<Chapter 12 —— Chapter 14>
Want to read the beginning of this story? Start at Chapter One
Monique dropped Emma off in front of a four-story mansion in the gated community on Pine. It was probably the ugliest monstrosity of a house Emma had ever seen. It seemed to be taking over the street, it was so large and sprawling. Emma grabbed her backpack from the back seat, nodded to Monique, and walked purposefully toward the front door. She walked slowly, waiting until the Lexus turned a corner before she changed course and took off running. She had given Monique a false address, but Cara’s house was only one street over on Maple.
Cara’s house was nearly as large as the mansion where Emma had been dropped off, but it was of a more modest and attractive design. Every light in the house was on and the house was decorated with balloons and banners that said Happy Birthday, Cara! Emma walked up the steps in the landscaped yard and knocked on the giant wooden doors.
Brinley opened them with a bright smile. She was dressed in a black strappy camisole, white slacks that were extremely tight on her, and an expensive scarf around her neck. Her makeup was way too dark for her complexion, and her hair had been curled and pulled up in a messy bun. It was too sexy a look for a 15-year-old girl.
Her smile dropped away immediately. “You’re 30 minutes late!”
She hauled Emma inside. “And still in your uniform? You’re killing me!” She gave Emma no time to look around the mansion; she hauled her up the nearest floating staircase to the wing that was Cara’s room. Cara’s entire clique was there getting ready for the party, putting on makeup as ridiculous as Brinley’s, and outfits as sexy. Emma looked around the room in wonder. She had been overjoyed with her own room at the House, but her room could have fit five or six times inside Cara’s room, with space to spare.
“Finally!” Cara snapped in exasperation as she came from behind a dressing screen. She wore a dress that may as well have not been there at all for how tight and short it was. Her hair was down in massive ringlets, and her makeup was light and attractive.
“What happened to you?” Cara demanded of Emma, but she did not wait for an answer. She pointed a bossy finger at a massive pile of clothing and coats on the bed. “Brinley, get her dressed before anyone shows up and sees her looking like that.”
Brinley pulled Emma toward the bed. This bed was large enough that half the girls in the school could probably sleep on it comfortably. Idly, Emma wondered where they found bedding for it.
On the bed were piles and piles of clothing. Brinley grabbed Emma’s backpack and shoved it onto a pile, ignoring Emma’s protests. She selected a few pieces and held them up to Emma, only to discard them onto another pile. Nothing she said made any impression on Brinley; she might as well have been talking to Adam or Scott for all the care Brinley paid to her opinions. After a few tiresome minutes standing silently while Brinley sighed and fussed over the “Ridiculous lack of acceptable clothing,” Brinley finally shoved a pinkish dress into Emma’s hands and said, “Put this on. I hope you’re freshly shaved.” She was, because she shaved every day before school since she had to wear the stupid pleated skirt.
Brinley did not indicate a bathroom or a dressing room where Emma could dress. The other girls in the room did not bother to seek out a modest space. And Cara was once again behind the only dressing screen. Brinley snapped her fingers at Emma to urge quickness. So, after another embarrassed glance around the room, she stripped right there. She was more modest about it than the others, but Brinley still managed to see a large bruise across her ribs.
“What the heck?” Brinley demanded, jerking the dress out of her hands so she could get a better look at the contusion. “Someone beat you?”
“No,” Emma said patiently, pulling the dress back into her grasp. “I was kicked in the ribs doing martial arts.”
Brinley blinked at her. “Martial arts? Really?” For a moment, Emma thought she had impressed the girl. But then Brinley laughed and rolled her eyes. “You are such a colossal bore.”
She shoved Emma away and then turned to another girl to laugh and make jokes at Emma’s expense. Emma did her best to ignore them. She dressed, and then submitted to Brinley’s manhandling. She zipped Emma in, all the time abusing her for not knowing how to wear this kind of dress, and for not taking off her bra, which she had to do to wear this kind of dress. Emma had never been in public without a bra since she started wearing one in seventh grade. Losing it made her feel even less secure than she already felt. Brinley laughed harshly at her when she reluctantly unhooked it and pulled it off.
“What are you even doing here?” Brinley snapped with another roll of her eyes. Emma was trying desperately hard not to ask herself that same question. She was as far out of her element as possible.
Brinley pushed her in front of the full-length mirror and adjusted the dress on her, pulling in some places, smoothing in others. It was not “pinkish,” Brinley informed her. It was dusted rose, and the tie around the middle was mauve. Emma looked at herself and doubted. She looked ridiculous, like a little girl dressed in her mother’s Sunday dress. Not that the dress was too big or too small, it just didn’t seem to fit her. Brinley did not care about that.
“It looks awesome on you. Thank goodness you don’t have boobs yet.”
Emma took offense at that comment, since she thought she had a very nicely formed set. But she said nothing, because it would do her no good to respond to a bully’s criticisms. She had spent her life mostly ignoring them.
Her dusted rose dress had no sleeves or straps. The zipper held it up, tight as the thing was on her body. The mauve tie across the middle of the dress did not make her feel any more secure. The hemline was not quite halfway down to her knees, but she did not dare pull it down any farther, or she might expose her chest. Brinley’s comment made sense; Emma, too, was glad she was not any bigger in the top. There would have been no way to keep the dress up if the zipper did not cinch her in completely.
All the dresses in the room were as immodest as hers, which surprised her. She had assumed these girls were religious, modest girls, like so many at school and in this valley. Only two of the girls were wearing clothing that covered shoulders and hid their thighs. It seemed a contradiction to what Leader had told Emma about this place. He had cautioned her to dress modestly last night, because modesty was an element of the part he expected her to play. But he had insisted on it because she was meant to blend in. In this crowd, though, blending in meant dressing like a hooker.
Brinley stepped into another room that appeared to be a closet. When she returned, she carried a pair of black heels. She dropped them at Emma’s feet. “Wear these.”
Emma pulled them on. She had never worn heels this high before, but she had seen Monique in them every day. To the best of her ability, she copied Monique’s movements, with little success. This time, though, Brinley did not seem to notice. Emma did as well as any of the other heeled girls in the room.
Brinley made a spinning gesture with one finger and ordered Emma, “Turn.” Emma made a careful circle, presenting herself for Brinley’s inspection, and the girl nodded, accepting her own handiwork. But, of course, her opinion was not as important as the queen’s.
“Cara, how’s this?” Brinley asked in a tone much sweeter and more entreating than she had ever used with Emma. She waited patiently for Cara to finish her own business at a mirror, then presented Emma with the flick of a wrist. Cara gave a curt nod of approval and ordered, “Makeup.”
Brinley sighed in annoyance, but she obeyed. She shoved Emma toward the vanity, kicking aside discarded clothing, shoes, and purses. The vanity was a permanent fixture in Cara’s room—a mirror the full length of one wall, with four stools set in the floor at perfect intervals, and counter and cabinets for just this sort of dress-up party. Brinley commandeered a stool from a girl who allowed herself to be pushed aside without an argument. She gestured toward the stool, and Emma looked at it uncomfortably.
“I can do my own makeup,” she insisted, but Brinley only rolled her eyes at her and pushed Emma onto the stool. Reining in her urge to smack the bratty expression off Brinley’s face, Emma conceded. She had already come this far; she figured she might as well let Brinley do her worst. She made no protest when Brinley selected the colors and started making her up. There was no going back now.
After a few minutes of Brinley’s officious orders to “close your eyes” and “look up,” she was startled when Brinley abruptly turned the stool to face the mirror. Emma hardly recognized herself. Her makeup was dark and smoky, like Brinley’s, and there was glitter everywhere, including in her hair, which Brinley was taking a brush to. It was nice not to recognize herself for a few minutes, Emma thought, since she was not supposed to be there, and would get into serious loads of trouble if Monique found out about it.
The flurry of girls getting ready around them increased in number and fervor. More and more girls joined them, and Emma wondered if anyone dressed at their own houses or if it was standard procedure to get dressed at the host house. Cara’s clique was still at the hub of activity but now they were surrounded by about half the girls from school.
Brinley did not have time to curl her hair, which she lamented and blamed Emma for. “You should have gotten here on time!” She did dump about half a gallon of product on it, pinned it up with probably a million bobby pins, and tied a pink ribbon around it all. Emma thought the entire ensemble looked nice. A little like a prostitute, but nice.
Brinley abandoned her with an order, “Don’t embarrass Cara.” She went back to the clique with whom she really belonged. Emma was elbowed out of the stool and away from the mirror by frantic latecomers.
With a hundred girls in there, Cara’s room seemed much smaller than when Emma had entered it half an hour ago. The girls talked to each other about everything from menstrual cramps to boyfriends. They laughed at jokes Emma did not understand, said mean things about girls and boys Emma did not know, and talked about the hottie Algebra teacher. They dressed multiple times, sharing and exchanging their things. They helped each other with makeup, hair, dress choices, shoes, and everything Emma could have imagined. Emma would not have known how to insert herself, even if she had been welcome. She wasn’t, of course; that would have embarrassed Cara. She was in way over her head. She started to wish she had just told Cara no and not come to the party. In all this jumble of girls, would Cara’s mother even have noticed her absence? Emma backed out of the frenzy.
She had no desire to stay in Cara’s room in this jumble of girls who looked at her like she did not belong there. Which she absolutely didn’t. Not sure what to do, and being jostled no matter where she stood, Emma escaped from the room. She planned to go downstairs and take a quick look around but found herself wandering into another trap. The party had already started. Music blasted from the speakers in the walls, boys were everywhere, and there was more talking, laughing, and joking about things she did not know anything about. Also, there was alcohol. She could smell it, but she could not see where it was. So much for movies and cake!
When some people spoke to her, she tried to respond, at first. She quickly realized, however, that she did not know what they were talking about. By their leering smiles, she thought it must have mostly been inappropriate chatter, so she stopped answering. The music was so loud she was not sure she heard them all correctly, anyway. She started pointing at the speakers when people spoke to her, saying only, “Music!” as her explanation for not responding politely as she pushed past them.
“Hi!” shouted an older woman, snatching at her arm to catch her attention. Emma tried to point toward the speakers, but the woman did not wait for an answer. “I’m so glad you could make it, Emma!” This was obviously Cara’s mother, though there were few similarities in their features. For instance, she had a polite smile. She gestured around. “You have a good time. Okay? Make some friends!”
Emma smiled. “Thanks.” She did not know what else to say because she was not really glad to be there, overwhelmed as she was, but she felt like she should be polite.
The woman was gone through the throngs of people as quickly as she had appeared. Emma felt very alone. She looked around with a sigh. She thought maybe it would be worth Monique’s wrath, if only she would pick her up and take her out of here. But her phone was upstairs in her backpack, and there was no way she was braving the crowd up there again.