by Jesse Grey
“Alex,” Harley hid her immediate uneasy feelings about the should-be-captain of her squad showing up behind doors closed to those without a uniform. “Hi.”
“Sorry for intruding. I just wanted to wish everyone luck.” he beamed again.
Alex waved and hugged a few of his cheerleader friends before striding over to the St. James siblings. “You guys nervous?”
“I’m not.” Willa flicked her wrist at her brother. “But your boy-friend here is wearing the cologne of nervous.”
“Shut up.” Abram scoffed. “You won’t be making fun of me when I drop you on your face out there.”
“You’ll do great. You were amazing on this team, Abe. Just think back to those old times and you won’t have anything to worry about.” Alex reached out and rubbed his shoulder.
“You’ve nailed this routine.” Willa agreed. “It’ll be fantastic.”
“Alright guys, it’s time.” Harley yelled over the chatter amongst the various cheerleaders.
“Good luck, you guys.” Alex hugged Willa quickly, followed by giving Abram a fast kiss. “Go entertain the school with what I’m sure is a transcendent mash-up of several Top 40 hits.”
Abram and Willa left with the squad, leaving Alex alone to fol-low them. Just as he was passing through the door of the weight room, Alex’s phone went off, a loud screeching from the front pock-et of his jeans. The cheerleaders’ loud music began to blare as he walked toward the bleachers. Reaching for his phone, he pulled it out to see the caller ID was displaying ‘Potential Emmy Walker #3’ across the surface of his screen.
He stopped right where he was, which was just off to the side of the bleachers. The phone continued to ring, not that it was heard over the music as the cheerleaders began their routine. After taking a quick glance at Abram and seeing the smile on his face, Alex searched the vast seating of the bleachers until he spotted Bridge and Mercer sitting with Faith and Kirby. The four of them were intently watching Abram and the rest of the Wolverines cheer. Soon, Bridge and Mercer glanced over and saw him at the bottom of the bleachers. With an unsteady hand, Alex waved them over to him as he went ahead and clicked answer on his phone, fearing that he would miss the incredibly dire opportunity to see if this was the woman they had been looking for.
“Hello?”
“Is this Alex Llewellyn?”
“Yes, it is.”
Bridge and Mercer were sauntering over to him when he put a hand over the receiver. “It’s a possible Emmy Walker.”
Their glares of astonishment were enough for Alex to lead them back into the empty weight room so their conversation could remain as secret as it felt for them to even take the phone call, while Abram did his best to focus on the routine as he watched his friends leave the area. Once they were safe and secure that they were alone in the weight room, Alex put the call on speakerphone so they could all hear what the woman on the other end had to say.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“I’m sorry, I’m here. I’m Alex Llewellyn.”
“I got your message.” the woman said. “You were asking about Emmy Walker?”
The three of them eyed each other with an abyss of hope between the silence among them. Alex cleared his throat before continuing on. “Yes, that’s right. I’m looking for anyone with information on an Emmy Walker that might have any connection to Armor Falls here in New Hampshire.”
“This isn’t really something I should talk about over the phone. Is it possible for you to meet with me, say Monday?”
“Ma’am, are you Emmy Walker?”
“I’ll explain everything in person, Mr. Llewellyn. Can you meet me or not?”
It was finally happening. They were already meeting Blanche lat-er tonight at Homecoming and now they might have some sort of lead on who exactly Emmy Walker was, and what role she played in the inner workings of why Sumner decided to lose grip on his re-maining hold to reality the night that he attacked them in the ceme-tery.
“Where are you located?” Alex said, his voice trembling a little.
“Vermont, actually, in Hartland. But it’s only about a thirty-minute drive from where you are now. Is there a coffee shop or something where we could meet?”
“The Bistro, on Seventh.” Bridge whispered to Alex, making sure to keep his voice low enough so the woman couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying.
“What was that?”
“Um, there’s a place called The Bistro here in town. We can meet there.”
“I’ll be there. See you next week, Mr. Llewellyn.”
“Thanks—” Alex was going to say more, but the woman decided to end their phone call before he could say much more.
They looked at each other, still in awe at the cycle of situations that plagued their lives. Tonight, they were finally getting some an-swers as to how Blanche was tied into what Sumner did the night that he visited Heartmyth and then, in just the span of seventy-two hours, they were, hopefully, on their way to finding out the enigma that was the woman named Emmy Walker.
Kirby plucked in her last earring, finalizing her look for the night. She was excited about going to Homecoming, especially with Mer-cer, but she was wrapped up in her rampant thoughts, a carousel of wayward feelings.
Stakes were already high enough with the meeting with Blanche that Mercer had confided in her, but she couldn’t get the note Blanche had addressed to her mother away from the forefront of her thoughts. She knew that she should tell Mercer and his friends that Blanche and her mother were in contact with each other, but she would rather die than betray her mother. Not after everything her mother sacrificed for her upon moving them to Armor Falls.
She had to talk to her. Kirby had to know why her mother was possibly aiding Blanche Baxxen and why she wasn’t going to the po-lice about it.
“Mom.” Kirby called from her mother’s massive walk-in closet that she had insisted on getting ready in. But that’s because it was flawless.
The closet had its own makeup station, a gorgeous pink vanity complete with a halo of lights and every product you would ever need to apply if you chose to do so. A small couch big enough for two resided opposite the vanity. In one of the corners of the room was a sewing machine, a chair sitting right before it for when her mother got into one of her creative fits and made gorgeous garments while in the next corner was a fabric rack that held the materials she would use to spin the fabric to her obsessive ideas. Of course, the walls spoke of her mother’s vast fashion taste, plentiful designer clothes mixed in with mounds of her mother’s own creations. And Kirby’s Homecoming dress was an Athena Wheaton original.
“Where are you, darling?” Her mother called from the second floor hallway. “Are you still in the vault?”
She momentarily rolled her eyes playfully at her mother’s nick-name for the closet. As Kirby played around with a questionable an-imal print vest, she said, “Yes, I’m here.”
Athena walked through the closet’s already opened double doors, smiling down at her daughter with widespread pride. She looked breathtakingly beautiful in the dress she had made for her. It was Athena’s favorite color, pink, covered in intricate, wispy lace. The dress was gorgeous from absolutely any point of view. And for whatever reason, Kirby was insisting on wearing one of her leather jackets over the dress, claiming it “completed the look” even though her mother was the obvious designer between them. Luckily, the jacket was white and matched the lace on the tight but stretchy fabric.
“You look amazing, sweetheart.” Athena admitted. “Mercer is go-ing to pass out when he lays his eyes on you.”
Kirby was just about to open her mouth, letting her mental floodgates spill forth from the jail of her thoughts about the letter from Blanche, when the doorbell rang loudly throughout the house from downstairs.
“That’s probably Mercer.” Athena lit up. “Hurry up with your fi-nal touches and meet us in the foyer. It has better lighting for pic-tures.”
Any attempts at protest were halted by her mother’s
rushing to answer the door. Kirby sighed as she stood up, grabbing her white clutch off the vanity. Maybe it was a sign that Mercer had shown up before she confronted her mom. With everything else going on, it probably was best if she waited to discuss the letter. Kirby decided to do just that, at least until after the meeting with Blanche happened at Homecoming tonight.
Taking one last glance at herself in the mirror, Kirby gathered her thoughts into a quiet corner of her mind and left the closet, her mother’s room, and then ultimately the second floor of the house and began descending down the stairs. Her eyes found Mercer’s within milliseconds, smiling at him as he stood mid-walk between the stairs and the foyer, his mouth hanging slightly ajar.
“Kirby,” The breathiness of his voice caused a light wave of blush to cherry her cheeks. “You look...absolutely beautiful.”
“Doesn’t she?” Athena nodded in agreement, ruining their ex-change in a way that both of them just brushed aside. “Kirby, you look utterly ethereal.”
“Thank you.” She responded to her mother’s biased compliment, moving as her feet, donning her mother’s vintage white and pink Chanel heels, hit the first floor’s hardwood. Sliding over to her date, she gave him a bright beam of sentiment as she lightly traced her fin-gers along his messy pompadour styled hair. “You look handsome as hell, by the way.” She leaned in closer, disabling her mother from listening. “Sexy, actually.”
Mercer smiled, tilting his head and clearing his throat at Kirby’s candor. Athena waved them over closer to the foyer, her daughter’s Polaroid camera in her free hand.
“Careful with that, Mom.” She pleaded as she led Mercer into the foyer. “That one is the favorite of my camera children.”
“I know, I know.” Athena rolled her eyes. “Come on, picture time!”
Both teens obliged the matron’s request rather quickly, holding onto each other in several different poses before Athena was satisfied enough to stop creating polaroids.
“Alright, Mom.” Kirby laughed. “We have to get to the dance. I’m taking a few pictures for Yearbook, remember?”
Mercer chuckled as Athena playfully slapped her head in forget-fulness.
“Right,” Athena went to the living room, a Nikon camera carry-ing case replacing the Polaroid one in her hands. “Here’s your pro camera.”
Swinging the strap over her white leather jacket, Kirby grabbed Mercer’s hand again, a glance flung at his gorgeous cerulean irises. “You ready?”
“Actually,” He squeezed her hand before giving her one of those half-smiles that he perfected, from Abram, she had found out, that happened to drive her crazy. “There’s a surprise.”
Momentarily letting go of her hand, Mercer walked over and threw open the front door. Kirby ambled over and felt her jaw gain slack, opening a little when a sleek, white limo sat idling outside of her house.
“Seriously? A limo?”
“It’s not just ours. All of our friends are waiting for us, except for Willa and her mystery date. Faith and Straton, surprisingly, did join us. It’s Adelaide’s gift to us, for all the police trouble.” Mercer winced at the group effort. “I hope it’s okay that we won’t be just taking my Jeep and being alone.”
“Are you kidding? That would be a waste of a breathtakingly per-fect limousine.” Kirby pecked his lips, taming her actions with her mother in attendance. “Let’s go!” She grabbed his hand and started hauling him toward the exaggerated Chrysler 300.
“Bye, Ms. Wheaton.” Mercer managed to throw back over his shoulder.
Athena grinned. “Have fun. Be careful.”
She stopped mid-run and graced back over and gave her mother a quick embrace. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
She watched her daughter and her boyfriend flee from the house, her smile fading the closer they got to the luxury vehicle. Not wast-ing any more valuable time, Athena quickly closed the door and pulled a small burner phone from the front pocket of her dark grey blazer that perfectly went with her flowy silk, cream colored gown. She held down the first button, calling the only speed dial recipient the phone possessed. The person on the other end answered after exactly six rings, the code for it being safe for the two of them to talk.
“Blanche,” Athena breathed cautiously. She had meant to say a little more to the young woman, but she spoke candidly before the chance disappeared acutely. “They just left. Meet me at the spot in fifteen.” She nodded, determination buzzing against her pores. “I’m on my way.”
Arriving at Homecoming was a spectacle to behold, especially in a bright white limousine. There was a miniscule red carpet for students to walk, complete with a camera crew that comprised of the photography club. They were streaming the footage to a huge projector screen inside the gym, as well as acting like mock paparazzi that took pictures that Kirby would later go through and help select for the yearbook. And the president of the photography club was acting as some sort of Ryan Seacrest, interviewing people as they showed up.
When Mercer and his friends stepped out of their limo, they were bombarded with cameras, flashes brightening up their faces like a perfect Instagram filter could never accomplish. All of them were a form fitted collective of wide happy caricatures of their usually stressed selves as they got out of the vehicle. Nervous and excited, they walked the carpet very cautiously.
“And now, two more Homecoming nominees have arrived!” Photography club president Hayden Combs said with eager enthusiasm. “Alex, Abram, who are you wearing?”
“My dad’s old Armani.” Alex smiled.
“Nice!” Hayden grinned, telling the camera girl to focus on Abram. “What about you, Abram?”
“David’s Bridal? I literally have no clue.”
Alex laughed, butting in. “He’s wearing Men’s Warehouse.”
“Awesome, you guys look amazing tonight and good luck with both of your nominations. Go ahead and head inside. Have fun!”
“Thanks Hayden, you look great, too.” Abram grinned widely, grabbing Alex’s hand on the way into the gymnasium while Faith stepped up with Straton to talk to Hayden about their choice of wear for the night.
Mercer and Kirby were the last of the friends to walk the carpet, Bridge going just after Straton and Faith. Hayden came up to them next, both of them awaiting the questioning that they knew was in-evitable.
“Mercer Meadows, how’s it going?” Hayden gawked.
“It’s going great, Hayden.” Mercer smiled back. “And even better now that I’m able to ditch that sling I’m sure everyone saw me wear-ing recently.”
“I noticed that! Well, I’m sure it’s very welcoming to be back to your old self again.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“And with you is the newest addition to the yearbook staff,” Hayden bore his brightest smile for them as Kirby stepped up. “As well as the overall new addition to Westbrooke’s senior class. What are you guys wearing tonight?”
“I think I’m wearing Hugo Kloss.”
Kirby cackled, Hayden looking like he didn’t get the gravity of what she was laughing at.
“That would be Hugo Boss.” She told the camera, along with Hay-den and his crew before looking back at Mercer. “Your dads must be cringing back home.”
“I didn’t inherit the fashion sense.” he admitted candidly.
“You two are adorable.” Hayden laughed. “And you, Kirby?”
“I’m wearing Athena Wheaton.” she nodded. “My mother is a de-signer and my dress tonight is just a show of her talents.”
“Amazing! Everyone inside, remember to tell your parents if they want something done like what Kirby has on tonight, to keep her mother in mind!” Hayden kindly told the camera that streamed to inside the gym. “Alright, you guys, head inside and remember to vote for king and queen after the Court Karaoke event, which is just about thirty minutes away.”
Once Mercer and Kirby walked inside the double doors of the gymnasium, awe overcame them both. The night’s theme was dia-
monds and ice, the whole setting covered in articulate frozen decora-tions and cubic zirconia detailing. The gym had been devastatingly transformed in the best way possible. It was like they were trapped inside an artic palace beneath the cold waters of Antarctica. And it was overwhelmingly exquisite.
“Holy Met Gala.” Mercer scoffed.
Kirby’s shoulders rattled in small rotations as laughter tickled the back of her throat. “You skewer Hugo Boss’ name but Met Gala you know perfectly.”
Grabbing his hand, Kirby led him over to the gathering near an ice sculpture of a cherub where their friends had decided to congre-gate.
“This place is a madhouse.” Faith scoffed. “Amazing turnout. I’m so glad the Homecoming committee took my suggestion for the theme.”
“Diamonds and ice was your idea?” Kirby smiled.
“Might help my votes.” She winked.
“Just so you know, I’m still against singing ‘Love Is An Open Door’ tonight.” Straton sighed. “I might be a pretty decent shirtless waiter at a gay bar, but a singer, I am not.”
“It’s about the connection,” Abram smiled, clutching Alex’s hand even tighter than he had been. “Plus, it’s not like you’re going to win. We got this.”
“Carla Solaice sounds incredible,” Faith told their group. “There’s talented competition tonight. Nothing’s set in stone.”
“Well, I’m gonna put in a request with the DJ. This whole cou-ple’s competition thing is too mushy for me.” Bridge said, on the hunt for a guy to dance with while he strayed from his hoard of friends.
Faith was about to take Bridge’s cue and drag Straton to the dance floor when her eyes slithered over a friend, a grin smearing across her neon painted features.
“Oh my God.”
Everyone turned to see Willa walking into Homecoming, look-ing like an absolute model in a meringue tinted dress, a smile match-ing the vibrancy of her Chanel ensemble. And Hugo was hanging off her arm.
Willa and Hugo sauntered up to them, warm exchanges evident on their faces. “Hey guys.”