain myself to you.” I grab Darius’s hand and pull him past them, my heart racing. Did I seriously just do that? I hold up a hand and fist bump a random classmate as we make our way through the living room. That was pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. Maybe instead of a disaster, tonight will be one of the best—
My elation disappears as we round the corner into the kitchen, because standing by the refrigerator, laughing and flirting, is Maggs. With Milo. No, no, no. This can’t be.
“Hey, you two.” I sound perhaps a bit too cheerful. “What’s going on?”
Maggs turns and gives me a hug. “You made it! How was the escape room?”
“Really fun. We got out with two minutes to spare.”
The Boyfriend Whisperer 2.0 Page 15