Truly Devious (Truly Devious #1) - Maureen Johnson Page 0,111

corner with some other second years. And there, on the far side of the room, were David and Ellie. Ellie was wearing something black and shiny that, on closer examination, looked to be a bunch of trash bags bound together to make a goofy skirt, with a camisole on top. She was dancing a crazed, loopy dance with lots of swinging arms. David was not dancing, but was leaning against the wall, watching. Like Stevie, he was not dressed up. He wore his same rumpled jeans and a ragged green T-shirt.

When Nate and Stevie entered the room, he pulled himself away from the wall and crossed over to them, taking off his headphones.

“Nice tie,” he said to Nate.

“Don’t be a dick to Nate,” Stevie said.

“I wasn’t,” David said. “Nate. It’s a nice tie. And you’re dressed up. Are you Banksy or the Unabomber?”

“I’m a pretty, pretty girl,” Stevie said. “Who likes to be comfortable.”

Vi had also noticed Stevie’s presence, and was dragging Janelle across the room. Vi was properly dressed up in a dress shirt and yellow tie with white dots. Janelle had on a yellow skirt and a white blouse. Matching outfits to a dance. It was beyond anything Stevie could understand, but it was so right for them.

“Hey!” Vi said with a bit of forced cheerfulness. “Everyone’s here!”

Janelle looked down at the floor for a moment.

“Yeah,” Stevie said. “I wanted to hang out. We wanted to hang out.”

“I live to dance,” Nate said.

“So, let’s dance,” Vi said.

Stevie did not actually know how to dance. This seemed like information other people were born with, something that was as natural as walking. It was very puzzling to her how people managed to just pick it up. But Janelle wanted her to dance, and Nate had brought her to this dance, and right now she had to observe at a dance . . . so that meant she was going to dance. She tried the knee-bending thing first, but even Nate looked at her with pity. So she tried employing her arms instead, windmilling them like Ellie across the room.

How this looked to David, who was standing there watching, was unclear. It didn’t matter. There was nothing left to lose.

Janelle burst into uncontrollable laughter and had to lean on Vi for support. Then she wrapped her arms around Stevie’s neck.

“You are ridiculous,” she said.

“I know,” Stevie said.

Janelle and Vi swung back into each other’s arms and started dancing more slowly. Stevie looked at David, but he had already turned and made his way back to the wall. She ignored the ache this caused.

At the end of so many Agatha Christie books, Poirot would gather the suspects to look at them. If Ellingham was gathered in one room tonight, then she could examine everyone at once. Look for someone who would have reason to put that dry ice in that tunnel and never come forward. Look for the reason Hayes turned around.

She rotated, taking in this room decorated in honor of masks and mischief. Commedia players on the wallpaper and masks supporting the lights. Everything was a trick with mirrors, making the room repeat.

Where do you look for someone who’s never really there. . . .

Albert Ellingham wanted her to think.

Was it Gretchen? Gretchen, who openly confessed to doing Hayes’s work for him, to being furious? Gretchen who was owed five hundred dollars?

“Come on!”

Janelle had come up behind her and taken her hand. She started to dance with Stevie again. Stevie tried to keep up, moving as best she could. It was good to see Janelle smiling at her, at least, and Vi gave a little nod of, It’ll be okay.

Maybe this was enough. Just to be with her friends. Be a normal girl. Stop thinking you found a murder. Close your eyes and dance.

Janelle squeezed Stevie’s hand gently, putting just a little pressure on the scratch she’d gotten earlier.

Something shot through Stevie’s brain.

Her hand. Something about her hand. A pain in her hand. A scratch. She put her attention there, on the back of her hand, focusing it like a soft spotlight. The hand would speak to her. The hand would tell its story if she let it.

Her hand cycled through its memories. The cold that rubbed the skin dry. The warmth of the inside of her fleece pockets. The feeling of David’s skin . . .

“Be right back,” she said. “I have to . . . go to the bathroom.”

The music changed and everyone began to move more frantically. Stevie