Dead Girl Walking Read online

  “Good afternoon, I’m calling from Ledbottom Mortgage International,” droned a computerized recording, “and I can save you a ton of money by offering you a limited low rate to—”

  I. Could. Not. Believe. This.

  Punching disconnect, I started to call Jessica when I heard a scream. I looked over at the car and saw Trinidad yanking off her iPod and rushing toward me. She’d finally noticed I was in trouble—but too late.

  “Ohmygod! Amber!” She stared through the gate incredulously. “What are you doing?”

  “I have a phone signal.” I waved the phone feebly.

  She gaped at my ripped, dirty clothes and the outbreak of red bumps. My too-curly brown hair was a disaster, too. I must look ridiculous, perched on the angel’s halo with my arms stretched out like a giant bird. Not the professional image I preferred.

  “I’ll call my friend Dustin,” I said quickly to cut off any more questions. “He works part-time for a locksmith and can unlock the gate. I’m sorry we’ll be late for the party, but we should make it in time for dessert—which is always the best part of a meal, anyway.”

  “Uh … sure. The party.” She nodded at me like she was afraid to make any sudden movement that might send me completely over the edge. She reached down and plucked a leaf off her silver crossed-strap sandals. “Um … I’ll go sit in the car and listen to my tunes until you’re … um … ready.”

  Sighing, I leaned against the angel’s stone wing and called Dustin.

  “Hey Amber.” He picked up right away, his monotone hinting at distractions. I imagined his gaze glued to one of his monitors as he swiveled in his chair, kicking aside discarded papers and snack wrappers in his self-named “Headquarters,” walled in with bookshelves overflowing with science fiction and political novels.

  “Dustin, thank God you’re there!”

  “Where else would I be? Wassup?”

  “Me.” I stared far, far down to the ground. “Don’t ask.”

  He asked anyway, and I told him.

  “Okay, stop laughing,” I said. “This is serious.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said, still chuckling.

  “I mean it. Trinidad thinks I’m crazy.”

  “Aren’t you? But in an interesting way.”

  “Thank you very much for being so sympathetic.” My arm ached from holding the phone at an awkward angle.

  “Oh, I’m completely sympathetic, but you have to admit it’s hilarious. Someday you’ll laugh about this, too.”

  “Never. Stop laughing. Hurry and get me out of here!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Already leaving my room and heading outside. Getting in my car. Starting the engine. Be there in twenty minutes.”

  “You know how to get here?” I asked, astonished.

  “Sure, the old Gossamer Cemetery. Used to be a historical landmark until they shut it down and rerouted the roads when they put in the Gossamer Estates.” They referred to politicians or the word that Alyce coined and Dustin preferred: “Corrupticians.” He loathed politicians and commented regularly on anti-government blogs.

  Dustin kept talking as he drove, spouting street names that meant nothing to me.

  Fifteen minutes later he arrived in his Prius. He simply walked over to the fence and pulled a huge key ring (bounty from his part-time locksmith job) out of his pocket. He tried over twenty keys before there was a click, and the cemetery gate opened.

  Trinidad applauded. “That was amazing.”

  “I told you Dustin would get me out.” I gave Dustin a quick hug. “Thanks for being my hero. If I ever win the lottery, I owe you half. Now we can head on to the party.”

  Dustin just looked at me with a pitying expression. He didn’t make any jokes about my lack of direction or my appearance. But his gaze said it all—with footnotes. His blatant pity made me angry and tempted to point out his mismatched brown and black socks. But I’d never sink that low, especially since he worked so hard to hide his secret. He was colorblind.

  “Do I look that bad?” I grimaced at my ripped jeans and dirt-stained shirt.

  “Bad would be a compliment.”

  “He’s right.” Trinidad pointed to my arms. “What are all those bumps? A rash?”

  “Nettles.” I rubbed my itchy arm. “Ouch.”

  “You should see a doctor,” Trinidad said sympathetically. “You better get home right away. A party is no big deal—we can go some other time.”

  “We’re going. I’m fine.” I made myself stop scratching.

  “You’re going to a party looking like that?” Dustin asked with disbelief.

  If we were alone, I would tell him honestly how important this party could be to my future. I might never get a chance like this again. Maybe he read my mind, because he sighed and offered to lead us to Jessica’s house. “I’m not risking your getting lost again and ending up on one of those missing-persons TV shows,” he said.

  He also gave me the shirt off his back—literally. “It’s too long for you, but at least it’s clean and the sleeves will cover your bumpy arms.”

  “Thanks, Dustin. You’re the greatest.” I rose on my tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Well, the chin, actually since I couldn’t reach his cheek. He blushed. We’d tried dating once, but it felt like dating my father. Dustin was unusually mature—like someone in his forties rather than seventeen, as if he’d aged in dog years.

  The drive to Gossamer Estates was amazingly quick. I’d been much closer than I’d realized, only missing Jessica’s street by one left turn. Her home wasn’t a house—it was a gleaming white stone mansion with perfectly groomed lawns, shrubs shaped like animals, and a spouting, Grecian-styled fountain at the center of the circular driveway.

  Dustin gave me a thumbs-up as he drove away.

  I won’t lie and say I felt comfortable surrounded by wealth and elegance. But I could get used to it. Although if I lived in a house this big, I’d probably get lost on my way to my own bedroom, which meant a lot of walking—and I hated any form of exercise.

  My smile was wide and confident as Trinidad and I climbed a mountain of polished granite steps. But once I reached Jessica Bradley’s door, my hands started to shake.

  To hide my nervousness, I silently did a ritual that always calmed me: Grammy Greta’s Good Luck Chant. My grandmother had been gone for only a little over a year, but I still missed her so much. Thinking about her made me sad, but happy, too, because she’d been so great. She’d said I could achieve anything, if I worked hard and listened to my heart. A week before she died, she told me she’d had a premonition that my dreams would come true.

  “Impossible,” I’d argued, because I’d just found out that my parents had used my college fund for fertility treatments. They’d promised to pay it back, but the cost of raising triplets was insane.

  “Believe,” Grammy Greta told me. “I have a direct line to wisdom on the other side, and know that great things are in your future.”

  Great things? Did she mean I’d get a scholarship to a prestigious university and become a successful entertainment agent? That I wouldn’t be stuck living at home forever, taking care of the triplets or flipping burgers?

  Then Grammy handed me a rainbow woven bracelet like something you’d pick up at a dollar store. “This is a lucky bracelet,” she said with a mischievous wink. “Twist it three times and repeat the magical chant.”

  “What chant?” I’d asked, playing along.

  She leaned so close I could smell her wintergreen mouthwash. When she whispered a familiar poem about a bear in my ear, I tried not to giggle. Only Grammy would choose such a corny chant: “Twist the bracelet twice to the right then once to the left, and seal the luck with a kiss.”

  I felt really stupid kissing a bracelet, but I did it for Grammy.

  Then she reminded me that this was our secret and not to tell anyone.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I promised, “except Alyce.”

  Grammy chuckled. “Of course. Don’t tell anyone except Alyce.”
/>   When we hugged, I had no idea it would be the last time I hugged my grandmother.

  Now as I stared down at the bracelet I smelled roses—Grammy’s perfume. I turned my bracelet to the right two times, the left once, whispered the chant, then turned my back to Trinidad so she wouldn’t see when I sealed the magic with a kiss.

  And it was the craziest thing—but I imagined I heard Grammy’s voice saying “believe.” I felt my courage rising.

  After that everything was a glamorous blur.

  A maid ushered us into an imposing “foy-yay” with gilt-framed portraits, a standing coat rack, and an elegant oval wall mirror. She checked our names off an official list, then escorted us across a gold-flecked marble floor, past a formal dining room with a crystal chandelier the size of a refrigerator. A curved mahogany staircase arched overhead.

  The maid’s heels made hollow clip-clip sounds on the tile while my sandals clunked and left a dirt trail. Please, no one notice, I prayed.

  We were led to a garden patio with lovely hanging flower baskets and golden crepe streamers. Round tables with white tablecloths and glowing candles were arranged on the faux-grass lawn. Buffet tables oozed with exotic delicacies and a sparkling pink punch waterfall. Way cool!

  A band played on a cement podium where a few kids danced. Most guests were my age, but there were token adults, too. Everyone was talking and laughing in cozy groups, or sitting at the tables with heaping plates of food. I recognized some kids from school, either because we’d shared classes or I’d welcomed them with a HHC basket.

  “Trinidad! Amber!”

  I turned and there was Jessica Bradley, gorgeous in a sapphire-hued sundress that enhanced her blue eyes and smooth olive skin. Waving her multi-ringed hand, she glided over to us and air kissed our cheeks. I almost pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. This so felt like some glam moment from a movie.

  “You made it! I’m so glad,” Jessica said with a sincerity that put me at ease. Well, almost. I was more used to family parties held in a crowded living room. A mansion, maid, caterers … Wow! Why couldn’t my real life be like this?

  “Hi, Jessica,” I said, scratching covertly. “Sorry we’re late. It’s not Trinidad’s fault. I made a wrong turn and—”

  “No need to explain.” Her black curls swayed as she shook her head. “Everyone is late. It’s unfashionably rude to come on time.”

  “Anything not to be rude,” I joked.

  Jessica turned to Trinidad. “You look great—that’s a Kiana original, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Trinidad replied. “Kiana is so new. I can’t believe you recognize her work.”

  “I know all the designers that matter. I almost bought a similar outfit but they only had it in yellow, which is tragic on me. Looks fabulous on you, though, and I love the glitter strands woven in your braid.”

  “Thanks.” Trinidad flashed her future-diva smile, seeming totally at ease.

  “Amber,” Jessica turned to me. “You … um … have such an original style. I’d never be brave enough to wear a guy’s shirt, but it looks so … unique on you.”

  “Uh … thanks.” I think.

  “I’m so glad you came. Not just because you brought Trinidad—which was incredibly sweet of you. With all your basket club experience I’m sure you’ll bring lots of creative ideas to our charity planning committee. It’s important to collect food for starving kids. I feel it’s our duty to do all we can. Don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m going to introduce Trinidad around, since she’s new. Amber, feel free to hang out and help yourself to the buffet.” Jessica waved toward a table heaping with assorted dishes and platters. Then she rushed off toward this blond guy named Tristan I recognized from my trig class—an arrogant jerk who kept trying to cheat off my tests.

  I poured a drink from the pink punch fountain and wandered around, smiling and reminding classmates who I was. I received blank stares. I never had trouble talking with Alyce and Dustin, and wished they were here. But they scorned “society”; this was definitely not their kind of party. I wasn’t sure it was mine, either—although the book Becoming Your Destiny advised to embrace new experiences.

  The buffet was a delicious new experience. I nibbled on spicy chicken legs and oriental noodles while looking around for a friendly face. Across the lawn, in a gazebo, I spotted Trinidad with Jessica and some of her crowd. I started to go over until I noticed that the chairs were full. Could be awkward. So I plopped down next to a chatty woman with silver-blue coifed hair. Leisl, as she asked me to call her, was Jessica’s great aunt. After twenty minutes listening to her stories, I escaped to the dessert buffet.

  Confession: I have a passion for chocolate. I crave, obsess, lust for chocolate—which is why my clothes are double-digit size. It’s a sinful obsession, a constant struggle. Once I start eating chocolate, abandon all hope. I cannot stop.

  “Try the pecan truffles.”

  I turned to find a medium-tall guy with tight brown curls and hazel eyes. Why was he so familiar? He must go to my school, although I couldn’t think of his name.

  “Okay,” I answered, putting a pecan truffle in my mouth. Rich milk chocolate and crunchy nuts. The candy melted in my mouth.

  The guy was nodding, and chewing on his own chocolate pecan. He pointed at a dish heaped with white squares dimpled with red specks. I nodded too, swallowed the chocolate bliss, and tried one of the white squares.

  I moaned in delight. “Oh, this is soooo good.”

  “A true chocolate connoisseur.”

  “These desserts are amazing. So many in one place!”

  His gaze swept the table. “Thirty-seven plates with approximately twenty-five candies on each plate, adding in variables of size, equaling approximately—”

  “Nine hundred and twenty-five candies,” I finished.

  His hazel eyes widened, clearly impressed.

  “I’m a math geek,” I admitted.

  “You, too?”

  “Math just makes sense.”

  “When not much else does.” He nodded.

  “And being good with numbers will come in handy when I start my—” I covered my mouth, shocked that I almost confessed my secret ambition to a near stranger.

  “Start your what?” He tilted his curly-brown head.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on … you can’t leave me hanging with an unknown equation. I won’t be able to sleep tonight trying to figure out the answer.”

  I laughed, liking him even more. He had quiet dignity and intelligence; someone who could be trusted. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, I lowered my voice. “I’m going to be an entertainment agent—dealing with diva personalities, contracts, finances.”

  “You’ll be great at it, I can tell.”

  “You think?” I asked, ridiculously pleased.

  “Definitely. But why an agent? Most people want to be the next American Idol, not a person behind the scenes.”

  “Because I’ve always loved music and … well, I don’t know why I’m telling you this … but to be honest, I have zero talent. I can’t sing, act, or dance. But I like to help people and I recognize talent when I see it.”

  “Sounds like a cool talent to me, more exciting than selling cars like my dad—which is what my family expects.”

  “But is it what you want?”

  “No, but I don’t know what I want—except more chocolate.” He licked caramel off his lip and gestured at the dessert table. “There are nearly a thousand candies to choose from. What next?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Let’s try them all.”

  I summoned restraint and shook my head. “I have to stop. Or I’ll regret it later.”

  “Why? Chocolate is the best thing about this party. Or at least it was.” He flashed this really sweet smile that lit up his otherwise average face. Um, was he flirting with me?

  I glanced away, my heart fluttering a little, and pointed to a dish of
black-and-white striped chocolates. “Okay … just one more. But which one? These look like zebra candy.”

  “Zebra candy?” He chuckled. “Good name.”

  “Do you have a name … I mean, I know you have a name, everyone does, what I mean, is what is it?”

  “Eli. And you’re Amber.”

  My cheeks burned. “Do I know you?”

  “When my brother and I left this boring private school and started at Halsey, you gave us a cool welcome basket.”

  “I did?” I studied him, but drew a blank. “I’m usually good with names, but I don’t remember—”

  “I get that a lot when I’m with my brother.” He reached out for one of the black-and-white striped chocolates. “Try a zebra. They’re actually called domino dips, but zebra is better. That’s what I’ll call them from now on.”

  He lifted the “zebra” to my lips. I got that fluttery feeling again, and hesitated. Then I opened my lips slightly, curling my tongue around the candy. Sweet milky chocolate swam around my taste buds and slid down my throat.

  “Good?” he asked softly.

  “Ummm,” was my answer.

  Our eyes met over the dessert table. We shared a moment of chocolate understanding. As cliché as it might sound, it was like we were the only ones at the party. The band’s music faded so all I heard was the quick beat of my heart, accompanied by the melting richness of chocolate.

  Then he glanced down and flicked off some candy that had fallen on his black slacks. His elbow bumped against the table and dishes rattled. He rubbed at the spot on his slacks but that only blobbed it even bigger.

  An odd look crossed his face. “I—I’ve got to go.”

  Before I could even ask what was wrong, he turned and disappeared inside, through the French doors.

  Why had he left? Had I done or said something to offend him?

  Disappointed, I turned back to the dessert table.

  And reached for chocolate.

  With Eli gone, the glamour faded from the party.

  I just wanted to go home—which surprised me. What happened to all my ambitions to make connections with influential people? In theory this sounded easy enough but up-close-in-action, it felt dishonest. I’d check with Trinidad and see if she was ready to leave.