When James and I finally get up the nerve, we go to find the others. Everyone is gathered in the main room, even a few I hadn’t seen before. But it’s how they’re dressed that really alarms me. The rebels are no longer in T-shirts or tank tops. They’re wearing black—a color rarely worn in public anymore—and their makeup is dark and dramatic, even the guys. The entire scene is so stereotypically emo that I’m utterly confused.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Dallas smiles broadly from the other end of the table. Her dreads are pulled back behind a black headband, and she’s wearing a leather corset with red ribbons laced through the shoulders. “It’s a special night,” she says, lifting her plastic cup in cheers. “The Suicide Club just reopened.”
Chapter Four
“THE SUICIDE CLUB?” I ASK, GLANCING AROUND
the room. The others look downright gleeful, smiling and laughing, but I have a horrible feeling I’ve crossed into some hideous version of reality. “I don’t understand.” Dallas grins, taking a long sip from her cup before answering. “We’re not going to kill ourselves, silly.” Silly? I wonder what’s in her plastic cup.
“It means we’re going out. You should be happy to leave this dreary place for a while.” She glances to the side. “Are you happy, James?”
There’s a pinch of jealousy. She’s not just asking if he’s happy about going out, she’s asking if he’s happy with me. James looks her over, trying to gauge the situation.
“Yes,” he answers dismissively. “Now, what exactly is the Suicide Club?”
Dallas’s smile falters slightly under the authority in James’s tone. She turns to me instead, her posture taking on an irritated quality as she sets her drink down. “You remember the Wellness Center?” she asks. “This is the opposite. It’s like a place for those of us who don’t want to wear polo shirts and khakis.
For those who want to celebrate choice—the choice to kill ourselves if we damn well please.” She shrugs. “We don’t want to die, but it’s fun to explore our dark sides when the rest of the world is intent on burying it.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” James says.
“And it sounds dangerous.”
Dallas shakes her head. “Not even. It’s actually the safest you’ll be from The Program’s influence. You can be yourself, James. When’s the last time you were that?”
“Fuck off,” he mutters, examining a hangnail on his thumb.
I can see her words hurt him and it infuriates me. James is always himself. He may not remember his life, but he wasn’t changed. He’s still him. That’s what I believe, anyway.
“I think we’ll pass,” I say, reaching to slip my hand in the crook of James’s elbow. “Thanks, though.”
“You’ll go,” Dallas says, then softens her voice. “You should go. It’s a great place to recruit new members. That’s where I met Cas.” She looks over at him. “You were so handsome,” she teases. “Those big brown eyes and long hair, I think I would have brought you home even if you were depressed.”
“Let’s not share all our secrets now. . . .” Cas replies, fighting back an embarrassed smile. I can’t tell if they’ve had a thing or not, and frankly, I don’t care.
“So we’re on the run from The Program, but we’re going to a club?” James asks, pointing out the obvious flaw in this plan.
“Why not just call the handlers ourselves and ask them to meet us there?”
“You’re so funny,” Dallas says with a mock laugh. “Sure, the Suicide Club has risks, but the proprietors are careful. It’s never in the same place twice—completely underground. Only those of us in the know hear about it, and even then only the day of. It’s not like they advertise.” Dallas leans her elbows on the table. “Not everyone wants to be well-behaved all the time, so they go to the Suicide Club to let loose for a while. And when it comes to rebels, this is the best place to find them. We get to see what they’re really like. We just have to pick through the really disturbed to find the fighters. Isn’t that how Realm found you, Sloane? Because of your bad attitude?”
At the mention of Realm, both James and I turn to her defensively. I don’t take Dallas’s bait. Whether her words are meant to hurt me or to come between me and James, I won’t give her any more opportunities than she already tries to take.
She does hurt me though, and I try to squash the memory of Michael Realm and how desperately I miss him, worry about him. Dallas watches with a sort of satisfaction—the girl who told me her secrets is hidden behind makeup and whatever booze is in her cup. She takes our silence as agreement.
“We leave in an hour,” she says. “I’ll get something appro-priate for you to wear and I’ll send it to your room, Sloane.
They won’t let us in with you looking so bland. James.” She smiles. “You’re fine the way you are.”
James and I stand there like a couple of idiots, staring at her, and Dallas goes back to laughing and drinking with the other rebels as if we don’t exist at all.
James looks me over skeptically. “I’m supposed to be okay with you going out like this?” he asks, rubbing his chin as he circles me. “I think I can see your womb.”
“You can not.” I laugh and turn to follow his slow assessment.
He looks at me doubtfully. “It’s short.”
“Not that short. The boots are kind of hot, though.” I lift my foot, modeling the spiked black leather boots Dallas sent over. They’re a little big, but I’m hoping that will stop them from hurting me too much.
Neither me nor James had been interested in going out, but now that I’m dressed in this short black skirt, ripped T-shirt, and enough makeup to make me unrecognizable to my family, I feel sort of . . . good. Like I can be someone else for tonight.
“With you dressed like this, I’m probably going to end up in a fight,” he says.
“I know.” I smile. “Dallas and the others are waiting in the main room, so we should probably hurry before she gets even more pissed off.”
“Is that possible?” he asks, walking to the dresser. He pulls a T-shirt from the duffel bag and then turns to me.
His cheeks are scruffy from not shaving; light shadows are painted under his eyes. “Sloane,” he asks softly, “are you sure this is a good idea?”