The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer #1)
Page 26“Ohmigod, DANIEL! You have to see Mara!”
Blushing furiously, I pushed past him and stood by the front door, itching to fling it open and wait in the car for my older brother. But he had the keys. Of course he did.
Daniel materialized from the hallway in a business suit with his hair slicked back and wet-looking, and my mother appeared shortly after. They stood there and stared for much longer than was necessary while I fidgeted, feigning boredom to hide my embarrassment.
Finally, Daniel spoke. “Wow, Mara. You look like … you look like …” His face scrunched as he searched for words.
A look passed over my mother’s face, but vanished before I could interpret it. “Like a model,” Mom said brightly.
“Uh, I was going to say a lady of ill repute.” I shot Daniel a look of pure poison. “But, sure.”
“She does not, Daniel. Stop it.” The golden boy was scolded. I smirked.
“You look beautiful, Mara. Older, too. Daniel,” my mother said, and turned to look him in the eye. “Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
He raised his hand in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Once we were in the car, Daniel put on some Indian music. He knew I was not a fan.
“Can I change it?”
I glared at him, but he ignored me as he pulled out of the driveway. We didn’t talk until we reached the highway.
“So what are you supposed to be, anyway?” I asked him as we lined up behind the mass of cars, stalled and blinking in the traffic.
“Bruce Wayne.”
“Ha.”
“I’m sorry, by the way.” He paused, still watching the road. “For not telling you about the case.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Mom asked me not to.”
I stared straight ahead. “So naturally, you listened.”
“She thought she was doing the right thing.”
“I wish she’d stop.”
I walked behind Daniel slowly and carefully, knowing that one misstep would send me hurtling toward the glass-and-cigarette littered concrete, thereby ruining my normal teenager excursion. And the dress.
We stood in line and waited our turn. When we reached the stereotypically muscled bouncer, we handed over our cash for the cover charge and he stamped our hands without ceremony. Daniel and I walked past the rope into the pulsing club and I could tell his confidence had worn a bit thin. In our lack of partying experiences, at least, we were equals.
The room was a wall-to-wall, throbbing mass of bodies. They writhed synchronously around us as we pushed our way in shoulder-to-shoulder. The level of undress was truly impressive; a handful of whorish angels, devils, and fairies teetered toward the bar in stilettos, sucking in their torsos and puffing out their twinkling cleavage. Much to my dismay, I spotted Anna among them. She had shed her usually wholesome ensemble for a staggeringly sparse angel getup with the requisite halo and wings. She overdid it on the makeup, the push-up bra, and the heels, and looked well on her way to ending up as some accountant’s midlife crisis. I grabbed my brother by the arm and he steered us to the other side of the bar where we were supposed to meet his crush.
As we waited, I recognized the song being sampled in the remix that thrummed from the speakers and smiled to myself. Daniel tapped me on the shoulder a few minutes later, and I followed his eyes until he smiled at a petite blond girl dressed in overalls with fake greasepaint smudged on her face. She mouthed or screamed my brother’s name—it was impossible to tell. The music swallowed up every other sound in the space.
Her short hair bounced and swayed under her chin as she made her way over. When she reached us, Daniel leaned into her ear to introduce us.
“This is Sophie!” he shouted.
I nodded and smiled at her. She was cute. Daniel did nicely.
“Nice to meet you!” I screamed.
“What?” she screamed back.
“Nice to meet you!”
The music changed to a slower rhythmic beat and Sophie started to pull Daniel away from me and into the throng of people. He turned to me—for approval, I assumed—and I waved him on. When he was gone, though, I began to feel awkward. I pressed into the bar that wouldn’t serve me, with no discernible purpose or reason for being there. What did I expect? I came to dance, and I came with my brother who was meeting someone else. I should have asked Jamie. I was stupid. Now I had no choice but to just plunge into the crowd and start gyrating. Because that wouldn’t be weird.
I lolled my head back in hopelessness and leaned back into the dull edge of the metal bar. When I righted myself, two guys—one in a Miami Heat jersey and the other in what I hoped was an ironic portrayal of a perpetually shirtless, moronic reality TV person—made eye contact. Completely not interested. I looked away, but in my peripheral vision saw that they were edging themselves closer. I gracelessly darted into the crowd and only narrowly avoided being elbowed in the face by a girl attired in what could only be described as “slutty Gryffindor” apparel. So wrong.
When I finally reached the far wall, my eyes swept the crowd, absorbing the near-naked bodies and the costumes and trying to see if I recognized anyone not heinous from school.
I did.
Noah was fully clothed and, as far as I could tell, uncostumed. He wore dark jeans and a hoodie, apparently, despite the heat. And he was talking to a girl.
A stunningly beautiful slip of a girl, all legs crowned by a tiny, twinkling dress and fairy wings. She looked oddly familiar but I couldn’t place her; she probably went to our school. Noah listened raptly to whatever she was saying, and a semicircle of costumed girls surrounded her; a devil, a cat, an angel, and … a carrot? Huh. I liked vegetable girl, but the rest of them I hated.
At precisely that moment, Noah’s head lifted and he saw me staring. I couldn’t read his expression, even as he leaned over to the fairy and said something in her ear. She turned to look at me; Noah reached out to stop her but not before my eyes met hers. She giggled and covered her mouth before turning back around.