4
Sarabeth pulled up to the curb two blocks from Teena’s house in her mom’s pink-and-ivory Gussy Me Up van. Cameron had to pick up his semi-skanky girlfriend from St. Christopher’s in Lawn Grove, two towns over, so he’d taken their mom’s new Escape hybrid SUV, while Sarabeth was stuck with the van. The vehicle was so obnoxious she might as well have been driving a giant cold sore.
A few girls Sarabeth recognized as dance squad members strutted down the sidewalk toward Teena’s house, their shoulders bared in shimmery tanks and halters. As they passed, they shot looks at the van. Feeling ridiculous, Sarabeth ducked her head, pretending to look for something on the passenger seat.
After enough time had passed, she made her way up Teena’s walk, holding the chilly bottle of Chardonnay and feeling stupid. She rang the bell, even though the front door was still partially open. Karen Walsh, who presided over all of Ermer’s anti-drinking programs, opened it the rest of the way, looking tipsy. Sarabeth handed her the invitation and the wine. Karen made a weird face at the wine and the invite, then slur-yelled, “Teeeeennna, I don’t know this girl.”
Sarabeth leaned against the railing alongside the stairs, feeling suddenly small. It was hard enough psyching herself up to go to an Interior party. At the very least, she wanted to get in.
Teena materialized in the living room, sauntering up to the door. “Karen, you didn’t have to yell. Sarabeth!” Teena cooed shrilly. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
She stepped backward into her house and gestured for Sarabeth to come inside. The house was much bigger than the one Teena had lived in when they were friends, and Sarabeth tentatively entered the foyer. It was a wide, high-ceilinged space situated between a massive living room, where most of the furniture had been cleared out and guests danced or gathered around a low china-cabinet-turned-makeshift-bar, and an equally large dining room, where three kegs were lined up next to an oak staircase. Sarabeth recognized some of Cameron’s football teammates playing beer pong on the polished mahogany table.
She unbuttoned her pea coat and slid out of it, leaving just a thin sweater between herself and a room full of people. She suddenly felt naked, even though her sweater was practically a burka compared with the low-cut tops every other girl wore. From an evolutionary standpoint, none of the guys here would notice a girl in a long-sleeved, modestly cut sweater. I have nothing to show off, she thought, pushing up her sleeves. Wrists would have to do.
“I thought you’d show up with your brother, though,” Teena said to Sarabeth with a blindingly white smile. “Where is Cameron?”
Sarabeth rolled her eyes nonchalantly, like she and Teena constantly had conversations about Cameron. “He’s picking up his girlfriend, Nina. She goes to St. Christopher’s in Lawn Grove. God only knows why they got back together.”
Teena’s face fell, and in that instant Sarabeth knew she’d been right: Teena had only invited her to get to Cameron. Cameron and Nina had broken things off just after Valentine’s Day; maybe Cameron hadn’t put the word out that they’d reunited on Nina’s birthday last week.
“Yeah, I don’t get why your brother is with her, either,” Teena said in a clipped tone very different from the one she’d used to greet Sarabeth. She clapped her hands together. “Well, why don’t I give you a quick walk-through and show you where to put that?” She pointed at the pea coat draped over Sarabeth’s arms like it was a dead animal.
Teena turned on her high heels and wove expertly around Faith Miller and three of her friends, who were grinding messily with each other. They passed a couple making out and two jocks engaging in a chugging contest. This isn’t a party, it’s an obstacle course, Sarabeth thought, feeling disheartened. Who was she going to talk to?
Teena turned down a long dim hallway that led past a laundry room and toward a big metal door. “I’m having everyone put their coats in the basement,” she explained. She walked ahead of Sarabeth, accessing the door with a thumbprint pad and a keycard like something out of a spy movie.
Sarabeth debated saying she didn’t feel well and just leaving. She could even go get a coffee somewhere so her mom wouldn’t question her early return. But then she reminded herself that the hardest part had to be walking through the door in the first place. She would give it an hour.
Teena was waiting with an impatient look etched on her pretty face. “Head down the stairs, and on your left, you’ll see a rack of coats where you can hang yours, ’kay?”
Sarabeth forced a smile, wondering how she and Teena had ever been friends. She stepped onto the dimly lit staircase, and cool, dry air hit her skin. At the bottom of the staircase, Sarabeth looked left for the rack Teena had mentioned, but there was nothing in sight. No coats to the right, either. Teena’s light giggle descended from the top of the stairs, and a chill crept up Sarabeth’s spine. She looked back toward the big metal door just as it closed, in a solid, heavy, airtight kind of way.
Sarabeth ran to the top of the staircase, pushing against the door. It had no knob. No discernible handle on the inside. There was a keycard slit and another thumbprint pad, and that was it. Her stomach instantly tied itself in dozens of painful little knots. How long would she be down here? Why had she trusted Teena to send her down a dark, cold staircase? Why on earth, when she’d wondered about the worst thing that could happen, hadn’t she thought of this? And why did she have the sinking feeling the worst was still to come?