Violet Grenade(38)

"Dad," I whisper. But he can't hear me. He can't hear me because he doesn't have any ears.

He reaches the front door and pulls it open, stops and listens for any sign that we've woken. I reach out to touch him, but my hand passes through his skin. He's wearing a baseball hat. He had time to put on a hat, but not to kiss me good-bye.

"Don't leave," I beg. My legs start sinking through the hardwood floor until only my hips, waist, chest, and head remain. "Daddy, don't leave. If you leave, I'll do the thing I'm not supposed to do."

A storm rages outside our home. I wonder if he planned it this way-to leave with the thunder masking the sound of his engine starting, with the lightning cutting a path from our home to his new, elsewhere life.

The moment he disappears into the night is the second my mom starts screaming. It's like she can actually feel the absence of my father. The clock chimes again, and the bells grow so loud that I have to cover my ears. I can't block the sound of my mother, though. That sound has no beginning and no end. It just … is. I'd do anything to make her happy again if only to kill that dreadful noise. 

When I look back toward the front door, it's gone. In its place is a round table with neatly lined knives. All different shapes and sizes, those knives. Gleaming in the moonlight and calling my name.

I don't want to touch them.

But I must.





Chapter Twenty-Three

Annihilate the Armor

The next night, Poppet, Candy, and I are getting ready. Though I'm still on edge from my fight with Mercy, it's my dream I can't stop thinking about. A memory, really, of the thing my father did that led to Wilson's birth.

I haven't spoken to my father in five years. He left me alone with my mother. A woman who grew bitterness in her heart and wrapped it in barbed wire. A woman who loved me and demanded I love her back. Oh, how I loved her, Wilson and I both.

Mercy doesn't pop her head in to ensure we're dressing. She doesn't stomp up and down the hallway or clip orders. Best guess is she's tending to her face, making the cuts and bruises work in her favor. Anything to earn those coins.

Mr. Hodge caught us right after the fight ended and demanded to know whose fault it was. Surprisingly, no one said a word. The girls have all taken sides: Mercy's, mine, or no man's land. But regardless of who supports whom, when it comes to Mr. Hodge, we're an army of ten.

When Candy leaves the room, Poppet turns in my direction.

"Are you sure you don't want to borrow one of my dresses?" she asks for the fourth time. Poppet hasn't thanked me for coming to her defense, and I'm terrified it's because she's afraid of me. But her offering me a dress says all is not lost.

I glance at the door and think about my plan. I've been turning over an idea in my head ever since I made the decision to stay. I need enough money to get my own place, and I want Poppet to get her car. After ensuring no one is listening in, I sit on my bed and lean toward Poppet. "I want to talk to you about tonight. What are your thoughts on teaming up?"

Poppet licks her lips. "How so?"

"There's only one Point Girl per flower. But maybe it doesn't have to be that way. If we showed Madam Karina that we work better as a duo, maybe she'll divide our profits evenly. Then we could share the title of Point Girl and eventually be promoted to Daisies."

Poppet lowers her eyes. "I can only sing."

"Poppet, you're a terrible singer," I say. "What you do have is personality. Customers are drawn to you because you're enthusiastic and outgoing. It makes them feel wanted. But you spend so much of your time worried about the microphone that they don't see it. Tonight, if you agree, you stay by my side. I'll ensure no one messes with us and use my sketchpad to provide entertainment, and you keep them talking."

"I'm not that bad of a singer."

"You're the worst."

Poppet laughs. "We're not close enough for you to say that."

I smile and nod. "We're exactly close enough for me to say that. Any less and it would be outrageously rude, any longer and we'd be the kind of friends who lie to each other."

"I don't want to lie to you," she says.

"Okay, so then-"

"My turn to be truthful," she interjects. "This heavy makeup, these piercings, the wigs … it's not working for you."

I cover my heart in mock horror. "How dare you."



       
         
       
        

Poppet stands up, grabs my hand. "I accept your proposal. But only if I can give you a makeover."

"That's not happening."

Poppet purses her lips. "Look, if you want to be a team, you have to trust me the way I trust you."