Gorgeous Gruesome Faces, page 13
“God, why don’t any of these rooms have signs on the doors?” Eugenia complains, looking as lost as I feel.
We turn down another hallway and finally find a large room that looks like a hotel business center, full of sleek monitors sitting in orderly rows. I push open the heavy glass door and sit down at the first monitor I reach, jiggling the mouse to shake away the screen saver. Eugenia moves down the row to a different computer and sits down at the keyboard.
After a few long seconds of waiting, the web browser I opened still sits blank. I try typing a couple of websites into the search bar. “Is your internet working?”
“No, nothing’s loading.” Eugenia rapidly clicks her mouse in frustration.
“I heard that the internet’s pretty much been spotty since day one,” a third voice says. “Some girls think they’re throttling us on purpose to keep us offline.”
I look up to see Alexis leaning her head into the doorway.
“Who said that? What else have you heard?” Eugenia questions sharply.
Alexis raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Damn, girl, you really need to chill. Go do some yoga out on the lawn or something.”
“We’re just trying to look up some choreography ideas,” I cover hastily.
Alexis glances from me to Eugenia and then back to me. “Is she forcing you to be her personal assistant or something? Blink twice if you need help.”
I kick my office chair back and wheel over next to Eugenia, throwing a chummy arm over her shoulder. “Nope, we actually talked it out and agreed to bury the hatchet for the good of the group. Isn’t that right, Genie?”
Eugenia’s smile is rigid and 90 percent teeth. “You’re so right, bestie.”
Alexis looks like she wants to comment on this weird development but ultimately decides she doesn’t want to get involved. “I snagged a few extras of those face-mask samples they were handing out at orientation; you want some?” she offers me.
“Sure, I’ll stop by your room later?”
“’Kay.” She gives us another curious look before leaning back out. “See you guys tomorrow.”
After Alexis has walked sufficiently far away, I sigh. “Looks like we’re going to have to get information the old-fashioned way. By talking to people.”
“Take your arm off me.” Eugenia shimmies her shoulders and tries to wheel her computer chair away from mine.
I pull the arm back and hold out my hand to her. “Partners? You can be the bad cop, obviously.”
She stares down at my hand with reluctance and borderline distaste before taking it and giving me a half-hearted shake. “You really should go moisturize,” she says. “You look haggard as hell.”
* * *
During group sessions the next day, I watch Candie from behind the rows of dancing girls separating us, unable to stop the great swell of sadness.
Two years ago, I believed with absolute certainty that no matter what happened, Mina, Candie, and I would always be friends.
After Mina’s funeral, I didn’t know how I was going to go on without her. Without the constant pinging of texts that brightened my day, without anyone to turn to when something reminded me of our silly inside jokes, without the endless midnight conversations that would spontaneously erupt only after we’d said good night.
The idea of losing Candie, too, was unthinkable.
But the unthinkable happened. No matter how hard I tried to reach her, the distance just kept expanding, until I was standing on earth gazing up at the faraway galaxy Candie had drifted off to. Every message I sent out was a probe dropping into an unknowable black hole, and the replies I got back were fragments of data that were impossible to interpret or piece together. I couldn’t piece us back together. Candie didn’t want me in her life anymore. There was nothing I could do except watch our relationship die in slow motion.
Is she even the same person anymore? The person who protected me from harm, who showed me a world of things that aren’t supposed to exist?
Celestial spirits. Magical incantations. The power to compel others against their will. Those things weren’t real until I met Candie. Until I saw the impossible things she could do. I already brought up Candie once with Eugenia. Revealing more would mean divulging her secrets, and I’ve sworn to Candie that I’d take them to my grave.
And even if I did talk … would anyone believe me?
“—Addie Chu and Sunday Lee are the top scorers for today.”
I look up just in time to catch the tail end of Yuna’s announcement.
Me. At the top. Again. The other girls are clapping, but clearly out of pure obligation, the pretty faces around me forming a blank wall of indifference.
“And sadly, we’ll be saying goodbye to Stella Heo and Viola Yang.”
Even though there’s only been a few rounds of eliminations, the group already looks much smaller than it did a few days ago. My gaze unconsciously moves to seek out Candie in the crowd. On the other side of the room, she’s chatting with the girl next to her.
She hasn’t looked over at me once.
After we’re dismissed, I meet Eugenia on the patio behind the building.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the cafeteria is the outside seating area. It overlooks the back lawn that stretches onward until it meets the woods surrounding the complex. Nobody else is out here, but we still venture away from the patio, all the way across the grass lawn to the edge of the trees, where there’s little chance someone will walk by and overhear our conversation.
“That’s the second time you’ve made top scorer; you’re practically a walking target at this point,” Eugenia says.
“Story of my life,” I grumble.
“So. Suspects,” Eugenia starts without preamble. “I’ve narrowed it down to twelve.”
“Twelve?”
“I started with nineteen this morning,” she says. “First of all, both of Blake’s roommates are automatically suspects, since they could have tampered with her skin-care products or makeup. Yuki’s been talking shit about everyone since the day she got here, and Hyuna’s family is totally bankrupt and on the verge of financial ruin, so she has a lot of incentive to debut. Ivy was next to Jessica when she ‘tripped.’ Turns out, nobody actually saw her fall. So there is a chance she was pushed. Sana is apparently a huge Brailey Corbyn fan, so she’s got reason to be nasty to you. And the way Alexis just happened to be there to tell us the internet was out? Couldn’t be shadier if she had wire cutters in her hands. And also there’s—”
“Wait a minute, hold on.” I raise a hand to pause her monologue even though I’m mildly impressed by her ability to gather this much intel in one day. “Do you actually have real proof or are you basing all this off speculation and vibes?”
She gives me a fiery glare, like she can’t believe I would dare question her methods. “I’m a cheerleader; I can smell desperate losers who’d kill for fame and popularity from miles away.”
“Of course you’re a cheerleader.” I nod in a sage that-explains-everything way. “Captain? No, wait, with how badly you wanted to be the leader, you must be the vice-captain?”
“There is no such thing as vice-captain. God, you’d think you would have done your research before auditioning.”
“Just so you know, they didn’t tell us anything about the parts beforehand,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I do know,” she snaps. “I was there.”
“Wait. You auditioned for Sweet Cadence?” Suddenly, her hostility toward me is starting to make a whole lot of sense.
“I didn’t make it past the first round. It’s whatever.” She dismisses the topic entirely and returns to the purpose of our meeting. “Back to suspects. Who do you have?”
“Um. Not as many as you.”
Eugenia’s eyes narrow again. “Are you about to pull a group project on me where I do all the research and you show up with three Google links and expect to collect an A?”
“I really only have one person I’m concerned about,” I admit.
She frowns. “Candice?”
I nod.
“I guess Blake was in her group, and she was also right there to help Jessica, plus she’s your roommate.” Eugenia’s brow furrows deeper in dismay. “But why target you? And using Mina…” Her eyes slide sideways to me. “Did you two actually hate each other’s guts behind the scenes or something?”
“What? No!”
Eugenia doesn’t look remotely convinced. I mull over my next words, then take a long breath.
“She’s done something like this before.”
Eugenia’s eyes pop wide. “Like what?”
“Take people down. People who’ve wronged her.”
People who’ve wronged me.
Eugenia’s sharp gaze drills into me as she waits for me to elaborate.
“I’m just saying. She doesn’t show her enemies any mercy.”
“Is that what’s going on?” Eugenia continues to pry. “You guys have a grudge or something? What happened between you two?”
“What do you think happened?” I snap. The question jabs like a needle against an exposed nerve. “Our best friend died, our show got canceled, and we haven’t spoken since.”
Eugenia’s mouth pulls shut into a tight line. She’s silent for several seconds before cocking her head.
“I’m just trying to understand. Why would Candice have any reason to do this? She’s one of the strongest competitors, so she’s basically guaranteed a spot.” She casts another sidelong glance at me. “Unless you think she has another reason?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me anything.” I glance back at the building where the bustling silhouettes of girls glide back and forth across the cafeteria windows. “We’re not friends anymore.”
Chapter 18
THEN
Two and a half years ago
“Come on, Sunny, get up. We’re not finished yet,” Candie says.
I’m on my back on the studio floor, arms and legs splayed like a limp, beached starfish. The music track blares onward, but I’m done, scooped clean of energy and motivation. Candie leans over me, hands on her hips, her breathing barely elevated, the shine on her skin amounting to only a “light misting” of moisture after nearly two straight hours of nonstop cardio. She looks glowing. Glowing and annoyed.
“Up.” Candie nudges a foot against mine.
Since our national tour was announced, Candie’s been going extra hard on me, like she’s made it her life’s sole purpose to ensure I’m as prepared as possible, adding extra practice sessions on top of regular rehearsals. I know she’s only trying to keep her promise to me. The vow she made that we would thrive in an industry with the attention span of a blink. Usually I look forward all week to these sessions of ours, reveling in the one-on-one instruction, but knowing Mina’s off camping with her family at Malibu Creek while I’m stuck in the studio all weekend makes me wish that Candie and I were there, too, or at a beach, or at the movies, or anywhere else where we could be having fun without utter physical exhaustion.
“I literally can’t move anymore,” I gasp at the ceiling.
“You can make it to the end of this song,” Candie insists.
“But I’m in sooo much pain.” I flop my limbs once helplessly. “Please, let me live!”
There’s a strategic balance when it comes to negotiating with Candie, one that I’ve gradually perfected over the past year. The most effective method to soften her is to appeal to her carefully concealed tender and squishy heart by acting just a tiny bit wounded and pitiful.
Sure enough, Candie sighs and kneels down next to me. “Where does it hurt?”
I stick out my left foot petulantly, pointing at it.
Candie takes my ankle into her hands. Warm fingers slide up against my skin and start rubbing in firm circles, kneading into the tense muscle of my calf. I wince at the pressure bearing down on aching tendons, then sigh contentedly as the tightness is massaged out. It feels so good. I’m tempted to play up the pain a bit more, anything to keep her hands where they are.
When Candie pulls away, I let out a soft whine. She comes back a few seconds later with a roll of athletic tape and drops down next to me, taking my ankle back in her hands.
“So … I should probably take it easy, huh?” I hedge.
Candie gives me a flat sideways glance as she wraps the tape around my ankle. But silence usually means concession, so I decide to chance it, gently stretching out my luck like taffy.
“The LA County Fair is running,” I comment, trying to float it as an offhand thought. “Mama used to take me every year, but I don’t think I’ve gone since I was, like, ten. Maybe we could take the day off tomorrow and go together?”
“And how is walking around a fair ‘taking it easy’?”
“That’s—” True. I’m so exhausted my brain fully gives up on producing a good excuse. Somehow, I manage to slump farther into the floorboards, stewing in disappointment.
“Do you really want to go?” Candie asks, her hand resting lightly on my ankle.
My head snaps toward Candie, before pouncing on that faint whiff of compromise, nodding pleadingly.
“All right,” Candie says under the onslaught of my puppy-dog eyes. “Let’s do it.”
I whoop in joy and launch myself from the floor, throwing my arms around her. She tries half-heartedly to unlatch my sweaty arms suctioned tight around her neck before eventually surrendering to my affections.
* * *
Standing beneath the towering rim of the Ferris wheel and the swinging arm of pendulum rides, surrounded by delighted screams and the salty-sweet smell of popcorn and fried dough, I feel like I’m eight years old again and my mother is holding my hand as we wait in line for the drop ride I demanded we go on but cried the whole way through. From across the fairground I spy the drop tower, and in a fit of masochistic nostalgia, I start dragging Candie toward it.
We’re both incognito, wearing hats, sunglasses, and face masks. Despite the concealment, Candie manages to make the look work. She’s wearing stylish oversize shades and a wide-brimmed hat, her long hair curled, hanging in loose waves over bare shoulders. The bodice of her dress hugs her frame, the ruffled skirt skimming the tops of her knees. She looks like she’s dressed for a Vogue shoot instead of a casual day of fun at the fair.
When we get to the bottom of the intimidating tower, I turn to see Candie hanging back, her body language full of hesitation.
“Can it be? The fearless Candice Tsai can’t do thrill rides?” I tease.
“I’ve never been on one,” Candie says.
I’m aghast. “Never?”
Candie shakes her head. “I’ve never been allowed to come to places like this.”
Her answer casts an abrupt shadow over my festive mood. Suddenly I have a million new questions about her life, about her childhood, her family, the types of restrictions she’s under, about what it really means to be a follower of the celestial maiden.
She’s already shown me things beyond comprehension, but there are still so many secrets she’s clutching close to her chest, doors she won’t allow Mina and me to look behind. The thought is thorny and sour on my tongue, hard to swallow. But this desire to be let in, to see and know everything about her even after she’s already given so much … it’s too greedy, too selfish. I furiously stomp down my intrusive curiosity.
“Maybe we don’t start with this ride if it’s your first time…”
I begin to walk away from the line. Candie catches my wrist.
“Let’s go on. I want to,” Candie says in the tone she uses when she’s not interested in pushback.
“Okay.” I laugh, getting back in the line. “If we die, we die together!” I grin and take just a tiny bit of childish glee in Candie finally being the one who looks weak in the knees.
I scream-laugh through every drop, while Candie stays dead silent next to me, clutching the safety bar like she might fly out of the seat if she doesn’t. Afterward, I try taunting her into going on another thrill ride to see if she balks, but Candie simply smooths out her hair and tells me that she’ll try anything I want. I let her off the hook and suggest we get cotton candy instead.
We pass by the carnival games, and when I spot a massive French bulldog plushie hanging from the rack of prizes, I step up to the balloon darts booth. I gathered from watching Candie’s videos that she loved French bulldog–themed items, and I fork over a criminal amount of money for a dozen darts, hoping to add a new item to Candie’s collection. My aim is shit and I lose miserably, pouting and complaining about how these games are all rigged, until Candie pays for a turn and easily wins the plushie for herself.
“You didn’t cheat with your superpowers, did you?” I whisper, prodding her in the side with an accusing finger.
“No, but it’s not like I’d need superpowers to beat your high score of two,” she teases.
“Shut up.” I laugh, elbowing her in the side.
Candie turns and holds the stuffed dog out to me. “Here. For you.”
“Oh, so now you’re trying to give me a consolation prize?” I push it back at her.
“It won’t fit in my dorm room,” she says, handing the plushie insistently to me with both hands. “And if I tried to give it to my cousins, they’ll fight over it and there would be so much hair pulling and tears that my aunt will end up throwing it out.”
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” I question, finally accepting the offering. “It’s really cute.”
“I’m sure,” she says. I can’t see her expression behind the sunglasses and mask, but she sounds like she’s smiling. “And every time you look at its cute face, you can remember how I cutely kicked your ass at darts.”
“All right, that’s it, I’m making you go on the ring of fire!”
I can’t remember the last time I was able to do this. Spend time with someone in public, laughing together, having a good time, taking photos that aren’t staged or carefully arranged so they can be uploaded for promo. It isn’t until the sun starts to set that I notice Candie’s brows are pinched, her steps unsteady, and I realize that she’s been spending the entire day going on rides with me, not once turning anything down.
