Eli and I celebrated my “one more day” by indulging in chocolate.
We wandered down streets until we found a shop called Choco Lots! The Amber inside me drooled with passion. Choosing just one candy was impossible, so Eli and I systemically divided the candies into categories and mathematically selected a representation of each chocolate category to share. When I started to offer my “borrowed” credit card, Eli shook his head and paid in cash.
“You are the best brother ever,” I said as we left the store with two bags.
“I don’t feel at all brotherly with you. But then I look at you and see my sister. Like this scar on your arm.” He pointed to a small white line below my elbow. “I bet you don’t know how that happened.”
I shook my head. “No idea.”
“But I do. I was six, and you were teaching me how to ride my bike.”
“I was a nice sister,” I observed, moving aside with Eli to make room for a couple with a stroller.
“You were the best,” he agreed a bit sadly. “It was when Dad was starting his dealership and Mom did his bookkeeping, leaving us with babysitters a lot. It was Sharayah who put me up on a bike, explained what to do and pushed me into the street. But a car turned onto our street and was headed for me. Sharayah ran after me, grabbed the bike and threw us out of the way. I fell on the grass, but she had to go to the emergency room for stitches. That’s the Sharayah I miss.”
“She’s around, just in hiding,” I said. “She’ll come back.”
“I hope so.”
“Until then, you’ve got me.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I like that.”
“You know what I like?”
“What?” He gave me a look that was far from brotherly.
“What else?” I reached into the bag and we shared a chocolate-covered strawberry.
That afternoon will probably go down as the most romantic platonic non-date in history. No kissing, hand holding or body contact of any kind. We walked along the beach without even brushing fingertips. We found a small amusement park and rode on fast rides, sitting a safe “sibling distance” apart. Despite all this non-touching, I felt closer to Eli than ever.
After a late lunch of chili hot dogs and onion rings, I was staring at a spot of chili on his mouth, wishing I could kiss it off, when Eli glanced at the clock on his cell phone and said he had to leave. Turns out he wasn’t lying about having friends to visit. He invited me to go along, but keeping up the Big Sister pretense privately was hard enough; it would be insane around people who actually knew Sharayah.
So I wandered back to the beach.
Mauve was exactly where I’d left her, sitting on the towel with her elbows on her knees. She was leaning her head against her hands in a wistful way, watching a guy around thirty and a toddler girl about the age of my triplet sisters. The guy, who was probably the father, was showing the little girl how to dig in the sand with a plastic shovel. Mauve was so absorbed in watching that she didn’t notice me until I plopped down on the hot sand beside her. When she lifted her face, I was stunned to see tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Mauve, what’s wrong?” I asked in concern. “Why are you crying?”
She wiped her eyes. “I’m not. Just something in my eye.”
“Yeah — tears.”
“Forget it,” she said sharply. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t. Did something happen with Alonzo?”
“No. We’re cool.”
“So why are you crying alone on the beach? And you had the oddest expression while you watched them.” I pointed as the little girl giggled when her father shoveled sand over her toes. “Do you know them?”
“No.” She sounded angry now. “And stop acting like you don’t know what’s going on. We talked about this when you saw the picture. I appreciate your support, but I warned you never to bring it up again. You’re just trying to get me to talk about it, and I already told you I’m not going to.”
Hmmm, this was getting interesting. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen any picture so I had no clue what was going on.
“I read this book once, called Talk Therapy, that said how it was healthy to talk about problems. You can hide them from others but not from yourself — that was some of the advice.”
“Self-help books suck. And since when do you read books that don’t have half-naked men on the cover?” She brushed sand off her towel, turning her back on me. “Go away, Rayah. Hang out with your brother if you’re bored.”
“Eli is visiting his friends.”
“So find Sadie. She’ll talk about anything.”
“Except for the problems she’s trying to hide,” I said.
“Don’t compare me with her,” Mauve warned. “My issues aren’t anything like Sadie’s. I’m not a klepto.”
“You know about her stealing?” I blew out a heavy sigh.
“Hel-lo? I’m the one who warned you Sadie had stolen your ATM card and that you better switch all your money to another bank.”
I thought of the cash in my purse, finally understanding. Sharayah wasn’t carrying all that cash for any nefarious reasons. She meant to put it into a new account in a different bank — only I’d interrupted by taking over her body.
“—and never leave your purse around when Sadie comes to our room,” Mauve added. “She can’t help herself if she sees jewelry, credit cards or cash. She’s my friend and all, but she’s a thief. At least she’s been better since she got arrested—”
“Arrested!” My hand flew to my mouth and I tasted sand. Yuck.
“Shhsh! Not so loud,” Mauve cautioned, looking around nervously. “We promised not to tell anyone as long as Sadie continues with her therapy. But she’s missing her session this week, so I’m worried about a relapse. We have to watch her carefully. Have you seen her take anything?”
I nodded. “A rhinestone watch.”
“Damn.” Mauve scowled. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” Mauve gave me a disgusted look. “You promised to let me know right away so I could prevent anything serious from happening.”
I stared at her, marveling at this new side of Mauve. It was almost like she had a heart. “You really do care about Sadie, don’t you?”
“She’s my friend.” Mauve shrugged. “And you are, too, even though you can be a total bitch sometimes.”
“Me?” I gasped.
“You never talk about your past, but sometimes it’s like you’re on self-destruct. I can’t always be there to pick up the pieces — although I try. You have to be responsible. Guys are fun, but they don’t stick around when you need them.”
“Not all guys,” I pointed out. “Eli … I mean, my brother, is the loyal type.”
“Your brother’s too young for me,” she said wryly.
But not for me, I thought.
“What about Alonzo?” I asked Mauve, trying to understand. “Things seem to be progressing nicely with him.”
“When spring break is over, so are we — if we last that long. He was pissed when I didn’t want to dance, so he’s probably already gone on to some other girl. I know better than to expect anything from him. We girls have to watch each others’ backs — guys just want to have fun with no responsibilities.”
Her tone hinted at a betrayal so deep an X-ray would probably show scaring across her heart. And when her gaze strayed back to the father and daughter, I wondered if she had issues with her own father. Except it wasn’t the man she was staring at — it was the little girl. A suspicion came to me. But I couldn’t just come out and ask her something so personal — especially something I was supposed to already know. How was I going to find out?
“That little girl is cute,” I said carefully. “She’s about the age of my … um … the little triplet sisters of this girl I know.”
“Triplets! I can’t imagine carrying three babies at once. The mother must have horrible stretch marks.”
“She had a C-section, and was on bed rest for months.”
“What a nightmare. I’d never want to go through that.”
And just the way she said it, I knew her secret without Grammy, Sharayah or even the GEM telling me.
“Mauve, can you show me the picture again?” I asked softly. “Of your daughter.”
* * *
You never really know people, even when they stay in their own body.
Mauve had seemed all bitchy and irresponsible, but that was only the outside. Inside, she loved so much that when a guy broke her heart and left her pregnant, she gave up the baby to an adoptive family who needed to give love as much as the baby needed to be loved.
When Mauve showed me the picture of herself holding a baby, I could have cried. The baby was two years old now and named Jenna, and Mauve’s only contact was a picture in the mail every year on Jenna’s birthday. In a private way, Mauve was a genuine heroine and I respected her, maybe even liked her. I had less respect for Sadie — who’d seemed so fun and nice when we’d first met, but couldn’t be trusted.
For the first time since living in a college-aged body, my soul caught up in experience. I felt even older than Sharayah. Things that seemed important a week ago — making welcome baskets to give to new students at school, achieving a 4.0 average and trying not to show how uncool I really was despite all the self-help books — seemed unimportant. When I was me again, I’d look the same, but inside I’d be forever changed.
My emotions were still raw a few hours later, when Sadie, Mauve and I met up at the crappo condo. None of us had planned to meet, but here we all were. Together again, pretending that nothing had changed.
“I’m so over Warren,” Sadie insisted as she rifled through her suitcase until she found a jade-green tube dress. “Let’s have a girls’ night out at Club Revolution.”
“I’m in,” Mauve said as she tried to figure out the latch on the fold-out bed. “And I’m going to wear my sexiest dress tonight so that when Alonzo sees me, he’ll regret going off with that tramp in the pink bikini.”
“At least Alonzo isn’t in jail,” Sadie said sadly.
“Better him than you,” Mauve said with a meaningful look. “Did you take care of things?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sadie retorted, all wide-eyed and innocent.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Mauve narrowed her eyes. “Did you?”
“What do you think? That I’m stupid? I’ll handle it when I’m ready, okay?” Sadie glared back at Mauve, then slammed her suitcase. “I’m going to shower.”
She stormed off, the door banging so loud behind her that I jumped.
“That went well,” Mauve said with a grim smile.
“You think?” I shook my head, sure they were both insane.
“Actually, yes. By tonight she’ll forget about hating me and tell me about whatever new guy she’s interested in. It’s not like she needs to steal — her parents are both lawyers and loaded. She just does it for attention, so I give her attention and she’s okay. Some problems are easy to fix.”
Mauve said this so sadly, I knew she was thinking about her daughter again.
But there would be no more talking about this or any other problems tonight.
It was Girls’ Night Out — and we were going to party.
* * *
Club Revolution was tucked behind a church and a liquor store, almost hidden beyond the crush of bodies flowing into it. By the time we arrived, the place was rocking with wild music. People weren’t just dancing inside the club, either, but outside on the terrace, hands waving and laughter rippling like uncorked champagne.
Walking between my two roommates, I felt self-conscious, wondering if everyone was comparing us. Gorgeous, pink-haired Mauve wore a slinky halter-top with black leather pants; petite Sadie had her long braids coiled high on her head and held in place with a glittery tiara that made her look like an exotic princess; and tall, thin Sharayah, excited but nervous, wore a long-sleeved, white knit shirt over a swirled skirt — which was a little boring for clubbing, but had a hidden pocket which was perfect for tucking away the GEM.
My last night as Sharayah, I thought, with both relief and regret. I planned to have fun — but within reason. Which is why when my friends offered to get me a drink, I said I’d go get my own, and bought a Coke. (Rum and Coke, I’d tell anyone who asked.)
We made our way to a table, sitting down with our drinks. Immediately a blond guy with wire-rimmed glasses came over and asked Mauve to dance. She checked him out, smiled as if she liked what she saw, then drained her drink in one gulp and waved at us as she headed for the dance floor.
Sadie watched her enviously and said something to me, but the band was so loud I couldn’t hear her. She gestured to me and then to the dancing crowd, tilting her head in a You want to dance? gesture.
I shook my head and mouthed, “No.”
Sadie shrugged, then went off on her own, melting into the throng of dancers.
The music was so fantastic, like an invisible magnet pulling at my body. Maybe I would join Sadie. It wasn’t like I needed a guy to dance with. Girls danced together all the time. Or I could just sit here, sip my drink and think “strategy” for the Voice Choice competition.
Eli had agreed to drive me, and we were leaving before daylight. I didn’t expect the competition to be huge like the mega-thousands lining up for American Idol—there would probably be only a few hundred entrants. Still, I had to make sure Sharayah got noticed. Luckily I’d read lots of books about the music industry and knew that gimmicks like showing up in a costume were for amateurs. Professionalism and perfect pitch were key. Sharayah already had a great voice; I’d supply the professional attitude.
Song selection would be tricky. I had a few ideas, but wasn’t sure which suited Sharayah’s voice best. Eli could help me decide, I thought, taking another sip of Coke.
It seemed like fate was paving the way for Sharayah’s singing stardom. She had the voice, I had the know-how and Eli would be there for support.
What could go wrong?
As if thinking about Eli had its own magical power, I looked up and there he was.
“So how’d you get in? Aren’t you underage?” I teased.
“No younger than you,” he said, loud enough to be overheard even in the noisy nightclub.
“But my I.D. shows I’m twenty-one.”
“I.D. isn’t so hard to come by … one way or another.” His smile always curved a little unevenly, which was so cute. He was dressed in black slacks and a button-down beige shirt — probably too formal for a beach-themed nightclub where half the dancers wore swim trunks or bikinis, but I thought he looked perfect.
I gestured for him to sit down, but he shook his head and pointed to the dance floor. “Want to dance?”
My feet were tapping and my body swaying, so the answer was yes. I did want to dance, and specifically with him. I stood and clasped his hand; his gentle yet firm, warm, comfortable hand that I wanted to hold forever.
As we neared the dancers, a familiar pink-haired girl slipped out of the crowd and hurried toward us.
“I see you changed your mind about dancing.” Although the sound was louder on the dance floor, the acoustics must have been better because I could hear Mauve fine.
I nodded. “Yeah. Eli asked me.”
“You’re going to dance with him?” she asked incredulously.
Eli and I immediately dropped our hands and stepped apart.
Mauve rolled her eyes, then looked closer at Eli. “Too young, but cute enough for some fun. Go find someone who doesn’t share your DNA, Rayah, and I’ll dance with little bro.”
Then she grabbed Eli’s hand and jerked him toward her. Eli shot me a helpless what can I do? look before he was swallowed by the crowd and I lost sight of him. Embarrassed, I stood there — not sure whether to retreat back to the table or join the dancers.
After sitting alone for what felt like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes, I felt someone tap my shoulder.
“Guess who,” a deep voice whispered in my ear.
I’d only heard him once before, but with my shoulder tingling from the gentle touch, I knew exactly who stood behind me.
Slowly, I turned around.