I DRESS UP AS A zombie. Polly is mortified, not because my costume is particularly scary but because I’ve picked the ugliest costume available. I think she’s mostly annoyed that she doesn’t get to do my hair.
“Seriously,” she says, holding her nose while Amy sprays my wildly teased and deliberately messy hair. “Is this some weird sort of defense mechanism?”
Amy is getting used to how upfront Polly is. It’s nice to see. She doesn’t flinch at all, just keeps spraying. I’ll probably have to avoid open flames for the next two weeks.
“No,” I say. “It’s what I had handy.”
“At least she’s not a zombie cheerleader,” Amy offers.
“Thanks,” I say. If there’s a hierarchy to zombie costumes, I’m probably at the bottom of it. The clever and creative people go as zombie pirates or zombie nurses. I’m just a mess. It’s possible that someone will think I am dressed as a homeless person.
“Are we fashionably late enough yet?” Amy asks. I think she’s nervous. Her costume doesn’t involve a mask, so the other cheerleaders will probably recognize her.
“We will be once I finish my makeup,” I tell her.
I break out the greens and browns, and set to discolouring my face.
“Maybe you should have gone as Medusa,” Polly says. “That’s a hairstyle I could rock.”
“Imagine how different your life would be if you could see the back of your own head,” I say.
“I’ve given it some thought,” she replies. She’s dressed as the Queen of Hearts, not a princess, with an enormous crown and a ball gown recycled from some formal event her mother attended. She’s added an enormous starched collar to it, and a crinoline for volume. She’s striking, and every time Amy looks at her, she blushes. Fortunately the dance will be dark. And Polly will have a croquet mallet.
Amy sits patiently on the bed. Polly had nixed the cat costume she’d brought from Mississauga, and instead Amy is dressed as a vampire, the traditional sort that’s all cape and fangs, not the sparkly sort that would require too much body glitter. Her hair curls much better than mine does, which mollified Polly a little bit, and is done up in a sweeping style that I fear will not survive shaking it like any kind of picture.
“Are you sure about this?” Amy asks. “I mean, you’re really good under pressure, but I’m really not. What if someone finds out and it’s my fault? I’m totally fine with staying in, if you’d rather.”
I feel very, very intrusive, but Polly sits down beside Amy and takes her hand like they’re the only two people in the room.
“I am not afraid of them,” she says. It is absolutely the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life that does not involve a puppy. “And I really want to go dancing.”
“And, Hermione?” Amy says, looking up at me. “Are you okay?”
“Totally,” I say. “I kind of miss dancing too, and if I do freak out, I want people I trust with me. That’s Polly and you.”
“Thanks,” she says.
“And if someone does figure it out and starts a rumour, we’ll just deal with it,” Polly says. “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, and all that crap.”
“Do you ever dream of the day when your life can no longer be adequately summarized by Kelly Clarkson songs?” I ask.
“All the time,” Polly says. “Let’s go. We’re late enough to have missed the awkward openings. Hopefully there will be enough people now that it won’t feel completely ridiculous.”
It’s pretty ridiculous. They have dances in the gym, because the cafeteria ceiling isn’t high enough for the music rental place to hang its spotlights. The gym is way too big, both to decorate effectively and for the number of kids who show up. They do turn off the lights and let the rental company take care of everything, so at least it’s not lit like a grocery store. Still, it’s pretty hard to ignore the basketball nets and the tape on the floor from where Caledon has marked out our cheer routines.
In spite of that, though, we have fun. The Halloween dance usually has a pretty good turnout, because kids our age don’t get too many chances to dress up otherwise. The front foyer is covered in black and orange crepe paper, and there are jack-o’-lanterns placed around the gym doors, because Mallory’s dad is always happy to donate stuff like that to the school. Mallory is waiting for us in the foyer, along with Karen and Brenda. Chelsea is at her dad’s for the weekend, or she’d be here too. When they see Amy, they practically mob her, shrieking hello at a pitch that has probably attracted the attention of any dog within ten kilometres, and hugging her all at the same time.
“Hey!” says Polly. “Watch the hair!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” says Karen. “I didn’t get this far in life not knowing how to hug someone with an updo.”
Brenda links arms with me, which makes it look totally natural when Polly links arms with Amy, and we all go into the dance together. There’s the typical crowd of grade tens jumping up and down in the middle of the room, and a bunch of guys hanging out around the edge of the gym, leaning against the bleachers. Caledon and a couple of other teachers patrol the floor, though I’m pretty sure Caledon is less concerned with how close people are dancing than she is with people messing up her tape marks.
Mallory totally tries to make a break for the edge, where she can watch and pretend she’s counting who’s here or something like that for the students’ council, but Polly is ready for that, and grabs her arm.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she says, shouting because of the bass.
Mallory grins, in spite of herself, and I relax completely. I’d been nervous, but this is how my life used to be, and I miss it. It’s nice to be back. I let Brenda pull me out onto the floor, and the six of us dance like no one is watching.
The boys break in about four songs later, masked and hooting, and scrupulously avoiding me. Just as they settle into the circle, a slow song starts. I make a quick escape for the punch bowl, but Amy is less fortunate. Tig catches her, and she agrees to dance with him fairly quickly, with a smile on her face, even. I shoot a glance at Polly, but she’s laughing too. Polly never, ever tires of getting the last laugh when it comes to dealing with Tig, and I suppose having to sit on this one for a while doesn’t make it any less fulfilling.
Polly agrees to dance with Eric, who is either brave because he’s masked or already drunk. I see Leo start to head towards the refreshment table too, and consider changing direction, but then Mallory surprises me by taking one for the team and grabbing his hand. He seems surprised, but dances with her anyway. There’s a chasm between them, and it doesn’t look like either of them are having any fun at all, but at least I can get a drink in peace. I hesitate for just a moment as I ladle myself a glass. It’s not like punch bowls at high school dances don’t get spiked. But Mrs. Abernathy has been camped out here since, as far as I can tell, the dawn of time, so I just have to take it on faith that she’s done her job. I imagine there was a staff meeting about that too. “Hermione Winters will be at the dance,” they were told, “so you make sure no one interferes with that punch bowl!” Or maybe it was more about how the teachers would like to prevent any of the students from getting drunk on school property. In any case, the punch is cold, which is what I was after, and I bring Mallory a cup as a thank-you when the song winds down, and she smiles.
The beat picks back up again, a loud and throbbing tone that unsettles my stomach and makes me feel uncomfortable. I can’t place the song right away, which is unusual for me. Eric keeps us all pretty up-to-date on what’s new and danceable on the music scene. I take a sip of my drink, the plastic cup scratching against my overly made-up face, and it hits me. I drop the cup without meaning to, but there’s not a lot of punch left in it, so it doesn’t cause too much of a stir when it splashes on the floor. Polly, who is fake-grinding with Dion, sees me and her face clouds over. I am walking backwards, trying to get out, but there are people everywhere all of a sudden.
Tig slips in the punch and swears. He’s definitely drunk, because that wouldn’t usually be enough to make him fall, and he lands hard on the gym floor. There’s a melee on the dance floor as Polly tries to get to me, but her skirt gets caught in Tig’s arms, and there was apparently more punch than I thought there was, because all of a sudden people are sliding everywhere. My breath comes faster, and then I start to worry that it’s going to stop coming at all.
Hands close around my shoulders and I start to panic. I’m about a nanosecond from screaming, when I recognize Dion. He’s lifting me out of the crowd, carrying me to the edge of the gym, and when he sets me down, I’ve more or less got ahold of myself.
“Are you okay?” he yells. He has his face right next to my ear, and he’s too close, but if he were farther away I wouldn’t be able to hear him.
“It’s the song,” I shout back. He smells like sweat and cheap costume makeup. There’s no pine. There was nothing in the punch. I’m safe.
“Hermione!” Polly crashes into me, Amy right behind her. They drag me away from Dion and towards the hallway, where it will be quieter and I can hide from the music until the song is over. It’s so loud that I can’t tell them that I was okay. That I felt safe with Dion. I think they needed to rescue me. So I let them.