Read Online Deadly Pink by Vivian Vande Velde - Free Book Online
Authors: Vivian Vande Velde
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But I shook off my doubt. She hadn't called for me when I hadn't returned. She hadn't answered when I'd called for her. The maze couldn't be so big that she'd been unable to hear me—definitely not in the few moments we'd been separated before I'd started looking for her.
“You ditched me,” I said.
I wasn't sure she heard me over the music. Emily completed a complicated turn with her dance partner before saying, not very forcefully, “Nonsense.”
Nonsense? She couldn't even summon up enough emotion or energy for more than a bored Nonsense?
This wasn't the Emily I knew. That Emily had refrained from snitching to our parents when she'd been walking down the hall of our elementary school and had seen Mrs. Cooper chewing me out for talking in line. That Emily had taught me how to bake chocolate chip cookies so that I would never go hungry. That Emily had sat up with me the night Grandma died, when Mom was overcome with her own sorrow and Dad was busy contacting all the cousins. That Emily would have told me “No way!” Or “Damn right, and I'll do it again!”
But not “Nonsense.”
At this point she and her partner were in a ring with four other couples, each pair of dancers twirling around, while the ring also went around and around. I felt like a little kid watching a carousel and trying to keep track of her favorite horse. “Emily, we need to talk.”
“Later,” she told me. “After the cotillion.”
“Yeah,” I said, “lemonade on the porch.”
Smiling dreamily into the face of her young man, she said, “You never showed up.”
Oops, another partner exchange. I had to scramble to keep up, and was talking to her back. She couldn't make me doubt myself again. “Neither did you. Otherwise when those homicidal sprites moved me halfway to you, I would have ended up in the garden that's between the maze and the porch.” In the mood I was in, I wouldn't have put it past her to have intentionally positioned herself somewhere that had the chasm as its halfway point.
Sounding more amused than concerned, she asked, “Homicidal? Did those darling little sprites give you a hard time?”
That was it. My patience snapped. I wanted to shake some sense into her, some sibling loyalty. I settled for grabbing her arm to get her to stop dancing.
The guy she was with took hold of my wrist and squeezed until it hurt, until I let go of my sister—all the while still smiling his bland smile.
Never raising her voice—as though I was only somewhat annoying, like a mosquito's whine—Emily told him, “She's not welcome here.”
Not welcome? It was one thing to see it, another to hear it.
I tried, unsuccessfully, to wrench myself free. “Emily?” I said as he pulled on my arm, dragging me away from her and toward the door.
“Emily!” I called, but she just kept on twirling in that circle of dancers.
I caught hold of the door frame to slow down my unceremonious removal from the room.
“Stop!” I said emphatically, remembering how my dance partner had responded to a direct command. “Let go!”
Apparently, Emily's commands superseded mine.
Emily's former partner pried my fingers loose from the door frame, then he hoisted me onto his shoulder, fireman-style—rump-side up, as though this wasn't undignified enough.
“Emily!” I yelled, twisting around only to see my sister dancing with a new partner.
She'd betrayed me. She'd betrayed me and didn't even have a guilty conscience about it.
I was carried down the hall, across the festively lit porch, and down the stairs to the lawn—where I was dumped on the grass. And then Emily's strong-and-silent-type guy turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind him.
Emily couldn't just reject me like that.
I was really mad now, so I picked myself up, climbed the porch stairs, and went to open the door.
One more thing new since the last time I'd been here: the door was locked.
Chapter 8
Locked Out
I YELLED , “Emily, you're a jerk!” I
But I shook off my doubt. She hadn't called for me when I hadn't returned. She hadn't answered when I'd called for her. The maze couldn't be so big that she'd been unable to hear me—definitely not in the few moments we'd been separated before I'd started looking for her.
“You ditched me,” I said.
I wasn't sure she heard me over the music. Emily completed a complicated turn with her dance partner before saying, not very forcefully, “Nonsense.”
Nonsense? She couldn't even summon up enough emotion or energy for more than a bored Nonsense?
This wasn't the Emily I knew. That Emily had refrained from snitching to our parents when she'd been walking down the hall of our elementary school and had seen Mrs. Cooper chewing me out for talking in line. That Emily had taught me how to bake chocolate chip cookies so that I would never go hungry. That Emily had sat up with me the night Grandma died, when Mom was overcome with her own sorrow and Dad was busy contacting all the cousins. That Emily would have told me “No way!” Or “Damn right, and I'll do it again!”
But not “Nonsense.”
At this point she and her partner were in a ring with four other couples, each pair of dancers twirling around, while the ring also went around and around. I felt like a little kid watching a carousel and trying to keep track of her favorite horse. “Emily, we need to talk.”
“Later,” she told me. “After the cotillion.”
“Yeah,” I said, “lemonade on the porch.”
Smiling dreamily into the face of her young man, she said, “You never showed up.”
Oops, another partner exchange. I had to scramble to keep up, and was talking to her back. She couldn't make me doubt myself again. “Neither did you. Otherwise when those homicidal sprites moved me halfway to you, I would have ended up in the garden that's between the maze and the porch.” In the mood I was in, I wouldn't have put it past her to have intentionally positioned herself somewhere that had the chasm as its halfway point.
Sounding more amused than concerned, she asked, “Homicidal? Did those darling little sprites give you a hard time?”
That was it. My patience snapped. I wanted to shake some sense into her, some sibling loyalty. I settled for grabbing her arm to get her to stop dancing.
The guy she was with took hold of my wrist and squeezed until it hurt, until I let go of my sister—all the while still smiling his bland smile.
Never raising her voice—as though I was only somewhat annoying, like a mosquito's whine—Emily told him, “She's not welcome here.”
Not welcome? It was one thing to see it, another to hear it.
I tried, unsuccessfully, to wrench myself free. “Emily?” I said as he pulled on my arm, dragging me away from her and toward the door.
“Emily!” I called, but she just kept on twirling in that circle of dancers.
I caught hold of the door frame to slow down my unceremonious removal from the room.
“Stop!” I said emphatically, remembering how my dance partner had responded to a direct command. “Let go!”
Apparently, Emily's commands superseded mine.
Emily's former partner pried my fingers loose from the door frame, then he hoisted me onto his shoulder, fireman-style—rump-side up, as though this wasn't undignified enough.
“Emily!” I yelled, twisting around only to see my sister dancing with a new partner.
She'd betrayed me. She'd betrayed me and didn't even have a guilty conscience about it.
I was carried down the hall, across the festively lit porch, and down the stairs to the lawn—where I was dumped on the grass. And then Emily's strong-and-silent-type guy turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind him.
Emily couldn't just reject me like that.
I was really mad now, so I picked myself up, climbed the porch stairs, and went to open the door.
One more thing new since the last time I'd been here: the door was locked.
Chapter 8
Locked Out
I YELLED , “Emily, you're a jerk!” I
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