"Um ... no," I said, suddenly not minding much of anything. Maybe it was just the sick sweet smoke engulfing the room, but as Mishka stared into my eyes, I couldn't think, let alone care, about anything.

"That's a good girl," Mishka said. She looped her arm through Daniel's and led him away from me. Daniel glanced back and said, "Stay put. And don't talk to anyone." At least that's what I think he said. My brain felt too fuzzy and my tongue felt too heavy to say anything back. I stood there in bewilderment until I was almost knocked flat by someone. I blinked at her through my fog. All I could make out was a girl with green hair and more piercings than face. She stopped "dancing" and leaned in close, squinting her seemingly too-large eyes. She said something I didn't understand, and I tried to ask her if we knew each other from somewhere. But what came out of my mouth didn't even sound like words. She stumbled away, laughing hysterically to herself.

I retreated to the dark hallway that led to the bedrooms and took in a few breaths of slightly fresher air. I was about to knock on Daniel's door when I heard Mishka laughing from behind it. My stomach churned, and as Zed's noxious song drifted into another melody (this one eerie and pulsing, with Zed breathing heavily into the microphone), my hazy thoughts cleared and I realized that I had been abandoned. Any moment, or connection, or energy that Daniel and I had shared was gone.

"Well, 'ello there, darling,'' a guy said as he approached me from the crowd. "Didn't expect to see you 'ere again." He smirked, and I realized he was one of the foulmouthed guys I'd met here before.

"Neither did I." I pulled my wool coat closer around my chest. Any sexiness I had felt in my Sunday clothes suddenly felt overly naive.

"You look like you could use some fun." His voice was as slippery as a serpent's. He offered me a plastic cup filled with dark amber-colored booze--something fizzled ominously at the bottom.

"I can show you a good time if you're feeling neglected."

I waved the cup away. "No, thanks, I was just leaving."

"That's what you think." He slammed his arm out in front of me, blocking my escape. "This party's just starting." He tried to brush his cup-filled hand where it didn't belong. I dove under his arm and through the crowd to the door. The green-haired girl teetered in the open doorway. She slurred a nasty name at me as I pushed past her. I went down the stairs and out of the building. I listened carefully at the exit, and when I heard footsteps on the metal stairs, I bolted down Markham Street.

My luck must have turned because as I came to the end of the block, a bus headed in the direction of home pulled up to the curb. I bounded up the steps when the doors swung open and prayed I had enough money for the fare. The driver grumbled as I counted out my change, but I had enough, with thirty-five cents left to spare. The bus was almost empty, except for a couple of grizzly men shouting at each other in a language that reminded me of Mishka's accent, and a fortysomething-year-old guy with bottle-thick glasses who cradled a baby doll in his arms and crooned to it in deep, fatherly tones.

I took a seat in the back and hugged my knees to my chest. The bus lurched and jolted and smelled faintly of urine, but I felt safer there than I had in that apartment's hallway. I couldn't believe that Daniel had abandoned me to those people. Couldn't believe that I went with him into his apartment in the first place. What might have happened if it hadn't been for that party? But mostly, I was ashamed that part of me had wanted something to happen. Temptation bites.

HOME AGAIN

I rode the bus until it pulled into the stop by the school. i used the last of my spare change to call April from a pay phone, but she didn't answer. It wasn't too hard to guess who might have been distracting her at the time.

I pulled my coat tight around my body and walked home as quickly as I could in my heels--feeling the whole time like that nasty guy from the party was following me. I slipped into the house and hoped to sneak up to my room without being noticed. Like I could pretend I'd been in bed all along. But Mom must have heard the soft click of the door closing because she called me into the kitchen before I had a chance to disappear up the stairs.

"Where have you been?" she asked, sounding more than a little annoyed. I watched her rip thick slices of bread into chunks to dry overnight for Thanksgiving stuffing. "You were supposed to help serve dinner after the funeral." Apparently, it wasn't late enough in the evening for her to be worried about my safety--but plenty late enough for her to be ticked off about my absence.

"I know," I mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"First you disappear, and then Jude." She grabbed another slice of bread and tore into it with her fingers. "Do you know how it looked to have half of our family missing from the dinner? And your father nearly threw out his back putting away chairs while you two were out gallivanting with your friends."

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you." I turned to leave the kitchen.

"You're darn right you will. We've got at least twenty people coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow. You're doing the pies, and then you'll scrub the floors. Your brother will get his own fist of chores."

For a moment I contemplated bringing up the chem test I needed signed since I was already in trouble—but decided not to push it. Mom can get pretty elaborate with chore assignments when she's aggravated. "Okay," I said. "That's fair."

"Set your alarm for five forty-five!" Mom called as I headed toward the stairs. Seriously, like I needed another reason to curse my impulsive decisions at that moment.

Chapter Nine Thanks Giving

ALMOST THREE AND A HALF YEARS AGO

"I could never paint like that," I said as I looked over the project Daniel had set out to dry on the kitchen counter.

It was a painting of my father's hands slicing a green apple for Daniel's birthday cobbler. The hands looked lifelike--gentle, kind, and steady. The self-portrait I'd been working on seemed so flat in comparison.

"Yeah, you can," Daniel said. "I'll teach you."

I crinkled my nose at him. "Like you could teach me anything." But I knew he could. This was my first reattempt at oils in almost two years, and I was about ready to give it up all over again.

"Only because you're so darn stubborn," Daniel said. "Do you want to learn how to paint better or not?" I guess so.