Kathy Reichs - Virals

Blinking away the haze, I looked around.

The boys were shredding meat with their hands and teeth, all manners forgotten. Then I saw it.

Shelton’s irises glowed deep saffron yellow.

I checked Hi, then Ben. My heart thudded madly. Their eyes shone with the same golden radiance.

Dear God in heaven!

The boys continued gorging, unaware of the Lion King scene they were making. I had to do something. Our table was a disaster of strewn utensils, shattered bones, and smeared veggies. Someone would spot us at any minute. We’d be the joke of the school forever.

My mind blanked. The fingernail trick worked for me, but I didn’t know how to call the others back. Without a better idea, I did the one thing I knew would clear the room.

Against every principle, everything I knew to be right, I pulled the fire alarm.

A piecing wail blasted from the PA system.

I jumped away from the little box, already feeling guilty.

The false alarm continued to scream out, blaring, refusing to be ignored.

Still slammed, my ears were hypersensitive. The pain was almost unbearable. A moan rose from my throat. The boys pawed their ears in agony, food forgotten. Shelton fell to the floor and curled in on himself.

The other students jumped to their feet, aware of the Bolton routine and knowing this wasn’t a drill. With a clatter of trays and a few screams, the anxious mob rushed the front doors. In their hasty retreat, not a single person glanced our way.

In seconds we were the cafeteria’s only occupants.

“Let’s get out of here!”

I blasted through the emergency exit, desperate to escape the mind-splitting sirens.

SNUP.

Midway across the yard my knees buckled as if gunshot. I fell to the grass, rolled twice, and lay still.

Slowly, awareness reasserted itself. Running teachers. Huddled students. My friends lying nearby, panting, speechless.

Gradually, my body returned to normal. For long moments no one moved.

I spoke first.

“Did you guys like the chicken?” I asked. “Mine was a bit dry.”

Dead silence.

Then nervous laughter rose around me.

It was music to my bruised ears.

CHAPTER 44

No way I was going to school the next day.

I turned on the shower, rattled bottles, made getting ready noises. Kit bought my act. He rushed off to work early, oblivious to my plan. When the front door closed, I flopped back into bed.

The boys weren’t so lucky. Sorry, guys.

The four of us had agreed to wait another day before presenting ourselves to an ER. Or a psych ward, whichever made more sense.

But school was the least of my worries.

A cotillion dance, my first event as a junior debutante, was taking place that evening. With Kit and Whitney so fired up about it, I couldn’t back out. Aside from Mom’s funeral, I’d never dreaded a gathering more in my life.

I slept all morning and a good chunk of the afternoon. I awoke still sluggish, but free of the overwhelming fatigue. Maybe I was recovering.

I tried to distract myself, even went to see Coop at the bunker. But my thoughts turned repeatedly to the dance. What was I supposed to wear to this thing?

The other girls would feature expensive designer gowns. Stunning red-carpet numbers. I owned nothing even close. A fact that Madison and her coven would be sure to point out.

At 3:27 p.m. I opened my closet door. And found that I’d underestimated Whitney.

The dress practically jumped from the hanger to spin a pirouette. Marchesa. Light pink, strapless, with gold accents. It must’ve cost a thousand bucks.

To my horror, it was my size. Below the dress sat a jewelry box containing two items. A silver David Yurman cable bracelet with pearl tips, and a diamond solitaire necklace.

I stared at the ensemble. Appalled.

Whitney was dressing me like a doll. One with questionable taste.

Pink? I glanced in the mirror, noted my red hair, green eyes, and pale complexion. Had she never met me?

Blarg.

This was not a blend into the background getup. This combo said, “Look at me,” loud and clear. Exactly what I didn’t want.

Dual dilemma. I owned nothing else. Ignoring the dress would hurt Whitney’s feelings.

I had no choice.

Double blarg.

The car ride from Morris Island was torture. Whitney’s endless pointers. Kit’s awkward compliments. I was anxious to get to the dance just to escape them.

“The jewelry’s mine of course. I borrowed the dress from a friend who owns a boutique on King Street.” Whitney was in her element. “We’ll return it to her next week. Daisy said she’d loan us as many outfits as your sweet little debutante heart desires. Isn’t that just the most generous thing ever?”

I tuned out her babbling excitement. The whole thing was a nightmare. A big pink one.

Fenworth House is classic Charleston, all shutters and piazzas and twisty wrought iron. The grand old dame sits on Queen Street near the Powder Magazine and the Gibbes Museum of Art. At my insistence, Kit dropped me at the curb. No way I’d walk in on his arm.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I entered through the carved oak doors. I felt like a giant strawberry cupcake, wobbling in heels, clanking with Whitney’s high-priced jewelry.

Panic thought. What if everyone else wears jeans?

I needn’t have worried. The debs were decked out as if Brad Pitt might drop by looking for a date to the Oscars.

But no one else wore pink.

Oh joy.

The ballroom was straight out of Gone with the Wind . Brocade drapes framed floor-to-ceiling windows, and enormous crystal chandeliers hung over acres of gleaming oak. Small linen-clad tables surrounded the dance floor.

Musicians tuned their instruments on a stage at one end of the room. Saxophones. Trumpets. Trombones. Cymbals clanged and horns tooted as the acoustics were perfected.

A long table hugged the room’s right-hand wall, spread with vases of lilies, china, punch bowls, and appetizers mounded on elegant silver trays. Crab cakes. Mini beef Wellingtons. Bacon-wrapped scallops. Not a bad spread.

“Tory?”

Jason stood beside the buffet. In his black tux and cummerbund, he looked like James Bond. The Daniel Craig version.

“Hi.” I kept it short.

“Wow. You look ridiculous.”

My cheeks burned.

Stupid cupcake dress! Stupid Whitney!

Jason whistled. “Fantastic! Please dress up more often. I’m stunned.” He called across the room. “Chance, look who’s here.”

“Tory, my God!” Chance wore a white tuxedo with tails. On anyone else? Dopey. On him? Yes, please.

Chance snagged a crab cake, all the while appraising me like an art collector evaluating a painting.

“You’re a brave woman,” he said. “It takes great courage to walk in here like that.”

“Like what?”

“Hands down the prettiest girl in the room. All the other ladies will be furious.”

Wait for it ... There! The wink.

“Don’t let Hannah hear that,” I said without thinking. “You’re spoken for.”

My stomach performed a back flip. Flirting with Chance? Was I insane? Why not grab the mike and sing “Macarena.” Complete the lunacy.

Chance’s brows floated an inch up his forehead. Then his lips curled in amusement. “Lucky for me, my princess hasn’t arrived. In fact, I’d better meet her coach outside. Excuse me.”

With that he was gone.

“I didn’t know you were a deb,” Jason said.

“Junior deb,” I corrected. “This is my first event. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”