I HATED FEELING LIKE THIS. Like my body was so heavy I couldn’t move. Like someone was pressing an iron down on my chest. My brain was full of fog, and I was so bored but I couldn’t think of a thing to do. And even when I did think of something to do—like clean my room or make my bed or figure out some kind of design plan for the gala, which was just over week away—I couldn’t put together enough enthusiasm to lift my head.
What I really needed to do was call Tash and surrender—tell her to do it herself or hire a professional—but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t admit defeat. Even though I felt so very defeated.
You’re depressed, Cecilia.
Gigi’s voice came out of nowhere, and I realized I hadn’t thought about her in a few days. Which was weird, because I’d thought about her every day of my life, even before she died. Gigi had been my go-to ear when anything went wrong, and there had been days when I’d considered calling her eighteen times, but somehow managed to save it all up for one long blubber-fest.
But now, she was gone. And I had no one to blubber to.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Cecilia.
But I couldn’t do that. I didn’t know how.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lying on the couch, staring at the wall—I hadn’t had the energy to find the remote—when there was a pounding on the door. I sat up straight. It sounded like there was a mob coming up the stairs. I heard voices and laughter, and shushing, then giggles.
“Who is it?” I called.
More giggles.
I shoved myself off the couch and immediately all the blood rushed from my head, so I had to steady myself against the kitchen island. My arm throbbed inside its cast and I realized, suddenly, that I was starving. When was the last time I’d eaten? As I was reaching for the door, whoever was on the other side pounded so hard, the whole thing shuddered.
“Who is it?” I asked again, my voice cracking this time.
“Party Patrol! Open up! You’re under arrest!”
I let out a breath and rolled my eyes. “Duncan!”
When I yanked the door open, Duncan was standing there with Fiona, Frederick, Ryan, and a few other kids I recognized from town. Everyone had a brown bag and everyone was smiling.
“We figured we wouldn’t be able to get you to come out and party, so we brought the party to you!” Duncan announced.
He breezed past me and dropped his bag on the island, sending some of Britta’s magazines sliding to the floor.
“Duncan, no,” I protested as Fiona, Frederick, and the others filed in. “You heard what Britta said the other day. We can’t have a party here. She’ll kill me.”
And she’ll throw me out, I thought to myself.
“We will not let this happen, Cecilia Montgomery,” Frederick said, slinging one arm around me. He reeked of cologne and looked like he hadn’t shaved in two days. “It is a small party. Nothing crazy.”
I glanced around as people settled themselves on the couches and Ryan turned on the television, scrolling quickly through the stations. Frederick was right. There were only nine people there. I could keep control of nine people. But the question was, did I want to? Answer: Hell no.
Fiona placed a couple of plastic bags on the counter and started to pull out takeout containers from the diner. I smelled fries and my stomach sat up at attention.
“You brought food?” I asked weakly.
“Oh, the Taylors always bring food,” Fiona said over her shoulder. She shot me this cautious/hopeful look and I realized we should really talk. The stalemate between us couldn’t go on forever. Also, she was holding fries.
“Okay, fine,” I said, inspiring a high-five between Frederick and Duncan. “But no belly shots. And no daredevil crap. I don’t want anyone trying to jump out our front windows into a bouncy house or something.”
Duncan glanced over at the front of the apartment and the street beyond. “Actually . . .”
I whacked his arm with my cast.
“Ow!” we both said.
“I was just kidding,” Duncan added.
“You’d better be,” I said as Frederick popped open a beer. I glanced at Fiona. “Tell me you have some fried green tomatoes.”
And Fiona smiled.
* * *
There were a lot of people in my apartment. Definitely more than nine. When had they multiplied? And why was it so hot? And sticky. My fingers were very sticky. I pressed them against the wall to see if I could climb it like Spider-Man, but instead I ended up on my ass.
That caused a lot of laughter.
“Oh my God, Lia, you are so drunk!” Fiona cried, clinging to a longneck beer bottle with one hand as she pulled me up with another.
“I am not! I’m sticky!” I told her, flexing my fingers in front of her face. I couldn’t be drunk. Not again. I had promised myself I wouldn’t.
“Ew! Disgusting! Stay away!”
She screeched and ran and I tore after her, knowing I looked like a dork and not caring. I stepped on something soft, then something hard, then almost went sprawling. Frederick caught me before I could hit the deck and break my other arm.
“You okay, Cecilia Montgomery?” he asked.
His eyes looked a little swimmy. Or were those mine?
“Yes, thank you,” I said primly, standing up straight and holding up my arm. “One cast is enough for this girl.”
Oh crap. My cast. Someone had drawn a huge penis on my cast.
“Who did this!?” I shouted.
I heard a snort and a laugh, but no one claimed responsibility. Duncan seemed to be laughing the hardest though.
“You!” I shouted, and somehow couldn’t help laughing. “Both of you Taylors are dead to me.”
Everyone “ooohed.” Fiona threw a marshmallow at me. I have no idea where she got a marshmallow.
“This means war!” I cried.
“I will defend my sister to the death!” Duncan announced, climbing up on top of the coffee table and raising his beer high.
This, of course, got a rousing cheer from everyone. I chucked a pillow at his head and he tumbled off onto the floor, then sprang up, grabbed Fiona’s hand, and ran for the door shouting, “Retreat!”
“Attack!” I yelled.
And suddenly, the entire party was barreling out the door and down the stairs. I felt sweat drip down the back of my neck as I made the turn, clinging to the railing. The stairwell tilted and I tried to pause, but a dozen pairs of feet pounded the stairs behind me and I was shoved out of the way into the brick wall. My stomach heaved, and I clung to the coarse grain of the bricks until everyone else had passed me. Their hoots and hollers echoed out into the night.
I took a few deep breaths. I could just go back upstairs. Go back upstairs and lock the door and none of them would be able to get back in. I’d be back where I’d wanted to be when the night began. Alone.
But I didn’t want to be alone anymore. There was nothing to do but follow the crowd.
I slowly made it down the last few steps and along the alley onto the street. Most of the partiers had run across Main to the park in the square and were chasing one another around, screaming and laughing. The cool evening air hit me and I felt instantly more awake and less nauseous. I felt free. I jogged across and spotted Duncan and Frederick near the head of the pack. Duncan’s back was exposed. I sprinted across the park and jumped on him.
He staggered sideways but stayed on his feet. I clung to his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist.
“What’re you doing?” He laughed.
“You were supposed to go down! I was trying to tackle you!” I cried.
“Nice try,” he said, his hands cupping my thighs to steady me.
“Cecilia, come,” Frederick said. “Let us get you down from there.”
He wrapped one arm around me from behind, between my stomach and Duncan’s back, and tugged. I didn’t immediately let go, and Duncan tripped backward.
“Frederick, don’t!”
Before I knew what was happening, their feet got tangled up together and we all landed in a knot on the ground. My arm throbbed. I groaned and looked left and there was Frederick, his face just centimeters from mine.
“You are very beautiful, Cecilia Montgomery,” he said.
And then he kissed me.
He tasted like beer and Cool Ranch Doritos. I almost threw up in his mouth. And then a bright light blinded me.
“Hey! What the hell!”
Frederick broke off the kiss and sat up. Duncan was already on his feet. A swarm of photographers had surrounded us. Someone’s heavy boot came down on my good hand and I cried out in pain.
“Cecilia, are you all right?” Frederick asked.
There were people running everywhere. Feet and legs and bright lights. Hands grabbed at me and someone screamed.
“Cecilia! Cecilia! What’s the new guy’s name!”
“Cecilia, turn this way!”
“Where’s Jasper? Are you guys planning a threesome?”
Oh my God, now I really was going to throw up.
One of the photographers reached down and nudged my shoulder. I looked over and he took a close-up of my face.
“Get your hands off her,” Duncan shouted.
Frederick cursed in French and advanced on the man. “Give to me your camera,” he demanded.
The man kept the lens glued to his face, firing off shots of Frederick even as he backed away. I scrambled to my feet.
“Are you crazy?” the photog said.
“I am not crazy. You did not ask to take her picture. You are a heathen,” Frederick said. “Give to me your camera or I will take it from you.”
The man lowered his camera slightly. “Who the hell do you think you—”
Frederick reached out, grabbed the long zoom lens, and flung the camera to the pavement. Something cracked, but that wasn’t enough for Frederick. He lifted his foot and brought it down—hard.
Everyone started shouting at once. The photographers, the partiers. Shirts were grabbed. Shoulders shoved. A fist flew. Someone hit the ground next to me and I jumped out of the way.
“You guys, stop!” I screamed. “Someone’s gonna get hurt!”
But they were still taking pictures. Some of the photogs were circling the fight, snapping away. One of them got right up in my face, so close I could smell her perfume and see a tiny scar on her wrist. She noticed the penis on my arm, laughed, and snapped a close-up of it.
“So much for America’s sweetheart, huh, Cecilia?”
There was a whoop of a police siren. I saw red, but not because of the lights.
“Screw you, you psycho!” I shouted.
And before I knew what I was doing, her camera was in my hand, and then I was hurling it as hard as I could. It hit the back of a police car.
Five seconds later, I was in handcuffs.