Wicked Sense Page 15

  I’ve never seen such joy in her eyes. It’s as if I handed her a mission from the heavens.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she says. “How come you’re not a New York snob is beyond me. You can’t be a hot girl if you’re dressed in rags.”

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry,” she says, very un-sorry. She grabs my wrist and drags me with her. “Are you thinking about a whole outfit? Do you mean dressy? We should start with shoes and then build the whole thing up. I know just the place.”

  We go into one of those snotty stores where the salespeople truly believe their knowledge of shoes is some kind of ancient wisdom known only by the chosen ones. Sometimes they go out of their way to be unpleasant. It makes me uncomfortable, but the hostile environment doesn’t scare Priscilla. Actually, she relishes it.

  After she out-bitches and out-eye-rolls the entire staff, we leave with an obnoxiously priced pair of Jimmy Choo peep toe pumps that have absolutely nothing to do with me. Priscilla assures me that a trained eye will be amazed by them, though.

  Withstanding the ordeal earns us a snack break. We stop by a juice place, and I learn that ordering a smoothie in Seattle is as confusing as ordering a coffee. We find a table for ourselves at the food court.

  “What?” she asks.

  “The shoes are too fancy,” I say. “I don’t believe Drake would take me to a fancy place.”

  She nods, absorbed in her thoughts. I think it’s a good time to tell her about Mum. I spill everything.

  “Get out!” Priscilla squeals while slapping the small table with both hands, her bracelets clacking. She leans forward. “Do you have pictures of her?”

  I show her a couple I carry in my purse.

  “That’s unreal! A movie star!”

  I snort. “It’s not like that. She’s not that young, not that famous…”

  “Are you kidding me? I see her in movie posters all the time. She looks good.”

  “Airbrushing,” I say.

  Priscilla gives me a weak slap on the arm, her sharp fingernails slightly scratching me. “Stop it. She’s got an Oscar and everything.”

  “It’s in London. I’ll show you when you visit us.”

  Her mouth’s sides almost tear when she smiles. I think it’s about the Oscar, but she says, “I’d love to visit you.”

  “Aren’t you mad I didn’t tell you earlier?” I say, hesitant.

  She shakes her head. “Don’t be silly. I’d do the same. It’s cool that you told me.” She slurps her smoothie loudly. “So, you are a princess, and Drake is broke. That’s why you’re concerned with the pricey shoes.”

  This makes me feel shallow. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just I don’t know if he’s touchy about it.”

  She nods while drinking more smoothie. It seems fruit helps her think.

  “So, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll go easy on the rest of your clothes. Something breezy, but classy.”

  “What about the shoes?” I ask.

  “Keep them. You still can use them on your date. Men don’t notice shoes unless you’re stepping on their chests.”

  I want to ask, but I leave it at that.

  ***

  On our way back, I tell Priscilla about the new me.

  “You helped. You listened when I needed it,” I say.

  She dismisses it as if it’s no big deal. Maybe it isn’t, to her.

  “As you may have noticed, I don’t have many friends either,” she says. “I mean, I’ll never be the prom queen. Of course I’m hated. Every girl in the school is dating an ex of mine. Only transfers like you talk to me.”

  I had never thought of that. I’m unsure of what to say, but Priscilla moves on quickly.

  “Let’s celebrate the new you,” she says, enthusiastic. “Let’s do something crazy.”

  “Like what?” I’m scared of whatever Priscilla considers ‘crazy.’

  She taps her fingernails on the steering wheel. “What wouldn’t the old Skye do?”

  I shrug. “Anything exciting? Actually, anything, period.”

  “Be more specific,” Priscilla says.

  “I wouldn’t date, but that’s taken care of. Going out with friends meant dinners and back home. No sports or…”

  “You lived in New York and London and didn’t take advantage of nightlife there?” Before I can answer, she snaps. “I know! Girls Night Out! Woo-hoo!” she shouts.

  “Woo-hoo,” I say quietly—and lamely.

  Priscilla tsk-tsks me. “We’re going to have to work on your woo-hoos,” she says.

  ***

  All the clubs are carding. Priscilla does have a fake ID, but I don’t (mine is valid, and from the state of New York). We’re shut out of all the Pioneer Square bars. Priscilla chats with two skinny guys wearing beanies and t-shirts two sizes too small. They look like a pair of colorful Q-Tips.

  Not that I can mock them. Priscilla picked my outfit: jeans, high heels (killing my feet), a rock band t-shirt (killing my pride), and a leather jacket she let me borrow. I’m afraid to stand alone in the street; somebody might offer me money any time now. I walk up to her.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “It’s no use.”

  “Hi, Tina,” Priscilla answers me, her eyes full of meaning. “Evan here—”

  “Ethan,” Q-Tip number one corrects.

  “Ethan here knows the front guy at the Crucible. I explained to him you forgot your ID at the hotel…”

  “Stupid Tina,” I say, slapping my forehead. I have no shame.

  “No problemo,” says Ethan. “Shall we?” His hands stay in his pockets, and he points forward with his chin.

  I drag Priscilla, so we walk behind the guys. “What is it going to cost us?” I ask. “I am a betrothed woman, remember?”

  Priscilla taps my arm, calming me. “Don’t worry. Ethan is an old flame—”

  “Really?” I can’t hold it back.

  “That’s what he says. I don’t really remember him.” She grimaces. “Anyway, he just wants a little sugar tonight. You’re off the hook. I’m Bridget, by the way.”

  “Bridget?”

  “That’s what he called me; what can I do?”

  “Nice to meet you, Bridget,” I say.

  Sure enough, Ethan whispers something to the door guy, who takes a long look at me before letting us all in. Ethan’s hands never leave his pockets.

  When we’re inside, Q-Tip number one approaches me.

  “I’m Tyrone,” he yells over the music.

  “I like girls,” I yell back. What? I don’t want company. And it is a daring thing to say. To me, at least.

  Priscilla is already off to the dance floor with Ethan. It’s odd seeing my friend in her natural habitat. She seems more confident, as if this is possible. Soon she owns the place, her dance moves making men and women take notice. Lucky Ethan gets a kind of standing-up lap dance.

  Priscilla whispers something to Ethan, who leaves exhausted to a corner. She comes to my side. “Want a drink? You should really take the opportunity.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Come on, live a little. I’m driving.”

  “Aren’t you drinking?”

  “I don’t drink, silly,” she says, giving me a one-armed hug.

  Since I’m almost of drinking age in England, I give myself a pass. “I’ll have a Buck’s Fizz.”

  “A what?”

  “A mimosa,” I say.

  From the look she gives me, I might as well have ordered a live chicken. “I’ll get you a real drink,” she says before vanishing in the mass of sweaty bodies.

  I try to be inconspicuous while I wait, but my swinging to the beat betrays my clumsiness. I’m as bad at dancing as I’m at sports. Priscilla comes back to save me.

  “Here, down this,” she says while handing a glass shot full of a sparkling blue liquid. Now I understand how Drake felt when I handed him the truth potion. Well, I have to trust my friend. Besides, arguing with her is futile. I take a deep breath and
gulp down the poison.

  My throat burns, followed by my stomach. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

  “What was that?”

  Without bothering to answer me, she hands me a tall glass. “Now, go easy on this one.”

  “Will you tell me the name—”

  “Later,” she says.

  We just stand side-by-side against the wall, dancing to the hip-hop. Seeing me dance, people probably think I’m already drunk. Hey, good excuse.

  Still, I’m afraid I’ll end up on YouTube.

  We left our jackets at the door. Priscilla’s breasts are almost popping out of her tank top, and I feel like a prepubescent girl next to her. Somehow she makes her bouncing seem classy.

  A carefully unshaved guy, wearing a fedora hat and a scarf, too cool even for Seattle, watches me, but he doesn’t make a move. I try not to flirt with anyone.

  My new drink is very sweet but it doesn’t mask the insane amount of alcohol mixed in. At least it tastes good.

  A few minutes later, Priscilla and I are on the dance floor. My glass is empty somewhere.

  I dance with her, trying to create an impenetrable two-person circle. Priscilla does all the hard work with her sexy, crazy moves. I’m getting a no-touching version of her earlier lap dance. I just have to follow the rhythm and avoid tripping.

  It is fun! People notice us, or at least, they notice me next to Priscilla. The lights are trippy, the music not so loud anymore, and the previously stale smell of liquor and sweat now just feels right.

  I let it go, shaking my hips and shoulders, and making what I hope look like sexy faces. Some guys try to cut in, but Priscilla pulls them to her and talks to them. Somehow, they leave us alone.

  The music drowns my laughs, but my woo-hoos are already improving. There’s a familiar tingling sensation that I can’t place at first. It increases steadily, but I’m too busy with my new persona to take notice. Only when it’s so strong that I can’t push it to the back of my mind anymore, I become alarmed.

  I grab Priscilla’s arm. “Jane!” I yell.

  Priscilla looks at me quizzically but only asks if I’m okay. I look around, dazzling lights blinding me, waves of faces popping up in the crowd, but I don’t see Jane.

  The tingling intensity now indicates close proximity. A girl with short, dark hair, pierced eyebrows, and black make-up is right in front of me, smiling. She is gorgeous.

  She gives a weak wave with one hand while discreetly drawing a triangle in the air with her other hand’s pinkie. Nobody does that by accident.

  “Hey, Sister!” she yells. And hugs me.

  Priscilla stands back, amused. My arms are alongside my body. But with my head resting briefly on her shoulder, I can see a silver moon tattooed on the back of her neck.

  The goth girl lets me go. “I’m at Ballard High. Where are you?”

  “Greenwood High,” I say in her ear.

  “Any luck?”

  I shake my head.

  She takes a cell from her mini-purse and hands it to me. She cups her hand around my ear. “I’m Greta. Punch your phone number. I’ll call you, and you’ll have mine.” When I look at her trying to decide if I should trust her, she adds, “We’ve got to stick together. I hate that jerk Connor. Tried to hook up with me. Can you believe that guy?”

  That will do it. I type my number—not an easy task when you’re drunk and in the middle of a dance floor. I hand her the cell back. She smiles at me, grabs my hand, pulls it to her lips, and kisses the back of my hand. It’s an ancient, secret greeting no Sister uses anymore.

  “Goddess be with you,” she mouths the words to me. Then she leaves in the sea of partying people, her Allure dragging some stares her way.

  “She’s cute,” Priscilla shouts. “Really cute.”

  “Shut up!” I shout back. Uh-oh, I’m shut-upping people now.

  ***

  Next thing I know, Priscilla is driving me home. But she stops close to a huge “Park closes at dusk” sign. I have no idea where we are.

  “Let’s go,” she says coming out of the Prius.

  I’m too buzzed to protest. We walk a little and squeeze between the closed gates of the park. She grabs my hand, guiding me in the darkness. When we’re on the other side of the lot, she produces a mini-flashlight. She leads me to the edge of a lake. Something, maybe the moonlight, makes it not so dark anymore.

  She lays her flashlight down, still turned on, on a boulder near us. “Take off your clothes,” she commands. “We’re going skinny-dipping.”

  She takes her jacket off, but stops mid-movement when she sees I’m not mimicking her. “Do you prefer to do it alone?” she asks. “I don’t even have to look if you don’t want to.”

  “You already saw me naked at school, remember?” I say. When I hear myself, I realize how silly my inhibitions are. I also understand I need to do this. No way I’m letting Jane’s trap make me feel a victim. I can’t let her dictate my life. I am in control.

  Taking off my jacket, I say, “Feel free to join me.”

  She giggles and undresses. I can’t help sneaking a peek. Her breasts are indeed perfect. I feel a little jealous. I look away and try to concentrate on unbuttoning my jeans.

  Soon I’m out of my clothes too. Only when the chilly night air hits me, I have doubts. “It’s cold.”

  “Let’s go!” she says, running toward the cold water. “The head has to go in or it doesn’t count.” It’s not deep enough to dive, so she goes thigh deep and immerses herself for a second.

  She’s already coming out of the water, trembling, when I muster the courage. The icy lake water hits my feet, but before it can scare me away, I’m up to my knees. No backing off now. I dive.

  The dark waters engulf me. My hands feel the muddy bottom of the lake for a second, algae entwining in my fingers. My body becomes numb and weightless. It’s a primal thing. The Sisters would approve.

  I cleanse myself and all my concerns about nakedness and water abandon me. All the fears Jane tried to instill on me are gone. I feel indeed like a new Skye. The sensory deprivation experience is actually liberating.

  But I resurface soon. “It’s bloody freezing!” I yell. I start to come out of the water, but I see a still naked Priscilla holding my cell phone in front of her.

  “Say cheese,” she says. “It’s just for you. You’ve got to remember this.”

  It actually sounds good to me. I strike a Victoria’s Secret pose, taking care to hide my private parts. My silver phoenix tattoo reflects the moonlight and shines. Priscilla snaps a picture, looks at the result, and gives me a thumbs-up.

  Soon both of us are getting dressed as fast as we can, our bodies still wet, our feet still muddy. We would be giggling if our teeth weren’t chattering. With our shoes in hand, we rush back to the car.

  We close the doors, and she turns the heat on. Then we look at each other and start laughing hysterically.

  “That was insane!” I scream.

  “But also a great cure for drunkenness!” she shouts. “Woo-hoo!”

  It’s my turn. I belt out the greatest, most satisfying, guilty-free woo-hoo of my life.

  Chapter 41: Drake

  The temperature is ridiculously low. I thought it would be a good idea bringing Skye to Green Lake again on what promised to be a sunny day, but Seattle’s deceptive weather—and deceptive weathermen—tricked me once again. Instead of having a blast, we’re huddled together on a bench, trying to survive the morning chilliness.

  Despite the cold, the park is busy: mothers push jogging strollers, dogs take their owners for a stroll, a father chases after a runaway kid on a scooter, men fish on the pier.

  Two middle-aged women holding hands walk by. To my left, on a nearby bench, a young guy works on his laptop and sips coffee.

  We are halfway between the trail and the busy Green Lake Drive behind us. City and lake sounds merge.

  Above us, gloomy clouds.

  This is Seattle, all right.

  “I
need a nickname for you,” Skye tells me dreamily. She’s resting her head on my shoulder.

  I’m unsure if I should divulge it. Nevertheless, I say, “The guys call me D-Man.”

  “I can call you D-Licious.”

  “Please don’t.”

  I hate this weather. I could be feeling her body against mine, but we’re wrapped in heavy coats. We need to go indoors pronto. I look back longingly to the appropriately brown-colored chocolate store on the other side of the street. I’m about to suggest we head there when she says, “Drake?”

  “Yep?”

  She turns to face me, blushing. “I have a surprise for you…”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you curious about what Priscilla and I did last night?”

  I shudder. “You got nipple piercings? Like, matching piercings?”

  “No!” She punches me weakly in the arm. But then she looks down, and I can see she’s imagining it. Did I give her an idea?

  “Hello?” I say. “Surprise?”

  “Yeah, right. You’ve got to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “This is getting better and better.”

  She gives me a glimpse of a picture on her cell. I must be imagining things. I grab her wrist and say, “Let me take a better look.”

  She pulls her hand back, laughing. “No!” But she slowly loses the tug-of-war—willingly.

  The image is little grainy. It shows Skye, completely naked, on the edge of a lake, at night. “Skye!”

  “Are you mad?” she asks, still giggling.

  “Of course! You should have used the flash!” I want to make a poster of it. “Send it to me.” She shakes her head. “Come on…”

  “Only if you send me one of you.”

  “No way!” I protest.

  She lets out a hearty laugh.

  “Ah, well played,” I say.

  She makes a little curtsy.

  “You are a different girl,” I say.

  “Bad different?”

  “Just different.”

  She takes the cell from my hands, and it pains me to let it go. “It’s thanks to you,” she says. “And Priscilla.”

  “Do you have one of Priscilla?” I ask. She gives me her ‘seriously?’ expression. “I mean, Boulder would love it.”