Evernight

by Claudia Gray

  "Come on." I grabbed my book bag and started out the door, but Raquel grabbed at the sleeve of my sweater.

  "What are you doing? We don't want to get in the middle of anything." Her eyes were wide. "Don't ask for trouble."

  She made sense, but I couldn't listen. If there was a fight, I had to make sure—absolutely sure—that Lucas wasn't mixed up in it. "Stay here if you want. I'm going."

  Raquel let me leave.

  I hurried toward the sounds of yelling and even screaming. That was Courtney's voice, savage with glee, shouting, "Take him out!"

  "Guys, yo, guys!" Those were Vic's words echoing in the corridor. "Knock it off!"

  Heart sinking, I turned the corner just in time to see Erich punch Lucas in the face.

  Lucas went sprawling backward, falling on his ass in front of the whole school. The Evernight types started laughing, and Courtney even applauded. Lucas's lips were smeared with blood, stark against his pale skin. When he realized that he was looking up at me, he shut his eyes tightly. Maybe the embarrassment hurt more than the blow.

  "Don't insult me again," Erich commanded. He held up his hands, studying them as if satisfied with his handiwork. His knuckles were smeared with Lucas's dark blood. "Or next time, I'll shut you up permanently."

  Lucas sat up, staring at Erich intently. A weird silence fell over the crowd, as if everything had become a lot more serious—as if the fight weren't over but had only begun. It wasn't dread I sensed, though; it was anticipation. Eagerness. The desire for punishment. "Next time this is going to turn out a whole lot different."

  "Yeah, I guess so," Erich jeered. "Next time, it's really going to hurt." He stalked away, the conquering hero in the eyes of Courtney and the others who followed him. Everyone else sort of hurried away before any teachers could arrive. Only Vic and I stayed.

  Vic knelt by Lucas's side. "You look like crap, by the way."

  "Thanks for breaking it to me gently." Lucas took a deep breath, then groaned. Vic helped steady him and offered a wadded-up tissue for the blood trickling from Lucas's nose.

  I didn't know what to say. All I could think was how terrible Lucas looked. Erich had clearly gotten the better of him. Ever since the incident in the pizza parlor, I'd been thinking of Lucas as a much rougher guy, somebody who got into fights all the time for the hell of it. Well, now he'd just gotten into another fight. Did that prove I'd been correct? Or did the fact that he'd gotten the stuffing knocked out of him prove that Lucas wasn't such a tough guy after all?

  Finally I asked, "Are you all right?"

  "Sure, fine." Lucas didn't look up. "You only need one or two molars, really. The rest are spares."

  "You lost teeth?" Vic blanched.

  "One of them is kind of loose, but I think it's sticking around." Lucas paused, then said to me, "I told you it would be like this eventually."

  He had told me that, someday, he would be a pariah at Evernight. Sure enough, the day had arrived. But why was he pretending that he had left me alone for my own good? I was the one who had walked away from him.

  "As long as you're okay," I said. I left him again, while he was still sprawled on the floor. Maybe this time he would notice which one of us was doing the walking.

  Confusion and sadness settled over me, making my shoulders sag and my throat tighten. I bit my lip, hard enough for me to taste blood. It braced me up, but I still couldn't go back to Raquel's dorm room; I wasn't ready to deal with her questions. So I headed up to the library to hide out for the next half hour or so until political science. Surely I could find something to read, maybe some books on astronomy or even just a fashion magazine. If I hid behind a book for a while, maybe I'd feel better.

  As I walked toward the door, it swung open to reveal Balthazar. He cast a comic glance down the hallway. "Is the coast clear?"

  "What?"

  "I assumed you were hiding out from the battle royale between Lucas and Erich."

  "The battle's over." I sighed. "Erich won."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  "You are? I thought most kids here didn't like Lucas."

  "He's definitely a troublemaker," Balthazar said. "But so is Erich, and Erich's got other people here on his side. I guess I have a soft spot for the underdog in any fight."

  I leaned against the wall. Already I felt exhausted, as if it were midnight instead of early afternoon. "Sometimes it feels so tense here that I'm surprised the whole place doesn't shatter like glass."

  "So relax. Don't study for a while," Balthazar coaxed.

  "I'm not here to study. I'm just going to hang out, I guess."

  "Hang out—in the library. Okay. You know what?" He leaned slightly closer to me. "You need to get out more."

  I was too miserable to laugh, but I did smile. "That's an understatement."

  "Then let me make a suggestion." Balthazar hesitated just long enough to let me understand what he was about to do, then folded his hand around mine. "Come with me to the Autumn Ball."

  Despite all Patrice's hints and jokes, I hadn't ever dreamed that Balthazar would ask me. He was the handsomest guy in the school, and he could've invited anyone. Even though we got along and were friends—and even though I wasn't immune to his considerable charm—I'd never envisioned this moment.

  And I'd never thought that my first impulse would be to tell him no.

  That was stupid, though. The only reason I wanted to refuse Balthazar's invitation was because I was still hoping for someone else to ask me, and that someone wasn't ever going to ask, because I'd pushed him away for good.

  Balthazar looked down at me tenderly, his brown eyes hopeful. I could only say, "I'd love to."

  "Great." That smile of his deepened the dimple in his chin. "We'll have fun."

  "Thanks for asking me."

  He shook his head, as if disbelieving. "I'm the lucky one here. Trust me on that."

  I smiled up at him, because that was one of the nicest things anybody had ever said to me. Totally not true, given that the most popular guy in school was taking the class geek to the big dance—we all know who the lucky one is in that scenario—but really nice.

  My smile was a lie, though. I hated myself for looking up into Balthazar's handsome face and wishing that he was Lucas, but I did.

  Chapter Seven

  The first packages arrived at halloween's mail call. Long cardboard boxes, some of them bearing the elegantly scripted labels of expensive retailers, a few from addresses in New York and Paris. Patrice's came from Milan.

  "Lilac." Tissue paper rustled as she lifted her gown for the Autumn Ball. Patrice held the pale silk up to her body, supposedly letting me see what it would look like on but really almost hugging it. "Don't you think it's a lovely color? I know it's not in vogue right now, but I adore it."

  "It's going to look wonderful on you." Already I could tell that the shade would flatter Patrice's complexion. "You must have gone to a hundred big parties like this."

  Patrice pretended to be modest. "Oh, they all blur together after a while. Will this be your first dance?"

  "We had a couple at my old school," I said, not mentioning that these were held in the school gym, with music provided by the A/V geek who mostly played his extremely lame mashups. Patrice wouldn't understand that at all, much less the fact that I spent each one of those dances standing awkwardly against the wall or hiding in the girls' bathroom.

  "Well, you're in for a treat. They don't give balls like this any longer. It's magic, Bianca, it really is." Her face lit up with anticipation, and I wished I could share her excitement.

  * * *

  The two weeks between Balthazar's invitation and the ball itself were confusing for me, because my emotions kept tugging me in a thousand different directions at once. I could look at dresses in a catalog with my mother, happily picking out favorites, and within the next hour be so lonely for Lucas that it felt like I could hardly breathe. Balthazar smiled at me to give me strength during one of Mrs. Bethany's in-class grillings, and I though
t about what a great guy he was. Then I drowned in waves of guilt, because I felt like I was leading Balthazar on. It wasn't like he had dropped to his knees and promised to love me forever, but I knew he wanted me to feel more for him than I did.

  At night, I lay in bed and imagined Balthazar kissing me or holding my face in his hands. The images were meaningless; I might as well have been remembering a scene from a movie. Then, as I became sleepier and my thoughts wandered, my fantasies changed. The dark eyes gazing at me became forest green, and it was Lucas with me, his mouth on mine. I'd never been kissed, but as I lay beneath my blanket, twisting restlessly, I could imagine it so clearly. My body seemed to know more than I did. My heart raced, and my cheeks flushed with heat, and sometimes I hardly slept at all. The fantasies of Lucas were better than any dreams.

  I told myself that I wouldn't keep going on like this. I was going to the Autumn Ball with the handsomest guy in the whole school. It was the one really wonderful thing that had happened to me so far at Evernight Academy, and I wanted to enjoy it. No matter how many times I repeated that in my mind, though, I never believed the dance could really make me happy.

  That changed when I put on my dress the night of the dance.

  "I took it in a little at the waist." Mom wore a tape measure around her neck and a few straight pins stuck into the cuffs of her shirt. She knew how to sew—really sew, any kind of clothing you can think of—and had altered the catalog-bought dress for me. (She wouldn't alter my uniforms for me, though, explaining that she only had so much time in the day. This turned into a suggestion that I learn how to sew myself, but no way. Mom didn't believe in sewing machines, and I couldn't see spending my free Sunday afternoons learning how to use a thimble.) "I lowered the neckline some, too."

  "You want me to flash the guys?" We both laughed. It was kind of ridiculous for me to act modest while I was standing in front of her in panties and a strapless bra. "This plus more makeup than I've ever worn before—Dad's not going to be happy with you."

  "I think your father will manage to endure, especially once he sees how gorgeous you're going to look."

  I stepped into the midnight-blue dress, which rustled softly as Mom helped me pull it up. She zipped up the side, and at first I thought she'd taken it in too much—but then she hooked the clasp, and I realized that I could still breathe. The bodice was molded perfectly to me, until it melted into the full skirt. "Wow," I whispered, spreading the soft, filmy fabric with my hands, marveling at how good it felt to touch. "I want to see."

  Before I could move to the mirror, my mother stopped me. "Wait. Not until I do your hair."

  "I just want to look at the dress! Not my hair."

  "Trust me. You'll be so happy if you wait to get the full effect." She beamed. "Besides, I'm really enjoying this."

  I couldn't exactly say no to the woman who had spent the last week altering my dress. So I sat on the edge of the bed and let her start brushing and braiding.

  "Balthazar's a terrific guy," she said. "Seems that way to me, at least."

  "Yeah. Definitely."

  "Hmm. That sounded less than enthusiastic."

  "It isn't. At least, I don't mean it to be." My protests sounded weak, even to me. "I just don't know him very well yet. That's all."

  "You study together all the time. I'd say you know him well enough for a first date." Mom's deft fingers wove a slender braid at my temple. "Is this about Lucas, maybe? Whatever happened with you two?"

  He tried to turn me against you and then started beating up on construction workers in town, Mom. So naturally he's the one I want to be with. Maybe you and Dad would like to go chase Lucas with flaming torches now? "Nothing really. We're not right for each other. That's all."

  "You still care about him, though." She spoke so gently, and I wished I could just turn around and hug her. "If it helps any, you and Balthazar obviously have more in common. He's someone you could be serious about. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're sixteen, and you don't need to think about being serious. You need to have fun at this dance."

  "I will. Just wearing this dress is sort of amazing."

  "It needs something else." Mom stood in front of me, studying her handiwork with her hands on her hips. Then her face lit up. "Eureka!"

  "Mom, what are you doing?" To my dismay, my mother was walking over to my telescope, scissors in hand, and snipping off the ends of my strings of paper origami stars. "Mom! I love those!"

  "We'll fix them later." She held two small strands now, the ones with only the tiniest stars on the end. Their silvery paint sparkled as she put them in my hands. "Hang onto those for a second, will you?"

  "You're nuts," I said, the moment I realized what she was doing.

  "Tell me that again after you see it." After Mom slid the last bobby pin in place, she wheeled me around to face the mirror. "Look."

  At first I couldn't believe that the girl in the reflection was me. The midnight-blue dress made my pale skin look as creamy and perfect as silk. My makeup wasn't all that different from what I usually wore, but my mother's experienced hands had shaded everything more softly. My dark-red hair was pulled back from my forehead in several small braids of varying widths, then flowed down my neck—the way women might have worn their hair in the Middle Ages. Instead of a wreath of flowers like they wore in old pictures, I wore silver stars in my hair, small enough to look like jeweled clips. They glinted as I turned my head from side to side, studying myself from every angle. "Oh, Mom. How did you do this?"

  Tears were welling in my mother's eyes. She was such a sap, in the best way. "I had a beautiful daughter, that's how."

  She always told me I was pretty, but this was the first time I'd ever thought Mom might be telling the truth. I wasn't some magazine-cover knockout like Courtney or Patrice—but this was beauty, too.

  When we went into the living room, my father looked about as shocked as I felt. He and Mom hugged each other, and she whispered, "We did good, huh?"

  "We definitely did."

  They kissed each other like I wasn't there. I cleared my throat. "Uh, guys? I thought teenagers were the ones who were supposed to make out on prom night."

  "Sorry, honey." Dad put one hand on my shoulder; his hand felt cool to me, as if I were glowing with warmth. "You're absolutely stunning. I hope Balthazar knows what a lucky guy he is."

  "He'd better," I said, and they laughed.

  I could tell that Mom and Dad wanted to go downstairs with me, but to my relief, they didn't. That would have been taking chaperoning a little too far. Besides, I liked having a few moments to myself as I went, the skirt of my dress lifted in one hand and fluttering as I made my way down the steps. It gave me a chance to convince myself that all of this was real and not some dream.

  Below me I could hear laughter and talk and soft strains of music; the dance had already begun, and I was running late. With luck, Patrice would be right about keeping guys waiting.

  The second I reached the bottom of the stone steps and walked into the candlelit great hall, Balthazar turned, as if he'd somehow sensed I was coming. Just one glance at his eyes, at the way he was staring at me, made me realize Patrice had definitely been right. "Bianca," he said, stepping closer. "You look amazing."

  "So do you." Balthazar was wearing a tuxedo, classic, the way Cary Grant dressed back in the 1940s. As handsome as he was, though, I couldn't help glimpsing the great hall behind him and sighing, "Oh, wow."

  The hall was hung with bowers of ivy and illuminated with tall white candles that had been set in front of old, hand-hammered plates of brass, so that they reflected even more light. On a small stand in the corner sat the band, not a bunch of rock'n'rollers in blue jeans and T-shirts but classical musicians in tuxes even more formal than Balthazar's, playing a waltz. Dozens of couples danced, in a perfect pattern, like a scene from a picture two centuries old. A few of the new students stood against the wall, guys in suits meant to be campy or cool, girls in short dresses with sequins; they all seemed to be
aware that they'd misjudged the occasion.

  "I just realized I should have asked you this before—Can you waltz?" Balthazar offered me his arm.

  I took it as I said, "Yes. Well, mostly. My parents taught me all the old dances, but I've never done them with anyone else. Or anyplace but at home."

  "First time for everything." He led me further into the great hall, so that the candlelight shone more brightly all around us. "Let's begin."

  Balthazar swung us into the dance as if he'd rehearsed it; he knew exactly where we belonged and exactly how to move. Any doubts I had about my waltzing ability vanished immediately. I remembered the steps well enough, and Balthazar was a wonderful lead, his broad hand against the small of my back guiding me expertly. Nearby I saw Patrice smile at me approvingly, before she was whisked away in the next move of the dance.