their breath away.
I catch one in my hand and turn it this way and that.
I knew they were tarot cards, but I never gave it much further thought. The card in my hand would be the size of my palm if it laid flat, and the image cut into the paper is imagery I’d recognize anywhere: a white rabbit with a timepiece peeking from behind shrubbery trimmed to the Queen of Heart’s likeness, offset against scared-looking frogs dressed in livery.
Another card reveals tea cups and silly men in top hats, framed by flowers and leaves; yet another, the Jabberwock. Axes and croquet sets. A silhouette of a cat bearing a wicked smile.
I knew Iliana liked Alice in Wonderland, but this?
This is the magnum opus of someone who knows the story like she knows herself. I think about her hands, always covered in bandages, the tiny cuts all over her fingers and palms, scabbing over and healing in fresh air. It always seemed crass to me, for her to spend so much time bandaged and bloody, but each of these little cards whisper truth to me that speaks the opposite: What I believed harsh at best and disturbing at worst was actually a testament of Iliana’s dedication to her craft.
I look up and find Griffin studying my face, frowning.
Something is off.
Iliana and Griffin have watched me the entire night as if I’d blow away with a puff of air.
I’d thought it was concern for me being here, at first. Maybe they were afraid of how I’d cope with facing my loss head-on, or maybe they wondered if it would be shameful to appear at all after basically being sent off in disgrace less than two weeks before the final art show.
“You look like you could use this, babe.” Kiersten appears on my right with two flutes of—surely it’s not champagne—and thrusts one into my hands. I lift the flute to my face, and my nose confirms my worst suspicions. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
“Uh.” I glance at Griffin, and he shrugs in agreement. “Thanks?”
“I just had to come talk to you.” Her red lipstick leaves little crescent moon imprints on the edge of her glass between sips. “You’re really, just, amazing.”
Iliana’s eyes grow wider from where she stands between her parents, watching us. Her mother pokes her, and she turns to the camera and smiles.
“You’re kind,” I say. It doesn’t feel kind.
Kiersten places her hand on my arm. Red fingernails, red lips. Sharp teeth.
“We figured you’d go into hiding after your, uh—” Kiersten takes another sip and cuts her eyes to someone standing behind me. A reflection of a bedazzled jacket in Kiersten’s champagne flute confirms the only logical candidate: Sarah. “Unfortunate, um, removal from the scholarship award. We were really worried about you.”
“It’s been a blessing in disguise,” I say. I turn to widen our circle and include Sarah in the conversation. There’s something about her behind me that sets my teeth on edge. “Sometimes it takes losing something to realize you didn’t want it to begin with.”
I don’t know who I’m supposed to trust anymore.
Sarah’s hair has gone from bleached peroxide-blond to cotton-candy pink. It hangs around her face in sheets, and Kiersten’s red lipstick is too harsh on Sarah’s fair features. Sarah averts her eyes and takes a too-big swallow of champagne, then cringes.
“Aw, that’s nice.” Kiersten smiles. “It’s really seemed to bring you and Iliana together, too.”
“She’s representing the Conservatory’s visual arts track tonight.” I pump my fist in the air, but my face burns. “Go Bobcats.”
From across the room, Iliana looks like she’s going to vomit.
She’s an oasis in the sea of what I now think of as my old life: old ladies in fur coats and gentlemen clutching half-smoked cigars like flotation devices.
Bootsie Prudhomme is one such lady, lush in white ermine with opera gloves the color of cranberry. She pushes her way to the center of the tent, where tables have been scooted here and there to make room for a small platform.
A man in all black quietly tests a microphone, and the quiet confidence in Kiersten’s face begins to crack.
“You know,” Kiersten says, hurried, “after everything’s come to the surface, it really says a lot about you as a person that you’ve come to stand by her anyway.”
Griffin blanches on my right.
The night around me is a giant, blinking arrow: The red roses on the tables. The squat, toad-like wealthy men in their waistcoats, and Iliana’s Capstone Award entry displaying