Page 52 of No Capes
The last time we spoke, I accused her and Phil of knowing that Mom was murdered. Arielle must suspect my motive for wanting to come to her house.
“I want to see what all the fuss is about,” I say.
“Right.” She sighs, knowing I’m lying. “Sure, whatever. I’ll put you on the list. Is Dad coming too?”
I stammer, “Um, no. Just me.” That was much easier than expected. Arielle must have something to gain from my attendance as well. I’ll need to watch my back even more when I’m in her house.
“Fine. It’s a masquerade. Black-tie attire is required. Doors will open at 7:30. The charity this year is researching children’s brain cancer and donations are expected.”
“Perfect,” I say, turning on my heel. She watches me plod all the way into the locker room.
~
“You should get highlights,” Kristen says as she straightens my hair. “They would be pretty on you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You should stop biting your nails.”
“I can’t help it if I get bored.”
“Yes, you can.”
Kristen’s room is dark purple, which she painted herself, and is accessorized with black sheets, pillows, a desk, and most of her clothes. She drew silver stars on her ceiling and, like me, has a space on her dresser dedicated to Golden Ace.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to crash your date?” I ask.
“Hmm, you mean, can you third-wheel Aaron and me so you can find out what happened to your mom and why Phil hired someone to kidnap you? I gotta think about that one.”
I swat her hand out of my face in reply.
Kristen pokes my skin with brushes as I sit in a chair before her mirror. She’d smeared glitter on my eyelids and put this weird gel in my hair to “keep the chlorine from killing it,” but when she sticks a hair-curling wand in front of me, I stand up.
“Alrighty,” I say. “I think that’s enough primping for me today. Your turn, Kris.”
“But I already did me before you came over. Now we’re done playing dress-up.”
Kristen, at that moment, sounds identical to the six-year-old I babysit. But unlike Lily, Kristen accepts where we’re at and checks herself before her protest becomes a full tantrum. Fortunately, Lily’s father had opted not to come to Hallowfest, and I’m off babysitting duty tonight. He decided that qualitytime carting his daughter around for candy was more important than networking with the who’s who of Capital City. Or maybe he heard about Wilson dying and wants to stay home.
Lily showed me her costume this afternoon before her dad came home early and trick-or-treating began. She’s going as Flare and has nailed Flare’s Super outfit: orange spandex and a skirt that spins into ribbons of orange and yellow. In elementary school, there are kids costumed as Supers every day, not only for trick-or-treating. But in middle school, it’s no longer “cool” to wear Super attire. It surprised me that Damian geeked out so hard inLeague of Comicsfor multiple reasons,and one is that the Supers are beyond cool, which means we high schoolers have to pretend not to care about them.
“We should put on our dresses. You’re in luck, by the way. I made you a dress months ago.” She hands me a strapless silver gown. “Hope it fits.”Oh, no. Hope?“Kidding. I know your measurements.”
I head to her bathroom to change. Despite not yet nailing swimwear, Kristen is an amazing designer. That’s why she’s leaving Capital City next year to get more training. I don’t know what I’m doing after graduation yet, but I hope whatever I do is close to her.
The dress is amazing. The silky fabric cascades over me, not baggy, and not tight. I check myself out in the mirror. The silver color is stunning.
Kristen’s dress looks perfect on her too. I return to her room to see her wearing a black, flowing gown that barely has a back. “Wow, Kris. You look awesome.”
“As do you, Mads.” We high-five and I follow her down the spiraling stairs to where her parents are waiting with a limousine.
In the Smithson’s dark driveway, I nearly miss seeing Aaron. He waits by the door of the limo with a black corsage for Kristen,wearing a white bowtie on his black tuxedo, his unruly hair gelled and tamed. Kristen must be melting.
I wait with Kristen’s parents while my friends greet each other, and right before climbing into the limousine, Aaron’s eyes flick to me. Something passes in his stormy gaze, almost like an understanding, like he remembers what I’d told him about Arielle. Like he rememberseverythingI’ve ever told him.
As we settle onto the car’s interior leather, it tugs on my heart that the Smithsons can afford all these luxuries and are sharing them with me, no strings attached. Mrs. Smithson started a financial analytics company after college, which she now runs. I’m not sure what it does, but she’s always sounded like a genius whenever she’s tried to explain it to me. Mr. Smithson coaches the high school badminton team, his dream job. He doesn’t seem to be too disappointed about Kristen’s extreme lack of hand-eye coordination. I think her parents are grateful she’s even playing a sport—anything to teach her time management.
“We’re glad you’re coming this year, Madeline,” says Mr. Smithson. “Someone has to help me go through these snacks.” Mr. Smithson inspects the limo until he spots the mini fridge. He pulls out a tray of chocolate covered strawberries and offers them to the rest of us.
Kristen jerks my arm when we pull up to the Bridges’ estate. The mansion sits on the city’s border, as far away from all the riff raff as any property could be while still being inside the city limits. The estate has been in Phil’s family for generations and boasts an indoor pool, a squash court, a ballroom the size of my entire high school, and lawns that you aren’t allowed to walk on. I accompanied Arielle the first time she saw this place—she had strolled through the too-high ceilings like she was stepping into another world, contemplating whether it met her standards.
