Chapter 10 Watching Scars Turn into Butterflies
Watching Scars Turn into Butterflies
Aria
“Didn’t you mean to go as a pumpkin?”
Paisley appears next to me. The light makes her face shine in different colors. Red eyes, green throat. She takes a falafel off a plate that has been decorated with ketchup to look like blood.
“Yeah,” I reply, reaching for one of the red cups to pour myself a pumpkin punch. “But James from the costume shop didn’t have any more. To be honest, I think he got rid of a bunch of them because no one here in town can take looking at the rotting one downtown any longer.”
“Probably. But your makeup is cool.”
“Thanks. I come from the Land of the Dead. In that Coco movie, you know? Have you seen it?”
“Yeah. Knox has made me watch every movie Disney’s ever made. Every single one. Even The Fox and the Hound.”
“Oh, that’s rough.”
“I cried my eyes out, you know? How can Widow Tweed just leave the fox at that game reserve?”
“Poor Tod.”
“You can say that again.” Paisley runs a hand down her side braid and plays with the hair tie. She’s Elsa, of course, because Knox loves all things Disney and Paisley’s a figure skater. “Great party, Aria. Nice one.”
“Harper and Mom helped out.” The punch is so tasty that I down half the cup in one go.
It hasn’t always been like this. Six years ago the punch still tasted awful; I just about gagged every time, but everyone drank it all the same.
No idea why, but somehow it just belonged to our Halloween party.
Over the years, we’ve perfected the recipe.
Now it tastes just like it’s been taken out of a fantasy world.
“Umm, Aria,” Paisley says as I polish off the rest. She raises an eyebrow. “There’s booze in this, right?”
“Yep.” I pour another cup. “Why?”
“You want to do yourself in or something?”
“No.” Yeah. “You want some?”
“No, thanks.” Paisley smiles and nods at the Diet Coke in her hands. “I’ve got training in the morning.”
“On the weekend?”
She shrugs. “In preparation for the competition.”
“Ah, gotcha. Where’s Knox?”
“Over there.” She points to a wide carton in the shape of underwear that’s having a hard time squeezing across the dance floor. Paisley’s eyes glow while looking at him; it’s like he was a Greek god. Of course. I get it. A box of underwear like that is kind of enchanting.
“He really did it,” I say. “What a freak.”
We watch Knox battle his way through the dancing crowd.
Before making it to us, he manages to bump into at least four people.
One of them loses their balance. Now there’s a lobster on the ground.
Knox tries to help it up, but it’s a bit like two T.
rexes trying to hug each other. Lobsters and underwear don’t really fit.
“Hey,” he says once he reaches us and puts his arm around Paisley. “What are you drinking there?”
“Pumpkin punch.”
“The awful one?”
“The good one.”
“Cool.” Knox grabs a full cup out of my hand.
Rolling my eyes, I pour a new one. The bass booms through the parlor, making the floor vibrate.
Pouring the punch, I manage to get some on my hand.
It’s sticky, so I lick it off. But looking up, I realize that I’m unsettling the lobster somehow, as it’s looking at me, back still to the floor, the crowd all around, staring, and now it’s unnerving me.
I slowly close my mouth. It keeps on staring.
Or so it seems to be. They’re just two little black buttons, but they’re trained on me while whoever’s in there keeps on flailing about like a lost bug of some kind; it’s creepy.
“Don’t look,” I say. “But it seems like the lobster’s got a thing for me.”
Naturally, they immediately look over. Knox in his underwear and Paisley with a lovely spin in her amazing dress. Rather discreet.
“Weird,” Paisley says. “Look at its claws, how they just keep wiggling back and forth.”
“I think it’s unsettling,” Knox says. “And I’m a pair of underwear.”
“If you think that’s odd,” I hear Harper say from behind me before she puts her chin on my shoulder. “Then check out who’s over there next to the fireplace. Camila.”
“Oh my God,” I answer. “You’re right.”
Paisley furrows her brow. “She’s not even dressed up.”
My heart starts to pound. “Is Wyatt…”
“No,” Harper replies immediately. “I looked everywhere after I saw her.”
A strange feeling shoots through me, something like a mix of disappointment and relief. But I don’t generally like mixes of anything beyond this pumpkin punch here. They mess with your head, and my head is bad enough already on its own.
I turn away with a sigh. “She’s not responsible for what Wyatt did. I’m happy she’s here.”
Knox is observing Camila with narrowed eyes. He seems strangely still, as if considering what piece of the puzzle here doesn’t fit.
Paisley flicks him in the side. “Wanna get going? We’ve got to be up early.”
“You’ve got to be up early,” he corrects her before stretching and treating us to a big old yawn. “I’m a student. I can sleep in.”
“You’re a bum.”
His eyes go wide, and he raises his arms above his carton. “Did you just call me a bum, Aria?”
“Yeah.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “You bum.”
“Now I know why I didn’t miss you, A. Cool, I’m out of here.”
I start to panic. “You can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Your underwear’s blocking the lobster’s view. If you go, you’re leaving me at its mercy!”
Knox grins. He leans forward—well, as far as his costume allows him to—looks deep into my eyes, and says, “That’s. What. You. Get. For. Calling. Me. A. Bum.”
Harper wipes a fleck of white that I applied too thickly off my face. “I’ve got to go, too, A. It’s almost one. I’m tired out from all the dancing, and iSkate won’t show any pity.”
“Okay. Take off and let me sink. I’ll remember this.”
“Well, look on the bright side. You won’t notice once you’re sunk,” Knox says. “You’ll already be dead.”
Harper shudders. “Such a horrible word. Don’t say that.”
“Dead.”
Paisley punches her boyfriend’s shoulder, then turns to me to wave goodbye. “O, Captain, my Captain!”
“You’re my girlfriend, Pais. You can’t be cool to people who call me a bum.”
She casts him a sympathetic glance. “But you are a bum. Sometimes.” Knox pretends to lunge at her, but Paisley slips away and laughs. “But I love you anyway! I love you anyway!”
They take off, and now I’m on my own with all these strangers in my house, Camila, and the weird lobster. Meanwhile, he’s no longer on the ground. Maybe he’s snuck up to my bedroom and will watch me throughout the night with his black-button eyes while wallowing on my carpet.
I slowly make my way to the buffet, grab a few of the vegetarian pigs in a blanket, and do my best to ignore Camila as the DJ puts on a tune by David Guetta.
“Hi.”
Oh my God. The lobster! Right next to me. A guy. I am so startled that I bump into the makeshift chips table with my butt. But somehow the lobster manages to stop everything from tumbling onto the floor at the last minute with one of his pincers.
My heart is hammering against my ribs, but that’s mainly because of the punch. If it had spilled, I’d have been devastated. “You startled me.”
“I can’t understand you!”
“YOU STARTLED ME.”
“SORRY.” The three little legs on his abdomen cause the table to wobble a second time as he halfway turns to the right and points to the other side of the arch with one of his pincers. “WANNA GO OVER THERE?”
Oh, shit. The lobster’s a serial killer.
Totally. He wants to skin me alive with his claws.
But there are a lot of people around, even the son of Aspen’s sheriff, who’s dressed as a sheriff himself.
Ha ha. The lobster won’t pull it off. So I shrug, pour myself another punch, and put myself in mortal danger.
It’s quite a feat, what with the strobe light and all.
I can hardly see the floor and have got to make sure I don’t step on his tail.
We sit down on the floor in the corner by the bookshelf, the lobster somewhat sideways due to his tail and me on my knees. He doesn’t look all that comfortable, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“I noticed you because of your…umm…costume.”
“I’m Coco,” I grin.
“You know Día de los Muertos isn’t Halloween, right?”
I blink. “Isn’t it, like Halloween?”
“Not even close.”
“Oops. Now I feel bad.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean that. To make you feel better, I really love your, umm, dress. It suits you.”
“Oh.” I look down and don’t feel anything but sadness.
To be honest, I’ve never liked wearing dresses.
Yoga pants are my thing. Yoga pants and hoodies.
Or oversized wool sweaters. I dig the slob look, essentially.
But when James told me about the missing pumpkin costumes, I had to improvise.
I googled “quick costume, light, not ugly,” and came across this Coco thing without knowing the movie is about Día de los Muertos.
But she wore a skirt, so I thought, Okay, come on, Aria, nothing to lose.
You’re in the process of trying to find yourself, so put on a skirt; maybe it’ll help.
The only dress in my wardrobe is the one I wore to prom.
The dress I wore when I was voted prom queen—next to Wyatt.
He loved seeing me wear it, seeing me dance in it.
He loved it when the lace tore as we kissed, sitting in his car, as we touched and got hotter and hotter, and my skin began to flush from all our kisses and caresses.
And he loved taking it off me later that night once we were back at his house in his dark oakwood bed with the creaky frame.
“Thanks.” My throat is dry even though I’ve been downing punch all along. “I’d give you a compliment, too, but your costume is freaky. On top of it all, what’s with your voice? You sound like Darth Vader.”
“Goes with the costume.”
“What does Darth Vader have to do with a lobster?”
“Well, if you want to know the truth, he is one.”
“A lobster?”
“Yeah.”
“Then Anakin Skywalker’s a crustacean.”
“Exactly.”