Linda Singleton - Dead Girl Dancing

“Not my fault, Sadie. Blame Rayah.” The pink-haired roommate pointed an accusing finger at me. “She wasn’t dressed, then she whined that she had to wait for some new guy and just when we were finally out of the room, she wanted to go back for her purse.”

“How could you forget your purse?” The other girl, Sadie, looked at me like I’d committed a felony. “I don’t care how wasted I am, I’d never ever leave my purse.”

“I have it now.” I gripped the leather bag tightly, reassured to have this small connection to my new identity even though all the cash inside made me nervous. But that was the least of my worries. I had to contact Eli or think of a way to stall long enough for him to show up.

“I still need a phone.” I turned to the pink-haired girl. “You said I could use yours.”

She opened the back seat door and gestured for me to get inside. “Let’s wait till we’re on our way.”

“But it’s urgent. He doesn’t know I’m—”

“Don’t care. Don’t want to hear it.” The roommate shook her head. “All you’ve been doing is delaying and making excuses. You’re acting like some guy is more important than your best friends and this trip we’ve been planning for weeks.”

“I never meant that.”

“Then forget the guy for a while.”

Sadie glanced curiously at us. Her sharp features reminded me of a bird: not an ordinary sparrow, but a bright and exotic macaw, shining with shades of sapphire, cinnamon and sunset red. “Aren’t you being harsh, Mauve?” she asked the pink-haired girl. “If Rayah wants to call some dude, what’s the harm? Don’t be such a bitch.”

“Why not? I am one and proud of it.”

“Yeah — I saw it on a bumper sticker. Mauve: Campus Bitch .”

Mauve snorted. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Someone around here has to be.” Sadie’s car keys jangled as she slipped into the driver’s seat. “So who’s the new guy, Rayah?”

“Oh, it’s not like that!” I felt my face reddening. “I mean, he’s more like … um … a brother. But it’s important I call him … can I borrow your phone?”

“Don’t give it to her until we’re on the freeway and there’s no turning back, Sadie,” Mauve interrupted with an accusing look at me as she opened the door to the passenger side of the front seat. “She’s been acting all kinds of weird. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s more than a hangover. Rayah, is there something you’re not telling us?”

“Of course not.”

“Then get into the car.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I scooted into the back seat.

Sadie glanced at Mauve and then me with pinched lips. “You know what we need?”

“A phone,” I said.

“A new roommate,” Mauve said.

“Wrong.” With a big smile, Sadie slid into the car and reached for a bag. “Mocha lattes. Since you were taking so long, I ran over to Starbucks and got our usual.”

I inhaled a rich scent of coffee as I took the hot cup and pulled off the lid. But when I took a sip, I nearly spit it out. Whoa! Sharayah’s “usual” was strong enough to sober up a career drunk. I rarely drank coffee, and when I did I dumped in loads of cream and sugar. Stealthily, I put the lid back on and squeezed the cup into a holder.

“That should cure Rayah’s hangover. She really tied one on with James .” Mauve spoke his name in a mocking way. “When I got to the room, she was wearing his shirt.”

“And the partying begins,” Sadie said cheerfully as she fastened her seat belt. “Between you two, my Layaway List is growing fast. How would you rate James? Was he any good? Details, please.”

“Um … well … ” I blushed, having no idea how to answer this.

“That bad, huh? Next time you can teach him a few of your tricks.” Sadie said this in a tone that implied I had plenty of experience with guys.

My cheeks flamed and I was glad to be sitting in the back where they couldn’t see my face. In my real body, I’d kissed a total of four guys and had never gone farther than second base. I was so not experienced — definitely not enough to score anyone or teach them “tricks.” And I was pretty sure Sadie’s “Layaway List” had nothing to do with shopping for clothes at the mall.

Mentally, I started my own list of People to Avoid:

#1. James.

#2. The Stalker.

Posing as Sharayah might be easier away from the dorm. It was hard enough to fool Mauve and Sadie, but if I stayed on campus I’d run into more people who knew more about me than I knew about myself — which would be all kinds of awkward.

Still, leaving meant not seeing Eli. But maybe I could meet up with him later — if I could ever call him. Mauve continued to be a bitch about using her phone and warned Sadie not to loan me hers, either.

I needed a plan to delay leaving until Eli showed up. Anxiety made me nauseous, and I gripped my stomach … and then smiled.

Being sick — perfect!

“Oooh,” I groaned with exaggerated drama.

Sadie whirled around to face me. “Rayah, you okay?”

“Ignore her and start the car,” Mauve snapped.

“I’m not feeling … ooh!” I covered my mouth and sagged forward.

“Drink your latte,” Mauve said. “That’ll sober you up.”

I shook my head, adding gagging sounds to my groans.

“Rayah, hold yourself together,” Sadie begged. “Don’t you dare hurl in my car!”

The weird thing was that once I thought about my stomach, I really did feel sick. Bile burned my throat. When I doubled over, moaning, I wasn’t faking it. My insides rebelled, roiling and pitching like a storm. Oh, no … no! I unfastened my seat belt, yanked open the door, and spewed on the pavement.

When I was able to lift my head I felt lighter and much, much better. I gulped in damp foggy air and avoided looking at the ground by glancing around the parking lot. A flash of light caught my attention in the opposite row of cars. An interior light glowed from a dark-colored compact car, spotlighting a girl in the driver’s seat with curly red hair and pale skin. Her gaze was fixed my way and she was staring directly — furiously — at me. Then the illumination faded, dimming slowly until the girl seemed to vanish in the fog.

But those angry eyes continued to burn in my memory, and while I didn’t personally know the redheaded girl, I was positive she knew — and hated — Sharayah.

“Are you done yet?” Mauve asked, stepping out of the car. She walked over, then glanced down at the ground and made a bitter face. “Eww, that’s so gross.” “Sorry.” I wobbled back into the car on rubbery legs and snapped my seat belt back on. “I’ve never done anything like that before.” “Ha!” Mauve snorted. “Try telling that to someone who hasn’t roomed with you for three months. But hey, it’s all in fun.” Fun? Getting sick and spewing in a parking lot was fun? Did Mauve really mean that or was she being sarcastic again? It was impossible to tell with Mauve (was that her real name, anyway, or an accessory to match her hair?). Her sarcasm didn’t faze me, though, not like the hatred from the red-haired girl. Who was she and what did she have against Sharayah? If facial expressions came with subtitles, hers would have read, “Die a painful death right now so I can laugh while you suffer.” I couldn’t get her twisted fury out of my head, and there was also this gnawing feeling … an odd sense of recognition, as if something inside my borrowed body remembered her with emotions of bitterness, fear, and guilt.

Sadie started the car, its headlights sweeping across the parking lot. I peered through the misty light for the girl but saw only reflections of headlights glaring back at me.