Spark

CHAPTER 21

Layne flipped through an old yearbook in the library, trying to tune out Kara’s whining.

“I just don’t understand why you’re wasting so much time on one stupid project. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I brought my lunch.” A lie. But her stomach was in knots from the drama with Gabriel, and food seemed like a bad idea. “If you’re so hungry, go hang out in the cafeteria.”

“And leave you by yourself? God, Layne, do you know how that would look?”

Layne rolled her eyes, hoping yet not hoping that Kara wouldn’t see it. “Thanks for your concern.”

“Layne! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The bright voice had Layne jerking her head up.

There stood Taylor Morrissey and Heather Castelline. Glossy hair, glossy lips, formfitting clothes. Paragons of perfection.

Layne wondered if she should be running—but they were on the cheer squad and could probably catch her. Would they beat the crap out of her right here in the library?

Kara’s mouth was hanging open.

“Hi?” Layne offered.

Taylor was smiling at her. “We were wondering if you were coming tonight. See, everyone is bringing something, and we’re trying to plan.”

“Coming where?” said Layne.

Heather giggled. “The party, silly.”

Kara punched her leg under the table.

Layne folded her arms across her chest. “The party. You want me to come to your party.”

“Well, Gabriel said you guys are friends, and it’s so obvious he’s got a thing for you, so—”

Kara punched her leg again. Layne was ready to hit her back.

She narrowed her eyes at Taylor. “Funny. In class you said I was a . . . wait, let me get this straight . . . a butchy dykey—”

“Please,” said Heather, rolling her eyes. “We call each other that all the time. Taylor’s a total whore.”

Taylor flipped her hair. “Totally. So are you coming or what?”

Layne stared at her.

“Yes,” said Kara. “Yes, we’re coming.”

Layne studied them. “I don’t buy it.”

She blocked her leg before Kara could punch her again.

“Look.” Taylor pulled out the chair and dropped into it. “I know we’re not always nice. But that’s how we have to be, or we’d be surrounded by losers.” She shrugged. “If Gabriel Merrick says you’re in, you’re in.”

“Come a little early,” said Heather. She stepped around the table and picked up the end of Layne’s braid. “We’ll do your hair. I bet you have awesome hair.”

Layne couldn’t move.

“She does,” said Kara. “It’s, like, all the way to her waist.”

“If you don’t want to come,” Taylor said, “I totally get it. I mean, Gabriel wasn’t going to come until I told him we’d be inviting you . . .”

Layne tried to imagine it, Taylor confronting him in the hallway, Gabriel brushing her off until hearing Layne would be there.

No way.

Then she thought of those two notes on her desk.

Maybe?

“Here’s my address.” Heather slid a piece of paper across the table. “Come at seven. Everyone else will show up around eight.”

Layne glanced down at the paper—not like she needed to. It figured that Heather wouldn’t even remember that Layne lived right down the street. But it meant she wouldn’t be trapped at the party. If the girls started acting bitchy, she could walk home.

“Okay,” she said, hating that part of her was a little eager. She hated these girls. Hated them.

But sometimes she desperately wished she were more like them.

Especially lately.

“I’ll come,” she said. “Seven?”

“We’ll come,” said Kara.

“Great,” said Taylor. “Bring something sweet, ’kay?”

Layne ticked down the minutes until her father would walk in the door. Another late night, as usual. She’d called to tell him that she and Kara were going to a friend’s house down the street, and he’d promised to be home before they left.

She and Kara had baked chocolate chip cookies, and they sat on a plate, covered in saran wrap. Kara was actually being nice for a change, and for the first time, Layne wondered if this was what a friendship was supposed to feel like: laughter and teasing and baking cookies.

Simon was upstairs, locked in his room. He’d worn a different shirt home from school, and when she’d tried to ask what his problem was, he’d given her a pretty universal sign of displeasure.

Kara was licking the spatula. “Are you seriously going to wear jeans and a turtleneck? To a party?”

Layne shrugged. “I think you’re showing enough skin for both of us.”

Kara was, in a spaghetti-strap top and skintight denim capris. The pants were a little too tight, but Layne didn’t feel like opening that can of worms.

Kara dropped the spatula into the sink. “I have no idea how you got one of the Merrick brothers’ attention.”

“Me neither.”

“You don’t have to show skin to look sexy, for god’s sake. What if you wore tights and a skirt? You could even keep the turtleneck.”

Layne hesitated.

Kara grabbed Layne’s hand and started dragging her toward the stairs. “At least try.”

Kara fished through Layne’s closet with abandon. Most of the clothes were older, grade-school stuff.

“Here!” She yanked out a pleated black and red plaid skirt.

Layne made a face. “Please. I used to wear that in fifth grade. To church.”

She had. With her parents. They’d gone as a family, sitting together. Then they’d all go out for brunch. Everyone would smile and look happy.

What a joke.

“That means it’s perfect now,” said Kara. “Do you have black tights?”

Layne did. She wore them under her riding breeches in the winter.

She took a breath. “I don’t think—”

“Just try it. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.” So she tried it, in the bathroom, where Kara couldn’t see her change. The black tights were opaque; not even a hint of flesh peeking through. The skirt was short, almost indecently so. The pleats barely covered her backside. But the black tights made it less hooker and more . . . playful.

Even so, the black turtleneck made her look like she was going to a funeral.

A slutty funeral.

She could never wear this.

A knock at the door shocked her out of her thoughts. “Layne! Look what I found!”

Layne pulled the door open, and Kara gasped. “Oh, you are so wearing that.”

“No way.”

“Did you see what those other girls were wearing? For once in your life would you try to fit in?”

She remembered that feeling from the library. It would probably be dark at the party, right? Layne swallowed. “Maybe.”

“With these.” Kara held up black boots. Matte leather, a stacked two-inch heel, and laces that went all the way up.

Layne remembered those boots. She knew kids whose whole outfits didn’t cost as much as those boots. Her mom had bought them for her right before high school started. “Please, Laynie,” she’d said. “Wear something that doesn’t look like it came from the Goodwill.”

Layne had buried them in the back of her closet.

She reached out and touched the leather. Smooth as butter.

“All right,” she whispered.

The boots, when combined with the tights and skirt, made her legs look twenty miles long.

Kara started digging through her dresser. “Too much black. You need something—here!”

She was holding out a red turtleneck. Layne rarely wore it; the fabric was thin and it clung to her body.

Not to mention, it screamed with color and demanded attention.

“Wear it,” snapped Kara.

Layne heard her father’s keys in the door.

“Now,” said Kara. She backed out the door, pulling it closed behind her. “It’s almost time to go.”

Layne yanked the shirt over her head and didn’t look in the mirror. If she did, she’d never have the courage to walk out of this house. She just threw open the door and went downstairs.

Her father took one look at her and dropped all the mail he was carrying. He coughed. “I thought you said it was a girls’ night.”

“It is!” cried Kara. “Heather is going to do Layne’s hair, and we’re going to stuff ourselves with cookies—”

“Kara, I hope you don’t think I’m a fool.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Mr. Forrest, no offense, but I don’t think you know much about girls’ nights.”

He looked at her, then back at Layne. “Maybe I should drive you.”

“Sure,” said Layne easily. Thank god they were going early. “Then you can meet the other girls.”

It actually worked out better than she expected. Taylor and Heather were full of charm at the door, assuring her dad that Heather’s mom was going to be home from the store any minute, and did he want a cup of espresso? Taylor leaned on Layne’s shoulder and whispered loudly about never realizing she had such a sexy dad.

It was probably the first time Layne had ever seen her father blush.

“All right,” he said, jingling his keys in his pocket. “I should probably get back to Simon.”

Yeah, like he could get Simon to come out of his room. Layne stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Daddy.”

When he was out the door, Taylor giggled. “Dads are so easy.”

“Please,” said Heather. “All I have to do is wiggle my ass and my dad hands me his platinum card.”

Layne almost choked. She wiggled her ass for her father?

“Your house is amazing,” Kara breathed.

It was, too. Layne never wanted for anything, but her own house was traditional, all polished wood and marble. The back wall of Heather’s house was entirely glass, looking out over an expansive pool deck, with a view of the Severn River beyond. Torches were lit along the patio, and the sound system was on low, one of those top-forty songs that sounded like every other.

Heather shrugged. “It’s all right.”

Taylor pulled a wine cooler out of the fridge. “Want one?” she asked, holding out something peach colored.

Kara took it immediately.

Layne shook her head. But then she didn’t want to seem boring, so she said, “Not yet.”

“I hear you,” said Heather, who didn’t take one either. “I hate being trashed before everyone gets here.”

“I say what’s the difference,” said Taylor. She pointed a manicured nail at Layne. “Now you,” she said, her voice sharp, almost challenging.

Layne flinched, suddenly ready for the worst. “Me?”

“Yeah. You. Hot rollers. Now.”