Page 77 of Pageant

With embarrassment and fury coating my insides, I grasp the bralette along with my T-shirt, yank it up, feeling the cool breeze nipping at my flesh, and then pull everything down again.

A nasty grin splits Seth’s face, and I realize it’s not because I’ve shown him something that he wants to see, but because I actually did it.

He throws the locket toward the drain and jogs off, laughing, calling out at the top of his lungs, “Lilia BRA-zhensky! Lilia BRA-zhensky!”

“No!” I lunge for the grate just as the necklace slips through the bars. My fingers touch the fine chain and I grasp it tightly. My heart soars—

And then the locket zips off the end and I’m left holding nothing but the chain. A moment later, I hear the heavy gold oval plop into the water.

Tears fill my eyes as I stare into the inky shadows. I kneel on the sidewalk, head bowed as I sob. Mom died when I was five, and my memories of her are blurred and choppy. That locket was the only thing I had that reminded me that she was once real. That she had loved me.

Thatsomeoneloved me.

Dad talks to me like I’m one of his men. He shouts at me like I’m one of his men, too. EvenBabushkacan’t stand to look at me. I’m alive and her daughter’s gone, and she hates me for it.

I swipe my hand over my runny nose and get to my feet. Why does everybody in this town hate me so much? Is it just because my family is Russian? Or is it because the rumors are true, and the Brazhensky name is laced with blood and death?

I trudge toward home, to an empty house. It’s almost always empty, and I hate being in that big house by myself. I wish Mom were still alive. I wish I had brothers and sisters.

I wish I had anyone.

Predictably, the huge, white house is as silent as a tomb when I let myself in through the front door into the cavernous black-and-white tiled hall. It welcomes Dad and his pristine suits and palpable authority, but it resents my presence, cringing away from my dusty shoes and sticky fingers.

With dried tears on my cheeks, I walk straight through the house to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The locket can’t be gone forever. Itjustcan’t be. My mind whirs over the possibilities. Maybe the city council has some sort of service that you can contact about precious objects that have been lost. Or I could dangle a magnet down there. Is gold magnetic?

I’m picturing half a dozen workmen with orange cones and mechanical diggers excavating the drain when a car roars into the driveway. I recognize the thrum of Dad’s Audi, and blink in surprise as he strides through the front door a moment later, slamming it behind him.

The house is delighted to see him, illuminating his tall, strong figure to perfection as he strides down the hall toward me.

“I heard what happened,” he says through his teeth, green eyes flashing. There’s heavy dark stubble on his jaw. He shaves every morning but it’s always back with a vengeance by the afternoon.

My heart leaps with happiness as well as surprise. Somehow he heard what Seth did to me, and he’s furious. Dad lifts his hand toward me, grabbing the hair on the top of my head and dragging me from the room. I have no choice but to follow him, my feet stumbling over each other, tears springing into my eyes.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?”

He throws me onto the carpet. I sit up and face Dad, realizing that we’re in his study. This has to be a mistake or a misunderstanding. He can’t be angry with me for losing the locket, can he? Not when Seth was the one to rip it from around my neck and I did everything I could to get it back.

As soon as I’m back on my feet, Dad lifts his huge palm and slaps me across the face. “You disgusting harlot!”

His roar rings in my ears along with the pain, and I’m too shocked to even cry. I suck a heaving breath into my lungs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose the locket.”

“What locket?” he growls.

I blink. Isn’t that why he’s angry with me?

Dad points toward the front door with a shaking forefinger. “I do not go out to work every day to put a roof over your head, only for you to turn into a cheap little whore. Eleven years old and already you can’t keep your clothes on.”

Dad starts ranting in Russian and pacing up and down. Then he whirls back to me.

“Showing yourself to a boy on the street where anyone driving past could see you. All my men were laughing at me. When will your daughter be on the pole, Aran?”

“I had to do it because Seth stole Mom’s—”

“I do not want your excuses!” he bellows. “My own flesh and blood. I can’t even look at you.”

Dad turns on his heel and stalks out, throwing over his shoulder, “You can stand there for the rest of the night.”

I’m left in cavernous, hostile silence. Dad’s austere study seems to be gloating over my disgrace, and I wonder who saw me in the street with Seth. Probably the wife of Dad’s second-in-command, a nasty, gossiping woman who takes it upon herself to police everyone’s children and tell tales on them to their parents. Girls acting out with boys is her favorite transgression. I suppose it must have looked like I was showing off my chest in the street, but if she’d only looked closer, she would have seen the hatred burning in my eyes.

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