“Wow,” Marissa says as she watches Clarice wrap her arms around the guy’s neck. “I guess she wasn’t kidding when she said she wasn’t afraid.”
“I guess not,” I say morosely. Although if I looked like her, I wouldn’t be afraid either.
“Wait until that guy she’s dancing with finds out he’s not getting any,” Marissa says. “He’s going to be so pissed.” She keeps throwing glances over to the other side of the room, where Jeremiah is deep in conversation with Julia.
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. One new text. Cooper. “‘TIME’S RUNNING OUT,’” it says. Time’s running out? What does that even mean? No one said anything about there being a time limit on all of this. I mean, what does he think this is, an episode of 24? I should be able to take my time. I look over to the corner, and Cooper’s still there with a bunch of his dumb friends, calmly drinking his drink and laughing with them and not even looking at me.
“What does the text say?” Marissa asks. She gets in close to me and reads it. “‘Time’s running out’?” She frowns. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I say, “that if I don’t do what they say, like, now, they’re going to post my notebook online.” Okay. I take a deep breath. I can do this. What’s one second of humiliation compared to a lifetime of humiliation? Because, let’s face it, that’s what will happen if that notebook gets out. Much better to be laughed at by a random guy I don’t know than have the whole school knowing my secrets.
“Uh-oh,” Marissa says.
“What?” I ask. I look out onto the dance floor, which is rapidly becoming filled with people. Clarice is still dancing with the hottie, only now her back is to his front, and he’s got his hands on her hips. Wow. I never knew Clarice had such good rhythm. She’s like a little minx out there.
“Not Clarice,” Marissa says, elbowing me. “Look.”
I follow her gaze across the room until my eyes land on the guy I’m supposed to be asking to dance. Before, he was just sitting there all by himself, bopping his head to the music in this semi-dorky fashion. Now he is flanked by a girl on either side! And he is talking to them.
Well, not to both of them. One of the girls is talking to his friend. What? Where did his friend come from? He was by himself just two seconds ago. Now I’m going to have to ask him to dance in front of his friend! And two girls, both of whom have very, very long blond hair and are very, very tan. In November. Hello, girls, skin cancer, ever heard of it?
“You better go,” Marissa says. “If he starts dancing with one of them …” She trails off, and I’m not sure if she means I’ll never get a chance to ask him, or if he just won’t want to dance with me. I don’t stick around to find out, and before I can stop myself, I’m pushing through the crowd on my way over to the guy.
It becomes rather obvious rather quickly that even if I did want to ask this guy to dance, it’s going to be, uh, kind of difficult. Their whole group is sitting in a round booth, and him and his friend are in the middle, with the two girls on the outside, surrounding them like some kind of security guards. The weird thing is, I totally think they planned it. The girls, I mean. They planned it so that no one else could get at the guys. Unless those guys are their boyfriends. But that would be a complete disaster, so I decide to push that thought right out of my mind.
I stand by the side of the booth for a second, trying to come up with some sort of brilliant plan, but not sure exactly what to do. I mean, I’ve never done this before. And also, you know, it’s awkward. Clarice made it look easy, yeah, but she didn’t have to contend with OTHER GIRLS. I’m about to say forget it and just take the chance that my notebook is going to get passed around the school (humiliation that takes place in the future might be better than real, right-now, immediate humiliation) when I catch Cooper’s eye across the room, and even though he’s kind of far away and it’s totally possible that I might be imagining it, I swear to God I see him smirk.
He smirks! At me! Well, more at the situation, like he doesn’t think I can do it.
And so, before I can stop myself, I turn around and take a few steps until I’m standing in front of the table where my target is sitting.
“Hello,” I say, plastering a huge smile on my face. But the music is pretty loud, and so they don’t hear me. Either that, or they’re just ignoring me. Which is a very real possibility. “Hello!” I say again, louder this time. One of the girls looks up at me.
“Hi,” she says. She looks me up and down, then rolls her eyes and goes back to talking to the guy I’m supposed to be asking to dance. Okaaaay.
“Hey!” I try again, pretty much screaming now.
“Yeah?” the girl says. What is her problem? Doesn’t she know that it is extremely obvious that I am not talking to her? Actually, now that I think about it, maybe it isn’t.
“Not you,” I say, forcing my smile to grow even bigger. Might as well be friendly. Don’t want to start any weird competition thing, since, you know, it probably won’t work out in my favor. The girl looks me up and down again, frowns, and then goes back to sipping her drink.
I look over my shoulder to where Marissa was sitting, but there are so many people here now that I can’t see through the crowd. I’m about to scream again, when the guy I’m supposed to be asking to dance finally notices me standing there. He breaks out into a big smile, and my heart leaps up into my chest. He’s smiling! Does that mean maybe he thinks I’m cute? I try to very covertly yank my shirt down a little to show some more cleavage.
“Hi,” he says. I can’t hear his voice that well over the music, but I think it might sound sexy. I swallow hard.
“Hi,” I say. He’s still smiling, and I start to feel a little more optimistic. He wouldn’t be smiling if he thought I was completely gross, would he? Take that, blond suntan girls! And take that, 318s! This is going to be easier than I thought! Maybe he’ll even become my boyfriend. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Meeting the love of my life when I’m on this crazy—
“We’ll have another round,” he says, motioning to the table.
“Another what?” I ask, frowning. And then I get it. Oh. My. God. He thinks I’m a waitress! He is ordering drinks from me, like I am some kind of paid employee of THE CLUB, when I am supposed to be asking him TO DANCE.
“Another round,” he says, slowly this time. Now he’s looking at me like I might be slow.
“I’m not a waitress,” I say. “Um, I came over here to ask you to dance.”
The girl sitting with him snorts, like she can’t believe how dumb that is. Her friend giggles, and his friend has the wherewithal to look embarrassed and study the bottom of his glass, where all that’s left is some melted ice.
But to my surprise, the guy shrugs and then says, “Sure.” Before I even realize what’s going on, he’s moving Blond Suntan Girl Number One over and getting out of the booth.
And then he’s standing, taking my hand, and leading me through the crowd, right past Cooper Marriatti and onto the dance floor.
So, the thing is, I don’t really know how to dance. Like, my experience with dancing is kind of … limited. And when I say limited, I mean, you know, nonexistent.
“My name’s Rich,” the guy says as he leans into me.
“I’m Eliza,” I say back. But he doesn’t seem to really hear. Or even care.
He reaches out and grabs my hips and before I know it, he’s grinding on me. Like, really grinding on me. Yikes. Uh, it feels like he might be … um, pretty happy to be dancing with me, if you know what I mean. Which just goes to show that you cannot judge a person by how they look. This guy seemed like he was totally hot and completely unapproachable, but he’s obviously easily excited and a little crazy.
“Thanks for saving me,” he says. My arms are wrapped around his neck, and his lips are right against my ear. “That girl over there, the one who was sitting next to me? I slept with her last week and she totally won’t leave me alone.” He says it like wanting to hang out with someone
that you slept with last week is the craziest thing he’s ever heard.
“Oh,” I offer brilliantly, because I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that. “That sucks.”
“I met her here,” he says. “I brought her home, and I should have known that she would show up here.” He shakes his head sadly, like he can’t believe his own stupidity.
He twirls me around, and as he does it, I catch Cooper’s eye across the room, where he’s sitting at the bar with the 318s. He has a shocked look on his face. Good. I hope he is shocked. I hope he realizes how completely and totally desirable I am. I hope he realizes what a huge mistake he made when he broke up with me. Not that I want him back or anything. No way. I would never go back to that lying, good-for-nothing, disgusting jerk. I wouldn’t even talk to him, much less date him.
I pull Rich closer to me, realizing that Cooper has no idea that he’s only dancing with me so that he can avoid his stalker.
“You have nice big hips,” Rich says.
“Thanks,” I say, deciding to take it as a compliment. I close my eyes then and lose myself in the music. After a couple of songs, Rich leans into me and says, “That was fun, thanks.” And then he’s gone.
Well. Okay, then. I watch as he cuts through the crowd and heads to the other side of the club, where his friend is now waiting at a different table. I guess they’ve successfully ditched the Blond Suntan Girls. I almost feel sorry for them. The girls, I mean.
I head back to where Marissa and I were just sitting, but when I get there, she’s gone. Three girls are sitting at our table now, and they don’t seem too friendly. I look onto the dance floor to see if I can find Clarice, but she’s not there either. And when I look back to the bar, the 318s seem to be gone too. I sigh, then push my way through the crowd and outside, to see if I can find my friends.
Chapter Four
8:37 p.m.
The air outside is cool and feels nice on my face after the damp, hot air of the club. But one glance around tells me no one’s out here, either, so I walk a few steps outside to the side of the building to try and call Marissa, and when I do, I almost bump into Cooper.
“Oh,” I say, pushing my hair out of my face. “Excuse me.” I try to push by him but he doesn’t seem like he wants to let me. I know this because he doesn’t move. “Move,” I say.
“Wait,” he says. He looks around nervously, then glances behind him, like he’s afraid he might be tailed by an assassin or something. Which is completely ridiculous. Honestly, they’re really taking this whole secrecy thing just a little bit too far.
“What?” I ask. “You know, you’re really taking this whole thing a little too—” And then Cooper grabs my arm and pulls me over to the side of the building, before I can protest.
“Hey!” I say. “What are you doing? Let go of me!”
“Look,” he says, releasing my arm when we’re safely out of sight. Of who, I don’t know. I rub my arm and pretend it’s all sore, even though it doesn’t hurt at all. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you, so just calm down and—”
My cell phone starts vibrating then, and I reach down and pull it out of my pocket. One new text message. “PLEASE PROCEED TO THE SPOTTED FROG,” it says. It’s from a number I don’t recognize.
“Who is this from?” I demand, shoving the phone into Cooper’s face.
“Um, Tyler,” Cooper says. He’s still looking around, all nervous and squirrelly-like.
“Right,” I say. “Why does he want me to go to the Spotted Frog?” The Spotted Frog is a coffee shop around the corner from Cure. Marissa and I have gone there a couple of times, when we felt like going into the city and having brunch, or when we needed to cram for a test and wanted somewhere fun to study.
“He probably wants you to do something else from your notebook,” Cooper offers up helpfully.
“Duh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “When is he going to give it back?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But listen, I’m going to help you. We can—”
“Where is it?” I demand.
“Where’s what?” he asks.
“The notebook!” I say. Honestly!
“I don’t know,” he says. But his eyes shift to the right, which everyone knows is, like, the universal sign of lying, but it doesn’t even matter because I don’t need to know that sign since I already know he’s a big liar.
“Excuse me,” I say. I push past him and start to head back toward the front of the club. Cooper, proving just how ridiculous and stupid he is, follows me.
“Where are you going?” he asks. I’m walking super-fast, but Cooper, unfortunately, is having no trouble keeping up with me. It’s these damn shoes I’m wearing. Whoever thought five-inch wedges were a good idea is obviously insane.
“I have to find Clarice and Marissa,” I say.
“They’re gone,” he says.
“No, they’re not,” I say. Shows how much he knows. Clarice and Marissa would not just leave me. They know I’m in a state of duress.
“Yes, they are.” I push past him, so not in the mood to deal with his craziness. But after another look around the club and calls to their cells that go unanswered, I realize he’s right. They’re gone. Clarice and Marissa are gone. They’ve deserted me.
Okay. New plan. Head to the Spotted Frog, where hopefully Tyler and the 318s are waiting to give me my notebook back after I do whatever ridiculous thing they have lined up for me next. Then, I will order a nice coffee or cappuccino and a chocolate-chunk cookie, and I will wait for Marissa and Clarice to call me, and then this whole night will be over, and we will all go back to my house and order romantic comedies off On Demand.
I go back outside, and Cooper is still standing there, leaning against the building.
I don’t say anything and just start walking in the direction of the Spotted Frog. My phone starts vibrating in my pocket. Clarice. Thank God.
“Where,” I say, “the hell are you?”
“Oh.” She sounds startled. “Sorry, I just … I thought you left.”
“You thought I left?” Is she crazy? Why would she possibly think that I left? That makes no sense. Why would I leave? Where would I go?
“Yeah, Cooper told me you left.” Oh. My. God. I’m going to kill him. I sigh and try not to explode from stress and frustration.
I also start to pick up my pace (well, as much as I can in these shoes), because as I walk down the street, I’m starting to realize that it’s pretty dark out. And a little bit … rowdier, I guess you could say. Not that anything bad is happening. It’s just that there are a lot more people on the street. And some of them are drunk already. At least, I think they’re drunk. Either that, or they’re just crazy. For example, a man wearing what looks to be a jacket made out of garbage bags just went by me, singing a Jackson 5 song at the top of his lungs.
“Look, where are you?” I ask Clarice.
“I’m in the VIP,” she says. And then she adds, “With Derrick,” like I should obviously know who Derrick is.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I say. “Who the hell is Derrick?” I cross the street over to the Spotted Frog, and stop outside the door, under the overhang. Cooper stops too, a few feet away from me. I glare at him, but he ignores me and just sits down at one of the tables outside and watches the people pass by. I look up and down the streets for a policeman. If I see one, I’m totally going to get a restraining order against Cooper. Although. I’m not sure you can get restraining orders just, you know, on the spot like that. But I can definitely get the policeman to tell him to leave me alone, and he can probably give me a restraining order form or something for me to fill out later.
“Derrick is the guy I was dancing with,” Clarice says. “He totally got me into the VIP room, and he invited me over to his place after this.”
“You’re going to his house?” Is she crazy? Everyone knows you never, ever go to some strange guy’s house. You inevitably end up maimed, murdered, or raped. At the very least, you end up drunk and making a s
ex tape that you totally regret once the guy leaks it on his blog.
“Not his house,” she says, and I relax. “His apartment.” Oh, Jesus. In the background, I can hear talking and laughing and the sound of voices and music.
“Um, Clarice? Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?” I ask delicately. I know Clarice is from the South and all, and she gets totally shocked when people actually (gasp) lock their car doors, but this is taking it a little too far.
“No,” she says. “I mean, it’s not like I’m going alone. Butch and Kim are going to be there too.”
“Who are Butch and Kim?” I ask.
“Derrick’s friends,” she says, sighing. Oh. Right. I guess that does help a little, since I don’t think it would take three people to kill Clarice if that was Derrick’s plan. She’s pretty small. Of course, they could be some kind of murdering cult. And they could definitely try to convince her to be in a foursome sex video. “Do you want me to leave the VIP and come back down?” she asks.
I’m about to tell her yes, that I really want her to come and meet me, but then someone tugs on the back of my hair, and I turn around. Cooper. He is now standing right behind me, crowding my space.
“No,” I say, anger rising up inside of me. “I got it.” I flip my phone shut and whirl around. “What are you doing here?” I ask. Cooper looks taken aback.
“Following you,” he says. “Obviously.”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “I mean, why did you follow me?”
“Because I’m supposed to be tailing you and making sure that you do everything we tell you.”
“Why?” I narrow my eyes and hope I look menacing. Of course, it’s very hard to look menacing when I’m completely scared shitless. And when college kids keep walking between us on their way into the Spotted Frog.