She laughed. “That dog. I think he’s trying to tell you something.”
“Like what?” I asked. The volume increased some more as the argument around got louder. What was so important that everyone felt like they needed to talk this loudly?
“I think you know,” she said, all mysteriously again.
“What?” I asked.
“You know,” she repeated.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” I raised my voice even more.
“Have you and Mark patched up your . . . disagreement?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Sort of. I guess.” My cheeks flushed a little, I could feel them warm up.
Samirah smiled, long and slow and meaningful. “Is there something going on between you and Mark?”
“What! No!” I stuttered and shook my head. Fast.
“You can tell me if there is, we’re friends.” She was smiling too much now. As if she was taking great delight in watching me squirm.
“There is nothing . . . no . . . nothing. Besides, did you know . . .” I leaned in some more as the noise level rose again, and then rose some more. “MARK SLEEPS COMPLETELY NAKED!” I shouted over the noise but then . . .
SILENCE!
The only sound was my voice reverberating around the hall.
Naked, naked, Mark, Mark.
My face flamed a bright red and I went hot and sticky as every single person in the hall turned around and looked at me.
Naked, naked, Mark, Mark.
I know it wasn’t possible, but those words seemed to be echoing around the hall. Bouncing off the walls over and over again as if they were on repeat.
Hundreds of pairs of questioning eyes were boring into me like laser beams. A few people were smiling, some looked shocked, others were murmuring to each other and then, I saw Mark. Standing there, just as red-faced as I was. Our eyes met and I gave him an apologetic shrug.
“Ooops.” The word slipped out of my mouth, and everyone turned and looked at Mark. Then the crowd turned back to me. I tried to act normal and smiled. They eyed me suspiciously, and then turned back to Mark. A kind of ping-pong match took place as they glanced from Mark, to me and then back again. I noticed a few angry grimaces, mostly from the women—I even recognized some of them. Selma from the hotel, the other woman from movie night, the one who had silenced me at his gig. I couldn’t bear it. Someone needed to speak. Someone needed to stop this awkward moment. Someone needed to do something to stop this, I felt like I was being crushed under the weight of all those staring eyes. Please, someone do something, say something, I mentally begged.
“I think we have our Margaret,” Samirah’s voice suddenly cut through the silence.
“Huh?” I looked at her and as soon as I did, her face pinched together in a frown, which led me to believe that I was going to regret whatever was coming next.
I turned and looked at the crowd once more. Their expressions had also changed. Some looked amused. Some were chuckling to themselves and others looked a little surprised.
“Hear, hear!” I heard that thick, familiar Scottish accent, and then a few more “hear, hears” rang out and the room erupted into loud, cheerful applause.
What had I just accidentally gotten myself into?And was this the moment that I finally realized I’d walked into cult town, and I had just become the human sacrifice?
CHAPTER 52
“What just happened?” I whispered in Samirah’s ear. She looked at me and bit her bottom lip; was she trying to hide a smile?
“I might have just volunteered you for something,” she said.
“I sort of got that. But what?”
“Uh . . . well, it’s one of the characters in the reenactment.”
