Dead Girl Dancing

gaze strayed back to the father and daughter, I wondered if she had issues with her own father. Except it wasn’t the man she was staring at — it was the little girl. A suspicion came to me. But I couldn’t just come out and ask her something so personal — especially something I was supposed to already know. How was I going to find out?

“That little girl is cute,” I said carefully. “She’s about the age of my … um … the little triplet sisters of this girl I know.”

“Triplets! I can’t imagine carrying three babies at once. The mother must have horrible stretch marks.”

“She had a C-section, and was on bed rest for months.”

“What a nightmare. I’d never want to go through that.”

And just the way she said it, I knew her secret without Grammy, Sharayah or even the GEM telling me.

“Mauve, can you show me the picture again?” I asked softly. “Of your daughter.”

* * *

You never really know people, even when they stay in their own body.

Mauve had seemed all bitchy and irresponsible, but that was only the outside. Inside, she loved so much that when a guy broke her heart and left her pregnant, she gave up the baby to an adoptive family who needed to give love as much as the baby needed to be loved.

When Mauve showed me the picture of herself holding a baby, I could have cried. The baby was two years old now and named Jenna, and Mauve’s only contact was a picture in the mail every year on Jenna’s birthday. In a private way, Mauve was a genuine heroine and I respected her, maybe even liked her. I had less respect for Sadie — who’d seemed so fun and nice when we’d first met, but couldn’t be trusted.

For the first time since living in a college-aged body, my soul caught up in experience. I felt even older than Sharayah. Things that seemed important a week ago — making welcome baskets to give to new students at school, achieving a 4.0 average and trying not to show how uncool I really was despite all the self-help books — seemed unimportant. When I was me again, I’d look the same, but inside I’d be forever changed.

My emotions were still raw a few hours later, when Sadie, Mauve and I met up at the crappo condo. None of us had planned to meet, but here we all were. Together again, pretending that nothing had changed.

“I’m so over Warren,” Sadie insisted as she rifled through her suitcase until she found a jade-green tube dress. “Let’s have a girls’ night out at Club Revolution.”

“I’m in,” Mauve said as she tried to figure out the latch on the fold-out bed. “And I’m going to wear my sexiest dress tonight so that when Alonzo sees me, he’ll regret going off with that tramp in the pink bikini.”

“At least Alonzo isn’t in jail,” Sadie said sadly.

“Better him than you,” Mauve said with a meaningful look. “Did you take care of things?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sadie retorted, all wide-eyed and innocent.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Mauve narrowed her eyes. “Did you?”

“What do you think? That I’m stupid? I’ll handle it when I’m ready, okay?” Sadie glared back at Mauve, then slammed her suitcase. “I’m going to shower.”

She stormed off, the door banging so loud behind her that I jumped.

“That went well,” Mauve said with a grim smile.

“You think?” I shook my head, sure they were both insane.

“Actually, yes. By tonight she’ll forget about hating me and tell me about whatever new guy she’s interested in. It’s not like she needs to steal — her parents are both lawyers and loaded. She just does it for attention, so I give her attention and she’s okay. Some problems are easy to fix.”

Mauve said this so sadly, I knew she was thinking about her daughter again.

But there would be no more talking about this or any other problems tonight.

It was Girls’ Night Out — and we were going to party.

* * *

Club Revolution was tucked behind a church and a liquor store, almost hidden beyond the crush of bodies flowing into it. By the time we arrived, the place was rocking with wild music. People weren’t just dancing inside the club, either, but outside on the terrace, hands waving and laughter rippling like uncorked champagne.

Walking between my two roommates, I felt self-conscious, wondering if everyone was comparing us. Gorgeous, pink-haired Mauve wore a slinky halter-top with black leather pants; petite Sadie had her long braids coiled high on her head and held in place with a glittery tiara that made her look like an exotic princess; and tall, thin Sharayah, excited but nervous, wore a long-sleeved, white knit shirt over a swirled skirt — which was a little boring for clubbing, but had a hidden pocket which was perfect for tucking away the GEM.

My last night as Sharayah, I thought, with both relief and regret. I planned to have fun — but within reason. Which is why when my friends offered to get me a drink, I said I’d go get my own, and bought a Coke. (Rum and Coke, I’d tell anyone who asked.)

We made our way to a table, sitting down with our drinks. Immediately a blond guy with wire-rimmed glasses came over and asked Mauve to dance. She checked him out, smiled as if she liked what she saw, then drained her drink in one gulp and waved at us as she headed for the dance floor.

Sadie watched her enviously and said something to me, but the band was so loud I couldn’t hear her. She gestured to me and then to the dancing crowd, tilting her head in a You want to dance? gesture.

I shook my head and mouthed, “No.”

Sadie shrugged, then went off on her own, melting into the throng of dancers.

The music was so fantastic, like an invisible magnet pulling at my body. Maybe I would join Sadie. It wasn’t like I needed a guy to dance with. Girls danced together all the time. Or I could just sit here, sip my drink and think “strategy” for the Voice Choice competition.

Eli had agreed to drive me, and we were leaving before daylight. I didn’t expect the competition to be huge like the mega-thousands lining up for American Idol—there would probably be only a few hundred entrants. Still, I had to make sure Sharayah got noticed. Luckily I’d read lots of books about the music industry and knew that gimmicks like showing up in a costume were for amateurs. Professionalism and perfect pitch were key. Sharayah already had a great voice; I’d supply the professional attitude.

Song selection would be tricky. I had a few ideas, but wasn’t sure which suited Sharayah’s voice best. Eli could help me decide, I thought, taking another sip of Coke.

It seemed like fate was paving the way for Sharayah’s singing stardom. She had the voice, I had the know- how and Eli would be there for support.

What could go wrong?

As if thinking about Eli had its own magical power, I looked up and there he was.

“So how’d you get in? Aren’t you underage?” I teased.

“No younger than you,” he said, loud enough to be overheard even in the noisy nightclub.

“But my I.D. shows I’m twenty-one.”

“I.D. isn’t so hard to come by … one way or another.” His smile always curved a little unevenly, which was so cute. He was dressed in black slacks and a button-down beige shirt — probably too formal for a beach-themed nightclub where half the dancers wore swim trunks or bikinis, but I thought he looked perfect.

I gestured for him to sit down, but he shook his head and pointed to the dance floor. “Want to dance?”

My feet were tapping and my body swaying, so the answer was yes. I did want to dance, and specifically with him. I stood and clasped his hand; his gentle yet firm, warm, comfortable hand that I wanted to hold forever.

As we neared the dancers, a familiar pink-haired girl slipped out of the crowd and hurried toward us.

“I see you changed your mind about dancing.” Although the sound was louder on the dance floor, the acoustics must have been better because I could hear Mauve fine.

I nodded. “Yeah. Eli asked me.”

“You’re going to dance with him?” she asked incredulously.

Eli and I immediately dropped our hands and stepped apart.

Mauve rolled her eyes, then looked closer at Eli. “Too young, but cute enough for some fun. Go find someone who doesn’t share your DNA, Rayah, and I’ll dance with little bro.”