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“Hey.” I sip from my cup, gaze sweeping the room for any sign of Lizzie and the new friend she is due to arrive with. I’ve lived my entire life in the Forge, and she has more friends than I do already.
“You dancing?”
I feel a touch on my arm and spy Lacey’s painted nails curling into the fabric of my sleeve. She tugs it in the direction of the open floor.
The band is playing a violin-heavy version of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Go Your Own Way’. Played at half-speed, they’ve transformed it into a slow, love song.
“Maybe later.” I shake my head before attempting a smile. “You don’t wanna dance with me if you value your toes.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can work with that. What are you wanting to…”
Lacey trails off as the general hubbub in the room seems to shift. Conversations die a little, eyes seem to turn. At first, I pay little notice. East River is a small town so just about anything can draw the attention of the gossip-starved natives. The spilling of a drink, the trip and fall of someone wearing inappropriate footwear. A scarf with a particularly bold print. Anything.
As the band, however, moves from Fleetwood into The Temper Trap’s ‘Sweet Disposition’, the quiet is lingering uncomfortably long. Even Jace is interested, leaving his conversation with Missy Lavenham to try and peer over my shoulder. He’s holding a mini barbequed cheesesteak burger and the waft of roasting meat has my stomach growling.
“What’s going on?” he says with his mouth half-full. He tries to lean around me.
“I dunno.”
“Looks like someone new just got here,” Lacey dismisses with a wave of her hand before tugging on my shirt again. “Come on, Caleb, let’s dance.”
Jace snorts.
“Lacey, hun, you’ll have more luck getting an elephant to take ballet. Give up now while you still—” Jace’s words cut off with a choking sound. For a moment, I think that Lacey has gut-punched him behind my back. The air whooshes from him like he’s suddenly lost the ability to breathe and I look at him in surprise.
A gap in the welcoming crowd by the door has opened and, from his position beside the punch bowl, Jace has a straight and clear view. Whatever he sees is holding him mute.
“Jace?”
“Holy…” he murmurs to himself.
Lacey glances in the same direction and then rolls her eyes.
“Oh my God. Such a lot of fuss over a few pretty dresses.”
Frowning, I take a step to the side so I can see. And freeze right alongside Jace.
Three young women have entered the barn, each as different from the last, but all stunning in their own way.
The first, the youngest, wears a dress of lavender purple. Despite the sweet and childlike color, the frock is fitted and gives the illusion of additional years on her. Most of the high schoolers in the room stare at her.
A young woman but with an almost childlike appearance walks in beside the younger girl, dressed in black lace. The color should be somber and severe but the little daisies threaded into her dark hair and the cherry red of her lips makes the whole thing work. Like the pictures I’ve seen in Ma’s old magazines from when she was a teenager. Classy and sexy.
I don’t recognize either young woman but what’s more surprising is that Jace doesn’t seem to either.
“Who,” he whispers beside me, “is that?”
I lose every faculty that would have allowed me to answer him when the third woman steps into view.
Lizzie.
For nearly three weeks, I’ve witnessed my housemate in exactly four outfits. Jeans and a sweater on the weekends, overalls during the working week, the famous workout spandex, and the momentary appearance of those blue panties on her first night.
I’ve never seen her like this.
She’s wearing white. White dress, white orchids in her hair, white heels. The dress itself is simple. Basic enough that even I can recognize it as little more than a sundress. But something about it makes it looking excessively expensive. Which, I remind myself, it probably is. Pale and blonde, the dress should wash Lizzie out; turn her ghostly under the fluorescent lights. Instead, the curls in her hair, the elegant length of her legs, the way the dress lovingly contours her dainty little waist… all of it makes her almost angelic. Despite those ridiculously high heels making her taller than ever, Lizzie’s never looked so delicate to me. So female.
Or so desirable.
