The Girl with the Wrong Name by Miller Barnabas

Author:Miller, Barnabas [Miller, Barnabas]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Young Adult Literature
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2015-08-27T18:07:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“What happened to her?”

I didn’t scream it. But I enunciated the question loudly enough to silence the chatter in the fancy dining room. I’d never seen so many adults shut their mouths at once. The buzz of conversation died a quick death, melting into the plush red-and-gold carpet. It hadn’t been hard to spot Emma; she was right at the center table, under a candelabra-style chandelier, surrounded by, I guessed, Charles and Sally Renaux and a college-aged boy who was probably her younger brother. All of them in expensive formal wear. All of them seated on silver satin cushions, like a royal family.

“I know you were there,” I said to Emma. “I know you saw it all, so just tell me what you saw.” I wanted to stay calm and controlled, but I couldn’t stop my voice from climbing. “Was it Andy? Because if it was Andy, then you have to tell me. I need to know what happened in that room.”

Emma’s manicured nails flew to her gaping mouth. Her eyelids fluttered in horror. A hundred eyes stared back at me. I was the party-crashing psycho in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, so I figured I might as well run with it while I could. It was too late to turn back now.

“Do any of you people know Sarah?” I swept the room with a steady gaze, picking out a pair of eyes every two or three mortified faces, trying to read their minds. “You think you can just sweep her under the rug? You think you can act like it didn’t happen, and she’ll just disappear from everyone’s minds? Well, she won’t disappear from mine!”

Emma burst into tears, breaking the silence. The next thing I knew, two powerful hands had latched onto my shoulders. They shoved me through the silent crowd. I tried to squirm away and caught a glimpse over my shoulder; it was Emma’s brother, of course. A fratty-looking friend joined him. Together they lifted me just far enough off the floor to keep me from breaking free.

“No!” I growled. “NO! Somebody get them off of me!”

But I might as well have been invisible. It was like Helena said; I was a ghost. Nobody uttered a sound or moved a muscle. I writhed and kicked as the two forced me into the ladies’ room and slammed the door.

I DO NOT RESPOND well to enclosed spaces. Especially after I’ve been manhandled by thick-necked frat dudes in lavender pants. The door wouldn’t budge. They must have locked it. Or they were just blocking it with their steroid-pumped bodies. Either way they’d trapped me in here alone.

“Open it!” I shouted. “Open it, assholes! Open the door!” I pounded on it a thousand times harder than I’d pounded on the bathroom stall at the Magic Garden. “If you don’t open this goddamn—”

But the door burst inward, sending me reeling back into one of the stalls. Jesus, another bathroom stall. Emma’s brother charged at me, a sweaty blur of blond fuzz, thick lips, and rum-and-Coke-soaked breath.

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