Slush Ball
When Link pulled up in front of my house, Savannah was already in the front seat of the Beater. He got out and met me at the curb, like he had something to tell me. He was wearing a tacky ruffled tux shirt that made him look like he was in a mariachi band, and tux pants with his high-top Vans.
“Nice threads.”
“Thought Savannah would hate it. Thought she wouldn’t get in the car. I swear, I tried everything.” Normally, he would’ve been gloating. Tonight, he sounded miserable.
Rid’s really gotten to him, L.
Just get him up here to the house. I have a plan.
“I thought you were meeting Savannah at the dance. Isn’t she supposed to be there with Emily and the rest of the Dance Committee?” I lowered my voice, but I didn’t have to. I could hear a Holy Rollers demo track blasting from the stereo, as if Link had been trying to drown Savannah out.
“I tried that. She wanted to take pictures.” He shuddered. “Her mom and my mom. It was a nightmare.” He broke into his standard impression of his mother. “Smile! Wesley, your hair is stickin’ up. Stand up straight. Take the picture!”
I could only imagine. Mrs. Lincoln was fierce with a camera, and there was no way she was going to watch her son take Savannah Snow to the winter formal without documenting it for future generations. Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Snow were too much to take when you put them together in the same room. Especially when the room was Link’s living room, where there wasn’t a place to sit or look or even lean your hand against that wasn’t shrink-wrapped in plastic.
“Bet you five bucks Savannah doesn’t set foot in Ravenwood.”
Link finally cracked a smile. “That’s what I’m hopin’.”
From the backseat of the Beater, Savannah looked like she was sitting in a big puddle of pink whipped cream. She tried to talk to me a few times, but it was impossible to hear anything over the music. When we turned at the fork in the road that led to Ravenwood, she started to squirm.
Link turned off the radio. “You sure you’re okay with this, Savannah? You know folks say Ravenwood’s been haunted ever since the War.” He said it like he was telling a ghost story.
Savannah lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid. People say lots a things. Doesn’t mean they’re true.”
“Yeah?”
“You should hear what they say about you and your friends.” She turned back to look at me. “No offense.”
Link blasted the radio, trying to drown her out, as Ravenwood’s gates creaked open. “This church picnic ain’t no picnic. / You’re my fried chicken. / Holy finger-lickin’…”
Savannah yelled at him over the music. “Are you callin’ me a piece a fried chicken?”
“Nah. Not you, Slush Queen. Never.” He closed his eyes and pounded out the drums on the dashboard of the Beater. As I got out of the car, I felt sorrier for Link than ever.
Link started to open his door, but Savannah didn’t move. The idea of setting foot inside Ravenwood must not have sounded so good after all.
The door opened before I knocked. I saw a swirl of fabric—green, with a gold shine to it, so it looked like both colors at the same time. Lena pulled the door wide, and the fabric floated off her shoulders, hanging down toward her waist almost like bits of wing.
Do you remember?
I remember. You look beautiful.
I did remember. Lena was the butterfly tonight, like the moon on the night of her Seventeenth Moon. What had looked like magic then still looked like magic now.
Her eyes sparkled.
One green, one gold. One Who Was Two.
A chill swept over me, out of place on the warm December night. Lena didn’t notice, and I forced myself to ignore it. “You look—wow.”
She twirled around, smiling. “You like it? I wanted to do something different. Come out of my cocoon a little.”
You were never in a cocoon, L.
Her smile widened, and I said it again out loud. “You look… like you. Perfect.”