You Can't Catch Me(62)

We were about to get the money from the settlement, and it eased our path and our plans. Slowly, slowly, Kiki came out of her shell. After I signed her up and helped her prep for the tests, she got her GED on the first try; she was always the smartest of all of us. She started looking into college programs, and eventually decided she wanted to teach kids—kindergarten, specifically. And though I thought she made that choice partly out of fear, I understood it. Five-year-olds could be monsters, but not the kind of monsters we’d grown up with. I helped her write her college essay, and she got into Columbia and NYU.

She chose NYU and enrolled in their early-childhood-education program. By the time New Year’s had rolled around, she’d completed her first semester and had even made a few friends among the girls she dormed with. To be honest, they were mostly washed-out girls who’d lived on the fringes of their high schools, but they were kind enough. Safe. Safe. Kiki always wanted to be safe.

Who could blame her?

Not me. But I could cajole her. Get her out of her comfort zone.

Which is why I pushed so hard about the party.

I didn’t even know the people throwing it, but a few people from FeedNews were going to be there, and I thought the anonymity of the crowd would be a good thing. Better than standing in the cold among the drunks in Times Square, or curling up in bed with a book, which is what Kiki wanted to do. A party full of possibilities seemed like the right thing for both of us.

I picked Kiki up in an almost-impossible-to-find cab in front of her building. When we got to the party, we climbed the metal stairs to the top floor, the bass notes of a club song pushing the party out into the street. They had a coat check, and with trepidation, I handed over my black coat that looked like hundreds of others. I shook out my hair and turned to Kiki. She looked especially beautiful that night, her hair golden and straight, wearing an empire-waisted dress that sparkled with sequins.

“Where did you find that?” I asked as she fished a party hat out of her favor bag and stuck it on her head.

“At a thrift shop near my apartment.”

I touched the fabric. It was a soft velvet. “It looks fantastic.”

She blushed. “Thanks.”

I slipped the New Year’s necklace around my neck and the headband on my head. I knew I looked kind of ridiculous, but I didn’t care.

We entered the party. It was after nine and there were already hundreds of people there. An informal dance floor was going on in the middle of the room where a crowd of girls were werk, werk, werk-ing it.

I leaned close to Kiki so she could hear me. “Should I get us a drink?”

“Sure.”

I went to the open kitchen—long concrete countertops and glossy black cabinets—to get us some of the high-octane punch we’d been promised. I ran into some of the FeedNews crew there and lost track of time. When I went looking for Kiki half an hour later, I couldn’t find her.

I wove through the crowd like a panicked mother looking for a wayward child in the mall until I found her. She was sitting on the interior balcony that overlooked the loft, her feet through the railings, dangling over us. I climbed up the metal, fire-escape-like stairs, and sat down next to her, handing her the drink I was still clutching. It was less loud up there, and the DJ had decided to mellow out the tunes for a bit, maybe encourage some romance. Everyone had to have someone to kiss at midnight, after all. Maybe I’d end up kissing Kiki.

“I thought I’d lost you,” I said.

“I didn’t go anywhere.” She took a hesitant sip of her drink, then made a face. “What’s in this?”

“Swamp juice.”

“What’s that?”

“One of everything in the bar.”

“Ugh.” She put the glass down next to her. She looked down at the crowd. “There’s a lot of people here.”

“It’s a party.”

“You know all these people?”

“Only a couple.”

“Why did you want to come, then?”

“I like big parties.”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t.”

I reached around her to pick up her glass. I drained it. “I’ve screwed all this up, haven’t I?”

“What up?”

“You? This. Reintroducing you to society. I’m failing.”

“I’m not a class.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, of course not. Fucking Todd.”

I felt her tense next to me. How long would it take until she didn’t react when I spoke badly of Todd? I’d never been so glad he was dead.

“I’m going to write about him,” I said.

“You are?”

“I had the idea a couple of weeks ago. I pitched it to my editor and he loved it. It’s going to be my first big piece.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

Kiki played with the ends of her hair. “Something about it feels dangerous. And wouldn’t you have to disclose your connection? Do you think you could even be objective?”

My cheeks flamed. “The piece isn’t going to be about me.”

“But, oh—”

“What?”

She turned away from me. “Nothing, it’s, um . . . Covington is here.”