Page 62

With a sigh, I duck into the bathroom to clean up my runny mascara.

After attacking the smudges with a damp washcloth, I reach for my make-up bag to do a little touch-up.

And that’s when I notice how clean the vanity is.

The only make-up here is mine. My brush.

My lotion. Mia had her toiletries spread out all over this counter.

When did she come back and clean them up?

I peek in the shower and see only my shampoo. What did Mia do with all her stuff?

Some rarely used lobe of my brain catches on, urging me to check out the rest of the room.

Mia’s suitcase isn’t in the closet, and her discarded clothes and the pink pillow she brought from home aren’t on her bed.

Instead, on a chair by the window sits a duffle-bag.

It’s dark blue and bears a sports logo. If I’m not mistaken, I’ve seen it before, more than once, in a closet beside my cooler.

Fingers numb and heart in my throat, I unzip it. I can tell by the surf shop smell whose it is, even before I look inside. A familiar blue sweatshirt sits on top, poorly folded, and underneath lie jeans, heather gray boxers, and a pair of Skechers, size ten.

Of all the times Zander’s taken me for granted, this has to be the worst. Not just him, his friends too. My friends. Betts Peterson, Zander’s little pet. I stare at that bag, that god-damned audacious bag, for way too long. Until the walls of the room close in on me and I run out of air.

Shaking with indignation, I pack my suitcase and storm out. I’ll carry it with me, or better yet, ask the concierge to hold it behind the desk. But I’m not going back into that room, not until Mia comes back and Zander leaves. Or until I can find another person to bunk with.

It’s nearly midnight and the hotel lobby is empty except for a middle-aged couple asking for directions to the elevators.

Thankfully, no one from the O-Chi event has wandered this far from the ballroom.

In the seating area, a young woman flips mindlessly through a Town and Country magazine.

Something about her reminds me of Topaz.

Maybe it’s her too-good-for-you air. She arches a brow at me as I pass by.

The concierge doesn’t ask questions when I tell him I need to sort out a room mix-up. He merely nods and tucks my bags behind the counter. In the lounge, I find a place as far away from the magazine reader as I can and call Mia.

She hems and haws. “It was Zander’s idea. He thought you’d be happy about it.”

Then why do it behind my back?

I ask her, “And where are you supposed to sleep?”

“I just switched with Zander.”

“So you’re with Jake?”

“Yeah. It’s no big deal. He’s like…my brother.”

I know this, but still. “Was this the plan all along?”

Two tall guys breeze past me on their way to the front desk. One taps Town and Country on the shoulder. Huffing, she rises, swings a bag over her shoulder, and joins them.

Mia answers, “No. I mean, yes, in a way. Zander planned it as soon as you said you’d be his date. But he wanted to wait and see how things went before we did the switch.”

The switch? What is that, some sort of codeword? Did they plan a signal? A double wink means execute The Switch. I’m getting laid tonight . Were they all in on it?

I empty my lungs. “I’m not cool with this.” Why can no one understand that I’m not going to simply fall back into Zander’s arms?

“Why? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later.” I’m too aggravated to explain right now.

At the counter, the trio grin awkwardly and shuffle around. Trying to decide who should pay?

“Come back to the party,” Mia says. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I will.” After I pull myself together. If I can pull myself together.

I hang up and sink back into the barrel chair, pondering how to deal with Zander. “Poison” Leo called him. Funny, he was right about Zander, and Zander was right about him.

But they both were wrong about me. I shouldn’t be with either of them.

A chuckle drifts from the front desk. The tallest of the trio, a handsome man of about thirty, peers down at the beeping credit card reader, utter confusion on his face.

Weird. Sure, those machines have their slight variations, but they all work pretty much the same way.

It’s like this guy has never seen one before.

The concierge spins the reader his way and swipes the card himself, eliciting more awkward laughter from all three of the guests.

They’re an odd bunch. Well-dressed, healthy, and vibrant.

The old-fashioned word strapping comes to mind.

They could be family, but no two of them look alike.

Business associates? No, their behavior and dress are too casual.

Something about them— Even though they’re speaking American English, they seem out of place here.

They’re like colorized figures on a black and white background.

Part of the scene but dominating it. Like Rime at the coffee shop, or…

Oh my god.

I sit bolt upright, my heart beating so hard I feel it in my skull.

They couldn’t be, could they?

What do I do? How do I find out?

Concentrate. “Look” harder.

I grit my teeth and look so hard my eyeballs feel like they’re about to shoot out of their sockets. Exhaling, I rub my forehead. This isn’t working. I need more power. More juice.

Leo’s golden eyes flash in my mind. You’re seeing through my glamour, he said. You’ve been seeing through my glamour. That’s how powerful you are.

That’s how powerful I am when I harness.

The unusual guests edge closer to the front doors, all three heads bent over the tall one’s phone.

Will it work? Can I do this?

I clench and unclench my hands, frantically searching the hotel lobby like someone or something nearby can help me. Electricity buzzes from my hands to my shoulders, from my feet to my thighs.

There’s no one to draw emotional energy from. No one but me.

Good thing there’s a veritable hurricane of feelings churning inside of me.

I don’t have time to make myself inconspicuous. I just have to hope no one looks my way as I close my eyes and gather all my anxiety, heartbreak, and fury into my center. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, until I’m quivering like a bowstring.

And then I open my eyes.