Лорен Кейт - The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

“It’s perfect. It’s royal,” I said, slipping my tongue in his mouth. This time he kissed me back softly.

“Is it too heavy for you?” he asked when we pulled away for breath.

I pressed my mouth against his again, glad to feel his tug on my lower lip.

“With your help bearing the load,” I said, “I think I can manage.”

“H“ ave you seen what the Double D is wearing on her veralls today?” Jenny asked the next morning by my locker. overalls today?” Jenny asked the next morning by my

I snorted, adjusting my Jessamine to hang at a perfectly straight angle. “I didn’t think she’d show. How’d she get a date?”

“Au contraire,” Amy Jane said. Her own Jessamine was gaudy and glittering. It lit up like a Christmas tree when you pressed a button at its center. I would never wear anything close to it, but somehow Amy pulled it off. She lowered her voice and leaned in. “The D.D. is dateless. Her daddy made a Jessamine for her out of pity.”

“Of course he did,” said Jenny, whose Jessamine was totally old-school and tasteful, its centerpiece a rare real flower. Jenny cleared her throat and nodded at my own Jessamine. “I’m sure that’s how she got a crown as her centerpiece, too.”

“What?” I gasped. “Mike said mine was the only one in the state.”

Amy Jane grimaced and took out some cooling cucumber facial mist from her bag. “Uh uh uh,” she coaxed. “No stressing today. You cannot get all puffy-faced before your big night tomorrow.”

“ I’m the Princess. Double D is hardly a groundling.” I could feel my breath quicken, and I held on to the base of my locker for balance. Usually something like this wouldn’t unnerve me so much.

“She’s flipping,” Jenny said. “Nat, you must stay calm. Darla’s mum is tacky and looks nothing like yours—”

“Except for the crown,” Amy Jane said automatically.

Both Jenny and I shot her a look. She shrugged.

“Sorry,” she said. “Jenny’s right — Double D’s flower is school colors. Utterly tacky. Anyway, she won’t even be at the dance tonight — it’s not like she can get away with bringing Daddy as her date.”

“Whereas you, Princess Nat,” Jenny picked up, “will be the belle of the Ball”—she looked at her watch—“in less than twenty-seven hours. At least if I have anything to do with it.” She clapped her hands and opened her PDA. “Now we’re all meeting tomorrow at four o’clock with garment bags and cosmetics, yes?” Amy Jane and I nodded. “The Bambies are coming to help — don’t groan, you know they’re good at the grunt work—”

“At least that’s what the football team says. . ”

Jenny rolled her eyes at Amy Jane. “Nat, you gave Ari Ang the DVD of your ‘Path to Palmetto’ story?”

“Of course,” I said, my heart fluttering briefly about the alternate DVD I had tucked in my backpack and what I was about to undo. Slutsky had come in handy after all. Once I’d called her out on the pills she’d picked out of my purse, she’d been more than happy to “lend” me a naughty tape of her and Officer Parker for sex education purposes only, of course.

“Oooh, I can’t wait,” Jenny squealed. “I bet it’s the best ‘Path to Palmetto’ this school has ever seen.”

I beamed at her and nodded. It was certainly going to be memorable. And more importantly, after tomorrow night, Officer Parker wouldn’t be giving me any more problems. Now all I had to do was find a minute today to sneak into Ari Ang’s projector room and swap the tapes.

The bell rang, and the girls and I exchanged hugs.

“Happy Jessamine Day,” we called on our way to class.

En route to French, I knew I’d find Mike by his locker. I snuck up behind him and covered his eyes with my hands. He jumped and turned around, then tried to recover and look relaxed when he saw that it was me.

“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t know why that scared me.” He looked down at the Jessamine, and his old grin spread across his face. “Hey. . nice bud. I’ve been listening to people sing the praises of that Jessamine all day. Now I see why. You wear it so well.”

He swooped me up, smashing the Jessamine a little in the process, but I didn’t even care. I sucked playfully on his neck and purred.

“I’m so glad things are back to perfect with us,” I said.

“Hate to interrupt,” a voice called from behind us. We broke our embrace to find Officer Parker, with his eyebrows raised and his hands on his hips. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to keep it clean in the hallway.” He shook his head at me. “And I thought you might have learned a lesson from our conversation last week. Maybe you’re just too much of a little sl—”

“You shut your mouth.” Mike’s fist was clenched, and I knew it was on its way around Officer Parker’s collar.

“Mike,” I jumped in, pushing them apart. “Stop it,” I gasped. “He’s right. Let’s just go to class.”

I hauled him toward our last class, and we left O.P. fuming in the hallway.

“Don’t worry, baby.” I grabbed Mike’s hand. “He won’t be on our backs for long.”

But instead of heading to my French class, I dropped Mike off at his history class and waited until the halls were clear. Then I slipped into the A/V room with the DVD burning in my bag.

The windowless studio was dark and cold, and I bumped into more than a few rolling TV stands before I found a desk lamp. I’d only taken one media class at Palmetto, my first semester here, but from the looks of the same rickety tape reels, torn projector screen, and mystifying PA system, you’d think not much had changed in the world of technology over the past three years. I waded past the dated electronics toward the attic, an alcove jutting over the back of the gymnasium. Tomorrow night, Ari Ang would emcee the dance from here.

The Anger was nothing if not organized, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find his neatly labeled multimedia binder for the Ball. I’d already labeled my replacement DVD with the same Mike ’n’ Nat sticker that decorated the real “Path to Palmetto” DVD, so everything was ready to go.

I pulled open the thick soundproof door to the attic and stepped in. The room was a myriad of knobs and blinking lights that I would never understand, but it did have one of the best aerial views in the school. The tinted window above the main control panel overlooked the gym, which overlooked the football field, where we’d all had so many good memories.

But when I leaned up against the glass to look out, I was struck by one specific memory, the kind of memory I was least expecting.

I’d spent the bulk of first semester freshman year working on my final project for Media 101, a documentary on the town of Charleston. I remember being surprised to find myself so into it — maybe all those hours cutting footage in the A/V room were an excuse to be away from Mom and her sugar daddy du jour. But in the end, I remember being really proud of it. I was watching the final cut after school one day in the alcove when Justin Balmer barged in unannounced.

I’d had the soundproof headphones on, so I didn’t hear anything until he tapped me on the shoulder. I’d spun around so fast I knocked them off.

“Whoops,” he sounded surprised. “I was looking for Amber. Sorry.”

Amber Lochlan was a cool older girl in my media class, who went on to be that year’s Palmetto Princess. She had the same short dark hair as I did, so maybe we could have passed for each other from behind. But I liked to think my hair was not as susceptible to humidity as Amber’s.