Tales From Gulinger High: Tale Twenty E-Book

Julie Steimle

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

Tom Brown finally gets the girl. He is taking Selena Davenport to the Junior League equivalent to Prom as Rick Deacon brings along a date from Gulinger Private Academy--a public faux pas according to Junior League on-lookers. Friends of Ewan P. Steed in Junior League have concocted a way to take revenge on Tom 'stealing his girl'--framing the boy from the wrong side of the tracks for theft. Will Tom go to jail for a crime he did not commit? It is up to Selena to finally stand up for herself and what she really wants. Money or freedom. Good thing she is part fish-folk.

Leseprobe

Julie Steimle

Tales From Gulinger High: Tale Twenty

Prom

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Getting Ready

"How does it look?” Tom Brown turned from one side to another, allowing Selena Davenport to admire the black bowtie he had just tied around his neck. Like his smile, it was crooked.

She brushed off his shoulder, straightening out the top of his tuxedo coat with a smile.  “Fabulous.”

Tom grinned, his orange eyes shining.

Fabulous indeed. That was how she looked anyway. Like a Mediterranean goddess, her mahogany colored hair was up in a French twist with small curly tendrils hanging off from it. And her dress was absolutely perfect, glittering with grading hues of aqua to ultramarine blue, just like her eyes. It skimmed her figure, moving as she walked like the swaying of seaweed on the water. She looked at home in it.

“Hey! I almost forgot!” Rick Deacon jogged into the room, wearing a tuxedo that was almost an exact duplicate of Tom’s, his rusty-brown hair slicked back in a James Bond hairdo. He held up a white-lily boutonniere with a matching corsage. “I got these.”

Selena shook her head, reaching out her hand for them both. “Really…this is a bit too much coming from you. Can’t I contribute even a little?”

Rick shook his head, grinning. “Nope. Since you’re his date and he always borrows my wallet, I’d say it would end up this way anyway.”

“But what about your date?” Selena rubbed Rick’s hair, mussing it.

“Hey!” He ducked back. “Don’t mess with the do!”

Tom pounced, rubbing the rest of Rick’s orderly hair-style awry, cackling.

“OW!” Rick pegged Tom with the flowers. “Stop that! I have to fix it again!”

“It makes you look roguish,” Selena said, smirking with Tom. She picked the lilies up from the floor, gently dusting them off. They were hardly bruised, thankfully.

Staggering to the doorway, Rick scowled at the pair of them. “You two really are perfect for each other. Keep your hands off my hair—you lousy halfers. And for pity’s sake, be downstairs in ten minutes. The limo should be here soon.”

Rick hopped into the hall again, digging into his pocket for a comb as he ran back to the stairs.

“Did he just call us heifers?” Tom looked to Selena, scratching his equally messed up hair-do. It suited him though. Platinum blonde and pale, neatness would look creepy on him.

She chuckled. “Halfers. Half-blood freaks. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t really mean it.”

Tom nodded.

*

Grand Entrance

They went down in five minutes, all ready for ‘Prom’—Junior League style. Gulinger didn’t exactly hold Prom. They had a graduation dance. But Prom with all the fancy dresses, catering, and limousines were not luxuries Gulinger kids could afford. In fact, only two of the students had the money for such a thing. And considering Selena’s choice of date, only Rick really could openly spend the money as one did at Prom. In all actuality, Selena was trembling nervous. Openly attending a Junior League event with such an obvious ghoulie like Tom Brown was the equivalent to telling her grandparents to ‘get lost’. The paparazzi would have his face with hers plastered everywhere by the next morning.

As for Rick, he had invited one of the ghoulie girls to the Junior League ball. Though he had wanted to invite a mafi girl in his grade that he thought was rather cute, he didn’t want to publicly expose her to the Mafia. So he had to satisfy himself with taking Pasha Deitz, a sophomore who was dying for a chance to go to the Plaza Hotel.

Pasha was one of those ghoulies that Rick knew only in passing, a friend of Selena’s and an extreme empath. She usually avoided large crowds and did not often go out on school excursions with the others, so this one night’s events had her enormously excited, as well as anxious. Rick didn’t know much about her except that she was a remarkably pretty blonde. The only reason he invited Pasha was that Selena insisted that Pasha be his date.

“You look lovely,” Selena said, nodding to Pasha. Pasha was wearing a strapless rose-colored gown of layered sheer chiffon over satin that Selena had picked out. Her wavy blond hair was up, trailing down in spiral curls along the back of her neck.

Pasha shyly nodded back. She had always been intimidated by Selena. Selena was, after all, savagely passionate—very much a siren in her core. Sirens, Pasha had whispered to Rick after he had asked her on the date, were overwhelmingly more passionate than regular human beings. She added also, with a smile, that she thought Rick was rather mild for a wolf. Rick was never sure if he should be pleased about that, even as he slipped on the red rose wrist corsage over her hand. After all, what was she implying?

They went out together down the front steps of the school, all of them way overdressed for the neighborhood. All the neighbors turned to look, their eyes taking in the fancy clothes with widening stares.

“So,” Tom turned to Rick as the limousine pulled up to the curb, “We are taking one small leap for ghoulies everywhere. Huh?”

Rick snorted and shook his head. “Nah. Just a hop to the Plaza Hotel. We get our pictures taken and have a chance to party in full public view.”

Selena drew in a breath, bracing herself.

Pasha smothered a grin.

The driver hurried out, opening the doors for them to climb in. Rick skipped quickly to take the man’s place, urging him to go back to the driver’s seat and not to worry about them. The three others climbed inside, bracing for what would come next.

Three hearts thundered excitedly as they rode up through New York to the Plaza Hotel. Only Rick was calm, looking out the window, narrating what they would have to do once they arrived. “It’s simple. Confidence. We smile for the paparazzi. No rushing. No pausing. Let them take their pictures. But we walk from the limo through the hotel to the Grand Ballroom without stopping for anything except to say ‘hi’ to friends.”

“I am so nervous.” Selena wrung the hem of her gown.

Rick glanced mildly at her. “You’ll be fine. Tom’s gonna be with you.”

Selena looked over at Tom, smiling. She leaned on his shoulder, heaving a sigh, then snuggled close. Tom’s face flushed, grinning dumbly with joy.

“Tom.” Rick snapped his fingers in front of Tom’s face to get his attention. “No goofball pranks. Your job is to make sure Selena has a good time.”

“Got it,” Tom murmured dreamily.

Rolling his eyes, Rick then looked to Pasha who sat on the seat biting her lower lip in anticipation. Would she get her own special instructions? She watched him carefully.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about anything. Just stick with me, and I’ll make sure you have fun.”

Selena tugged on Pasha’s elbow. “Hey, and if the crowd gets a bit much, focus on the music. You said that usually makes it easier, right?”

Pasha nodded.

But Rick frowned. “I still don’t get it, though. You’re an empath, right? You feel all the emotions of those around you. How does music make it easier to be in crowds? You still would feel all their feelings too, right?”

Shrugging, Pasha said, “I don’t know really. It just does. Maybe music is on the same wavelength as emotions.”

Selena grinned, nodding.

Both Tom and Rick shared a glance and shrugged. “Whatever.”

Selena slapped Rick’s forehead, though Tom ducked before Selena could reach him.

They eventually arrived at the curb in front of the Plaza Hotel. The lights of the lobby shined bright and the flashes of the paparazzi cameras pierced through the darkness. Their driver halted. One of the parking attendants rushed to the door, opening the back passenger side. Tom climbed out first. He then turned, extending a hand for Selena. Cameras flashed bright on her when she emerged, fully beautiful, elegant, picture perfect. Murmurs broke out the moment they saw her smile fondly at Tom. Both of them made way on the sidewalk for Rick who hopped from the limousine with a boyish grin. The murmuring increased the second he turned around and helped Pasha out. In her rose-petal pink gown, she wowed the onlookers. Unfortunately, she was almost blinded from the flashes, and more, she staggered from the emotional upheaval that surged over the walkway in front of the hotel.

“Stay calm,” Rick murmured in her ear as he got up close to her. He smiled to Tom and Selena while linking arms with Pasha. The paparazzi captured it all for the next morning’s paper. “You’re here to have fun. Focus on that. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Pasha drew in a breath for strength, and the foursome walked together into the hotel lobby.

Taking the stairs at an even, unhurried pace to the Grand Ballroom just as Rick had advised, they passed more paparazzi, along with several members of Junior League. They said their ‘hi’s to friends while more heads turned. But those watching mostly followed the procession of Selena with Tom rather than Rick with the pretty-yet-unknown girl. Tom, the Junior Leaguers knew. He was, after all, Tom the party-crasher. Tom, the lunatic that had somehow knocked Ewan Steed and Stewart McGivens into the pool at the last summer party. The same Tom who ran around with handfuls of shrimp, teasing Selena while she was sunbathing. Only this time he was this grinning punk, fully-invited and openly adored by the lusciously gorgeous Selena Davenport who walked arm in arm with him up the Plaza Hotel stairs. Nearly all the men present wished they were him.

Their party of four passed several clusters of debutants and their escorts with unconcerned smiles and nods. They even passed the gathering of ladies around Stewart and Ewan without so much as a how-de-do. Stewart stood there staring wordlessly as the four strolled by. Ewan stumbled down the steps in horror, his mouth agape. He really was a sore sight too. He had been since right after the last film party at his home where it had been rumored he had nearly overdosed on drugs. Bruises still spotted his skin. His hair stuck out with funny tufts like something had recently knocked it askew, and there was a damp spot on his pants where a water fountain had inconveniently squirted him when he passed. But the four from Gulinger didn’t even bat an eye at them.

Tom hopped up the last few steps, hardly touching the ground. Only Ewan and Stewart noticed. Tom spun around, landing almost tip-toe on the step while lending a hand to Selena to guide her up the last steps with puckish relish.

“See that!” Ewan shouted, pointing. The drink he was holding immediately spilled over his shirtfront. Spluttering, he almost dropped his glass. “Did you see that? He’s not touching the ground! He’s not human!”

“I need another drink,” Stewart murmured, marching up the stairs to the ballroom yet keeping distance from the four from Gulinger. He shook his head the entire way.

“I’m telling you!” Ewan swore. “That man is a freak!”

“What is he even doing here?” Another of Ewan’s friends came up to him, a Gavin Williams. He also sighed at the disheveled state of Ewan’s clothes, shaking his head.

Growling under his breath, Ewan clenched his teeth. “He wants Selena for his own. But he is nothing but white-trash. One of those punk foster kids. A charity case. Did you know his mother is in prison?”

“No way!” Amanda Pedderson murmured, stepping closer to Ewan, her eyes still on the four.

Nodding, Ewan added, “Yes. Some old lady down for armed-robbery or something. The punk’s got a juvy record from the age of ten.”

“How did you find this out?” Arthur Cole, one of Ewan’s other friends came in closer, whispering.

Lifting his chin, Ewan leaned back with a look at all those listening to him. “After he broke into my house and smashed my mermaid collection, I did some research. I figured a kid like that has got to have a record. So I negotiated with county records, did a few google searches, and went through some friends. I found out all there is to know about this Thomas Brown. The New York Police Department keeps tabs on him. And—get this—there is this homicide cop that keeps an especial watch on him. That freak’s got an arrest record up the wazoo, but no solid convictions since he was ten years old. There’s also is some lamebrain record online that says he’s got a one-eighty IQ, but I don’t believe that. What I do believe is that the guy needs to just end up in jail where he belongs.”

“One-eighty IQ?” someone murmured.

Ewan cast him a glare. “He’s lying white-trash. The problem is he keeps getting away with everything!”

“You need him to be caught red-handed?” Arthur asked, musing with his hand on his chin.

Ewan nodded.

“Hmm.” Arthur smiled to himself. “I can arrange it.”

They all angled back, regarding him with admiration, though Ewan was skeptical.

“How?”

Glancing up the stairs, Arthur nodded conspiratorially to Gavin. “You’re gonna love this….”

The Guilty

In the ballroom, the music played with celebratory gusto. Selena was on the dance floor with Tom most of the time. Rick had scouted out the buffet lines for the first half hour, dragging Pasha along while insisting she ignore whatever diet she was on and fill up her plate. He certainly was filling up his. They didn’t reach the dance floor until he had eaten his load.

Somewhere during the middle of the event, between Selena introducing Tom and Pasha to a dozen of their friends and Rick bumping into Stewart who had downed an alcoholic beverage he had smuggled into the festivities, the hotel security came up to Tom mid-boogie to Rock Lobster. Their eyes were fixed on his face, glancing apologetically to Selena as they said in a business-voice, “Would you please step aside with us, sir?”

Tom blinked at their uniforms, entirely puzzled, but acquiesced without so much as a word in protest. They led him to the side of the room then into the foyer. Selena followed.

“What is going on, officers?” Tom asked.

Their spokesman nodded with a grave sigh. “I am sorry, sir, but would you please turn out your pockets?”

“Turn out my pockets?” Tom murmured, glancing to Selena. “What is this about?”

“Someone in the party said he saw you take a wallet from another man’s pocket,” the security guard said.

“Who?” Selena asked, frowning, thin-lipped.

The guard shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we cannot disclose that.”

“And why not?” she snapped.

Sighing once more, the guard replied, “To protect against retribution. You understand.”

Selena clenched her teeth together.

“Now please, turn out your pockets.”

“No.” Selena set her hand on Tom’s to prevent him. He was already sticking his hands in to obey. “You don’t have to do this. You didn’t pick anyone’s pocket.”

Tom nodded, shrugging. “I know I didn’t.”

And he emptied his jacket pocket, dropping the contents to the floor.

Down fell one pink cell phone, an expensive leather wallet, a set of car keys to a Mercedes, and one of those hard wallets made to protect credit cards. Selena and Tom stared at them. So did the security.

But then the guards turned Tom around, taking out a pair of handcuffs. “I’m sorry, but you have the right to remain silent…”

“I didn’t take them,” Tom murmured, looking up to Selena in absolute shock.

“…Anything you say, can and will be used against you…”

The people around them peered in, whispering. So far no paparazzi photographs, but that would come soon enough. Selena panicked, searching around for Rick. He hadn’t noticed that they had left, still in the center of the dance floor dancing with Pasha who was having the time of her life.

“How did they get that stuff into my pocket?” Tom continued to murmur, quite dazed.

“…in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney….”

“Tom,” Selena seized his shoulders, turning him to look her in the eye as the guards latched the other wrist in the cuff. “You really didn’t take them, did you?”

Tom dumbly shook his head. “No. I swear. I’m not really a thief.”

She nodded, taking in a breath. “I believe you.”

“Hey, lady,” one of the security guards met her gaze, pushing Tom towards the elevator, “He was caught red handed.”

Selena growled, glaring at him eye-to-eye. “He was set up.”