The Pariah of Levon, 2

Lane, in the midst of drowning, flicked her hair from her face.

She was drowning in a sea of ruffles. The dress was pink and swathed in cotton rivulets from neck to thigh. Devin was embarrassed for her, and based on the copse of sympathizers huddled over punch and throwing glances, she figured she was not alone. Few were unfazed. The few included Brian Shay, who danced so close that their hips might as well been one functioning mechanism. He clawed at her dress, like he knew there was crab in the shell and if push came to shove, would scrape if he couldn’t peel.

It was hot. The walls sweated with steam. The corners were especially muggy, and when Devin sighed, she felt the stale air clogging back down her throat. She bent between the socialites at the punch table, scrounging a cup of soda from the bowl. She drank. Seniors and juniors littered the ballroom. Devin shifted in her skin, and felt the punch fizzle on her tongue. She tasted something bitter.

In front of her, a blur of bodies milled the area, colors intertwining like drunken fingers, faces identical.

“Like the punch?” Lane was back from the dance floor. Devin felt a bit dizzy. She caught a glimpse of Lane’s canny wink. Devin felt herself nod. “Anything wrong, babe?” Lane asked, touching two fingers to Devin’s shoulder.

All Devin could see was pink.

“It’s my first dance, that’s all.”

For the past few years, she’d avoided boy-girl orgies of any kind, even semi-organized events like the annual winter ball. The only reason she’d decided to attend this one was the fact that for the first time since eighth grade, Devin had friends.

Well, friend, to be accurate. Delaney George, brunette goddess of the North Wing.

The only significance of the North Wing was her locker location, but Devin had gained a certain indifference towards such details. She had forgotten how it felt to have someone wait for her outside of classes. She’d forgotten the sound of footsteps falling in time with hers across the linoleum; interjection; the raucous interruption of her own thoughts. Nowadays, she almost craved that infuriation.

“Who’s taking Miss Devin the Devine?” Lane had asked the day before, canary giggle ringing in the stairwell.

“That would be Miss Devin the Devine,” Devin had replied, scrunching her nose. “If I’m lucky, maybe Devin the Diabetic will show up and I’ll have an excuse to leave early.” She’d refused Lane’s efforts to match her up, assuring that she’d have enough fun hanging out with Lane and her date. The comment had received a noncommittal laugh.

“What?” Lane asked over the noise. Then she said, “Don’t worry about it, Dev. They’re not much fun anyway.” Lane glanced to either side of her. Devin suppressed an expression of awe.

“What do you mean?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure the words came out in the right order. “You looked like you were having the time of your life out there.”

Lane muttered something incomprehensible, and then leaned her head towards Devin’s. “I have an idea,” she said. Her eye sparkled. Devin blinked, wondering what had happened between Lane and Brian Shay. Bodies moved past them, but Devin felt as though they were dead, and the girls were the only two alive.

It was getting hotter, and there was an overwhelming color tinting the air.

Powder puff, cosmopolitan, love potion, Valentine’s Day, Hallmark roses

Devin guzzled another sip of her punch. “What does it involve?” she inquired.

A sly grin marked Lane’s perfectly-glossed lips. “It involves us slipping out the back door over there, and doing it so no one can see us.” Her voice melted to a whisper. “Drain, Trit, and a few other guys are having a party. A secret party, in the woods. It’s something they do every year. They’ve never gotten caught.” She wiped her mouth.

“It’ll be fun,” Lane insisted. Her voice seemed to echo, and her hands were giant as they braced Devin’s shoulders. “C’mon.” Devin was searching the gymnasium for Brian Shay. She couldn’t find him. Devin found this strange.

Then Devin looked up at Lane, browsing her earnest stare. For a moment, Devin felt a toppling gratitude towards Lane’s kindness. It wasn’t every friend who’d offer an alternative to the dance she’d been looking forward to for weeks, just to please someone else. Devin felt her own smile slide into place.

“Okay,” she agreed. She figured that Lane had went to these secret parties before. Devin trusted her to sneak them out without attracting attention.

Lane hooked her arm through Devin’s. They started towards the back door. The walk across the room seemed almost as if it did not happen at all, and the next time Devin was awake was for the bluster of wind that split her cheeks. Her toes froze in her heels almost immediately. Luckily, Lane had plucked both their jackets from the bleachers before they’d reached the door.

“Here,” Lane said, offering Devin’s parka. They kept walking, pale legs walking sticks in the snow. Somewhere along the way--Devin did not know exactly where, regardless of how hard she thought--another girl joined them. Her name was Blaire. Blaire Conners. Devin knew this because Blaire had been best friends with Delaney until they’d fallen out last September. From the rumors that circled Levon High, Devin deduced that Blaire had made a move of some kind on Lane’s ex-boyfriend. The guy’s name was Miles Thomas, but ever since he’d sunk three full-court buzzer shots in his freshman year of basketball, teammates and the likes had taken to calling him Drain.

Since then, Lane and Blaire had been nursing an ongoing feud.

Now Blaire was loping beside them, and her and Lane--though completely silent--would not stop looking at each other.

Devin found this very strange.

The trees embodied a similar strangeness. Their branches were tangled with the stars in the pitch black of night. They wobbled like people did when they stood opposite from each other and couldn’t figure out which direction the other was going.

Devin figured that it wouldn’t be long before a tree and her ran straight into one another.

For the first time, she thought someone must’ve spiked the punch.

They were deep in the forest when Devin spoke up.

“When will we get there?”

“Won’t be long,” Lane said, but her voice sounded strange.

“It’s cold out here,” Devin admitted, shivering. “They could have had the party inside somewhere, couldn’t they have?”

The other two were silent.

Then Blaire looked at Lane. Her black hair whipped across her face. Her cheekbones were sharp. “We have to do it,” she said sharply.

Lane didn’t look at her. “We will.”

“We have to do it now,” she insisted.

“He never told us when we had to do it,” Lane said, but she sounded uneasy. “He only said it had to be tonight.”

“Admit it, Laney,” Blaire intoned. Devin thought she could see tears in Blaire’s eyes. “You’re getting cold feet.”

Lane frowned. She said nothing, but thrusted her hand deep into her coat pocket.

“Do what?” Devin asked. “And who’s ‘he’?”

“Someone who’s everywhere,” Lane droned, eyes trained on her path.

“Stop!” Blaire shrieked, jabbing a finger in Lane’s direction. “Stop saying things like that!” A mixture of mascara and tears wetted her cheeks. Her voice quivered. “You will not back out on me! Not like the others did. I can’t do this alone, Laney!” Blaire was screaming her words. Her throat was raw.

“I don’t know if I can--”

“Stop,” Blaire cut in. Her voice dropped an octave. “Don’t be a coward, Delaney. We just have to do this one last thing, and it’ll be over with.” Lane’s hand burrowed further into her pocket. An owl crowed from a tree in the distance. The three girls had stopped in the midst of a thicket.

Devin’s stupor was beginning to wear off. She had finished her cup of punch fifteen minutes ago.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded. “When are we going to get there?”

Lane and Blaire both turned to stare at Devin. The way their eyes glanced over her thin and shivering form made Devin shift on her feet. An rodent rustled in the bushes. The trees were suddenly still, and lurked in the night. Slowly, a feeling of uncertainty began to grow in Devin chest.

With an exhale, Lane removed something from her pocket. She gripped it by its smooth handle, and the blade of a kitchen knife sparked in the moonlight. “We’ll be there soon,” she said, stony-faced.

“But first, we have to kill you.”