“Thanks; you’re sweet. What are you wearing?”
I pull my favorite little black dress out of my closet and hold it up. It’s the only appropriate thing I own, so I hope Zoe likes it; it’s short and flirty and shows more leg than I’m used to. “Perfect,” she says. “That’s going to look gorgeous on you.” She offers to curl my hair, and I sit very still in her desk chair, soaking up the feeling of her cool, quick fingers brushing my neck and shoulders. She lines my eyes in gold pencil, leaning so close, I can feel her breath on my cheek, and lends me the bright red lipstick she’s wearing. When I’m thoroughly primped, painted, and dressed, and she pulls me over to the mirror.
“Look at us,” she says. “We look spectacular.”
“We really do.” I’m not used to wearing this much makeup, and I look like a stranger to myself. It’s weirdly freeing. I feel like I could do anything tonight and it would be totally fine, because it wouldn’t really be me doing it. I stare at our reflections and try to fix them in my mind. Even if I can’t be as brave as I’m hoping, I want to remember this moment, when we were sparkly and bright and alone together.
Livvy and Jessa burst into our room without knocking, and I start feeling awkward all over again; I’ve barely spoken to either of them since my mom’s master class. They’re both giggling and tottering in their heels, and when Livvy reaches into the red corset she’s wearing and pulls out a flask, I see why. “You want?” she asks.
“Sure,” Zoe says. She drinks, grimaces, and hands it to me. Based on the face she made, I’m not sure I want what’s inside, but I do want the courage that comes with it, so I take a swig. It tastes like lighter fluid that’s been touched with a match, and fire flies up my nose and down my throat as I cough and sputter. Everyone laughs, and Zoe rubs my back.
“What is that?” I gasp when I can speak again.
“Whiskey,” Jessa says. She’s wearing this slinky silver thing that’s more like a large handkerchief than a dress. “Little sips, Shepard.”
I take another tiny sip to prove that I can, and it goes down better this time. “Good girl,” Jessa says, and her smile looks pretty genuine as she takes the flask from me. I wonder for a second if she’s gotten over all the stuff she said the other day, but I’m pretty sure she and Livvy are just caught up in the tipsy anticipation of the party. I smile back anyway. I’ll take what I can get.
Pandemonium is already in full swing when we get there. The Dreamgirls set has been moved into the wings, and the stage and loading dock of Haydu Hall look like a New York City club. Rows of moving lights swoop around in a synchronized dance and shoot their colorful beams through the haze produced by a bank of fog machines. In the center of the stage, raised up on a platform, is an eight-foot-tall cage with a girl and two guys inside. All three of them are dancing like they’re possessed, and for a second I think Allerdale has hired burlesque performers. But when the door swings open and the three of them spill out, laughing and whooping, I recognize them as non-eq company members. The music is so loud, I can feel the bass thundering through my chest.