Лорен Кейт - The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

When he was gone, I leaned my head on Mike’s shoulder. He was laughing.

“Take a look at what’s happening on the dance floor. All my hard work is paying off.”

I followed Mike’s pointer finger and spotted Kate, in a pink cocktail dress, mugging down with a tall dark-haired and anonymous football player.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Who cares,” Mike said. “It’s not Baxter Quinn. Rex told me Baxter had the nerve to show up tonight—”

“ What? ” I gasped.

“Don’t worry,” Mike rubbed my neck. “He never even made it through the doors. Apparently he reeked of whiskey, and Glass sent him right back to his parole officer.” He pointed back out at the dance floor where the linebacker was grinding up on Kate. “Looks like that dude is definitely going to get the job done tonight.”

Everything was falling into place. Even though Officer Parker was keeping busy separating kids who were getting too freaky on the dance floor, at least he was giving us some space.

Before we knew it, Mike and I were being called back up to the stage where the dance committee had wheeled out two thrones for us to sit on while everyone watched our “Path to Palmetto” footage. . or so they thought.

Principal Glass took the stage.

“Just a quick word,” he droned.

“Yeah, right!” someone hooted from the dance floor.

“To congratulate the student body,” Glass continued oblivi ously, “on your maturity and grace in the face of such a difficult week.”

“I’ll show you grace, asshole,” the hooter shouted again.

Whoa. I was all for taking little jabs at how lame Principal Glass was, but I was surprised that someone would be this ballsy about it. I tried to think of who would have the nerve. . Baxter Quinn bette r not have weaseled his way back in here.

Why didn’t Glass stop to quiet the crowd?

“I know that all of us will continue to deal in our own ways with the loss of Justin Balmer. He is in our hearts and minds every day.”

“I call bullshit on that!”

Wait a minute, I recognized that voice. Slightly boyish with just a hint of a twang. But no, that was impossible. I looked over at Mike to see whether he was thinking the same thing I was thinking. He looked back at me and smiled. Didn’t he hear it?

“I want to thank the entire student body for cooperating so fully with our wonderful Officer Parker,” Glass said.

“Anyone had a full cavity search yet?” the voice in the audience leered.

I stood up from my throne and stepped forward on the stage. I had to figure out where it was coming from.

“Nat,” Mike whispered. “Sit down. What are you doing?”

“I have to find him,” I whispered back.

“I don’t think now’s the time. We can deal with O.P. later.”

“Not O.P.,” I said. “That voice. . it’s—”

J.B.

Feverishly, I stumbled backward, hitting the ground on all fours, just in front of the throne. Justin was walking toward us, but his feet weren’t touching the ground. Instead, his steps moved slowly over the heads of the rest of the students. It was like he was lit up from inside. And he looked so sexy in his tux. There was a handkerchief tucked in his lapel — the same deep purple as my dress.

He held out his hands as if to offer them to me, but then I saw that they were bound by rope and one long, fast-growing tendril of Spanish moss. Both his palms cupped a fistful of pills.

“Unbind me,” he mouthed, his emerald-green eyes boring into me.

“NO!” I screamed.

Principal Glass chuckled into the microphone. “Now, Natalie, don’t be modest. I’ve had the honor to preview your documentary tonight, and I can safely say that we are all in for a very special treat.”

“He’s here. He’s watching us,” I wailed. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything about J.B.? “He’s going to—”

Mike stood up and put his arm around me. “She means Justin,” he explained calmly to the audience. “Of course, he’s watching over us tonight, baby,” he cooed loud enough for everyone to hear. “Nat’s just exhausted. She’s beside herself. We all are,” Mike said, nodding.

I could hear the rest of the school whispering. My chest was sweating, and I could see red stars in front of my eyes. Before them, J.B. was hovering directly over our heads. He was reaching for Mike’s crown.

“You can have it,” I screamed, wrestling the crown from Mike’s head. “Here, you can take mine, too!”

My crown had been fixed in my hair by an hour’s careful placement of bobby pins and at least a can of hair spray. It was going to take all my strength and half of my hair follicles to yank it off my head.

But then, I’d be rid of it for good.

I threw both crowns like star-crossed Frisbees as far away as I could. In the breathless silence, they clattered on the stage in front of us.

“I can’t breathe,” I said, clutching my throat. “I took off the crown, and I still can’t breathe. What else do you want from me?”

Then Mike hoisted me up in his arms and started carrying me offstage.

“Enjoy the film,” he called over his shoulder to the audience.

“What’s happening to you?” he whispered when we were alone behind the curtain.

I looked back toward the stage and could hear Principal Glass nervously stammer, “Everyone please remain calm,” just as my crown came to a rolling stop in the middle of the stage.

“Is my crown in there?” I asked the nice lady hunched over the trashcan behind school on Monday morning. I’d never seen anyone other than students out here before, but it was nice to have a companion.

“Find your own treasure chest, Princess,” she snarled at me. “This is my turf.”

When she stuffed her head back inside the bin, I noticed she was wearing an oversize nylon tracksuit and the kind of flip-flops they give you after you get a pedicure. But I still envied the determination in her voice. She knew what she wanted. She knew what was rightfully hers. It reminded me of someone I used to know. .

“Hey.” She popped back up again, holding the dirty carcass of a fish, wagging it like a finger in my face. “Aren’t you the kiddo who won that little contest, Queen or something? Shouldn’t you be inside, in class?”

I sniffed, inhaling the all too familiar fishy odor. “I was just looking for my crown,” I said. “I lost it.”

“Here.” She cackled, digging through the bin. “Wear this.”

She pulled out a jester hat, trashed after someone’s Mardi Gras party, and tossed it at me. It was coated in something green and sour-smelling and it landed on my chest with a moist thump. I peeled the hat off my old Palmetto sweatshirt and held it out in front of me.

“Suits you,” she burped, before digging into a bucket of chicken tossed into the trashcan. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s breakfast time.”

“Sure,” I nodded, dropping the hat. I heard a bell ringing in the distance — then remembered: I still had to go to school.

I was Natalie Hargrove, and I was kicking off my first week as fallen Palmetto Princess by taking fashion cues from the dispossessed.

“Ugh,” I said, dropping the hat and racing inside to wash my hands.

“God, what is that smell?” Kate Richards said, holding her nose when I barged into the closest bathroom.

“Shut up, Bambies,” I said, lumping Kate right in with the rest of them. I turned on the hot water. “Just move.”

“Sick. Gladly,” Steph Merritt said, backing away. “Do you want to borrow a brush or something?” she asked.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Maybe it had been a few days since my last shower. I guess my roots did look like you could toss a salad in them. And this sweatshirt, even with the green-jester-hat stain, still didn’t really match my dark green jeans. And I knew if my mom could see my splotchy foundation right now, I would probably be grounded.