Page 3 of She’s a Doll

She glanced over her shoulder, like she half expected someone to be looming behind her. Once she’d confirmed that there were no loomers, she grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. “Everyone’s already in the other room. Go say hi. I’ll hide these.”

“Hide?”

She took the Cruisers and rushed off in a flurry of skirts. I stayed where I was, feeling suddenly, strangely small. The hallway was long, too long, too clean, and too quiet. I couldn’t hear any music, only the soft murmur of conversation through the walls.

Slowly, carefully, I made toward it, down the hall and through an open set of French doors.

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting.

Actually, no. That was a lie. I knew exactly what I’d been expecting. Red Solo cups, designated make-out areas, and a YouTube party mix blaring loud enough to buzz in my ears for days afterward. Instead, there were flower arrangements, macarons on a tiered cake stand, and Ginger’s mum, who’d taught cooking class in year seven.

“Oh . . . Lucy, is it?” She walked toward me, the click click click of her heels metronome perfect. For a terrifying moment I thought she was going to hug me. Instead, she stopped half a meter short and stared, eyes wide and unblinking, like a lizard locking onto its prey. “How are you? How’s your grandmother?”

“I . . . I’m fine, Mrs. Béliveau. Grandma’s fine too.”

“That’s lovely to hear. Truly, lovely.”

“Yeah,” I muttered dumbly as my eyes darted around the room. I saw a dozen⁠—no⁠—two dozen faces. I recognized most of them from high school. They’d been the popular girls, the smart girls, the pretty girls. They were women now, the cheap eyeliner, acne, and not-as-invisible-as-advertised braces replaced with natural-look foundation and dresses, satin, silk, and chiffon. Which . . . shit. Shit. This was a tea party. A real actual genuine tea party.

“What a creative costume,” Mrs. Béliveau said. “Willy Wonka, is it?”

“Oh. Um. No. The Hatter.”

“The Hatter?”

“As in the Mad Hatter?” I tried again. “You know, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?”

“Don’t you mean Alice in Wonderland?”

I fought back the urge to inform her that no, actually, I didn’t mean that, I meant exactly what I said, and smiled wider, my cheeks hurting. “Yeah. Sure. That’s the one. I, eh, made this cospl⁠—eh⁠—costume a couple of years ago, with my grandma, for a convention. I thought, what with this being a tea party and all, it would . . . it would . . . um . . .”

I looked around again, taking in the faces staring at me, smiling, all of them, with pink lips, rosy cheeks, and fluttery fake lashes. There was a lot of perfume in the air. None of it was mine.

In high school, I’d dyed my dark hair darker, painted my white face whiter, smudged eye shadow around my eyes, and called it goth. But since I’d graduated, aesthetics hadn’t exactly been a priority. Standing in that room, I was keenly aware that I wasn’t wearing any makeup, not even lip balm.

Mrs. Béliveau’s lizard stare was starting to look a touch concerned.

“I mean . . .” I tried desperately to think of something to say. “I . . . what with the . . . the theme and it being a party, on a Saturday, I kinda just assumed . . .”

“Assumed what?”

“That . . . ah . . . well . . . you know . . . it was . . .”

I was saved at that moment by Ginger, sweeping through the French doors and making a beeline straight to the table. She picked up a cup and saucer and dinged the teaspoon against the rim. It was pointless. Everyone had fallen silent the moment she’d entered. Ginger had that effect on people. The ability to capture a room’s attention with just a look, a smile, or a flick of her hair.

Translation: She was beautiful.

The kind of beautiful that shouldn’t exist in small, rural Australian towns like this.

The kind of beautiful that meant she hadn’t needed to get good grades in school (even though she had) and didn’t need to be rich (even though she was) because everyone knew she was going to become a supermodel, or an actress, or something else sparkly and spectacular.

“OK, so,” Ginger began, sounding strangely nervous. “Thank you, everyone, for coming. I know this is all a little last-minute . . .” Nothing about any of this gave me that impression. “But with everyone back in town for the semester break I thought it would be nice to get us in the same room again, just like old times.”

A murmur of laughter crept around the room.

I joined in, though I wasn’t sure I heard the joke.

Ginger’s smile cut dimples into both cheeks. “Anyway. Yeah. Everyone, grab a cup of tea so we can do a toast. There’re heaps to choose from. I promise I didn’t put any drugs or anything in them.”