What was it about murderers and small talk?
“Just do it!” Frankie cried.
“O-kay,” he said.
Frankie squeezed her eyes even tighter. Images of her grieving parents flashed before her. But they would probably be safer and a lot less drained once she was gone. And that thought gave her kilowatts of relief.
“Hurry! Get it over with.”
The intruder placed something on the floor beside her head. A gun? A stitch remover? A bolt extractor? She was too afraid to peek. He was standing over her. She could feel his heat. Hear him breathing. What was he waiting for?
“What are you waiting for?”
He lowered a thin sheet over the top of her drooping boy shorts. “There.”
She allowed her eyes to open.
“Did you kill me?”
“Kill you?” He chuckled. “I just saved your butt! Literally.”
Frankie sat up. “Huh?”
“You were flashing a half-moon. I covered it up.” The voice suddenly sounded familiar.
“Billy?”
“Yeah,” whispered her invisible friend.
Frankie giggled. Her fingers stopped sparking. She stood.
“I came in through the window. I hope you don’t mind,” he said from somewhere in the darkness.
“Not at all.” She beamed. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check up on you,” he said sweetly. “And bring you this.” He placed something in her hand. It was the speeding brick. Only it wasn’t a brick. It was a box wrapped in silver paper.
“What is this?” Frankie asked, tearing off the wrapping. A white rectangle lay in her palm. “An iPhone?”
“The iPhone 4, to be exact. I’ve been trying to call you, but a recording said your phone was no longer activated, so I thought you could use it.”
“How did you—”
“Claude picked it up for me,” he stated.
“But it’s so expensive.”
“It’s not like I spend my allowance on movies or anything. I get in for free. And as far as clothes…”
“Ew!” She giggled as she realized that Billy walked around naked all the time. Otherwise, everyone would see a pair of pants floating around town.
“Turn it on,” he said, derailing her train of thought.
Frankie pressed the dark circle at the bottom of the device. A chartreuse orchid appeared, glowing on the screen.
“That’s a picture of me, holding a green flower. You can change it if you want.” He clicked through to a page of colorful icons and then the address book. “I loaded it with everyone’s phone numbers and contact info.” He tapped an orange square. A seemingly endless list of album titles appeared. “And music, of course.”
Frankie stared at the gift, searching for something to say. It wasn’t the bolt-tingling technology that left her speechless. Nor was it the library of music, the pages of apps, or the packed address book. It was the kindness. “It’s so mint, Billy. Thank you.”
“It was nothing,” he said, even though it so wasn’t. “Oh, check this out. When the power went out, I downloaded a candle app. So you can see in the dark.”
Frankie touched the screen. Digital warmth flickered around her. “This is beyond voltage,” she said, pressing the phone to her heart space. “What did I do to deserve it?”
“Everything. You took a chance for us. And even though it kind of backfired, we’re all really grateful.”
“All?” The spinning steel blades in her stomach began to slow down. “So, no one’s mad at me?”
“A few of the parents are, but not us. The whole Brett freak-out thing was actually kind of funny.”
Frankie smiled with her entire body. If relief were electricity, she could have lit the entire country. “Thanks so much, Billy,” she said to the darkness. “I’d totally hug you but…”
“Yeah, the whole naked thing,” he said. “I get it.”
Frankie giggled.
“By the way, where are your parents?” he asked.
“Oh, um, they’re out,” Frankie said, pun intended.
“When do you expect them back?”
“Sometime tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” Billy said, activating the candle app on his own phone. He aimed it at the frosted window.
“What are you doing?” Frankie asked, her paranoia resurfacing. Was this a trap?
“It’s okay,” Billy said, still aiming. “Watch…”
All of a sudden, the window creaked open. One by one, her RAD friends began slipping inside.
“It wasn’t safe to meet under the carousel, so we thought we could gather here,” Billy explained. “I hope it’s okay.”
Once again, his kindness left her speechless. So Frankie raised her digital candle alongside his and showed him how absolutely “okay” it was.
CHAPTER FIVE
SEALED WITH A HISS
Cleo canceled the lavender bath, opting for something far more luxurious. Kneeling on an emerald-green cushion by the foot of her bed, she laid the vintage bling on her tightly tucked linen duvet. Its old-world glamour was even more beguiling with the twinkle of candlelight reflecting in the stones. Even the cats knew this was major. Lying head to tail, they formed a furry fortress around the jewels, each one guarding the royal treasures as if its nine lives depended on it.
At first, Cleo had cursed the blackout. She couldn’t possibly model for Bastet, Akins, Chisisi, Ebonee, Ufa, Usi, and Miu-Miu in the dark. But Hasina had appeared with a box of one hundred amber-scented votives. And when Beb had finished lighting them, Cleo’s two-story bedroom was transformed into an ancient temple. The flickering light cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. And it became easy to imagine she was Aunt Nefertiti, illuminated by Ra’s flame and the glow of natural beauty. Alone on the banks of the Nile, she was awaiting a secret rendezvous with a desert-hot prince named Khufu. As usual, his discerning eye would study her beauty from every angle. She had to look her best.
Cleo lifted the collar necklace. The falcon in the center almost looked alive. Its ruby eyes glittered as if it were about to leap off onto some poor unsuspecting rabbit. Next she struggled to raise the heavily adorned crown. Fifteen bicep curls on each side and she’d have Michelle Obama arms by Monday.
“What’s the point?” She sighed, placing the jewels back in the case. The Aunt Nefertiti fantasy could satisfy her glamour-amour for only so long. What she needed was a real admirer. A modern-day prince. But she wasn’t talking to him right now. So she was stuck with a litter of snore-purring watchcats.
Cleo padded down the steps of her sleep loft and crossed the bridge to her sandy island. The trickling Nile water always soothed her. Kneeling, she placed her hands together in prayer and lifted her blue-topaz eyes toward the moonless sky beyond her glass ceiling. She had some urgent questions for the ancient goddess of beauty.
“O Hathor,” Cleo began, “why bless me with an abundance of gorgeousness and then deprive me of people to envy it? Especially on a Saturday night?” She was about to expound on the unfairness of Salem’s newly imposed curfew and how she shouldn’t have to suffer for Frankie’s mistake. But Ram always insisted she look for solutions, not sympathy, and Hathor was probably no different.
“Okay, so here’s my real question,” Cleo continued. “Does Ra, god of the sun and fire, control firewalls too? Because I really need him to remove my dad’s firewall so I can send out a few texts. Two minutes, max. And then he can put it right back up. Manu did it in, like, five minutes. So Ra could probably do it in half that time. I mean, seriously…” She lifted the steel case of jewels so that Hathor could get a better view. “What’s the point of having all this beauty if no one’s around to admire it?”
Hathor didn’t respond.
Cleo lowered the case. “Exactly. There isn’t one.”
“I’ll admire it,” said a familiar voice.
Bastet, Akins, Chisisi, Ebonee, Ufa, Usi, and Miu-Miu lifted their heads.
Omigeb!
Cleo smiled at the sight of Boyfriend leaning casually against the gilded doorway of her bedroom. Yet she refused to cross the bridge and greet him.
Dressed in dark-wash skinny jeans, a deliciously faded navy long-sleeve tee, and the chocolate-brown leather high-tops Cleo had bought him for Labor Day, he put the Deuce in seduce.
Thank you, Hathor!
A descendant of the Gorgons, Deuce had snakes for hair and the ability to transform whatever he looked at into stone—hence, the hat and sunglasses. Although the accessories were crucial to the welfare of others, Cleo nevertheless appreciated the flair they added to his otherwise unassuming style. Granted, the dark lenses made gazing into Deuce’s eyes impossible, but their reflection enabled Cleo to gaze into her own eyes. And that never got old.
“Cool ambience.”
Cleo ran her fingers lazily through the sand to avoid looking eager. “What are you doing here?” she asked with royal attitude, just in case he’d forgotten she was mad at him.
“I tried calling,” he said, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. “But you kept sending me to voice mail.”
Kept?
Cleo wanted to know how many times he had tried. What time of day, what he would have said had he gotten through, whether her absence made his heart grow fonder. But she didn’t dare tear down the facade. Why tell him that Ram had cut her service? Instead, she decided to let Deuce think she had ignored him on purpose. It gave her major aloof-appeal.
“So… what?” Deuce mumbled. “You’re not talking to me?”
Unable to breathe in her gut-gripping Herve Leger for one more second, Cleo stood. The purple bandage dress minimized her mini waist and maximized her cleavage—proving the French designer to be quite a Geb in his own right.
“What exactly would you like to talk about?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip and jutting out her shoulder. Why not let him see what taking that fashion-backward girl to the dance was costing him?
“I want you to know that I have zero feelings for Melody.”
“Who?” Cleo asked, checking her wonderfully moisturized cuticles. “Oh, you mean that thing whose only formfitting piece of clothing is a hair elastic.”
Deuce shook his head and was probably rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. He hated cattiness. But, hey, if he was going to act like a dog… me-owwww!
Finally, he stepped toward Cleo. Flickers from one hundred amber-scented candles licked his deeply tanned skin. “I wanted to go with you, remember? I asked you to go with me. But you decided to boycott because of the”—he paused to make air quotes—“offensive theme.”
“So you went with her?”
“I was forced into it by her pushy friend Bekka. I didn’t want to. And it was the worst night ever.”
Cleo longed to hear how unbearable his night was without her. When it came to Deuce, she was a love camel—storing reassurance in her invisible heart-shaped hump, dipping in when her insecurities needed to be fed, rationing his words to get her through the dry patches. “You look cute” could feed her until noon. “I’ll miss you” might last a weekend. “I love you” was good for three days. But his betrayal had drained her supply. She needed a major refill.
“So, why was it ‘the worst night ever’?” she asked, attempting to sound bored by the topic. The less she appeared to need, the more she got.
Deuce looked down at his Varvatos shoes. “Melody could tell I wasn’t that into her. So she tried flirting and…”
“And what?” Cleo demanded with a slight tilt of her neck. The subtle movement brought a tiny undulation to her lacquer-glossy black hair.
“She took off my glasses.”
Cleo gasped, recalling the oddly placed witch statue propped up against a table in the gym. “You did that?”
Deuce nodded shamefully. “I bolted as fast as I could, and that’s when I saw you and… anyway, you know the rest. Nothing happened. I swear on Adonis.”
“I dunno.” Cleo sighed. His answer was so unsatisfying. He was supposed to say it was the worst night ever because he wasn’t with her, not because he stoned some witch. It didn’t matter that Cleo believed that nothing had happened between him and Melody. She wanted more reassurance anyway. Kind of like the time she bought the same pair of wedges in four different colors. If she could have more, why not take more? “Maybe we should start seeing other people.”
“Huh?” he said, jamming his hands in his front pockets. “But I don’t want to be with anyone but you.”
Bon appétit!
Cleo could have stopped there. She’d be feasting on that admission until Monday. Instead, she sighed, milking him like a Star-bucks barista.
“So, are we good?” Deuce asked, ambling toward the bridge with a tentative swagger.
Cleo looked down and brushed the fine white sand off her dress. Barefoot, she slowly made her way across the cool stone archway. Once she reached the other side, she leaned back against the railing and folded her arms across her chest. The cats settled around her ankles.
“How about now?” Deuce asked, stepping toward her and clutching a thin red box. MONTBLANC was written on the top in gold letters, and it had been poked full of tiny holes. It might as well have said GARAGE SALE.
Now face-to-face with Deuce—and her own reflection—Cleo fixed the gap in her bangs and then accepted his gift. But not his apology. Not yet.
“Open it.” He grinned. “Slowly.”
Cleo lifted the hinged box top. It creaked in protest. She gasped at what lay inside.
“Cool, right?” Deuce said, sliding his index finger under a delicate iridescent snake and lifting it toward Cleo’s arm. The snake’s silver scales caught the candlelight and reflected a kaleidoscope of rainbow-colored shifting sparkles that rivaled Aunt Nefertiti’s jewels. “She came from my mom. It was her first gray hair.”
Cleo leaned closer. “Hi there,” she cooed into the box. “What’s your name?”
The snake responded by lifting her triangular head and flicking her forked tongue. “Hssssssssssssssssssssssssssttttttttttt.”
“Reeeee-owww!” meowed Bastet, Akins, Chisisi, Ebonee, Ufa, Usi, and Miu-Miu. The cats scattered like beads on a broken menit necklace.
“Hissette,” Cleo gushed like a proud mother. “I’m going to name you Hissette.”
Hissette flicked her tongue approvingly.
“Where do you want her?” Deuce asked, stroking the top of the snake’s tiny triangular head with the tip of his thumb.
Cleo pointed to her right bicep. After her daylong hieroglyph-writing marathon, it was slightly more toned than the left.
Deuce coiled the snake three and a half times, maintaining the configuration as he slipped Hissette onto Cleo’s arm. The snake’s pearly silverness popped against Cleo’s dark skin like a swirl of cream in black coffee.
“Deucey, she’s absolutely royal!”
“Glad you like her. Now close your eyes.”
“Closed.”
The flames of one hundred amber-scented candles continued to twinkle in the darkness behind her lids. Was it an optical illusion? Or love reignited?
“Okay,” Deuce said. “All done.”
Cleo blinked her false-lashed lids open.
“Here’s your rock,” Deuce said, proudly tapping the now-solid Hissette on Cleo’s arm.
“Is she dead?” Cleo asked, petting the snake’s pebble head.
“No, just stoned,” he said, grinning. “She’ll wake up in a few hours feeling refreshed.”
Cleo beamed.
“Forgive me now?” He smiled.
“On one condition,” she pressed.
Deuce nodded expectantly.
“From this moment on, we are completely exclusive. No more breaks during your family trips to Greece. No more substitute dance dates. And no more Melody.”
He placed one hand on his heart and lifted the other in a show of promise.
Golden!
Cleo’s lashes fluttered forgiveness. Her modern-day prince
had arrived.
She leaned toward him, lips pursed.
Deuce opened his mouth.
Cleo leaned closer…
“We’d better go.”
She opened her eyes. “Go? Where?”
“Haven’t you been reading your texts?”
“Um, yeah,” Cleo lied, still unwilling to fess up about the firewall.
“Then we should go.”
“I can’t just go! You haven’t even seen my new jewels yet,” she insisted, grinding her feet into the reed mats. “Besides, what about the curfew? My dad won’t let me leave. Especially with you.… Wait, how did you get up here, anyway? He’d never let—”
Deuce pressed the bridge of his Ray-Bans. “My glasses kind of slid off when Manu answered the door.” He smirked.
“He’s stoned?” Cleo gasped.
“They all are. It was the only way I could get you out of here.”
“Deuce!” Cleo stomped her foot, unsure of whether to be angry or amused.
“They’ll be fine in a few hours, don’t worry.” Deuce nudged her toward the door. “Come on. We have to get moving.”
For once, Cleo allowed herself to be led. Usually she would have put up a bigger fight and insisted on knowing where they were going. But why spoil the surprise? He was dishing out romance at an all-you-can-eat buffet. And Cleo was famished.
CHAPTER SIX
THE LONE NUDI
The blackout had been a miracle.
Six fuel-burning lanterns had been placed strategically throughout the Carvers’ cabin. White flames offered a taste of brightness to a home starving for light.
Creeping from one dim patch to the next, Melody made it undetected to her post by the front door. Now, hidden in a pool of blackness, she gripped the brass knob and waited for her sister’s signal.
The decision to clue Candace in to her whole Bekka-leaking-Jackson’s-video-to-the-press stress was turning out to be very beneficial to the cause, which Candace insisted on naming NUDI, or Normies Uncool with Discriminating Idiots.
“What about something more respectable, like WAR—We’re Against Racism,” Melody tried.
Candace rolled her eyes. “Might as well call it BORE—Boring Oregon Racist Eliminators. I mean, seriously, Melly, perception is everything,” she explained with authority she didn’t have. “WAR isn’t a term people want to be associated with. But NUDI? Who wouldn’t want to be part of that?”
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