Out of Aces (12 page)

“Yeah,” I
said.

“Well, college applications are expensive.” Mr. Petrova let out a laugh. “
College
is expensive. Exorbitant, really.” He stood up and went behind his desk, pulling open a drawer. I heard pens rolling around. Then his hand came out and flashed into his pocket, tucking something
away.

Mr. Petrova walked around the desk and sat down on the couch again, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling. “Irina’s getting ready to start college herself. It’s a new chapter in her life, and . . .” He peered into my eyes, smiling slightly. “Well. I hope you’ll excuse what I’m about to say, but I think she needs a fresh start. You underst
and?”

I just stared at him. I felt like a tank was rolling toward
me.

“She’s going to need to focus in school, and she has her music to think of, too. She’ll be somewhere on the East Coast. That’s pretty far from Nevada.” Mr. Petrova shifted, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a folded stack of bills. He flipped it open and began to thumb through. “There’s two thousand here, give or take.” He held it out to
me.

I didn’t
move.

“No, please don’t refuse. Let someone who’s been in your position offer you a little support.” He pushed the money into my hand, and I felt my fingers automatically close over
it.

He nodded. “Good. I do want one small thing in exchange. You’re a nice-looking young man. You live in Las Vegas, where there are plenty of beautiful women.” He smiled. “I want you to leave my daughter al
one.”

I couldn’t control my body; I was shaking as if I was touching a high-voltage wire. I stood up quickly and pushed the money back at him. “N-no!” I stamm
ered.

He leaned away, holding up his hands. “You took it, son. You can’t return it
now.”

Son.
The most insulting thing he could call me. I was boiling with sweat, my breath coming in jerks. I walked fast to the fireplace, yanked back the metal grate, and stuffed the money in
side.

Mr. Petrova jumped up like
he
was electrified. The cash went up in a shower of sparks, bills twisting and floating in the flames. “You’re insane!” he c
ried.

I ran out of the office, through the foyer. I heard the voices in the living room go quiet as I tore open the front door and pounded down the steps. Tears were pricking my eyes, and I slashed them away with my sleeve. I should have known better than to think he’d give me a ch
ance.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
don’t know if it was rage or the root, but I was panting as I walked into McCaw Hall. I’d been sweating like an animal on the drive over, replaying Mr. Petrova’s
I want you to leave my daughter alone
like a soundtrack in my
head.

He would never say something like that to M
icah.

The lobby was packed with glittering women and sleek men in tuxes. I looked down at my hoodie, and my stomach twisted. Would they even let me in? There was a line at the ticket window, not very long. I went over and got in line, hugging myself.
Stop sha
king.

Wheeeeee
eeew!

I jumped, and an old guy standing nearby laughed. “It’s just a horn. See?” He held up a shiny New Year’s bl
ower.

Another old guy with him—they were all old—peered at me. “Are you all right? You look p
ale.”

I nodded, but I was starting to see halos around people’s faces.
Move, line.
It started to move, and for one insane moment I thought I made it happen just by thinking it. Finally it was my turn. “One, please,” I said to the lady in the window. It came out in a thin whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “One, ple
ase.”

She glanced up. “Would you like to choose your seat, or shall I pick the best available? Everything left is a hundred and fi
fty.”

“You pick,” I muttered. My eyes were feeling a little loose, like they might roll back in my head. I bli
nked.

“A hundred and fifty, please,” the woman said, giving me a strange
look.

A hundred fifty bucks to crash a party. I slid her some bills and she printed the ticket and pushed it through the glass in a tiny gold envelope.
Happy New Year from Seattle O
pera
.

I made my way into the hall. It was roaring with voices, an electric, squirming mass of gold and silver and black. I looked at the ocean of people and felt dizzy. I had to figure out where Irina’s box was, because if I didn’t sit down soon, my legs were going to give
out.

“I’m sorry, sir, but your ticket is for the orchestra level,” the usher said. She had short gray hair, sharp gray eyes, and gray metal glasses. Robot woman. Her red bow-tie was square and tight. I couldn’t take my eyes off it; it looked like it was choking
her.

“Please,” I said, pulling on everything I had to stand straight and get the words out clearly. “My friends are in a box. You must have seen t
hem.”

She frowned. “I don’t recall there being an extra seat in the box. There’s a capacity limit, you k
now.”

“Ple
ase.”

She sighed. “I’ll escort you to their box. But if there’s no room, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” She climbed the winding, shiny black stairs, and I followed her. The boxes looked like alien pods. I had a vision of thin, slimy aliens with huge black eyes, clapping
. . .

Suddenly, Irina’s familiar laugh rang out from a few feet away. I froze on the st
airs.

“Sir?” said the usher. “Right this way.” She gestured to a door. I took a breath and stepped in
side.

I had never crashed a small private party before, so I didn’t know exactly how terrible it feels to be messed up on unknown drugs and have seven people with champagne flutes staring at you as if you’re a zo
mbie.

“Gabe?” breathed Irina. She looked like an angel. A long, glowing, sparkly white dress draped off her shoulders. Her blond hair was coiled on top of her head, and the diamonds in her ears sent off beams of light too big to be
real.

Sitting next to her was her perfect match: Micah. He wore a black tux, and his bow-tie was pai
sley.

The usher said, “This gentleman says he’s with your pa
rty?”

“Y-yes,” stuttered Irina, obviously in s
hock.

The usher’s eyes flitted to the one empty seat, and she finally went away. It was completely silent. Everyone looked from me to Irina and back again. I leaned on the wall, my legs loose. I couldn’t stop staring at Micah. He was huge. Almost not h
uman.

“Um, can you hold this?” Irina handed Micah her champagne glass, stood, and squeezed past her friends’ knees. She grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door. In the hall, she turned to face me. “What are you
doing
h
ere?”

“I—I’ll—Irina.” I pulled her into a hug and she took one quick breath and hugged me back. For a moment she went soft in my arms and rested her blond head on my chest. She smelled so beautiful, so familiar. For the first time in hours, I felt sober. I bent to kiss her, but she pulled away, looking up, her eyes gold in the light. “Seriously. Is this what I think it
is?”

“I . . .” The high roared back. My tongue was numb in my mouth. “I just wanted to surprise you.” I tried to s
mile.

Irina shook her head slowly. “Gabe.” She sounded so sad. “This isn’t a ‘surprise.’ I have tickets to see you
next week
. This is about Micah, right? You couldn’t handle that we were going out on New Year’s Eve, so you came here to mark your territ
ory?”

I stared at the wall behind her. It was pulsing. My scalp tin
gled.

“G
abe?”

“Yes,” I admitted insanely. “You’re ri
ght.”

Irina stepped back. “Do you know how that makes me f
eel?”

The lights dimmed and a voice boomed, cracking my ears. “Please take your seats and turn off all cell phones and electronic devices .
 . .”

“I need to sit down,” I mumbled. “I don’t feel so good. I’ve been driving eighteen ho
urs.”

“Fine,” Irina said coldly. “Since you came all this way to
meet
Micah, you can sit next to him. Come on.” She marched back into the
box.

I followed her. In some dinosaur part of my brain I knew I had made things a lot worse, but right now all I needed was to sit. I was seriously ill. So d
izzy.

“This is my friend, Gabe,” Irina said to her fri
ends.

Friend.
Not boyfr
iend.

“Gabe, this is Micah, Liz, Lance, Molly, Tim, Giselle, and Oli
ver.”

Irina’s crew whispered a few “Nice to meet yous,” but it was dark and the curtains were opening and someone was singing a note that sounded like a fire alarm. My mouth prickled. Water. Please let there be w
ater.

Irina took the empty seat in the second row and pointed at the only spot left, next to Micah. I squeezed past some knees and dropped into Irina’s old chair. Micah looked at me in surp
rise.

Hatred seethed up in me. He had a big
chin.

“Glad you could join us, man,” he whispered. He looked over his shoulder at Irina. “You want to switch seats with me so you guys can sit toget
her?”

“It’s okay, I like the back row,” Irina said. My stomach rolled. “Besides, I think Gabe wants to get to know you bet
ter.”

Micah gave me an uncertain look. “Oh, okay. C
ool.”

Then the singing started for real. It sounded like animals screaming. Was it my high? Or was this really opera? I wanted to slap my hands over my ears and howl along with them. The stage lights were like heat lamps. I could feel drops rolling down my sides. I looked behind me at Irina. “Water?” I cro
aked.

She stared at me for a long moment. Then she shoved her champagne glass at
me.

I took a sip—and it wasn’t water, but it was wet, and it felt like heaven on my dry throat, and I . . . I just kept going. I poured it
back.

Micah stared at me as I bottoms-upped, and then looked away quickly when I lowered the glass. I kept my eyes on the stage, where two fat, velvet-covered people were shrieking in another language. My stomach churned. I wiped my sleeve across my forehead and it came back
damp.

I licked my lips, searching for a last drop of wetness. I almost licked the inside of the glass. I checked out Micah again from the corner of my eye. There was no way Irina wasn’t attracted to him. He filled the air with testosterone every time he breathed
out.

My stomach spun again. I wasn’t going to make it. I lurched to my
feet.

“Gabe, wait,” said Irina. “It’s not intermission yet!” There were halos around her face, bluish g
reen.

“I . . . I ju-ust . . .” I slurred. All their faces turned to me, shiny white and pulsing under the lights. They
were
aliens. My stomach was boiling. I leaned over the edge of the box and looked into the sea of writhing, sparkling pe
ople.

“Gabe, what are you
doing
?” Irina sounded despe
rate.

“He’s drunk,” said M
icah.

I turned around. His face was splitting into two handsome bastards with whitish hair. “F-f-fuck you,” I
said.

“It’s okay, I’ll handle this.” Micah stood up. Tall. Taller than me. “Listen, man, you had a little too much to drink. Let’s get you outside for some air,” he said in a friendly v
oice.

I couldn’t answer. I was trying not to
puke.

He put his hand on my arm, and I pushed him
off.

“Stop it!” gasped Irina. “Gabe, ple
ase!”

My stomach flipped and I retched. A bitter taste raced into my mouth. I tried to hold it back
but—

“Oh!” Micah’s arms flew up as puke splashed his
tux.

“Oh, no!” said Irina in a horrified voice. The others were squeaking in disgust. My face was hot as an iron, my whole body pounding. I felt another wave of puke on its way. I stumbled toward the
door.

Micah was right behind me. “Bathroom’s up the stairs,” he
said.

I threw up again on the stairs. And again on the floor in the bathroom. Then I got to a toilet, and for a while it was just me and my porcelain friend. I heard the water running, and then the hand d
ryer.

When I was finally spitting clear, I crumpled to the floor next to the toilet. I couldn’t have moved if somebody kicked me. The tile was so cold, it was the only thing keeping me a
live.

“Are you okay?” Micah a
sked.

I gru
nted.

“Dude, are you lying
down
?” Micah opened the stall door and crouched, frowning. “Do you have to throw up anym
ore?”

“Uh
-uh.”

“Okay, that’s good. What if we try to get you out to the parking lot and I’ll give you a ride h
ome?”

I opened my eyes and looked at his healthy, handsome face. The guy was
nice
. A cosmic
joke.

There was a knock, and a light creak of hinges. “Is he okay?” It was I
rina.

“He’s pretty sick.” Micah backed out of the s
tall.

“Is anybody else in h
ere?”

“No.”

Footsteps. I peeled open an eye and looked at her face peeking in the stall. “Oh, Gabe,” she whispered. Then she disappe
ared.

I heard them talking in low voices as I stared at the base of the toilet. It was sparkling white, the cleanest toilet I’d ever
seen.

Irina looked into the stall again. “I’m taking you home. Can you w
alk?”

I tested my body and managed to slither backward. But I couldn’t quite stand. “Too dizzy,” I mum
bled.

Micah crouched and slid his neck under my arm. “Okay, just lean on me. We’ll get you to bed soon.” He stood up, supporting my dead weight, and we hobbled out of there. The smell of his aftershave sent my stomach rippling, but I had nothing left to puke.
This is my worst nightmare,
I thought as we lurched past the us
hers.

“Give me your keys and I’ll take him home,” Irina
said.

“No, I don’t want you driving on New Year’s. I’ll take you guys,” said M
icah.

I managed to grimace at
him.

“I want to talk to Gabe alone,” Irina said firmly. “I only had two sips of champagne. I’ll be back by intermiss
ion.”

“Irina, come on. Let me take you g
uys.”

“No.”

I smiled to myself. At least she didn’t listen to him, ei
ther.

Micah pushed open the glass door, and we stumbled into the night. The winter air bit into me. It felt good, so cold. As we made our way slowly down the sidewalk, a laugh bubbled up from my chest and spilled out my m
outh.

“Stop it,” said Irina. But I couldn’t. This was too screwed up. Micah looked away tactfully. What a prince. The “Walk” sign flicked on, and they dragged me across the street and into a lot. Micah clicked his keys and the headlights flashed—of course, on a sports car so sweet I didn’t even know the
make.