Lost Girls(42)

That was when I realized I was the only one dancing and everyone else was standing around, watching. The old me would have stopped or gotten embarrassed. But I didn’t. I flashed a big grin and kept going, doing a slow turn that ended when I faced the kitchen.

Dylan had stopped playing his game and now stood in the doorway, staring at me, his mouth slightly open. That blond chick stood at his side, trying to get his attention, but it wasn’t working.

I lifted an eyebrow, then stretched out an arm suggestively.

Wanna dance?

If he didn’t, I knew half the guys at the party would say yes.

I didn’t wait for his answer, instead I swirled back around, my eyes closed, still moving to the music, changing my style to something with more jazz in it, swaying my hips.

A moment passed before an arm slid around my waist. I leaned back, my head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, knowing it was Dylan. He kissed my neck, his lips trailing up toward my ear. Then he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know,” I told him, although I wasn’t sure. I wondered if the girl I used to be—the one he had fallen for—would ever come back. I had a feeling she might be lost forever.

...

Lauren, Stephanie, and Zoe pouted when I climbed on the back of Dylan’s bike, getting ready to head home. Behind us, a glass or a beer bottle shattered inside the house, the sound of tinkling glass followed by a boom of laughter. Somebody cranked up the music and bodies jumped and people cheered in response.

“The party’s just getting started,” Stephanie said, a whine in her voice. She stood on the front steps, one of her arms draped around the waist of a black-haired boy wearing big, silver gauge earrings.

“Yeah, nobody goes home at eleven thirty. No. Body.” Zoe crossed her arms, her short hair changing from lavender to pink to blue when Brett switched on a set of colored strobe lights.

Lauren watched me silently, a determined expression that I couldn’t quite figure out. She’d already tried to talk me out of leaving, claiming that Dylan was too drunk to drive. Surprisingly, he wasn’t. He didn’t act like he’d been drinking at all. I guess it was one of those mysteries about how boys and girls were different.

Dylan flashed her a look when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. It was as if he was saying, don’t even think about it.

There was something strange going on between the two of them, some power play I couldn’t figure out. I’d gotten so caught up in the emotion of the evening, the wild electricity of being with Dylan again, that I had ignored some of the puzzling things that had arisen. It wasn’t until he and I were flying back down the mountain, leaning into the curves that made me feel like we could go plummeting into midnight skies at any moment, that those questions came back.

Why had Lauren called him Poe and what was Pink Lightning and why had he gotten so mad at her, threatening to get her kicked out?

Why was everyone I met always talking about getting kicked out? Kicked out of what?

Those questions chewed away at me, leaving me unsettled. And no one would give me answers. Not Lauren. Not Dylan. Not any of the spiraling notes on that blasted cherry tree.

I fought against the useless questions, wanting only to feel Dylan’s warmth. We’d argued and made up. Shouldn’t that have been enough? Maybe I should just leave all the puzzles alone, at least for one night.

We breezed over city streets, back in the valley again, the mountain a hulking shadow behind us, the party a memory. Dylan was the only thing that was real, his scent, his touch, his taste. He was my visceral reality, he was the one thing that connected my mysterious past with my unknown future.

I trusted him. Somehow even when he’d been angry, I’d had a feeling it was because he was trying to protect me. But why would I need to be protected from Lauren?

The familiar houses of my neighborhood surrounded us now, slipping away behind us like running dogs, eager to keep up. We passed Mrs. Daniel’s house and then the place where the Reyes triplets lived and, after that, a house that had been in foreclosure for more than a year, a weathered sign posted in the yard. There was the vacant lot—surprisingly still vacant—where Kyle, Dad, and I had played Ultimate Frisbee when I was thirteen, and there were the townhouses where Molly had lived when we were both younger, back before her father left. My childhood surrounded us, memories that made sense, a life I understood.

And there was my house up ahead, porch light on, just like at Nicole Hernandez’s house, a soft voice calling me to come home, come home, even though I wanted nothing more than to keep on going, to drive right past and stay out all night long.

Dylan’s resolve was stronger than mine. Maybe it was a guy thing. Maybe my dad had proven he was the alpha dog when he’d been alone with Dylan earlier, while I was still upstairs, figuring out what to wear.

I fought a grin.

Dad was definitely a take-charge kind of guy. As tough as Dylan and Brett and all the other guys at the party were, I knew they were no match for my father. I’d never been afraid of him, but I’d seen how other men reacted to him, when we were at the mall or a car show or a Dodgers game. They always took a step back and let Dad pass. It was an unspoken rule.

Nobody messed with my dad, not if they had any sense.

Dylan’s bike slowed to a stop in the driveway and a quick glance at my cell told me it was eleven forty-five. Not bad. I climbed off the bike and Dylan grabbed my hand, pulling me toward him. His lips found mine and his arms wrapped around my waist.