“Not so loud!” Emily whispered.
It was a few minutes past eleven, and Emily’s parents had already retired after a family dinner of pot roast, a game of Scattergories, and a boring TV program about the history of the railroad. They had no idea Emily and Beth were going out on a school night, much less to a loft in Philly full of college kids and booze.
Beth had spent the last hour slathering Emily in makeup, using a curling iron to give her reddish-blondish hair bouncy, sexy waves, and even demanding Emily wear the black satin push-up bra in her drawer, which Emily had bought at Victoria’s Secret with Maya St. Germain, a girl she’d dated last year.
“Looking different will get you out of your funk,” Beth had advised. Emily wanted to tell her that she was pretty sure the only thing that would get her out of her funk would be if it turned out killing Tabitha had been a dream, but she appreciated Beth’s effort.
“There. Your transformation is complete,” Beth said now, swiping a bit of lipstick on Emily’s lower lip. “Take a look.”
She pushed a yellow hand mirror into Emily’s hands. Emily stared at her reflection and gasped. Her eyelids looked smoky and sultry, her cheekbones were sharply defined, and her lips were full and downright kissable. It reminded her of the way Ali used to make her up during sleepovers. All her friends urged Emily to wear makeup to school, but she always felt embarrassed applying it herself, sure she’d somehow do it incorrectly.
Beth dangled a slinky black flapper dress and a black headband with a feather poking out the top under Emily’s nose. “Now put these on. Then you’ll be set.”
Emily looked down at the good-luck Ali sweats she was still wearing. She wanted to ask Beth if she could keep them on, but even she knew that was going too far. “Can’t I wear jeans?”
Beth’s features settled into a scowl. “This is a costume party! And jeans are not fabulous. We want you hooking up with someone tonight.”
Hooking up? Emily raised a newly plucked eyebrow. Beth had surprised Emily since she’d been home. Emily had heard L’il Kim floating out from Beth’s old bedroom, and Beth had belted out all of the lyrics, even the dirty ones. And Beth had shown Emily a picture of Brian, her new boyfriend—who also happened to be the head swim coach.
“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” Emily joked now, taking the dress from Beth’s hands.
“Why, you don’t remember me being such a risk-taker?” Beth teased back.
“I remember you being a lot like Carolyn.” Emily made a pinched face.
Beth tilted forward. “Did something happen between you two?”
Emily fixed her eyes on the refrigerator. Her mother, organized to the core, had pinned up next week’s dinner menu. Monday was tacos. Tuesday was spaghetti with meatballs. Tuesday was always spaghetti with meatballs.
Beth placed her chin in her hand, talk show host–style. “C’mon. Spill it.”
Emily wished she could. Carolyn never let me forget what a terrible daughter I was, she could say. All I wanted was for her to wrap her arms around me and tell me it would be all right, but she never did. She wasn’t even there in the delivery room with me. She only found out afterward, when it was all over, and then she was just kind of like, “Oh.”
But she shrugged and turned away, the pain and the secret too great. “It doesn’t matter. It was just stupid stuff.”
Beth stared at Emily, like she knew Emily was hiding something. But then she turned away and glanced at the clock over the microwave. “Okay, Miss Fabulous. We’re leaving in ten.”
The party was in Old City—ironically, the neighborhood in Philly where Emily’s obstetrician’s office had been. After finding a parking spot in a garage across the street, Beth, who was wearing a Statue of Liberty crown, a long, green, Grecian-style dress, and gladiator sandals, strolled across the uneven cobblestones toward a freight elevator in an industrial-looking building. A bunch of other kids, all in elaborate costumes, jammed in with them, and instantly the small space smelled overpoweringly of deodorant and booze. A couple of guys in gangster pinstripes and porkpie hats glanced at Emily appreciatively. Beth nudged her excitedly, but Emily just adjusted her feather headband and stared at the elevator safety card on the wall, wondering when this thing had last been serviced. If it doesn’t break down while we’re in it, I’ll stay for an hour, she wagered with herself.
Pounding music thudded through the walls as the elevator creaked up three stories. The doors opened into a dark loft crammed with votive candles, huge tapestries and paintings, and tons of people in costume. Cher writhed with Frankenstein on a makeshift dance floor. The evil queen from Snow White swing-danced with Barney the dinosaur. A zombie wriggled on top of a table, and two aliens waved at passing cars from the fire escape.