But it was her hair that told the real story. She had curled her already-wavy mess of red locks and then I assumed used hairspray to define each thick wiggling strand and make it stand away from her scalp. If I’d only been able to see her head, I’d still have known who she was—Medusa.
“You look awesome!” And I meant it. She did.
“Vanna, you look beautiful,” Mr. Grant said, awe evident in his voice. “You look so much like your mother.”
A sadness that was becoming all too familiar to me lit his eyes when he walked to Savannah and reached out to touch her cheek. In the likeness of his daughter, he was seeing the love of his life, living and breathing again, right in front of him. I knew by the pain in his eyes that he would mourn the loss of her forever.
As I watched him adore his daughter, knowledge slammed into my gut like a steel fist, knowledge that some day—maybe even some day soon—I would lose Bo.
Again. Only this time, for real. Forever. I wouldn’t lose him to death. Never to death. I would lose him to another love, a love I couldn’t compete with. And then I, too, would spend the rest of my life mourning him, the love I loved the most.
“Alright, Dad. Don’t get all creepy and ooey-gooey,” Savannah teased.
When Savannah took off her sunglasses and started fiddling with them, I thought at first that it was a nervous gesture. But then, when she looked up and I saw her eyes, I knew that it wasn’t. The sadness of her father was reflected in the warm brown pools, and I felt guilty for forgetting that Savannah knew all about loss, too.
“Sorry, honey,” he said, plastering a brave smile on his handsome face. “You girls have fun tonight. Just not too much. Stay away from shirtless boys with a six pack and tight pants,” he warned.
“Right, Dad. Way to make things less weird.”
I couldn’t help but grin at their exchange. Their life together, while tragic, was like a reprieve in a way. And their light banter helped to diffuse the desperate sadness that had swallowed up all the air in the room.
Savannah turned and walked cautiously to the door. I followed. So did Mr.
Grant.
He opened the door and held it while we exited. “Home by midnight.”
Savannah sighed. “Fine, Mr. Cleaver. Midnight.”
Mr. Grant smiled tolerantly, shaking his head in exasperation.
I was uncertain what I should do to help Savannah, but she took the reigns and reached out to grab hold of my forearm.
“Just gonna leave a blind girl to trip and fall, is that it?”
I laughed nervously. Her teasing took some getting used to.
“I’m kidding, Ridley. Just let me hold your arm and don’t get too far ahead of me. We’ll be fine.”
She said it so tenderly, so compassionately, as if she knew that I was struggling with my role in the night, with my role as her friend. I just wanted to hug her. Beneath all her joking, wise-cracking and goof-balling, Savannah was really pretty amazing. Devon had seen it first. It had taken the rest of us a little longer to catch on.
Once she was seated in the car, I shut the door and started to walk off. Her shriek stopped me.
“What?” I said, jerking open the door. “What is it?”
“You shut the door on my tail,” she said in a forlorn voice.
It was just then that I saw that her dress tapered off in the back to a long, narrow train that looked like an elegant tail, perfect for Medusa’s lower snakey half.
Savannah picked up the material and placed it gently in her lap, sniffling delicately.
“My tail! It’s broken.”
I know my face must’ve been comically horrified. Until I heard her laughing.
“You’re mean as the snake you’re wearing,” I said, slamming the door shut and walking around to the driver’s side.
“Gotcha ‘gin,” she boasted happily.
“Are you always like this?”
She pursed her lips for just a minute, while she thought. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“How does your dad stand it?”
“He laughs a lot.”
“I bet,” I said, starting the engine and shifting into gear.
Once we’d arrived at the school, there was practically a party around Savannah, our new school celebrity. She handled the spotlight with admirable aplomb, however, and I just stood back and watched her.
I searched the costumes for something that seemed like a Summer look or an Aisha style, but I saw neither of them, nor did I see Drew.
Maybe they’re not here yet, I thought. Or maybe they’re disguised better than what you’d think, like as angels or something equally dichotomous.
To get my mind off them, I surveyed the gym. It was decorated with all sorts of macabre materials and paraphernalia. Tons of spider web loaded with spiders and bloody fingers and severed limbs hung above the dance floor. Black lights stood in all four corners, making the black seem blacker and the white seem to glow. There was a refreshments table set against one wall with a faux stone path that led to it. It wandered through headstones and fog, like you might find in a real cemetery—minus the zombie heads-and-hands emerging from the haze, of course.
I admired it all as the cheerfully costumed students continued to clamor around Savannah.
The loud music faded into the familiar thump of a not-quite-slow song. Its beat brought to mind steamy nights and writhing bodies. The sensual rhythm called to many of the people surrounding Savannah, beckoning them to the dance floor.
Scary couples and gruesome groups started to move in unison to the heavy bass. I searched the made-up and masked faces for Savannah until I located her bright, serpentine halo. She’d been lassoed into a dance by a dead cowboy I recognized.
He sat three rows behind me in study hall.
Suddenly aware of being the lone person not on the dance floor dancing, I turned to make my way around to the refreshments table. I was skirting the writhing mob of dancers when I felt a familiar tug in my belly.
I stopped in my tracks and looked around. Immediately, my heart sped up, banging like a drum, keeping time with the erratic expansion of my lungs as I grew more and more breathless.
I searched the faces for the one that occupied far too many of my thoughts, but I didn’t see him. I could’ve almost convinced myself that I’d been mistaken, but the magnetism that I felt intensified with every breath, assuring me that it was no mistake. Those invisible strings were pulling me, no dragging me into the middle of the crowd, where bodies were crushed together so tightly they moved as if they were one.
Weaving my way through perfumed and cologned figures, I felt like I was getting lost in the fray when I saw a tall, darkly cloaked figure watching me through a break in the mob.