Pretending to Be Erica (19 page)

The night bathes the house in velvet indigo. As I brush my teeth, Marie leans in the doorway.

“That boy Kerwin seemed very familiar.”

My hand freezes. I force it to keep moving, and spit the froth into the sink.

“What are you talking about, Marie?”

“I have very sharp hearing.” She wipes a bit of stray dust from the counter. “And a nose for trouble. He is no good. Whatever he said to you, it was no good.”

I gargle water to give myself time to answer, but she keeps talking. “You are not Erica.”

My stomach flip-flops.

Marie’s dark eyes smile, even if her mouth doesn’t. “But I know that only in my heart. I prayed to God for answers many years ago. God told me she is dead. You don’t have the blood in you, but you bring Mrs. Silverman joy in ways the other girls could not.”

I look into the hallway for Mrs. Silverman, but Marie laughs.

“She is asleep. Do not worry.”

“Marie, please—”

“I will keep it to myself. You have Erica’s spirit. Perhaps it came into you when she died. All I know is that you will not hurt Mrs. Silverman.”

I will rip her heart out
.

She will hate me for ripping her heart out like all the others
.

I close my eyes and let the world spin around me. I stumble, the weakness sudden. Marie leads me to my bed and puts me under the covers. The dolls stare, but it’s a sad stare this time. The faint light from the hallway glints in their glass eyes like tears, glass laminating lament. They know. They’ve always known, have always cried with the knowledge.

Sal,

Confirmed code. Ready for extraction. Prom on Saturday the twenty-third. It’s the perfect cover—I leave early and go back to the house, take the surprise. You pick me up. We’d be gone in thirty minutes.

I held on. It was hard. But I did it.

Violet,

Will be few blocks from house that night. Cable company van.

Couldn’t have done it without you. You’ll be the best con artist Vegas’s ever seen. Bring passport—London is far. Couldn’t get something closer. Ricebowl wanted handover there.

Take your time saying good-bye. I know you’ve grown to like those people.

You’ve got a big heart, that’s why.

“What should we talk about today, Erica?” Millicent smiles.

I sip my tea. It doesn’t taste so bad anymore. “Honesty.”

Sal,

Wanna give Mrs. Silverman note night I leave. For closure. Where’s Erica buried?

Vi,

Mile marker twelve on Kalstead Road. Walk two hundred paces till burned barn, a hundred west from there. Under an acacia. Purple blossoms.

Violet screams a lot.

What are you doing what are you doing what in the hell do you think you’re doing

Erica sings in a tiny voice.

Home home home, home home, finally home

I make a choice.

Mrs. Silverman does my makeup, fingers sweeping over my eyelids with pale blue powder. She dabs pink gloss over my matte lipstick and rubs just a bit of blush on the apples of my cheeks. She’s used to makeup—good at it. When she’s done, I’m a different girl, a pretty, honest girl with accented eyes and a healthy glow. She brushes my hair, a hundred strokes, and leaves it hanging around my shoulders with a bit of product rubbed in.

“I feel like a kid’s doll.”

“You’re prettier than a doll,” she offers. “Now, let’s you get in that dress before James gets here, shall we?”

I squeeze into my dress and she zips it up. I step into heels and her chest swells.

“You’re stunning.”

“It’s obviously not Dad’s genes—no five-o’clock shadow.”

She laughs. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

I sit on the bed and twist my hands around each other. James. I’m suddenly nervous thinking about him. He’s probably dressed up too. Does he like blue? Does he like girls with long hair like this? I never bothered to ask him. Are girlfriends even supposed to ask? I’m so out of my element.

Not for long, though. I’ll be back in my element soon, him in my proverbial dust with that wounded-dog look, tearing at my heart, my mind, my every memory of his soft lips and kind eyes—

Mrs. Silverman comes back. She hands me a blue clutch with delicate gold stitching.

“It’s amazing.” I gape.

“Look inside,” she urges.

I open it. Inside is my wallet, a pen, some makeup for touch-ups, and a condom.

“Mom!” I flush.

“It’s just in case,” she says sternly. “But look under all that.”

I shuffle through it, feeling embarrassed about touching the foil of the wrapped condom. Underneath it all, a string of gold glints up at me. I pull, and a necklace with a multifaceted deep blue sapphire pendant spills out.

“Oh my—”

“It was your grandmother’s.” She smiles.

“I can’t wear this.”

“You can and you will. It was never meant for me. Your grandmother left it to you in her will. Try not to lose it tonight.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just bask in the beauty.” She pats my back. “Now, let’s get you downstairs. That limo should be here any minute. Marie? Have you seen my camera?”

Why am I so nervous? It’s just prom. Erica’s never been to prom. Violet can’t even imagine what one is like. She’s assumed it’s dancing and food and making out, but that can’t be it. There has to be more, with the way people talk about it. The sapphire is cool against my collarbone. It’s so heavy. I’m no gem expert, but it has to be worth more than fifty thousand. It’s not really mine. It’s Erica’s. This whole night is her night.

This is the last night.

I watch Marie show Mrs. Silverman how to adjust the settings on her digital camera. Marie sees me staring and smiles, waving.

“You look very hot.”

“Thanks.” I laugh.

“Erica!” Mrs. Silverman calls from the front door. “They’re here!”

“Tell them I’ll be right down.” I take the stairs two at a time, which is killer in heels. I get my toothbrush from the bathroom and fish my fake passport from the drawer of my desk. I’m ready.

I am Violet Sanders, Sal Sanders’s protégé.

I am the best teenage con artist this side of the Mississippi.

I glance out the window—two headlights blare against the twilight. A long white limo stretches up the driveway, and a crowd piles out. Taylor’s in a bright purple dress, a sleek ponytail making her look even taller. Cass’s hair piles on top of her head in gentle curls, her gold dress blushingly short. Merril wears red, with ruffles, and her hair is pinned back in a bun. Alex, Cass’s boyfriend, looks a lot older than he already is in his dark tux. Kerwin stands behind Merril, eyes laughing at me. I’m determined to ignore him tonight.

And then James gets out.

He’s obviously still uncomfortable around so many people, but he tries. He stands with them as Mom sweeps out of the house and starts taking pictures. His tuxedo makes his height more dignified. His hair is combed and pulled back in a little ponytail. He smiles nervously when Mrs. Silverman talks to him.

“They’re waiting for you.” Marie walks up and nods as if to comfort me. “It’ll be one of the best nights of your life.”

It’ll be the last night of Erica’s life.

“Take care of her.” I hold Marie’s hand. “Please.”

“Are you going somewhere?” she asks lightly.

“No. Of course not.” I squeeze her hand before I walk down to join everyone else. Cass flutters around me, cooing at my dress and necklace. Merril can’t take her eyes off my necklace. Taylor whoops appreciatively and slaps James on the back, and he looks lost for words. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Oy, quit with the fish act.” Taylor laughs. “Just say she looks pretty.”

“You look beautiful,” he finally manages.

Cass and Merril do an
oh-how-romantic
sigh.

I glance my hand over his ponytail. “Like the hairstyle.”

“I was going to cut it, but that seemed like a compromise.” He smirks.

“Makes you look like an eighteenth-century dandy.”

“Even better.” He motions to his pants. “Do you like my pantaloons, madam? Or how about my beauty mark?” He gestures to an invisible dot on his cheek, and I laugh and lean up to kiss him there instead.

Mrs. Silverman’s smile is so big, I feel like it’ll fall off her face. “All right, everyone squeeze in together. I want one good picture of you and the sunset.”

Then, after an onslaught of solo pictures, Mrs. Silverman hugs me one last time.

“Have fun.”

“I will.”

“Come home safely.”

“I will.” I smile. I lie.

She pulls me in for another long tight hug, this one wordless. I breathe in her scent, watch the sparkle of the tiny tears that squeeze out of her eyes. Her heartbeat thuds against my chest. It’s slow, heavy. With every beat I feel the brunt of her emotions, all mixed together, collapsing on me, absorbing through my skin.

She doesn’t want to let go. But she’s so happy—blindly happy—that I’m alive to enjoy this night. She feels that if she lets go, I’ll be gone for good. She’s had that fear every time she’s hugged me. Every time she’s hugged every fake Erica.

“I love you,” I murmur.
That
is not a lie.

“I love you, Erica Jane Silverman.” She hiccups, then urges me toward the limo. We pile in and choose our seats on the expansive leather, and Marie and Mrs. Silverman wave until we leave the driveway.

“Nice wheels.” I take in the ambient LED lighting—it’s a soft green, but the lights cycle through the rainbow slowly.

“Minibar.” Alex gestures to the side, near the radio controls. “What’ll you be having?”

“Um, Shirley Temple?” I try.

“Yeah, fuck that, gimme one of those little airplane booze bottles.” Taylor points. Alex passes her one, and we watch as she downs it in one fell gulp. “What’re you looking at?”

“They do breath tests if you look hammered, I’m sure.” Cass frowns.

“It’s just a bottle. Don’t worry.” Taylor waves. “I can always sneak in the back. ’S not like I haven’t crashed the country club before.”

Kerwin looks perturbed. Merril pats his knee. “Don’t worry. She’s just the resident badass.”

“Was that a compliment, Whiny?” Taylor quirks a brow.

“One-time deal, only good for tonight,” Merril snaps.

“Give me orange juice and vodka,” Cass orders Alex, and looks to James. “What do you want?”

“I’m okay. Don’t really drink that much.”

“It’s prom!” she insists. “It’s the one time you actually should be drinking.”

“Someone’s gotta play sober for you guys.” He shrugs.

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I won’t drink either. Long night. I want to remember all of it.”

“Oh!” Cass nearly slops her drink as she puts it in the cup holder. “Did you give her the corsage, James?”

“Right.” He pulls something from his breast pocket: a spray of light pink blossoms attached with ribbon and lace.

“Wow. For me?”

He nods and takes my wrist. His fingers are warm, and I can see a faint blush on his face as he wraps the ribbon around my wrist and ties it.

“How many Cabbage Patch Kids did you kill to get this?” I smirk.

His nervous blush fades. “Only four.”

“Only four.” I try to sound impressed. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“I got one for you, too, Taylor.” He leans over and takes out a red flower bunch, tying it to her wrist. Taylor’s face matches the flowers’ hue.

“Are you . . .
blushing
?” Merril peeks at Taylor.

“No! Shut up!” She rips her hand away and tightens the corsage herself. “Thanks, man. It’s nice.”

“How come he gets to bring two chicks to prom and I only get one?” Alex laments. Cass elbows him—hard—and he clears his throat. “I mean, you’re the best, baby. You’re, like, two completely different girls in one.”

Even Taylor barks a laugh.

The limo speeds down the highway. We pull off, the exit ramp flashing by in cement. Above it are the lights of the Strip, glowing with exuberance, hundreds of neon shades blending in a dizzying haze. Hotels tower as boxes of gold, triangles of purple, and fountains throw up water and sparkling lights. Somewhere, in a run-down apartment not far from the Strip, Sal is putting on a disguise for the millionth time. For the millionth trip. Millionth
escape
.

“You look even better.” James’s low voice yanks me into the present. “You look even better with that little smile.”

“I’m starting to think you’re buttering me up to get something later,” I tease.

He’s blushing again. “N-no. Not that. Not yet. It’s too soon.”

“Virgin.” Taylor coughs the word between sips of a second mini bottle of vodka.

“Some conversations are meant to be private,” James says, mortified.

“Man, c’mere and quit being stubborn. I’ll give you some tips.” She pulls him forward.

“I don’t want any of your tips!”

While Taylor wrestles with him, Cass leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Erica. I never thought . . . well, you know. You being here is a big surprise. A great surprise. Stay with your old parents a month longer and you would’ve missed prom. What a coincidence.”

“Coincidences are for schmucks.”

She laughs and sips her drink. “And everybody’s a schmuck.”

Outside my window, the Strip fades into the distance as we head to the country club. I understand it now—why Sal keeps coming back, why he pines for Vegas when we leave. He’s a moth, a great gray moth that dominates the night, makes it his own. The darkness is his world, but the lights of the Strip are his fascination, his ideal, his hope for the future. Everything bright. Everything rich and full of good things, like the brochures promise.

“Hey,” James murmurs. His voice is in my ear, and I start, smiling.

“Hi.”

“I lost you for a second there,” he says breathlessly.

Did you? Have you even really found me to begin with? I force my smile wider and press my lips to his, hard. He’s so nervous—his bottom lip trembles, and I bite to still it. He sucks in a breath and weaves his fingers through my hair. I can hear jeers, faintly. But it doesn’t matter. Only this second matters. Only his lips, his smell, his taste.

There can only be this kiss. This moment. There is no future. There will be a good-bye, as good a farewell as I can give him. I need to disappear from his life—a clean quiet cut. He needs to stay here, graduate, start his band, add more members, get a CD out, go on tour, go to college, and meet a nice girl. An honest girl, a truly kind girl.

He does not need to love the girl who never was.

“You’ll never lose me,” I murmur as we part, my lips sore, his bitten red. His blue eyes are dark. He tenses—the muscles in his arms flexing. He wants to say something.

“Say it,” I whisper. “Say what you want to.”

He just pulls me in for another kiss.

Bluewell Country Club glimmers with warm windows and thrumming music filtering from the open doors. A banner above the entrance hall reads,
WELCOME ST. PETER’S PROM CLAS
S OF 2013!
Chaperone teachers are dressed in black-tie attire, taking invitations and checking off names from clipboard lists. Our class pulses around us as one mass of fancy dresses and waves of clashing cologne and perfume. Lavender, jasmine, vanilla, spice. Sweat, too, the heavy scent perfume tries so hard to hide. Couples hold hands, groups of girls huddle together and groups of boys shift awkwardly in their suits and mock each other for it.

Kerwin looks downright dashing in his suit. Every girl, with a date or dateless, is calling to him and waving. Merril bristles and pulls him to her side. He locks eyes with me and then looks away. Cheerily. Happily. Like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t give me those flowers to let me know he’s onto me.

“Why is he even bothering?” Taylor sneers.

But he can’t hurt me anymore—tonight I’m invincible, because tomorrow I’m gone.

The buffet tables are laden with salads and soups, sweet-and-sour pork, roast beef and mushroom Alfredo. Taylor takes an entire plate of just garlic bread as her appetizer, and Merril snorts something about “breath” and “won’t make much of a difference.” Taylor flips her off and adds Tabasco sauce on a slice. We have our own table, near the DJ. We watch him set up, cables and laptops and earphones. I smirk and lean in to James.