Chapter 6 - The Screen Lit Up With Her Voice
I didn't breathe when the black turned blue and then turned into light. My mom's hand was on my back, and Mr. Graham was standing just to the side of me, and the DJ's laptop made that little ding sound when my phone connected. The ballroom got real quiet. Even the clinking from the tables stopped.
The fairy lights behind the booth buzzed a little. I could hear my own breathing in the microphone. Mr. Graham leaned down and said, low, "Go ahead, honey."
I didn't know how to work it. The DJ tapped his trackpad twice. My thumb shook. I pressed play.
At first it was just dark and shaky. You could see the floor tiles moving and hear shoes. Then the hallway came on, the back hallway by the kitchen doors where Mom and I had waited because nobody told us where to sit. The picture was tilted. My arm must have been down at my side. But the sound was clear.
The room heard her before they saw her.
"She brought that worthless kid. Sit in the back."
A couple people gasped. I felt it more than I heard it, that pull of air across the dance floor. On the big screen, the video kept going. You could see the edge of a white tablecloth and somebody's shoes walking past. Then that second voice, lower, laughing a little. "Back by the kitchen. Don't let her in the pictures."
My stomach dropped. I hadn't remembered that second part until it played. I looked up at Mom. Her face went white.
Every head in the room turned. Not to me. To Vanessa.
She was standing halfway between the tables and the dance floor, her lace sleeves catching the chandelier light. Her mouth was open. For a second she didn't move. Then she smiled, too fast, too big.
"Oh — oh, that's —" She laughed, and it cracked. "That's out of context. That was a joke. We were joking about seating. Tell them."
Nobody laughed with her.
Mr. Graham didn't look at her. He looked at the screen. "Let it play," he said.
The DJ glanced at Mr. Graham, then back at his laptop. He turned the volume up a notch. On the video, you could hear Mom's voice, quiet. "Come on, baby, let's just sit where she said." And then me, small, "My cardigan itches." A couple guests made a sound at that. One woman at the front table put her hand over her mouth.
I felt Mom squeeze my shoulder. "You're okay," she whispered. "Just keep holding it."
Vanessa took a step forward. Then another. Her heels clicked hard on the white floor. "No. Stop. This is my wedding," she said. Her voice got higher. "That's a child's video. You can't — you can't take a joke and —"
The clip kept playing. Shoes, voices in the hallway, a door closing. Then Vanessa again, closer this time, sharper: "I said the back."
The front tables shifted. A man in a dark suit stood halfway up. A girl my age at a side table stared at me with big eyes. I saw the DJ's helper look down at the floor like he didn't want to watch.
Vanessa saw it too. She saw them looking at her.
"It's out of context!" she said louder, pointing at the screen. She started walking fast toward the booth, her dress pulling around her legs. "It's a joke between girls. Ask anybody. She —" She pointed at Mom now. "She knows I was kidding."
Mom didn't answer. She moved a little more in front of me.
Mr. Graham held up his hand. "Vanessa. Wait."
She didn't wait. She kept coming across the dance floor, straight at us, straight at the laptop and the cable running to my phone. Her face that had been worried before was something else now. Tight. Mad.
"Turn it off," she said to the DJ. "That's my reception. Turn it off now."
The DJ froze with his hand over the trackpad. He looked from her to Mr. Graham.
"Keep it playing," Mr. Graham said.
Vanessa lunged the last two steps to the booth. Her hip hit the edge of the black-skirted table. The laptop jumped. My phone slid. The cable caught, and the DJ grabbed for it. The picture on the big screen froze, then stuttered — Vanessa's voice cut off mid-word and the image stuck on the hallway tiles.
The ballroom gasped again. The sound stopped with a pop.
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I held the microphone so tight my knuckles hurt. The blue light from the screen was still on our faces. The video bar at the bottom showed it was only partway through. There was more. I knew there was more.
Vanessa was right at the booth steps now, breathing hard, one hand on the table, staring at me.
