by Sophie Davis
As I thought about our happy little bubble, and how close it was to popping, I trailed off.
“And then?” Adam prompted gently.
“And then it became harder. Tonight, for instance. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than to share this, to share everything, with him. The last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings. It’s just a really difficult situation.”
Even though it was a huge relief just to say Blake’s name out loud to another person, I wasn’t exactly ready for a kumbaya moment. There was too much at stake, too many people who would get hurt. Most of all, me.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Adam said, as if sensing my hesitation.
“I know. It’s kind of nice to talk about it though. That’s one of the hardest things about having a hidden relationship. I can’t exactly talk about it with my friends.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m here to listen.”
“I really have missed you so much,” I said, leaning to rest my head on his shoulder. “I love the friends I’ve made here, in Manhattan, but it’s not the same.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Adam replied, putting his free arm around me to give me a squeeze. “Coming out of the closet in the preppiest town on earth wasn’t exactly a day at the park.”
“You came out?” I asked, sitting up to give him an excited hug. “I’m so proud of you! I thought for sure you’d wait until college, until you weren’t living in Stepford.”
“I considered waiting,” he admitted. “But I just wanted to be me. It’s not like I made any formal announcement or anything, only my parents do know. That wasn’t a fun conversation, and my mother keeps introducing me to her friend’s daughters and—Um, Lark, mancandy stage left, and he does not look happy.”
I glanced to the left, knowing who I’d find even before my eyes landed on him. Awesome. As if our fight wasn’t bad enough, now he’ll think me a liar. Because I was not blowing out my candles as I’d left him to do, but sitting, cuddling with another guy.
As Blake approached, Adam’s arm disappeared from around my waist. I watched as my boyfriend’s expression changed from surprised, to confused, to sad, and finally to anger. In that instant, I made a decision that shocked all three of us.
“Blake, over here,” I called, waving him closer.
He hesitated, looking over his shoulder just in case another guy named Blake was behind him. When his green eyes returned to me, I repeated the gesture. Slowly, seemingly still unsure I was motioning at him, Blake joined us.
“I want you to meet a very good friend of mine,” I said to Blake, ignoring the obvious tension between us. “Blake Greyfield, meet Adam Ridell. Adam, this is Blake, the guy I was telling you about.”
Skeptical, as though unable to believe this introduction was actually happening, Blake extended his hand to Adam. “Hey.”
“So you’re the boyfriend? It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Adam replied, making it sound as though I’d been filling his head with talk of Blake for ages, instead of the couple vague comments I’d made moments earlier.
The transformation was instantaneous. Blake’s small, polite smile grew into a full-on grin, and his handshake was a little more enthusiastic than necessary. “I am. It’s great to meet you, too. I don’t know many of Lark’s friends.”
“I’m the only one that matters,” Adam joked.
“So how do you two know each other?” Blake asked innocently.
He was obviously excited that I’d introduced him to one of my friends, but also a little uneasy. Which I understood, since I’d never mentioned Adam to Blake. There hadn’t been a reason to, until now.
“Lark was my girlfriend. You know, before I was ready to admit to the world that I’m gay. Even though both she and I have known since the day we got into a fight over who was more likely to marry a Jonas brother.” Adam deadpanned.
Blake froze, and then slowly looked from Adam to me with wide, shocked eyes. “Seriously?” he asked. “Oh all of the guys to end a relationship over, you two picked the Jonas brothers? I hope it was Joe.”
All three of us burst out laughing at the joke. I looped my arm through Blake’s and beamed up at him. Despite the fact that we were in the open, in full view of anyone passing by, I leaned over and kissed his cheek for good measure.
“I’m more of a Nick fan myself,” Adam admitted. “But please, don’t hold that against me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Blake chuckled.
The two of them quickly began chatting amicably about less interesting topics, like college and some restaurant in Connecticut they both apparently loved. I felt some of the burden I’d been carrying around lift off of my shoulders. Blake and Adam were genuinely hitting it off. It was like they’d been longtime friends and I was the third wheel, which was just fine by me.
Maybe Blake never would meet the Eight, my Manhattan set. But as much as I loved those guys, compared to Adam, they were new additions to my life. Sure, Adam and I hadn’t seen each other in four years, but ours was a friendship forged in diapers. He’d been there for me through the truly tough times, and apparently had tried to be there for the toughest of them all. It wasn’t Adam’s fault that my mother had excised him from my life like a misshapen mole. It was fitting that Adam show back up now, when ugliness once again plagued my life.
As Adam and Blake conversed about the future—both headed to D.C. come fall, Blake to Georgetown and Adam to work with his Senator father on the Hill while attending George Washington University—I realized how fortunate Adam’s reappearance in my life truly was. Adam had never been far from my thoughts, but until hearing him and Blake talk about their plans for the following year, I’d forgotten a very useful bit of information about Adam Ridell.
In order for me to have a future, I needed both of them. Or should I say, I needed all three of them: Blake, Adam, and Senator Ridell.
UNFORTUNATELY, I ONLY managed to get through three additional journal entries that night before sleep claimed me. I dreamed of a boy in a hooded sweatshirt chasing me from one empty subway car to the next. When I reached the last car, I sprinted for the door at the end. My hand closed around the metal handle, but when I tried to push the lever down, it refused to move. Sweat poured down my spine in a never-ending cascade of warm water that puddled at the small of my back like a wading pool. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the boy in the sweatshirt, hood pulled low to obscure his facial features, confidently striding towards me as if he had all the time in the world.
“Open, damn it!” I muttered frantically, yanking the handle so hard that the metal bar came loose.
“Lark! Stop, it’s me,” my purser called, voice calm and low, sultry even.
He was less than five feet away when I started beating my fists against the door and screaming for someone to help me.
Just as the boy in the sweatshirt reached me, the door sprang ajar. The momentum from the moving train carried me through the opening. I stumbled, my left ankle giving way beneath me. Strong arms closed around my waist from behind. My lips parted, a bloodcurdling scream gathered in my throat. His mouth was next to my ear, breath warm and pleasant on my neck.
“Careful, love,” he muttered, lips brushing my skin. “Those heels are high, even for you.”
I looked down at my feet, which just seconds ago had been wearing sneakers—I was sure of it. A pair of gold Jimmy Choos with five inch spikes for heels shone up at me. Delicate straps, lined with small crystals, crisscrossed my feet and ankles.
The arms around my waist felt familiar and comforting.
“Blake?” I whispered, voice breathless and shaky.
His deep chuckle made his chest vibrate against my back.
“Sorry to disappoint, doll. Tonight it’s only me.”
Craning my neck to one side, I finally got a good look at the boy who’d been chasing me through the subway cars. Or, at least I should have. He was wearing a Phantom of the Opera ma
sk. Letting loose the scream I’d been holding inside, I pushed off of my captor’s chest and tumbled backwards off of the small platform at the back of the train. Just before I hit the tracks, I saw his lips move, and though I couldn’t hear his words with my ears, they rang out loud and clear in my head.
Lark, I’m here to help you.
I woke with a start, arms flailing as if to fend off an attack. The scream from my dream carried over into the waking world, so loud that I’d scared myself into awareness. Cold sweat trickled into my eyes and I wiped my forehead with the back of one hand. Tangled strands of hair clung to my skin and my heart beat so hard and fast that my chest ached as a result.
“Just a dream. Just a dream.” I spoke the reassurances out loud, as if needing to hear the words with my own ears.
At some point in the night, I’d kicked the covers off. The comforter was now in a heap at the end of the mattress. The silvery-blue top sheet was wound around one of my legs like a vine. And my ankle, the one I’d turned in the dream, throbbed with phantom pain.
The bedroom was dark, the sun having yet to rise, apparently. Fumbling around in the absence of light, I groped the bedside table in search of my cell. The time on the display read 4:15 am. And then I saw the missed calls and texts.
Asher.
He’d called ten times and sent five texts, all with the same message: Are you okay? We NEED to talk. While each message contained the same words, Asher showed his increasing worry through the use of exclamation marks. The last of the texts had four, because, of course, one wasn’t enough.
With a sigh, I began typing a reply, before remembering the reason we needed to talk.
The damned kiss.
Sometimes, Raven, you really are an idiot, I thought.
What had possessed me to kiss Asher? And, more importantly, what should I tell him my reasoning was?
Staring blankly at the phone display, I pondered all the reasons a girl might kiss a boy and all the reasons he might kiss her back. Asher had kissed me back. At first. But then he’d pulled away—or had I pulled away?—as if suddenly waking up from a trance and realizing that what we were doing was wrong.
Coming up with nothing intelligent to say, I simply typed back: I’m fine. Talk soon. And hit send. Then, remembering that it was ridiculously early, hit every button on the touchscreen in an effort to stop the text. Which, surprise, surprise, had no effect.
“Shit,” I swore. “What now?”
As with most of my dreams, the images were already fading from my mind. Much as I wanted to forget the horrible scene, I felt that it was important that I remember.
What had the boy in the mask said to me? Oh, right. Lark, I’m here to help you.
For the eighty billionth time, I vowed to find lighter bedtime reading material than Lark Kingsley’s journal. Obviously reading about her troubled life was having a negative effect on my sleeping habits.
My messenger bag was leaning against the base of the bedside table. Reaching down, I fumbled through the contents until I found my own journal and a pen that worked. Furiously, I scribbled every detail that I could recall from the moments right before I woke. The recollection only spanned half a page. I read and reread what I’d written several times, focusing on the part about the boy in the mask being there to help me. Err, nope, not me—Lark. Not being the type to hold much stock in dreams and the meanings behind them, I was surprised by how important finding out who that boy was mattered. It was like learning his identity was crucial. Just as crucial, in fact, as finding out who Deidre had seen entering the apartment.
I flipped to the next page of my journal and began making notes. At the very top, I wrote: Baseball hat boy, Mask boy—one and the same?
But…who?
It couldn’t be Blake.
The boy in the dream had said as much. And I’d already determined that Blake was not the guy Deidre had seen earlier that night.
A chill ran down my spine. That’s what you need to be doing, I thought, figuring out the intruder’s identity. Dreams aren’t real. The guy in the apartment was. Flesh, blood, and bone real.
Abandoning my notes, I tossed my journal onto the bed and started for the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. A girl with bloodshot eyes and dark circles stared back at me from the mirror over the sink. Her face was barely recognizable. It was too thin, too pale. All the shit with Lark Kingsley was taking a toll on me. I needed to find out what happened to her, pronto. Otherwise, I was going to lose myself in the process.
Not the least bit tired, and somewhat worried that my subconscious would invent another crazy dream, I shed the shorts and tank top from the night before and decided to start the day off right—with a shower.
The hot water went a long way towards making me feel human again. It was the cold water, however, that woke my senses and brought my brain to full alertness, which I needed. The past twenty-four hours had been a never-ending barrage of unanswered questions. What I needed now was to decide which ones were important. The kiss with Asher, why I’d done something so stupid and how to handle the situation now, were not at the top of the list. In the grand scheme of things, those four seconds were inconsequential. Finding meaning in them wouldn’t help Lark. Or me, if I was being honest. Locking lips with Asher was not the first idiotic act in my life, and surely wouldn’t be the last.
Figuring out who’d invaded Lark’s sanctuary—who even knew about it—ranked pretty high. As I sifted through the mess of clothing I’d left lying on the closet floor for something to wear, a thought popped into my head. The sign-in book at the front desk. All visitors had to sign-in with their name, time, and the apartment they were visiting. Even having a key, the mystery man was not a resident. Which meant that Darrell, or another of the clerks, would’ve made him sign in. All I had to do was look at the log from yesterday, at approximately the time Deidre had seen the guy, and I’d have my answer. While I fully appreciated the number of issues—fake names, incorrect apartment numbers, lazy front desk workers—the log book was the best place to start my search.
After selecting a khaki skirt and striped tee that made me look like I was headed off for a day of yachting, I checked the time: 5:02 am. Instead of being deterred by the early hour, I was actually glad. Darrell had been on duty when I’d come in the night before, and hopefully, his shift hadn’t ended yet. Since he was the only front desk worker I was on a first name basis with, he was my best shot of getting a little help.
Practically sprinting to the elevator, and then through the lobby of the Pines, I grinned when I caught sight of a sleepy-eyed Darrell draped over the welcome desk.
“Morning!” I called brightly.
Darrell straightened, eyes going wide until his gaze landed on me.
“Ms. Ferragamo, good morning. You are out and about early today,” Darrell said with a tired smile.
“Yeah, I guess I am. You know what they say, early bird gets the worm.” I cringed. Could you be any more ridiculous, Raven?
Darrell chuckled softly.
“Are you off for a day of fishing, Miss?”
It took me a second before I understood the joke, and then I laughed.
“Oh, right. Worms, fishing. I get it. Sorry. Haven’t had my coffee yet,” I said. “Anyway, I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.”
Darrell appeared startled, as if a resident—or friend of a resident—asking him for help was a first.
“Of course, Miss. If I can, I would be delighted to help you. What is it you need help with exactly?”
“Deidre, in 10B, she said that a man stopped by our apartment yesterday. Around 6:30 in the evening. And I was wondering if I could look at the log book? You know, to see who the visitor was? He didn’t leave a note or anything, and I wanted to let my cousin know. In case it was important or something.”
Darrell wrung his hands together, posture growing rigid and uneasy.
“Well, you see, Ms. Ferragamo, I really should not give that information out to a nonr
esident.”
Wrong answer, Darrell. Come on buddy, work with me….
Instead of voicing my thoughts, I hid my agitation behind a brilliant smile.
“No, no, of course not, I completely understand. It’s just…well, it’s just that this guy has a key to the apartment. And until Deidre told me about him, I thought there were only two keys—mine and my cousin’s. Being that I’m the only one here right now, it just makes me a little nervous that someone else has a key. I mean, what if he’s a stranger, you know? But if I had his name, I could run it by my cousin. And truthfully, I’d just feel better knowing who it is.”
My rambling wasn’t particularly helping my cause. If anything, Darrell was more reluctant to let me see the log book now that I’d mentioned another key out there floating around.
“I can speak to management for you. Cer—”
“No,” I practically shouted, and then swallowed back any further protests upon seeing Darrell’s startled expression. “Sorry. I just don’t want to make a big thing of this, you know? He’s probably a friend of my cousins, but I’d feel better knowing who it is coming and going from her place. So would she, I’m sure. Besides, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. Like I said, it might be nothing, but then I’d still at least know who I might encounter inside her place.”
A lifetime seemed to pass while Darrell debated my request. Chewing the inside of my cheek nervously, I readied myself to bolt, in case Darrell insisted on involving management.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Darrell smiled.
“I do understand, Miss. You are right to check. A young girl such as yourself never can be too careful. Certainly if this man has a key, he is a friend or relative of Ms. Quattrocchi. And yours, hopefully. But it won’t do to have you worrying about it. A quick look cannot hurt.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “Thank you so much, Darrell. It would really put my mind at ease.”
“Happy to help, Miss.”
Darrell reached under the counter and produced the previous day’s log book.