Dancing in Red Shoes Will Kill You (11 page)

Gray glanced at me, then stood and asked if anyone wanted another drink.

“It's nothing. We don't really know what it's all about.” I wasn't in the mood to give the whole history of the dance department, particularly my relationship with Melissa. I still thought she had something to do with it.
I just hadn't figured out what. “I'll go help with the sodas,” I said.

In the kitchen Gray popped open a can of Sprite and handed it to me. White foam bubbled at the teardrop opening and then turned transparent, spreading across the metal lid. As I took a sip, invisible bubbles tickled my nose. “So, what do you think?” Gray said.

“About what?”

“The whole protest thing.”

I nodded a few times. “Interesting.”

Gray laughed. “You're not really into it, huh?”

That wasn't exactly true. It was just that I'd never been the protesting type. When you're a ballet dancer, you kind of do what everyone tells you to do. Point your foot this way. Move your arm that way. You just don't ever think of rebelling. If someone told you that you needed to lose a few pounds, you went on a diet. If someone told you to get breast reduction surgery, you considered it. “I'm not really used to protesting,” I said. “A ballet studio is one of the few places where if someone tells you to jump, you're literally supposed to ask how high.”

Gray laughed. “I never thought about it that way.” He handed me a couple cans of soda to take back to the garage. When we got there, Joey was holding a poster over his head and dancing between the markers and old
milk crates. The theater group was belting out the play's finale, “Burned in the U.S.A.” Even Paterson and her friends had worked up a rap number, though they seemed to be having trouble rhyming with the word
censorship
.

Gray looked at me. “So now what do you think of civil disobedience?”

“Looks like fun,” I said just as Joey grabbed my arm in an attempt to turn his
pas de deux
with the sign into a
pas de trois
. I tried to hang onto the sodas, but I ended up spilling my Sprite all over myself. Just what I needed—a wet T-shirt contest right there in Gray's garage. I pulled away from Joey and yanked the bottom of my shirt about a foot in front of me. I looked at Gray. “Umm, do you by any chance have something else I could wear?”

“Sure,” he said, “follow me.” I was a little more nervous going to his bedroom again, remembering what had
almost
happened the last time we were in there. But when we got there, Gray just told me to take any shirt I wanted out of his closet and then closed the door behind him. I took my time looking at his shirts, not so much to find one to wear, but to find out more about Gray.

I looked for the biggest shirt I could find—a plain black T—and then threw my wet one on the floor. I slipped the shirt on and checked myself out in the long
mirror attached to the back of the door.

I tucked it into my jeans and then bloused it out a little. Satisfied that it looked okay, I bent to get my own T-shirt off the floor. Just as I grabbed the sleeve, I spotted a strip of red fabric. I started to pick it up, thinking it might be one of those ribbons kids get during Drug Awareness Week. But as I tugged on it, something from under the bed trailed behind. I could practically hear my hammering heartbeat as I saw the familiar shape.

A red pointe shoe.

My hands shook as I reached for its mate and pulled it out. I examined both slippers. The paint was dry and cracking in some places, just like the ones I'd handled the first day they appeared in school. I looked at the bottoms of the shoes to see if they could provide a clue as to who had originally owned them, but nothing showed through the paint. I stared at the slippers. What did this mean? And why did Gray have them?

I'd hung onto the idea that Melissa was behind the whole thing for so long because I didn't want to believe that I was really in danger. For a while I'd even thought the shoes might have been meant for Devin. But now I couldn't hide it from myself any longer. The message was definitely meant for me. And not only that, it was from someone I had trusted and liked, maybe liked a little too much. My whole body was trembling. How was this
possible? In the span of an hour, Gray Foster had gone from crush to criminal.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been frozen in that spot, but suddenly I heard a knock and Gray's voice asking me if I found something. “If not,” he called through the door, “I could look in my mom's closet.”

“N—n—no, it's okay,” I said. “I'll be out in a minute.” I shoved the pointe shoes back under the bed and picked up my T-shirt.

By the time I returned to the garage, everything was almost cleaned up. The posters were drying and everyone was trying to coordinate the rally. Their voices became a blur of sounds, like background music in a scary movie:
I Know What You Have Hiding Under Your Bed.

I watched Gray's lips move as he began to explain that he would transport the signs to school on Monday morning and everyone could meet at six in the parking lot to coordinate. It was like watching a pop-up video on VH1. In my mind I saw signs bursting up around him that told a different story from what he was actually saying. One card read, “I'm the one who put up the red shoes.” Another one read, “I'm stalking Kayla Callaway.”

The back of my neck began to throb. I raced over to Paterson and whispered, “Can we please leave—now?”

At first she cocked her head and just stared at me. But I must have looked like I meant it, because she
grabbed Joey and wrapped up the conversation quickly. I slipped out of the garage and into the backseat of Paterson's car, and in a couple seconds Joey and Paterson hopped in and we pulled out of the driveway. I felt as if I'd just gotten off the Tower of Terror ride at MGM.

Paterson turned off of Gray's block. “What's wrong?” she said. “Was it the T-shirt thing?”

Joey turned around. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean it.”

I shook my head. “You are not going to believe what I found out—”

“Oh my God,” Joey blurted. “I meant to tell you.”

I stared at him. “You knew?”

“Umm, yeah, for a couple of days.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Joey shrugged. “I thought you'd be upset.”

“
Upset
?” I screamed. “
Upset
isn't the word.”

Paterson banged on the steering wheel. “
Hello!
Could someone tell me what's going on here?”

I got as far as “When I was in Gray's bedroom…” when I heard what Joey was saying at the same time. I wasn't sure if I'd heard right. “What?” I said.

“I got into Ballet on the Beach,” he repeated.

Once I processed the information, I screamed, “Oh my God! That's fantastic!”

Joey glared at me. “Are you bipolar or something?
Weren't you just going nuts on me about it?”

“I thought you were talking about something else.” I could hold onto my news for a few minutes. Joey's story was a lot better than mine was. “Tell us how. Tell us everything.”

He turned his body around to face Paterson. “You know how I've been busy a lot on weekends and stuff? Well, Timm's been working with me on some of my technique so I could audition for the company. And…that's where I was last week. A couple of days ago at rehearsal, Timm told me I got in. I start touring with them right after graduation.”

I threw my arms around Joey's neck, as far as the seat-belt would let me. “That's unbelievable! I'm so happy for you.”

Joey gave a tentative smile. “But you hate Timm.”

“I don't hate
you
,” I said. “Ballet on the Beach is a great company.”

“You mean you don't mind that I'll be working with Timm?”

Paterson slapped Joey on the thigh. “What kind of person do you think she is? We're both happy for you. If I weren't driving, I'd hug you too.”

Joey smiled. “So you'll come watch the performances? You won't boycott?”

“You idiot,” I said. “Just don't expect me to applaud
when they call Timm out on stage.”

“As long as you give me a standing O, that's all I care about. Hey, what were you going to say before?”

I thought about those stupid shoes under Gray's bed. Did I want to bring the whole thing up while we were so happy for Joey? I decided it could wait. First I wanted to figure out exactly what I was going to do about that two-faced jerk.

T
he first time the phone rang the next day I looked at the caller ID and decided not to answer it. After a minute or two, I dialed voice mail and listened to the message: “Hey Kayla, it's Gray. You left in a hurry yesterday. I thought we were getting together this weekend. Give me a call. Maybe we can go to a movie or something.”

Fat chance.

Just as I slammed the receiver down, Paterson passed by the door of my room. She rubbed her wet, newly pink hair with a towel. “Who was that?”

“Gray.”

“How come it rang so many times?”

“Couldn't get to it.”

Paterson threw the towel on my bed and plopped down. “What did he want?”

“I don't know…to go out or something,” I said, picking up the towel and folding it.

“So are you going to call him back and tell him yes?”

I shook the towel out and proceeded to match the corners again. “No, I don't really feel like it. I've got stuff to do.”

Paterson bounced on the bed. “Stuff? You've been wanting to go out with this guy since you met him and now that he asks you on a second date, you've got stuff?”

I avoided looking her in the eye. “Yeah,” I said. “You know, calculus homework, that kind of stuff.”

“Okay, now I know something is wrong.” Paterson put my pillow up against the headboard and leaned against it with her arms folded. “The day you want to do math homework instead of go out with Gray Foster—”

I interrupted her. “I just don't feel well, okay?”

She sat up in a lotus position. “Is it the Joey thing?”

For a second I wasn't sure what the Joey thing was. Then I got a vision of Timm's bald spot in the mirror. “No, I'm happy for Joey. I really am.” It sounded sincere. I wondered if I really meant it. Since I'd seen the shoes under Gray's bed, I hadn't thought too much about Joey going to Ballet on the Beach. Joining a company right
from high school wasn't something I ever considered. All I'd wanted was a decent part in the school production of
Cinderella
. I'd always planned on going to college to study ballet for a few years. I really was happy for Joey.

I turned on the TV and sat at the other end of the bed. An
I Love Lucy
marathon had started with my favorite episode—the one where Lucy and Ethel get a job in a candy factory and the chocolates start coming down the conveyor belt so fast that they can't keep up with them. Lucy was stuffing a handful down her shirt when the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. “Don't answer it,” I snapped.

Paterson gave me a strange look, then glanced at the tiny screen on the phone. “‘G. Foster'? Don't you at least want to tell him you don't feel well?”

“No.”

“What if he doesn't want to talk to you at all? What if he wants to talk to me about the protest? Can't I answer it?”

I hadn't thought of that. He'd called back so soon. I saw it more as stalking behavior than maybe wanting to talk to Paterson.

Turned out Paterson's question was rhetorical anyway. She lifted the receiver before it went to voice mail. My head pounded as I listened to her talk to Gray about the plans for the next morning. I waved my arms at her
and mouthed, “Tell him I'm not home.”

“Sure,” she said. “We'll all meet in the parking lot across the street. Umm…”

I held my breath and waved my arms some more.

“No. I'll have her call you when she gets in. See you in the morning.” She turned to me as she hung up. “Okay, what's going on? What happened yesterday? Did he pull something when you guys were in his room or something?”

I scowled at her. “No,” I said. I couldn't even imagine that. Gray wasn't that kind of guy. Then again, I hadn't pegged him for someone who made death threats either.

Paterson sat in the chair next to the phone and swiveled from side to side. “Then what is it? You know you can't hide anything from me.”

She was right. I'd never kept a secret from her for more than about twenty-four hours. It was only a matter of time. “Remember yesterday in the car when I started to tell you guys what I found out?”

“Yeah, but you said it was no big deal.”

“Well, it was. It was a huge deal. After my shirt got wet, and I went into Gray's room to find another one to—”

Paterson slapped the arm of the chair. “I knew it. Guys are such pigs. What did he do?”

“Will you give it up? He didn't do anything. Although you're probably right about most guys being pigs.” I flexed my feet, then turned my toes under again. “I almost wish he were just a pig. When I went to pick up my shirt that fell on the floor, I saw something sticking out from under his bed. I pulled it out to see what it was and—”

“Porn,” Paterson yelled out as if she'd discovered penicillin.

“Are you going to let me tell this story? Porn would have been an improvement, believe me.”

Paterson scrunched her eyebrows together.

“It was a pair of red pointe shoes,” I blurted.

“What?” She hit both arms of the chair this time.

“Red pointe shoes. Spray painted. Just like the ones in school. And unless he's going to surprise us by standing in for Devin as the stepmother, I don't think they were his.”

Paterson leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. “What do you think he's doing with them?”

“Obviously, he's the one who put the first four pairs up. He was probably going to put up more, but when the school increased security, he apparently chickened out.”

“But why?” Paterson said. “What possible reason could he have for doing it?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe because he's a
psycho
?”

Paterson leaned back. “Have you been getting any stalker vibes from him?”

I thought for a minute. We'd only been on one date, and that was in a really public place. On the phone earlier, he'd suggested a movie. Did stalkers take their stalkees to movies? “I don't know. He did come to rehearsal a few times.”

“Have you ever seen him lurking?”

I curled my toes under until my instep stung. “Lurking?”

“Yeah, you know, like behind the curtain when you're dancing or around the dressing room after you're done.”

I thought for a minute. “It's hard to distinguish between waiting and lurking. Sometimes he waits for me after dance class, and we walk to meet you and Joey.”

Paterson grabbed a bottle of gel from the nightstand and squirted a sticky, translucent gob into her palm. “Sounds more like a lover than a lurker.”

“Then how do you explain the shoes and the death threats?”

“Let's think,” Paterson said as she spiked her hair up like a troll doll. “Maybe the shoes aren't meant for you. Maybe they're for someone else.”

“Who? Karen? Gray didn't even meet her until a week ago. Devin?”

Paterson jumped off the bed. “That's it. Devin. He knows Devin's always been after you and he's jealous. Or he's defending your honor. Or something like that.”

I was flattered for a minute. No one had ever defended my honor before. “But that's sick,” I said, suddenly realizing what Paterson was saying. “You mean he'd threaten Devin just so he could impress me?”

Paterson shrugged. “Maybe.”

I tried to think about it objectively. It was possible that I could have sparked some sort of psychotic possessiveness that would result in a jealous rage. But it didn't seem very probable. I'd never even dated anyone more than a couple of times. I started to think more clearly. “Even if Gray had somehow figured out that Devin and Karen and I were wearing red shoes, the motives just aren't there.”

Paterson was quiet for a minute. She flipped a page of the Degas calendar hanging beside my bed. “You're right. We hadn't even known Gray that well when the first shoes appeared. Wasn't it right after that time we all went to Steak 'n Shake together? Gray couldn't have gotten enough information or worked up that much emotion in one afternoon to target anyone—not even you, my little siren of a sister. There's got to be another explanation.”

I thought a minute. “Remember Melissa's initials
were on the first pair. Maybe they're in it together.”

Paterson shook her head. “Ivy's the only one vapid enough to team up with her. Gray may be demented, but he's not dumb.”

I was getting a headache from thinking when the phone rang again. Paterson looked at the screen. “‘G. Foster.' He's not giving up. Maybe he is stalking you after all.”

“What should I do?”

“Just answer it. He's not going to stop. You may as well get it over with.”

I grabbed the receiver. “Hey,” I said, trying to conceal my nervousness with a casual tone.

“Hey, it's Gray. Did you get my message?”

“Yeah.”

“You ran off so fast yesterday. Were you okay?”

“Yeah.” If finding out your potential dream guy is a crazed lunatic is okay with you.

“Good. Then do you want to go to a movie this afternoon—you know, the date we keep putting on hold?”

“Hold on a sec.” I put my hand over the mouthpiece and told Paterson what he wanted.

“Tell him you know about the shoes,” Paterson whispered.

“What? Are you nuts?”

“No, tell him you know. See what he says. Better to
tell him over the phone. Safer.”

I swallowed hard and took my hand off the mouthpiece. “I have one question first.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“What are you doing with…umm…red pointe shoes under your bed?”

Dead silence.

“I can explain,” he said.

So he wasn't even going to deny it or make up some story like the dog dragged them in or they belonged to the old couple who owned the house. “Go ahead,” I said. “Explain away.”

“I can't really do it over the phone—it's too complicated. Can you meet me somewhere?”

I covered the mouthpiece again and whispered to Paterson. “He wants to meet me somewhere.”

“Go,” she whispered. “I'll take you. We'll get Joey on the way, and we'll back you up if he tries anything funny. Tell him you'll meet him at the Oasis—in front of the movie theater.”

“Umm, okay,” I said, repeating Paterson's words, just like a ventriloquist's dummy. I hoped that wasn't prophetic and that I wasn't walking right into something stupid. I mouthed the word, “When?” to Paterson. She held up a finger.

“One hour?” I mouthed.

She nodded.

“In an hour,” I said. I hoped Paterson knew what she was doing.

 

“So let me get this straight,” Joey said from the backseat of the car. “Gray's the red shoe psycho?”

“The one and only,” I said.

“But where did he get all the shoes? And why were Melissa's initials on the first pair? Are they in it together?”

“We ruled that out,” I said. “I don't think Gray likes her any more than we do.”

Paterson gasped. “Maybe he stole them because he has a shoe fetish. I read about that in psych class. It's all tied up in some kind of arrested sexual development.”

“That's just what I need to hear,” I said. “I'm not sure which is worse. And you guys are leaving me with him?”

“Don't worry,” Paterson said. “We'll be watching.”

I wasn't sure how Paterson and Joey were going to blend into the crowd with her pink hair and his newly blond tips, but I said okay. I just wanted to get the whole thing over with. I had way too much to think about. “It's not enough that I'm already stressed over the ballet and the boob thing and now this demonstration….”

Joey chuckled to himself. “Ballets and boycotts and boobs. Oh my!”

I turned around. “What?”

“Nothing,” Joey said. “You just reminded me of
The Wizard of Oz.
You're like Dorothy with all this stuff going on.”

“Yeah,” I said. “All this trouble because of a pair of red shoes.”

 

Paterson and Joey dropped me off at the entrance to the Oasis. “Stay in front of the theater for a while. I'll park, and then Joey and I can watch you from behind a pole or something.”

“Great,” I said. “How wide do you think these poles are?”

“We'll hold our stomachs in,” Joey said. “We'll be cool. Don't worry. Or do you want us to come with you?”

“No,” Paterson said. “That'll ruin it. He'll feel threatened, and he might not tell the truth.”

Paterson was right, but it didn't make me feel any better as I got out of the car.

Once I was in front of the movie theater, I relaxed a little. There was no way he would try anything there. Too many people. Too much security. The same security I'd hated before.

Paterson and Joey were going to meet me in a half hour, so the whole plan seemed pretty safe. Still, part of me wondered why I was giving him a chance to explain
at all. Hadn't he already proven to be a major jerk? When I saw a couple waiting in the ticket line with their hands all over each other, I knew why I'd agreed to meet him. Hormones.

My stomach did a
grande jeté
. Was I that pathetic? Could I overlook the fact that Gray Foster was a death-threatening serial stalker just because he was hot?

Before I had a chance to answer, he was walking toward me. He had his hands in his pockets and a backpack slung over one shoulder. What did he have in there? Even if it was a weapon, he wouldn't be stupid enough to use it in a public place in broad daylight…would he?

“Hey,” he said, glancing nervously at his shoes and then up. He knew enough to keep his distance, but didn't look like someone about to grovel. “Thanks for meeting me on time.”

How polite. Was that some kind of stalker etiquette? What were you supposed to say when your pursuer thanked you for your punctuality? “You're welcome” seemed a little too victimish. I just grunted.