Before She Disappeared(77)

“You convinced Angelique to sign up with you. Your wing man—or woman, in this case.”

“She wanted to work, earn extra money babysitting. But I begged and pleaded. That was the thing with Angel. She’d do anything for her friends, and we’d been best friends since fifth grade.”

“So you and her signed up for fashion camp. Except it was never about fashion camp.”

“DommyJ.” Marjolie sighs, sobs.

“Heartbreaker?” I ask.

“I thought he loved me. I thought . . . I should’ve known better.” Poor girl, I don’t think she could look any more miserable.

“How old’s DommyJ?” I ask.

“Seventeen.”

To Marjolie’s then fifteen. “Hot?”

Lotham gives me a look, but I stand by my question.

“Totally. All the girls wanted him. But he chose me. He said he liked my smile.”

I nod sympathetically. I already know where this story’s going, and I feel terrible for Marjolie. For all the vulnerable, self-conscious girls out there who dared to believe the cool guy wanted them, when really . . .

“What happened, Marjolie? You met DommyJ, convinced Angelique to sign up for fashion camp, and then . . .”

“Angel didn’t like him. She warned me. Worse”—Marjolie smiles bitterly—“she told me I could do better. But of course, who could do better than him? I didn’t want to hear it, I didn’t want to believe.”

Marjolie presses her lips together. More tears slide down her cheek. I whack Lotham till he belatedly produces a travel pack of tissues.

“Dommy’s older, you know. He’s not the type to be sitting around at home at night, plus he has all these college friends. Hoops players who know the hot spots.”

I nod.

“During the day, at camp, he was really sweet. He’d call me his girl, walk around with his arm around me. He made me feel special. I’m not gorgeous like Kyra, or smart like Angel. I’m just me.” Marjolie shrugs. “Except when Dommy was around. Then, I was the girl other girls stared at. I was the one everyone else wanted to be. So when he said he wanted to go club hopping and I should go with him, of course I’m gonna go. Him, out on the town with his buddies, in places like that? No way he’s going home alone.”

“But you were only fifteen . . .” I prod gently.

Marjolie’s chin comes up. “I can rock it. Little more makeup, right hair and clothes. I just need an ID to back it up. And that’s okay, cuz DommyJ knows this guy. Fifty bucks for a fake. Nights out with my man, priceless.” Her lips twist sardonically. She starts dabbing at her smeared mascara.

“I didn’t tell Angel, not at first. I knew she wouldn’t approve. And she was mad at me. I’d made her sign up for fashion camp and then DommyJ’s breaks were different than ours, and I kept sneaking out to see him. She said I’d abandoned her. I didn’t mean it that way. Just . . . I was the girl making out with the hot guy in the hallway, you know. I’d never been that girl before.”

“How’d you get the fake ID, Marjolie?”

“Dommy got it. I gave him the money on Tuesday. He brought me the ID Thursday. That night we’re at his favorite club, hitting the dance floor with all his friends. He’s got moves. I got moves. He’s buying me shots. Everyone’s happy.” She hesitates, voice dropping low. “I felt like I was flying. Like it was the best night of my life. Like it would never get better than this. Then, DommyJ took me out to his friend’s car.”

She pauses. Her expression goes flat.

“Did he rape you, Marjolie?” I ask the question. Lotham’s jaw has set, his hands fisting.

“Nothing like that. I gave it up. I thought . . . I thought this is what I’d been waiting for. I thought this was the special fucking moment with that special fucking guy.” She laughs now, but it’s a harsh sound. “The next day, at the rec center, I tell Dommy I love him. I tell him, I can’t wait to go out again. Have fake license, will travel, you know. Dommy says I should bring a friend. It’s awkward, him with me, then all the guys. He says . . . He says maybe I could bring Kyra.”

Marjolie’s drop-dead-gorgeous friend. Of course. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Marjolie doesn’t cry anymore. She is too gutted for tears. She’s right, first love feels like flying higher than the sun. And inevitably leads to the mother of all crash landings.

“I asked Angel instead. I didn’t want to believe . . .” Marjolie glances up at me. “I thought if I brought Angel, that would be good enough.”

“You asked Angelique to come with you club hopping?” Lotham is startled enough to finally ask a question.

“I showed her the ID. What’s the big deal? Even if she didn’t love partying, this is the girl who never stops talking college. She could use her fake license to sneak onto campus, take classes, whatever. It’d be good. I begged her. But she was angry. So then I told her everything. What Dommy and me did, how much I loved him. How much I needed her to do this, because I couldn’t bring Kyra. Obviously. And I couldn’t . . . I didn’t want it to end.”

“What did Angelique say?” Lotham again.

“She didn’t. She just grew quiet. Then she hugged me, like really tight. And I started to cry, because . . . I knew. I just didn’t want to know.”