Hendricks looked at Portia and then back at her locker. Shit.
She could still feel Portia’s eyes boring into her, waiting for an explanation.
“That wasn’t, like, a social thing,” she said. “It was for school or whatever. We had a project.”
Portia gave her head a little shake. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m not the one you owe an apology to, anyway.”
* * *
• • •
Hendricks and her friends back in Philly used to have a system. And that system was cupcakes. Sometime around ninth grade, they’d all agreed that instead of doing the whole silent treatment or passive-aggressive thing that everyone else did when they were pissed off, they’d start a new tradition. Fights meant cupcakes. If you did something shitty to the other person, all you had to do was show up at their door with a dozen cupcakes and all would be forgiven.
Hendricks believed in the cupcake system. So she did a Google search for bakeries in Drearford, and was psyched to find that there was a cute little shop called Mae’s Treats & Things within walking distance from school.
She set out after last period and picked out a dozen cupcakes in all different flavors since she didn’t know what Connor liked. While she was waiting for Mae to wrap the cupcakes up, she texted Raven to get Connor’s address.
He’s at 2496 Elm, Raven wrote back. Good luck!
Hendricks rolled her lip between her teeth. She didn’t know whether to be heartened or depressed that apparently everyone in her new social circle already knew that she was on the outs with Connor—but she decided to go with heartened. She wanted to feel good today.
You already got rid of the ghosts, she told herself as she pulled her hood over her topknot and started toward Elm. Salvaging your social life will be a piece of cake.
She glanced down at the box of cakes in her hands and smiled at her pun.
Literally.
* * *
• • •
Connor lived in a ramshackle, two-story house that looked both well-loved and well overdue for a facelift. There was a tire swing hanging from the tree out front, and a bunch of cars parked in the driveway. Sporting equipment littered the porch, and the grass had clearly been flattened by many people running and tumbling through it over the years.
And maybe even parking on it, Hendricks thought, noticing two deep ruts in the lawn that looked suspiciously like tire tracks.
She grinned to herself as she rang the buzzer. Even if Connor hadn’t already told her about his brothers, it would have been obvious that a bunch of boys lived here. Although she might’ve guessed he had a dozen brothers instead of just three.
A little girl in a soccer uniform opened the door.
“Who’re you?” she asked, frowning.
“Um, my name is Hendricks,” she said, kneeling so that she was eye-to-eye with Connor’s sister. “You must be Amy?”
Amy tugged on one of her blond pigtails and said nothing.
“Um, Connor told me all about you,” Hendricks said. Would it be weird of her to offer this little girl a cupcake? She glanced over Amy’s shoulder, suddenly anxious. “Is he here?”
“Connor!” Amy screamed. “There’s a girl here!”
And then, without saying another word, she turned and fled down the hallway.
Hendricks didn’t quite know what to do. She hadn’t been invited inside, exactly, so she stayed on the porch, but it felt weird to be standing directly in front of an open door without even bothering to close it.
Luckily, she heard the thud of footsteps on the staircase about a second later, and then Connor appeared, smiling shyly at the sight of her.
“Hey, you,” he said. He motioned toward the hall. “Come on in.”
Hendricks followed him into the hallway as he casually swung the door shut.
She sheepishly held out the cupcakes. “Peace offering?”
Connor frowned and peeked into the box. “They look like a cupcake offering. Why peace?”
“Portia told me you totally hated me for missing your party last night, and I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to at all.” Hendricks chewed her bottom lip. “I really wanted to be there. I’m so sorry.”
Connor hesitated for a moment, then gave her a small smile. “Hey, if you feeling sorry means I get to eat cupcakes, then I’m all for it.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get some milk.”
Hendricks followed Connor down the hallway to a small kitchen with a beaten wood table and seven mismatched chairs. She sat down and began carefully taking the prettiest cupcakes out of the box while Connor went to get the glasses.
“You drink dairy, right?” he asked, putting a plastic jug of whole milk on the table. “I know a lot of you city girls only drink milk that comes from almonds and oats and grass and stuff.”
“I’m pretty into the stuff that comes out of cows,” Hendricks said, “but don’t knock oat milk until you’ve tried it.”
Connor laughed. “Noted.” He grabbed a chocolate-on-chocolate cupcake. “So.”
“So,” Hendricks repeated. She took a vanilla-lavender cupcake and began picking at the wrapper. Connor cleared his throat.
“So, what happened?” he asked after a beat.
Hendricks knew she should have come armed with a reasonable explanation, but she suddenly didn’t know what to say. Connor had been nothing but caring and respectful. She just didn’t know how to start to explain the horror of the past few days at home.
“What’s the deal?” he prompted again. “Because I kind of thought you liked me.”
Connor shifted a little, so that his knuckles brushed against the back of her hand.
Hendricks glanced down at their hands, her breath catching in her throat. She realized she genuinely did like him.
But Grayson had seemed nice, too. At first. It was hard for her to trust her intuition when she’d been so wrong before.
Heat rose in her cheeks. “I did,” she blurted, pulling her hand away. Then, feeling awkward, “I mean, I do.”
Connor asked, “But, what?
“I don’t remember saying but.”
“Strange, because I definitely heard it.”
Hendricks took a deep breath. “But things with my last boyfriend got really intense, really fast,” she admitted. “I guess I’d always wished we’d taken more time to get to know each other as friends before we got involved. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
That was all true. It just wasn’t the whole truth. She thought of Eddie and their night in the cellar. Her cheeks grew hot.
“Friends first, huh?” Connor scratched the back of his neck. “I guess there’s some logic to that.”
“You’d be cool with that?”
“Of course I would. If it’s what you want.”
“It is,” Hendricks said on an exhale.
She took a bite of cupcake, waiting for Connor to ask her about Eddie. But he didn’t.
“Is this why you didn’t you come to the party last night?” he asked instead.
“Actually, my little brother’s in the hospital,” she said. “He hurt his leg pretty bad. My parents have been staying with him at the hospital. We’re all pretty upset and, anyway, that’s why I didn’t come last night. It’s not that I didn’t want to go, obviously, it’s just . . .”
Hendricks ended her sentence with a sigh, once again not sure how to explain the strange mix of guilt and terror and everything else she’d been feeling since Brady got hurt.
Sensing her unease, Connor thankfully saved her from having to continue. “If one of my siblings was in the hospital, I’d be a total mess,” he said, taking a drink of milk. “There’s no way I’d be going to parties. In fact, I’m impressed that you’re here right now.”
“Yeah.” Hendricks’s voice cracked, betraying her. “I just feel
so bad for him.”
“I really hope he gets better.”
Hendricks lifted her eyes to his. He sounded sincere. Which was funny considering that he had a milk mustache.
“Thanks,” she said. “You got a little . . .” She touched the top of her lip, and Connor’s ears turned pink. She dug a crumpled napkin out of the cupcake box and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he said, wiping the mustache away.
“So tell me about the party!” Hendricks said brightly, wanting to change the subject. “Were there really clowns?”
“No, thank God. But Portia and Raven passed out bright red clown noses to all the guests, so it sort of felt like we all got to be clowns for the night.”
Connor told her about how they’d set up all the old-school kids’ games—pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and a cakewalk. Portia and Raven had filled Portia’s basement with streamers and balloons and rented a snow-cone machine—which they’d spiked with vodka, of course.
“There was even a piñata,” Connor said. “Although my brothers got ahold of the stick thing you’re supposed to use to break it open, and then they spent more time chasing each other around with it than trying to get the candy.”
Hendricks laughed and, for a moment, she felt like she had right after she’d leapt off the cliff into the quarry: wholly and perfectly herself.
Her smile flickered as she realized this wasn’t as comforting as she’d hoped it would be. There was a shadow looming over her that she couldn’t quite shake. Even when she knew she was perfectly safe, there would always be a part of her that was a little bit afraid.
CHAPTER
23
Steele House was empty when Hendricks got home. She eased the front door open. It swung smoothly, without a creak. It was late, but there were no lights on in the house. Hendricks’s mom had called while she was walking back from Connor’s, to tell her they wouldn’t be home tonight.
“We had that meeting in Boston today, remember?” she’d said. “Train ride back will take forever, so we’re staying at a hotel and heading back sometime tomorrow.”
Hendricks had heard the sound of cars zooming past, and the distant murmur of voices, and pictured her mother on some busy street corner in Boston, hailing a cab.
Her chest twisted. “You actually went to that?”
“Yeah, well, rescheduling was going to be a pain, so we just brought Brady with us. You’ll have the place to yourself tonight.”
“Goodie,” Hendricks murmured, but if her mother noticed the sarcasm in her voice, she hadn’t mentioned it. They said goodbye soon after, with her mother first assuring her, again, that they didn’t blame her for what happened to Brady. And Hendricks had reluctantly walked home.
Now, a thrill of fear went through her as she stood in the doorway, listening to the groan of the old house settling around her. The air felt stale, and the room was dusty and tinged with cold. She couldn’t help shivering.
She dropped her book bag by the door and began making her way through the rooms. Her mother had left a note on the counter in the kitchen.
Be home around ten tomorrow morning! Love you!
xo Mom
There were twenty dollars for pizza tucked beneath the note. Hendricks touched the bill, and then moved her hand away. Thinking about pizza made her think about Eddie picking up a pizza from Tony’s, and that made her feel strange and jumpy. Her eyes reflexively moved to the windows that looked out onto her unfinished backyard.
Eddie was on the other side of those trees. If she wanted to see him again, she didn’t have to go get pizza. She could just walk outside, cross her backyard, knock on his door.
Instead, she rummaged around in the freezer and pulled out a pint of Peanut Butter Marshmallow Crunch. She grabbed a spoon but didn’t bother with a bowl, opting to eat straight from the carton as she walked from room to room of the empty house, turning on lights, studying the shadows, listening for noises. It was hard to believe that the danger could’ve passed so easily, but the house felt different than it had even the night before. She spooned ice cream into her mouth, exhaling as it melted on her tongue.
It felt . . . quieter.
Satisfied, she headed back into the living room and curled into the corner of the couch with her ice cream, digging between the cushions for the remote. From this angle, she could see through the kitchen, to where the plastic sheet covered the stairs to the second floor. She glanced at the plastic sheet, and then away, her skin prickling.
She wasn’t ready to go upstairs yet.
Hendricks settled in with an episode of Vampire Diaries that she’d seen before, automatically spooning ice cream into her mouth as her eyes glazed and her body sank deep into the couch cushions. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. It’d been a few days since she’d gotten a good night’s sleep.
She was drifting, and so it could have been one of those surreal, half-dream moments, but she could’ve sworn she heard the front door open. There was the sound of hinges creaking, and then the sudden, cool sweep of wind over her cheeks.
She jerked upright, heart hammering, her eyes still blurry with sleep.
The front door was still closed.
But the television had been switched off.
Hendricks felt a sick twist of fear. Had she switched the television off? She didn’t remember doing that.
Sitting up, she noticed she’d dropped her pint of ice cream when she’d fallen asleep, and now it was on its side on the floor, spilling a goopy layer of Peanut Butter Marshmallow Crunch onto her mother’s vintage rug.
“Shit,” Hendricks muttered, leaning over the side of the couch to pick up the sticky pint. Her mother loved that rug. She dabbed a finger at the ice cream, wondering if it would come out if she scrubbed it.
All at once, every light in the house flicked off. Hendricks lifted her head just in time to watch the living room lamp blink out, leaving her in perfect darkness.
Fear prickled through her. She sat, frozen, for a long moment, staring intently into the darkness. Listening for the sound of movement. But there was nothing.
Outside, a cloud passed over the moon, allowing a faint stream of light through the living room windows. Hendricks’s eyes adjusted enough that she could see the edge of the television set, the outline of the front door. The muscles in her shoulders tightened. She imagined racing to the door, throwing it open, running outside. Her leg twitched.
But she couldn’t do it. She was too scared. She had the unsettling feeling of being watched. It was as though the house itself had eyes, as though it were waiting for her to move and then it would . . .
What? she thought, desperately. What did she think the house was going to do to her?
One more.
The thought came to her so clearly that it was as if someone had spoken it out loud. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. She was too frightened to breathe. Too frightened to blink.
A tear traced, slowly, down her cheek.
Time passed. Hendricks listened to the sound of the wind moving through the trees outside, the sharp tap of rain on the windows. Her hands unclenched. Slowly, she began to realize that it was storming, that the wind must’ve knocked out the electricity. She lowered one foot to the floor, and then the other. The melted ice cream was warm and sticky beneath her toes. Very slowly, she stood.
Hendricks used to play a game with herself, when she was little and scared of monsters hiding under her bed. Whenever she needed to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, she’d clench her eyes shut and walk to the door.
If I can make it out of this room without anything touching me, then there’s nothing there, she’d tell herself.
It was a childish game, like trying to make it across a room without touching the floor, but it always used to make her feel a little bit better.
She played the game now, wa
lking slowly across the living room, toward the front door. Her skin crept, and her breath felt lodged in her throat.
If I can just make it out the front door, she told herself, if I can make it outside . . .
The rug beneath her feet gave way to the cold tile that surrounded the entry. She reached forward, groping in the darkness for the door. Relief welled up inside her as her fingers brushed against the cool, brass knob.
The sound of metal scraping metal broke through the silence. The dead bolt had clicked shut.
All around her, the air filled with the scent of cologne.
Hendricks screamed, the sound seeming to reverberate through the air for a long time after she closed her mouth. She gripped the doorknob firmly and turned, but the door wouldn’t open. She hammered on the door with one hand, still twisting the knob with the other, and then fumbling for the dead bolt, trying to force it open again. She wrenched it to one side and then the other, cold metal digging into her fingers. It would not open and would not and would not—
She opened and closed her mouth, unable to emit a sound. Tears fell hard and fast down her cheeks.
“Please,” she said finally, her voice very quiet. She didn’t know who she was talking to, but she said the word again. “Please, please.”
The house answered.
Come with me.
Hendricks went still. Just like before, the voice seemed to come from both the inside of her mind and from the house itself, as though the house had spoken directly into her brain. Largely against her will, Hendricks turned around.
The ugly cat sat in the middle of the entryway floor, his tail twitching, his eyes glassy in the darkness. As Hendricks watched, the cat turned and bolted across the kitchen, slipping past the plastic curtain and upstairs.
Hendricks knew that she was meant to follow him.
She walked across the kitchen, her body feeling slow and heavy. From the corner of her eye, she saw curtains jerk in place, closet doors swing silently on their hinges, kitchen drawers roll open. But when she turned to look at them directly, the drawers and doors were all closed, the curtains still.
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