“He died.”
Wait.
“Yep, says online he was working on his car and his jack failed.” Matt brought his palms together and said, “Splat.”
“You’re talking about Detective Brandon Jackson?” I said.
Matt nodded.
“Holy shit.” I shook my head slowly. No way. “Holy shit!”
Josh, who was checking out his imaginary chin fuzz in my mirror, said, “Pretty shitty way to go. Oh, hey, isn’t he some chick’s dad? That Korean girl, whazzername.”
“Half-Singaporean,” I said. “And he’s not her dad. He’s just dating her mom.”
They both stared at me.
Why had I said that? Under the table, my fingernails began digging into my leg. I’d never mentioned Delilah to anyone, never wanted to call attention to how much attention I paid her. Especially since I wasn’t ready to make my move. She was so shy, I couldn’t just—
Then it sank in: Detective Jackson was dead. The guy who was obviously abusing her, forcing her to curl up into a small, tight ball. She was free to be herself.
And she and I had made a connection. It wouldn’t be long before she realized I was exactly what she needed in her life. Why shouldn’t I tell my friends that I was interested in her?
I met Matt and Josh’s gazes and said, “She’s cute.”
“Yellow fever,” Josh said, not quite under his breath. He and Matt burst into laughter.
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, without any hardness in my voice, because here, finally, was my chance. I was ready. I’d regained the friends I’d lost, I had enough energy to start working out again, and the whole world was bright and glittering with opportunities. I was going to do it. Once Delilah got over the shock of what had happened, I was finally going to ask her out.
I was so beyond happy that I didn’t even mind when Matt and Josh settled down in my room, chatting about which girl they were into that week and precalculus and college apps. Only a few weeks ago, their presence would’ve depressed me so much, I would’ve retreated into my shell and shut them out. I could see the relief in their eyes when I got up from behind the desk and sat next to them on the floor.
Josh frowned at my leg. “Hey, you’re bleeding.”
Huh. I’d scratched myself hard enough to draw blood. Not good. Get a grip. I shrugged and gave him the world’s most casual smile. “It’s nothing, just a mosquito bite.”
I was fine. I was more than fine. I was fucking great.
Later, when they were gone, I quickly went through the video recording I’d collected the night before from one of my small cameras mounted on Delilah’s garage window. My pulse quickened as I scrolled through the file. There he was, working underneath his car. Hah. Maybe I’d have the pleasure of watching Detective Brandon Jackson’s accident. Maybe I’d—
My mouth went dry. Someone had just walked into the garage. There was no mistaking the long hair and the awkward way she hugged herself as she walked. It was Delilah. I grimaced as she bent over to speak to Brandon. I hoped she hadn’t been unfortunate enough to witness the accident. It would break her, my sweet, gentle Delilah.
But even as I thought that, Delilah straightened up, and though the camera wasn’t good enough to capture all the small details, I could see that her face was resolute. This was a different Delilah, one I had never seen before. A new sensation prickled down my spine, and I leaned closer. I knew something big was about to happen, though I didn’t know just what it was. And then it did.
As she walked past the car, she kicked at the jack. I gasped out loud. Holy. Shit. The car sank. Detective Brandon Jackson’s legs twitched once and went still. I was on my feet. I paced about for a few seconds then went back to my laptop and played the clip again. I watched again, and again, as Delilah kicked the jack. I watched as she leaned over and vomited before rushing back into the house. My sweet angel. She wasn’t as broken as I thought. She was a fighter. A Valkyrie. She was so much more than I thought she was. She was incredible.
And I loved her so much more for it.
* * *
By Monday, the entire school was buzzing. Everyone was tweeting stuff like “omg, how tragic! #prayfordraycott” as though Detective Jackson’s death was even remotely connected to the school. Why should anyone have to pray for Draycott? It offended me, the fact that some attention-seeking kid had jumped on the “prayforso-and-so” bandwagon and made it look as though the entire city was under attack. But it didn’t seem to bother anyone else, and the hashtag took flight.
While Josh and I walked to class, I looked out for Delilah. I’d spent hours last night watching all of the footage I’d collected of her. Now that I knew what she was capable of, everything she did became so much more nuanced, so much more complex. Words didn’t do her justice. Just when you thought you’d pinned her down, just when you thought you knew everything there was to know about her, she came up with yet another layer of complexity. She was taking me by surprise, and I loved every revelation, big or small. In the end, I’d saved the file of her killing Detective Jackson in a USB drive I could wear around my neck. Something this important deserved to be on me at all times. I couldn’t risk leaving it someplace where people might stumble across it. No, I needed to protect Delilah. Maybe I should delete it altogether, but it felt wrong to erase such an important part of Delilah. This was proof that my love for her was real. I loved all of her, not just the soft, lovely side of her, but the hard, jagged one, too.
I burned to see how she was doing. Would she be haunted by what had happened? I really should be there for her. I shouldn’t be here, walking along in the sunshine like it was a normal day. Delilah would be upset, she’d be in shock, she—
“Hey, earth to Logan.” Josh elbowed me.
“What?”
“Are you okay? I was asking if you’re up for Saturday. Remember? The rowers are holding a party at the boathouse.”
“Oh, right.” I’d decided this weekend would be my first date with Delilah, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be at a boathouse party that stank of hard booze and river muck. “I can’t, I gotta go to the shelter. They took in a few new dogs so they really need the extra pair of hands.”
Josh grinned. “Aw, good, sweet Logan, helping the poor doggies.” He clasped his hands under his chin and fluttered his lashes at me. “Oh, Logan, you are the perfect man.”
I laughed. “Fuck off.”
“Seriously, I don’t get why you insist on spending your weekends at the shelter. It’s not gonna do much for your college apps, you know that, right? If you want to make a real difference to your apps, join the robotics club. It’s actually a lot cooler than people think.”
I grinned at the thought of Josh fiddling with complicated systems at the robotics club. Most people dismissed him as your regular airhead jock, but he was genuinely smart. Which didn’t stop him from being clueless when it came to girls. “I’m not doing it to plump up my college apps,” I said. I’m doing it to have an excuse to walk past Delilah’s house, I added silently.
“Mkay. Well, the invitation’s always open. We’re an inclusive club. Oh, hey, you know that cop who got crushed by his car? I heard that like, one of the wheels got him right here,” Josh said, tapping his left cheek. “Squeezed his eyeball right out.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Mason told me. His cousin works at the coroner’s office.”
“That’s sick.” I pushed open the double doors into Brenner Hall. It was teeming with students—boarders and day students alike—arriving, greeting one another, slamming locker doors, and making their way to class.
“Yeah! And that girl was the one who discovered him… Jesus, that’s rough. How much you wanna bet she’s going to milk this for all it’s worth and use it to get a vacation from school?”
I was suddenly filled with an urge to punch Josh in t
he face. “I dunno.”
“C’mon, twenty bucks says she won’t show up for at least a week.” Josh elbowed me again. “You scared of losing?” He clucked at me.
“No, I just don’t wanna be a dick,” I shot back.
“Pfft. Whatever. All right, see ya, loser,” Josh said good-naturedly. He melted into the crowd.
I forced myself to smile at the students who greeted me as I made my way to chemistry. My mouth went dry when I entered the classroom. Delilah’s seat was empty. Darkness bloomed in the pit of my stomach. Was she okay? Did the cops—did they do something to her? I had to make myself sit still in class instead of running all the way to her house. The last thing I needed was for Ms. Taylor to get a call about me. Delilah was probably at home comforting her grief-stricken mother. It wasn’t an easy time for either of them. Right. Nothing was wrong. I replayed the videos of her in my mind, getting sicker with worry by the minute.
As soon as classes ended for the day, I faked a stomachache and told Coach I was going to be in the dorms. I made my way to the Eastern Gardens, where a hole in the hedge allowed us to make unscheduled visits into town. The hole was Draycott’s best-kept secret. I wriggled through and jogged all the way to the nearest bus stop. Since I was supposed to remain on campus, I couldn’t very well check my car out of the school garage.
Forty-five minutes later, I was strolling toward Delilah’s house, Daddy tugging vehemently at the leash. I walked slowly, cautious, unsure what I would find. There were cars parked outside her house, and it hit me then, that they must be having a wake or something. Of course. What did I expect? To be able to walk right into her house and have a heart-to-heart with her? I’d been so excited to finally get to see the real Delilah that I didn’t think things through before coming here. Daddy whined, and I patted him on the head and breathed out. “You were looking forward to seeing her too, huh?”
He panted and shook his tail then tugged ferociously on the leash. Oh well. At least one of us was having a good time. I walked us to a nearby playground. As I went past it, something clattered at my feet. A pebble. I glanced up and saw Delilah waving at me from the swings. My chest expanded at the sight of her. I wanted to run to her, but I made myself walk instead.
“Be cool, man,” I muttered to Daddy as we closed the distance.
“Hey,” Delilah said. She smiled at Daddy. “Hey, Daddy.”
Daddy rolled over on his back and stared expectantly up at her. Delilah cracked the tiniest hint of a smile, knelt on the grass, and rubbed his belly.
“Uh, I heard about what happened. I’m sorry,” I said weakly. I studied her closely, trying to get a hint of how she was handling everything. Now that I saw Delilah in person, I couldn’t help but notice tiny transformations about her. Was it just my imagination, or was she carrying herself differently? Did she seem more confident, more empowered? Should I be sorry? I wanted to say. But that would be too crass. I’d push her away.
A shadow crossed Delilah’s face. “I don’t really want to talk about it. I’ve done nothing but talk about the accident ever since it happened.” She glanced up at me. “Is that okay? I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you don’t have to apologize. We can talk about whatever else you want.”
“Thanks.” We stayed silent for a while as she continued rubbing Daddy’s belly.
“So… Read any good books lately?” I ask.
That got a laugh out of her. She shook her head. “I haven’t had much time to read lately. What about you?”
“I’m kinda ashamed to admit it, but despite my good looks, I’m kind of a nerd.” I grinned when Delilah snorted with laughter. “What, you don’t believe me?”
She shrugged, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.
“I read pretty much everything. I just finished The Rook, and I loved that.”
“Wow, you’re right, you are a nerd,” Delilah said.
This was my chance. I could finally put all that research, all the homework I’d done to good use. “Before that I was reading these historical mysteries set in Singapore—”
Delilah’s eyes widened, and she stopped rubbing Daddy’s belly for a second. “The Merlion Murder series?”
“Yeah. You know them?” Was that the right amount of surprise in my voice?
“Tan Jing Xu is one of my favorite writers. I didn’t think anyone at school had ever heard of her,” she said.
“Yeah, my mom brought back one of her books after her first trip to Singapore, and I was hooked. Her writing…” I shook my head, and I wasn’t lying here, although maybe I was stretching the moment a bit. “I wanna say it’s sublime, but I don’t wanna be the sort of asshole who says sublime.”
Delilah laughed, her eyes brighter than I had ever seen them, and god, did I ever want to kiss her. “Her writing is really great,” she said. “But it’s not actually why I love her books.” She looked down at Daddy and rubbed his tummy again. “I’ve only been to Singapore twice, and even though I love the place, I always felt like an outsider. Even my own family in Singapore calls me ang moh. Know what that means?”
I shook my head, not daring to say a word.
Delilah gave a wry smile. “It literally means redhead. It’s what they call white people in Singapore. Basically, they call me whitey. But over here, most people consider me Asian.” She shrugged. “That’s me—not Asian enough for Asian people, not white enough for white people. Anyway, I’ve always wanted to learn more about Singapore, especially after my dad—um. After his accident. And Tan Jing Xu puts in like, hundreds of hours into researching every possible thing for her books. Reading them feels like…” She shook her head, searching for the right words.
And I had to make that leap. I had to meet her halfway, show that we were operating on the same wavelength. “Like walking down Bras Basah Road in the slick tropical heat while eating kueh tutu off squares of banana leaf?” I said.
Delilah’s eyes snapped to mine, and those perfect lips stretched into a smile, a real one this time, as she said, “Yes,” in a voice soft with wonder. She was looking at me in an entirely different way, and in this moment, nothing else mattered.
Delilah’s phone chimed, and she took it out of her pocket. Her smile melted away. “I should go. Brandon’s old partner’s at my house.” A new expression crossed her face, turning her features into that of a stranger’s. It was so different from the Delilah I knew that it took me a while to realize what it was—anger. Then she looked at me, and just like that, she was back to the same sweet Delilah. “Sorry, Logan. I should be there for my mom. Mendez is…” She shook her head. “She’s persistent.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my heart racing. Why was Brandon’s old partner at their house? Did she know something she shouldn’t? I knew by now—of course I did, I’d seen the video, hadn’t I?—that Delilah was much stronger than I’d given her credit for, but maybe she was in trouble. Maybe she needed my help.
But then Delilah smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably nothing. I’m just being paranoid for no reason.” And she gave me a smile so radiant, I forgot all about my concerns. She stood up and brushed herself off. “See you, Daddy,” she said.
Daddy’s butt wagged extra hard. “See you in school,” I said. “You can borrow my notes for chem if you want.”
“That’ll be great, thanks. Bye.”
I picked up Daddy’s leash and tugged it lightly. “Let’s go, Daddy.”
There was a newfound spring in my step as I walked. I went over our conversation, going through every word, every sentence. Trying to recall the exact moments when Delilah had smiled or laughed. Drawing her face in my mind in minute detail—the angle she tilted her head to when she laughed, the way she licked her lips and how she brushed her dark hair behind her ear. We’d had a connection. She’d felt it too. The look in her eyes when I spoke about her favorite books said it all. And as soon as the fuss over Detect
ive Jackson died down, there would no longer be a Logan or a Delilah, only an us.
Chapter Seven
Delilah
The days following Brandon’s death, Mom swung back and forth from hysterical to even more hysterical as she scrambled to make funeral arrangements. I jumped every time the doorbell rang, half expecting Mendez to show up and cuff me for killing her partner. She’d come ’round with the excuse of wanting “to see how you guys are doing.” Sometimes she’d bring homemade empanadas, like that was all it took to make murderers fess up.
After Brandon’s funeral, Mom and I ate dinner in baffled silence, both of us unsure of what to say to each other after more than a year of having all our conversations revolve around Brandon. We spoke in hushed voices at first, because that was what used to be safe. Anything louder than that and we risked Brandon shouting at us to shut the fuck up, because he couldn’t hear the game over our goddamn chatter. Then, one night, in the middle of a whispered sentence, Mom let rip a huge burp, and for a second, we stared at each other in terrified silence. One of us squeaked, and the squeak turned into a giggle, and soon Mom and I were doubled over the kitchen counter, gasping with laughter. Then, as suddenly as it began, Mom stopped mid-laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth. Tears sprang into her eyes.
“Mom, it’s okay to laugh,” I said. “He was terrible, he—”
A sob escaped her, and she shook her head. “Don’t, Dee. Just—don’t.” And then she rushed out of there, leaving me shaking my head with disappointment. Didn’t she realize what an amazing gift she’d been given? I’d gotten rid of the awful, abusive figure who’d been dominating us for so long. I’d given her a whole new lease on life. Why wasn’t she more relieved? I guessed she loved Brandon at one point, but she must’ve known on some level that he was a monster.
I guess Mom felt guilty about laughing so hard, because the next day, she informed me that she’d made an appointment for the two of us to see a therapist. I rolled my eyes and didn’t say much on the drive over, but truth be told, part of me was dying to talk to someone. I mean, holy shit. Sometimes, the realization would strike me randomly. I killed somebody. And the worst part was, I didn’t feel that bad about it. Sometimes, I tried to imagine myself back in the garage, watching the pool of blood grow before me, just so I could feel that nauseating sense of guilt crush me, but it was getting harder and harder to get that feeling, and that felt bad. I should feel guilty, shouldn’t I?
The Obsession Page 6