Sweet Dandelion

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “What are you wearing?” Sage regards me with curiosity as I enter the living area.

  I look down at my fitted black tank top, leather jacket, and ripped skinny jeans. My exposed collarbone, neck, and face are speckled with droplets of blood. There are more on my arms, but since they’re currently covered he can’t see that. I hold a cereal box in one hand and a plastic kitchen knife in the other.

  “A costume.”

  “That’s not a costume.” He snorts, looking me up and down, his brows furrow as he tries to figure out exactly what I am.

  “Yes, it is,” I defend, feeling a little crestfallen that it isn’t obvious. “I’m a cereal killer.”

  His eyes light with recognition, mouth parting. “Oh, I see now.”

  I roll my eyes and pull out my phone to see the text that has come in. “It’s Ansel. He’s here. Should I tell him to come up for an interrogation?” I arch a brow, my tone joking but also serious because I won’t put it past Sage to give him the third-degree again.

  “No, go on ahead.”

  He stands up from the couch where he’d been watching a football game and grabs his wallet off the counter. “Here, take this.” He slaps a couple of twenties fresh from an ATM into my hand.

  “I don’t need your money, Sage. It’s a party.”

  “Take it,” he insists, closing my hand around it. He senses I’m going to complain so he guilts me into taking it by saying, “It’ll give me peace of mind.”

  “Fine.” I put the money in my pocket. Probably not the safest place, but it’ll have to do.

  “Be careful,” he warns, eyes stern. “Don’t take a drink from anyone, even someone you know. Okay?”

  I nod. “I’ll be fine, Sage.”

  I kind of wish now I hadn’t mentioned the party to him.

  “If you drink too much and want me to get you, I will. Doesn’t matter the time.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  The look in his eyes tells me he does and to stop arguing with him. “Let me know when you get to Sasha’s.”

  I hug him. “Stop fretting, Momma Bear.” My voice is muffled against the fabric of his green Henley.

  He chuckles softly, squeezing tight. “I have to.”

  He releases me, gives me one last warning, and I’m finally on my way down to the main floor to meet up with Ansel outside.

  “What took you so long?” he asks when I slide into the car.

  “My brother worries.”

  Ansel’s lips pinch, not in disdain but understanding. Now that he knows what happened he sees why my brother is insanely overprotective.

  “Where’s the party at?” I pull the seatbelt across my body and buckle it before he pulls away.

  “Chuck’s.” At my blank look he adds, “His parents are out of town this weekend.”

  I bob my head up and down like this makes perfect sense to me.

  “What exactly are you?” He glances at me briefly, coming to a stop at a red light. The red hue fills up the car, making his white face paint appear to glow.

  “How is it not obvious?” I mutter more to myself than him. “I’m a cereal killer.”

  He grins. “Oh, that’s genius.”

  “What are you?” I counter with. “A skeleton?” Half of his face is painted with white and black paint and his clothes are all black.

  “Basically.” He shrugs, driving forward when the light changes. “I couldn’t think of anything else so I grabbed my paints and had at it.”

  “It looks good.”

  And it does. With his sharp cheekbones and bright eyes the look really stands out, where on someone else it might look clownish.

  “Merci.”

  He reaches over and turns the volume up, whatever song he’s playing from his phone bumping through the speakers. We converse a little, but for the most part the drive is silent between us.

  I know we’re at the party before I even see the house, thanks to the cars parked along the gravel and dirt road. Apparently the house sits on a few acres, which makes it excellent for party throwing.

  Ansel parks his car and I hop out, the two of us walking the rest of the distance to the house. I shiver in the cool night air. It makes me thankful I did have the forethought to wear a jacket. Regardless, I do only have a tank top beneath it so I still feel the pinch of cold.

  Ansel reaches out, draping his arm around my shoulder. Tugging me against his side he shoots me a playful grin. “Cold, Meadows? I’ll warm you right up.”

  I shake my head, but don’t pull away from him.

  I swear we walk a mile before we reach the house. It’s huge, one of the largest homes I’ve seen, and looks exactly like something that would be on the cover of Modern Mountain Mansions. I don’t think that’s a real magazine, but this house convinces me it should be a thing.

  The house pulses with music and the closer we get to the front steps, the more I feel the ground shaking with it too. The outside is decorated with gravestones, zombies coming out of the ground, and purple lights strung along the roofline.

  Ansel jogs up the front steps, opening the door wide. He nods with his head for me to go in first. The lights are mostly off, except for strategically placed purple and orange lights, along with those projector ones that I think are meant for the outside. On the wall to the left green witches flash along it.

  “Let’s get a drink and look for Sasha.” Ansel grabs my hand, tugging me through the crowd of teens. There must be a lot of people here, considering this house isn’t small and it’s basically wall to wall with bodies.

  He’s either been here before, or has a keen sense of direction, because we reach the kitchen in no time. There are a couple of kegs, bottles of liquor, and even some snacks—mostly tortilla chips, salsa, and some weird looking thing that I don’t even want to take a guess at.

  “Beer?” A brow peeks on his forehead, cracking his face paint a smidge.

  “Sure.” I watch him grab the red Solo cup and fill it up, passing it to me before getting one for himself.

  My body moves slightly to the beat of the thumping music, my eyes scanning the room for anyone I recognize.

  “Is Seth coming?” I don’t really know Seth, but at least he isn’t a total stranger like most of these people.

  My anti-socialness is really biting me in the butt right now.

  Ansel shrugs. “Said he was, but I never know with him.” He tips his cup back, gulping down a few large swallows.

  I grab onto Ansel’s hand again and the two of us push our way through the crowded kitchen.

  “Sexy kitten,” Ansel announces, pointing with one finger, the rest wrapped around his cup. “Nope, not Sasha. There’s another, still not her.”

  I can’t help snickering, because he was right earlier in the week when he said a sexy kitten was predictable. With my plastic knife in my pocket and cereal box under my arm I’m sure I don’t even look like I’ve tried.

  “Spiderman also seems to be a popular choice.”

  Again, he’s not wrong. Most guys seem to be some sort of Marvel character. Spiderman, Thor, and Iron Man seem to be the top choices.

  Most everyone is either talking loudly over the music, dancing, or making out. The scent of marijuana lingers in the air, and I’m sure Ansel will be selling plenty tonight. He’s mentioned that parties really boost his regular profit.

  We check out the upstairs, still no Sasha, before making our way to the basement. We spot her almost immediately at a pool table playing beer pong. Two black cat ears stick out on top of her head amidst all her spiraling blond curls. Her dress is skin tight, black and shiny, and barely covers anything. When she moves a significant part of side-boob is shown and more than a few guys stare blatantly.

  Ansel shakes his head and mutters, “She’s something.”

  “You don’t like her very much, do you?”

  I might be convinced Sasha has a crush on him, but he doesn’t seem to return the favor. At all. />
  His lips are pinched and he watches the scene in front of us with narrowed brows. He hasn’t let go of my hand yet, despite the fact my palm is beginning to sweat. “I don’t like predictability.”

  Ignoring his comment, I call out, “Sasha!”

  Waving, I finally capture her attention and she grins. Her eyes are already slightly glassy and she stumbles trying to reach us.

  “My friends!” she cries, throwing her arms around us. When she steps back she frowns at our joined hands. “Come on.” She tugs on my arm that’s holding the cereal box and it falls. “Oopsie.” She puts a hand to her mouth and giggles.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Why did I even bother coming? Drunk people are my least favorite kind of people.

  Ansel bends down, grabbing the cereal box. He passes it to me, glaring at Sasha as he does. “Watch it, Sasha. You could’ve hurt her.” I don’t miss the way he angles his body slightly in front of me.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she snaps, frowning. “You know I didn’t mean it, right, Dani?” She bats her big eyes at me.

  “Right.”

  I try to ignore the huff that comes out of Ansel.

  “Let’s play.” She doesn’t grab me this time, but I follow her, Ansel reluctantly trucking along behind us.

  I join Sasha’s team, which consists of her and two other people—a guy named Henry and a girl named Josie—who are both on the school’s tennis team with her.

  A few minutes into the game Ansel whispers in my ear that he’ll be back in a little bit.

  He doesn’t say it, but I know more than likely he’s off to sell some weed.

  I stick with Sasha, drinking more alcohol than I intend to during the game of beer pong.

  After the game is over, Sasha drags me over to a makeshift dance floor—basically an empty section of the basement where other kids are dancing.

  “My cereal,” I cry as it gets left behind at the table.

  Sasha is oblivious. She gyrates around me while I struggle to find my rhythm. My leg is protesting already and the night has barely begun. The walk from the parked car to the house in my heeled boots was a bad idea, but it’s not like I could have gone barefoot.

  “Loosen up, Dani!” Sasha yells above the music.

  Grabbing my arms she shimmies around me. I’m not used to this kind of dancing, or even this kind of party. Sure, I went to a few back home, but mostly it was a much smaller group of us hanging around in someone’s basement drinking beers and being obnoxious. This is a party like the ones I’ve always seen in movies.

  After a few minutes I start to feel more comfortable and dance with her, singing along to the lyrics of the song playing.

  “This is amazing!” she shrieks.

  I nod in agreement, my body flushed from the beers I’ve downed.

  “Where’s Ansel?” I voice, looking around for him. It’s been about thirty minutes, maybe longer, since he left us.

  “Who cares?” she shouts back. “Have some fun, girl!”

  With the alcohol burning through my veins I listen to her words, losing myself in the music and vibes from everyone around me.

  Tossing my arms above my head, I let out a whoop swaying my hips.

  “Yes, girl! Get it.” Sasha moves her body far more gracefully than mine.

  Closing my eyes, I let go.

  I let go of my worries.

  My fears.

  Doubts.

  For a moment, I allow myself to be a girl, any girl.

  Only for a night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pouring more beer down my throat is probably not the best idea, but logic left my brain an hour ago.

  “Yes!” Sasha cheers while others yell, “Chug, chug, chug!”

  I shotgun the beer in record time, tossing the empty can on the floor. My hands go in the air the same moment cheers ring around me.

  The poor guy beside me is still trying to finish his.

  A very unladylike burp leaves me, but I can’t find it in myself to be embarrassed.

  Ansel’s figure pushes through the crowd.

  “Annie!” I cry, throwing myself at him.

  “Oomph.” His arms twine around me, holding the majority of my weight. “Are you drunk?”

  “Pssh, no,” I slur, my feet going out from under me.

  “Whoa.” Ansel holds on tighter to my body, picking me up. “Find your sea legs, Meadows, I’m not carrying you out of here.”

  I slap him playfully on the arm. “You would if you had to.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Let’s dance.”

  “Let’s not.”

  He has no choice as I tug him into the crowd.

  Now that the alcohol has loosened me up even more, I dance freely, finding a rhythm I didn’t know I possessed. I turn my back to Ansel, lifting my hair up and looking at him over my shoulder with a flirty look.

  He looks pained for a moment, but the look is gone so quickly I’m convinced I imagined it.

  “You can touch me, Ansel.”

  I don’t know if he actually hears me above the music, but his hands grasp my hips from behind.

  I sway my body against his, laying my head back against his chest.

  “This feels nice,” I murmur, closing my eyes. My body feels heavy, tired. I have no idea what time it is, but I probably need to sleep even though I don’t want to.

  “How much did you drink?” His voice vibrates against me.

  “Not too much,” I lie.

  “Mhmm.” I feel him hum it more than I hear it. “You okay, Meadows? This doesn’t seem like you.”

  I spin around in his arms, linking mine around his neck. “I’m great. Letting loose. Having fun. Being a normal teenager.”

  The way he looks at me I know he’s completely sober and analyzing everything I say. He brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek, his teeth digging lightly into his bottom lip.

  “Let’s get some water in you.”

  He tries to pull me away from the others dancing, but I hold on tight, digging the heels of my feet into the floor. “No, no, no. I want to dance.”

  “I’m getting you water.” This time he untangles my arms from his body so easily I know he wasn’t trying hard enough before.

  I frown at his retreating figure.

  No longer in the mood to dance now I head upstairs, looking for a bathroom. I spot one at the end of the hall with only a couple of people waiting, thank God, I might pee myself otherwise.

  Waiting my turn, I all but cry out in relief when I finally make it to the toilet. I’m in the middle of peeing when I hear a bunch of screaming and cries of, “Get out! Go!”

  My heart rate accelerates and I stand up, yanking my jeans up.

  Feet pound against the floor, bodies racing for an exit.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  “Cops!” I hear someone else yell.

  More screams. It sounds like a stampede. I look at the locked bathroom door, panic setting in. My breaths leave me in short small pants.

  I have to get out.

  There’s a window in the bathroom, not a large one, but I should be able to climb out of it—possibly landing face first on the ground in the process, but it’s better than being shot at.

  Opening the window, I climb up on the closed toilet seat lid so I can get enough height to climb out the narrow space. Sure enough, I fall on the ground, rolling my body so my right side takes the brunt of it and not my face.

  Picking myself up quickly, I walk as fast as I can with my limp. I feel like a sitting duck because I can’t run anymore.

  All I have on me is my stupid plastic knife that won’t do any good for anyone that might want to shoot at me.

  So, I keep going. Each step is one away from the house.

  Other kids are running to cars, but I head for the woods. I don’t have a car and Ansel’s is too far. I have to hide.

  God, I have to hide.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins and the only thing on my mi
nd is survival. It’s pure and simple, I have to put space between me and the house, finding somewhere to hide until…

  Until, what?

  Don’t think about that right now. Get away. You have to get away.

  Tears streak my face, the cold air stinging them as I move. I make it into the woods and keep going. My leg is tired, barely moving forward. Sheer willpower is the only thing moving me at this point. I feel completely sober at this point, even though logically I know I’m not.

  Through glimpses between the trees I see the reflection of red and blue lights, sirens blaring.

  Who’s dead?

  I push that thought from my brain, because I can’t dwell on it now. All that matters is making it to safety.

  Safety, what is that anymore?

  I hear voices of others sneaking through the woods. They’re not being quiet at all.

  Don’t they know you have to be quiet?

  “I think they went in the woods!” A voice shouts somewhere behind me close to the house.

  I haven’t made it far enough away yet.

  Panic grips me once more.

  I don’t want to die.

  More footsteps thunder into the woods. I look around for anywhere to hide, knowing I have to get down and out of the way.

  Moving as quietly as I can I find a spot where a tree has fallen. I tuck my body beneath it. My dark clothing provides a camouflage. I lay as still as I possibly can, holding my breath, playing dead.

  The voices get farther away, going in another direction.

  But I still don’t get up and move. I’m too afraid of them coming back.

  My fingers grow numb from the cold. My body wants to shiver, but somehow I keep control of every muscle in my body—too afraid of rustling even a leaf.

  An hour passes, maybe longer, before I finally climb out from under the tree. Things have been silent for a while. Fear begins to settle in my bones as I trek through the woods, my leg protesting with every single step. I start crying again. I hate being scared. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I never want to have to fear for my life and here I am.

  Digging my phone out of my pocket, there’s no signal.