"So you're telling me Marisol has nothing to do with you asking me to the dance?"
"No," he said, "it's not Marisol's idea at all. In fact, she's pretty mad about it."
"Is that so?" Anything that made Marisol mad was fine by me―but I wasn't foolish enough to think Marshall was doing this out of the kindness of his microscopic heart. "If it's not a Marisol scheme, then you must be doing it on a dare."
He shook his head. "You're so sure you're completely undatable―well, maybe you're not. Maybe there are some decent things about the way you look."
"Name one."
He panicked for a moment, looking me up and down, trying to find something. Finally, he said, "You . . . uh . . . you've got nice hands."
Hah! Even if it were true, it wouldn't have made me believe his intentions. "I see right through you!" I told him. "You've got some secret reason for wanting to take me, and I want to know what it is!"
Suddenly he got all mad. He picked up a pillow and he threw it down hard. "Why do you gotta ask? Can't you just accept the invitation and leave it at that?"
Then I thought of Gerardo. I never even went so far as to imagine him inviting me to the dance, because I knew he was going with Nikki Smith. I tried to imagine myself with Marshall Astor, and I simply couldn't. "Who says I even want to go with you?"
He laughed―as if any girl in the world would be a fool to turn down an invitation from him. "You know what they say, Cara. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." I thought he might make some crack about me looking like the gift horse, but he didn't.
"I only promise you two things," Marshall said. "One: This is not a trick. No one's gonna do anything bad to you, or they will answer to me. And two: You will have a good time."
"And how can you be so sure of that?"
Marshall smiled his winning smile. "Because if there's one thing I know, it's how to show a girl a good time."
And then he strutted out like so much peacock.
After he left, I stormed into my room, slamming the door, even though no one was there to hear it. I just liked the sound of hearing it slam. Nice hands, he had said. That was the best thing he could say about me, and even that was a lie. I was a nail-biter. More than that, I bit the skin around my nails, so both my hands always looked like a war zone.
But then I looked at my hands, and I realized that maybe Marshall was a bit more observant than me ... because my fingertips weren't gnawed on at all. My nails were smooth, my cuticles were smooth. It looked as if I had just had a hundred-dollar manicure. It was impossible, because I'd been biting my nails more than ever. And yet they were perfect.
Like magic.
I gasped, and reached into my pocket, pulling out the shimmering note. I had been running my fingertips over its soft texture day after day, and my fingers had been healed. Repaired. Beautified. It was definitely a hint of something magical and mystical, but how far it went―how deep it went, was still a mystery.
***
"I'm not going."
"What do you mean you're not going?"
My momma was practically on her hands and knees, begging. "He is the handsomest boy in your grade, and if he's taken a liking to you―"
"He hasn't taken a liking to me," I told her. "Face it; there's something else going on here."
She put her hands on her hips. "Well, how do you know he isn't into ugly girls?"
The very concept completely derailed my train of thought.
"In this world," my momma said, "there is a man for every woman. You go to the mall, you look at people. Half the time they look so mismatched you wonder what's going on. But to them, they fit perfectly."
Vance sat in the recliner just enjoying the whole thing. Dad was in the kitchen, pretending not to listen, but I know he was.
"What are you gonna do for the rest of your life, Cara?" Momma asked. "You gonna lock yourself in your room? You gonna climb out that window and go walk around the cemetery your whole life?"
I snapped my eyes to her..
"You think I don't know you do that? I know every time you climb out that window, but I never say anything because I figure you've got a right to do the things you do."
"Fine. And I have a right not to go with Marshall anywhere," I said, but my resolve was failing. Then I got to thinking, if this whole thing wasn't some scheme of Marisol's, and if she truly didn't want Marshall to take me, then how could I pass up this chance to make her miserable? I thought about Gerardo, too. He'd be there with Nikki. Certainly, she wouldn't stand for him dancing with most other girls, but what about me? If Gerardo danced with me, would Nikki see that as him being noble? I could swallow my pride and pretend to be some social charity case if it meant Gerardo would dance with me. Then again, would he even ask? I'd never know if I stayed home.
I think Momma knew I was on the verge of giving in, because she got quiet. Serious.
"Honey, life does not throw you many opportunities," Momma said. "Don't go and squander the ones you get."
"But I don't like Marshall Astor."
"You don't have to," Momma told me.
And the look in her eyes when she said it struck home, because I knew she wasn't talking about me and Marshall. She was talking about her and Dad.
There were good things I could say about my momma and bad things. But the sadness I saw in her right then made me feel selfish thinking about myself.
"Go and be happy, Cara," Momma said. "I need you to be happy."
That fence I was sitting on had become too uncomfortable, so I finally jumped off. "Okay," I said. "I'll go."
I didn't tell Gerardo. I had planned to, but then he started talking all about how he and Nikki were going to the dance, and he asked me what I thought he should wear. After that, I didn't want to talk about it. No matter what awful fate awaited me at that party, it would be worth it to see the look on Gerardo's face when I walked in with Marshall!
9
B-e-t-r-a-y-a-l-s
The day before homecoming, Nikki went to get her teeth cleaned, determined that if she couldn't outshine the likes of Marisol and her beauty-queen friends, she could at least outsmile them. While Nikki's motormouth was being worked over, Gerardo had the afternoon free. So I took him to Vista View to meet Miss Leticia.
"This here's a good girl," Miss Leticia told him. "You treat her right, you hear?"
Gerardo put up his hands. "Hey, I'm not gonna treat her at all."
"Well," said Miss Leticia, "that's fine, too."
Miss Leticia seemed worried about something today. She wasn't saying anything, but it was right there in her body language.
"Are you okay?" I asked her.
"Oh, I'm fine. I got my son and that wife o' his comin' over tomorrow, and they always set me on edge."
I didn't ask any more questions. Miss Leticia had told me how, every time they come over, they bring brochures from nursing homes―not good ones, but the cheap ones that give you a room, a bed, and, if you're lucky, something edible once in a while. The kind of place you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. Okay, maybe your worst enemy, but no one else.
"Maybe the corpse flower will bloom and chase them away," I suggested.
She laughed at that. "Maybe so, maybe so. It sure is gettin' ready."
"The what flower?" asked Gerardo.
"Come on, I'll show you."
Miss Leticia went inside, leaving us to walk through the greenhouse. There was a sour smell in the air, like dirty socks, as we got close to the corpse flower. Its stalk was now almost six feet high. You could see the crack where the flower would start to unfurl. "When it blooms it smells like dead bodies," I told him.
"Cool," he said. "I hope she opens up the doors so the whole town gets a whiff. The ultimate stink bomb!"
I thought it would be perfect if we were holding hands as we walked among the plants, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. Still, I tried to keep my hands in full view, hoping he'd notice how nice they'd been looking. He didn't, but
he did make another observation.
"You know, I don't know why they call you the Flock's Rest Monster," Gerardo said. "There's nothing monstrous about you. Except maybe for the way you look, but looks don't make a monster. It's the things a person does."
"I don't know," I told him. "I've done some pretty monstrous things."
"Tell me one."
And so I told him all about how I got Marisol expelled from school.
"Hmm," said Gerardo when I was done. "Well, you didn't do anything monstrous at all. Marisol brought that on herself."
"So what about you?" I asked him. "What bad things have you done?"
He looked away from me then, tugged off a loose fern leaf, and fiddled with it.
"I've done some stuff."
"Tell me."
He kept his eyes on the fern in his hands instead of me.
I could tell there was something he wanted to say, yet didn't want to say at the same time. I wondered which part of him would win out.
"Go on, it's okay," I told him.
"No, it's not," he said. "But I'll tell you anyway." He took a deep breath. "You know, I almost got expelled, too. It was last year. They weren't just going to expel me, they were going to send me to juvie."
"I didn't know that." And then I asked as gently as I could, "What did you do?"
"I hacked into the district's computer. I didn't change grades or anything. I just got onto the teachers' Web sites and had some fun. I put pictures of monkeys in place of their faces, stuff like that."
I grinned. "I didn't know you were a computer geek."
He shrugged. "I'm not. It's just a hobby, you know."
"Well, that's not so bad," I told him.
"Yeah." Then he paused. "I swore I'd never do anything like that again. But about a month ago, your friend Marisol asked me to hack into another computer."
"Marisol wanted you to fix up her grades?"
He shook his head. "No. She wanted me to do something else."
I still didn't get where this was going. Usually, I'm quicker, but not this time. I just stood there cluelessly waiting to hear what despicable thing Marisol had asked him to do.
"Anyway, she pulled out a stack of bills from her purse. I don't know where she got it from. I tell her no, but she keeps peeling off twenties ... until I finally say yes."
"So what did she ask you to do?"
He looked at me like I should already know... but when I looked back at him, still clueless, he finally said: "She had me hack into a certain computer, and put in a secret wireless Web connection, so I could control the computer from my laptop ... and choose the words it was asking people to spell..."
It was like getting hit broadside by a truck. You don't see it coming, and by the time you hear the crunch, it's too late.
We sat there for a long time, the sour-sock smell from the corpse plant getting stronger and stronger. We couldn't look at each other. The silence was so loud, if someone didn't break it, I felt I'd go deaf. Well, if he wouldn't do it, then I would.
"Don't sit by me in the lunchroom anymore," I told him.
"Yeah. Yeah, right," he said, then he set his hands in his pockets and walked away.
I felt the breeze as he opened the greenhouse door, then I heard him say, "For what it's worth, those words I made you spell... I don't think any of those words apply to you." Then I heard the door close, leaving me in a cell of captured beauty about to be overwhelmed by the smell of death.
I started walking home, my mind a storm of bad feelings and bad thoughts. Normally, I would have been able to stand up to this the way I stood up to most everything. I was good at not letting myself get hurt anymore. But this time I'd been careless. I'd become vulnerable, and Gerardo's betrayal, well, it hurt like a wound so deep it scraped bone.
I don't know if you would call what I had a blind fury, but whatever it was, I lost track of where I was, and where I was going. Eventually, I got my feelings under control by thinking of my calming place. The lush valley, the pastel-colored cottages. The sense of belonging. I let it flow over me like a trance as I walked. When I came out of it, it was like waking up after sleepwalking. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings.
I had set out toward home, but somewhere along the way, I had changed directions. Now I was near the edge of the town, close to the interstate. I was just standing in an empty lot, facing the mountains.
What's more is that I felt an urge to keep on going, like a kind of gravity pulling me in a direction other than down. I stood there for the longest time, trying to understand that feeling. But the afternoon was wearing on. The sun was about to set, and I was feeling cold in a place deep inside. Finally, I gave up and turned around to head home―but not before I realized the direction I was facing. Northwest.
***
If I was gonna find the answers, I knew I wouldn't find them at the homecoming dance. Still, I went out with Momma to get a gown, and then I prepared for the first date of my life.
I sat in my room, in front of the sheet-covered mirror, wondering what I looked like, playing the game again, reaching up to tear down the sheet, only to pull my hand back like a coward.
"You look positively"―Momma grappled for the word―"fetching," she said.
Vance peeked in and laughed. "Yeah, as in 'Here, Rover, go fetch!'"
I threw a curler at him.
"You don't listen to him," Momma said. She kissed me and did what last-minute triage she could on my hopeless hair.
The doorbell rang, and Dad answered it. It was Marshall, all dressed up in a suit he had already grown out of. He didn't look all too happy, but he didn't look all that miserable, either.
He shook my dad's hand.
"You make sure my daughter has a good time tonight," he said, with a sternness in his voice I rarely heard.
"Yes, sir," said Marshall.
He looked at me. I was afraid he was going to burst out laughing. But instead he said, "That's a pretty dress you got on, Cara."
Momma nudged my shoulder. "Thank the boy, dear."
"Thanks," I said.
As much as I hated to admit it, I was a little bit excited―and fearful, too―but I was walking into this with my eyes open. If Marisol, Marshall, or whoever had something awful planned for me, they would not get the satisfaction, because whatever it was, I would throw it back in their faces.
Out front, Marshall had himself a car. Nothing fancy, mind you. Just an old Chevy that had passed hands maybe two or three times before landing with him.
"Nice make-out car," I said to Marshall with a smirk. "Don't get any ideas. I'm not that kind of girl."
He rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. You're safe."
"Am I?" I said. "How about when we get there? How safe will I be then?"
He started the car and laughed. "You still think we're pulling some prank on you, huh? I told you, it's nothing like that."
"So then what's tonight about?" I asked.
"It's about going to a dance, having a good time, and taking you home. And then driving away."
"And then what?"
A frightened expression came over his face. "What do you mean, "'then what?'"
"What happens then? You gonna take me to other parties? Or is this like the lottery, one date with Marshall Astor."
He thought for a moment and then said, "Just enjoy tonight. We'll let tomorrow take care of itself."
When we got there, the party was in full swing. Couples dancing. The shy ones standing on the sidelines.
It wasn't until I saw Marisol that I knew Marshall had been telling the truth. That bitter-sour look on her face when she saw us made it clear to me she'd had no part in this, and wanted no part of it, either. For the rest of the night, she tried to avoid us and busied herself with her friends and dancing with dateless boys. I, of course, did everything I could to be in her line of sight as often as possible. I even made a point of running into her in the bathroom.
"Isn't this one of the signs that the world i
s about to end?" I said to her.
"Excuse me?"
"You know―hell freezes over, rivers turn to blood, and Marisol doesn't have a date?"
She bristled like a porcupine, then tossed it off with a flick of her perfect hair. "Poor Marshall," she said. "After tonight, I'll need to disinfect him." Then she strutted out―but stumbled clumsily on her high heels, clinching this as the high point of my evening.
Marshall, to my amazement, was a perfect gentleman. He danced with nobody but me all night! Even the slow dances, with his hands around my waist.
First it felt so strange, so awkward. I had never been that close to a boy. Every time we took a break from dancing, he got me some punch. He treated me with the respect I didn't think he could give anyone, and I dared to start thinking that maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe, as bad as he was, there was a good side trying to come through.
Don't you believe it, Cara, a voice in my head told me, but I was starting to enjoy myself too much to pay it any mind.
It could have been the perfect evening―in fact, it would have been, if it hadn't been for one thing.
Gerardo Sanchez.
An hour into the party, Gerardo arrived with Nikki Smith clinging to him like kudzu, and he was clinging right back. They were a couple, I knew that in theory―but actually seeing it with my own eyes was too much to take. It set my blood on a long, slow boil, and not even the sight of Marisol on the sidelines without a dance partner could make me feel better.
Each time Marshall and I danced, they were both there dancing, too.
I caught Gerardo's eye, but he didn't acknowledge me. Maybe he was too ashamed or embarrassed by his confession. Maybe he was just freaked that I was there with Marshall.
The thing is, even though I had the best-looking boy in front of me, teaching me dance moves, getting me punch, treating me like I wasn't the Flock's Rest Monster, I knew he wasn't the one I wanted. No matter what Gerardo had done that day at the spelling bee, it was him that I wanted to be holding me in those slow dances, with those clumsy hands and those skinny arms.
But those skinny arms were wrapped around Nikki, and I began to hate her like I hated Marisol.
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