Deadly Little Games

by Laurie Faria Stolarz

  I smile, too.

  Adam takes a deep breath and grabs a corner of the comforter. He pulls it off in one quick motion. The word SOON is painted across his bedsheet in bloodred letters.

  AT LUNCH THE FOLLOWING DAY, I fill Kimmie and Wes in on everything that went down at Adam’s the previous night.

  “And no one’s called the police yet?” Kimmie asks.

  “Why are you surprised?” Wes checks his newly coiffed Elvis sideburns in the mirror stuck to his lunch box. “It’s not like Chameleon called the police when all that stalker stuff was happening to her.”

  “Not surprised, just annoyed.” She shoots me an evil look. “So maybe you and Adam are perfect together after all.”

  “Not perfect. Just paranoid.”

  “Apparently not paranoid enough,” she says, dipping a corner of her muffin into a container of jelly. “I mean, what will it take before he finally makes that call?”

  “Actual bloodshed on his bed?” Wes suggests. “A knife pressed against his gut?”

  “Or rat poison in his fruit juice, maybe?” Kimmie asks.

  “Adam’s picking me up from school again today,” I tell them.

  “To have a closer look at his bedsheets?” Wes winks.

  “More like to discuss all the clues in this whole convoluted puzzle,” I say, ignoring his attempt at humor.

  “P.S.,” Kimmie segues, tugging on her lip ring, “you have to admit: it’s sort of romantic that you and Ben were able to combine forces and do that tile sculpture together.”

  “Romantic in a stalker-bludgeoning-bedsheets sort of way,” Wes says to clarify.

  “And my guess as to why Ben got all weird and protective on you, postsculpture,” she continues, “is that he sensed something significant.”

  “He did sense something,” I say, nodding. “He just wouldn’t tell me what that something was. He said that by not telling me, he was protecting me and our relationship.”

  “Which is actually Greek for I’m keeping secrets from you,” Kimmie says.

  “I haven’t even told him that I went to Adam’s place last night, that the word SOON was written across his bedsheets in some sort of syrupy concoction.”

  “Corn syrup mixed with red food coloring and cocoa powder.” Wes rubs his palms together with enthusiasm. “One of my all-time favorite fake-blood recipes.”

  “And what, pray tell, did you two do with the sticky evidence?” Kimmie asks me.

  I gaze down at my plate of pasta, unable to get the faux-blood image out of my head. “We put the sheets in his closet.”

  “Well, you’d best tell Ben about all this,” she says. “Otherwise he’s apt to accuse you of not giving him the full scoop.”

  “Funny how he’s allowed to keep secrets, while you’re practically expected to give hourly updates on the flow, frequency, and color of your urine,” Wes says.

  “And speaking of secrets and nasty liquids…” Kimmie points toward the soda machine.

  Ben is there.

  And he isn’t alone.

  There’s a flock of senior girls standing around him, including Alejandra Chavez, ranked number one last year on Freetown High School’s Most Beautiful People list.

  Ben looks at me, and waves, as if he wants to talk.

  “So much for taking his lunch period in the library,” Kimmie says. “This must be pretty important.”

  I nod, knowing it probably has something to do with our argument last night. I flag him over, but now it seems he’s far too busy talking to Alejandra. She twirls a lock of her inky black hair around her finger and laughs at something he says—so loud we can hear it from ten tables away. Ben peeks over at me again, in midconversation, but still he doesn’t move.

  “Awkward,” Kimmie sings. She clears her throat of muffin. “Though, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, I think I might have told you so. I mean, let’s face it, supergood looks, a superhero reputation, abs of steel, and a chest that could make a girl weep—”

  “His saving your life a bunch of times sort of trumps any of the bad stuff in his past,” Wes says, finishing her thought. “At least, that’s what people have been saying.”

  “Ben’s a total catch,” Kimmie continues.

  “And it looks like he’s been caught.” Wes readjusts the glasses on his face as if that will help him gawk better.

  While the other groupies have dispersed, Ben remains talking to Alejandra, like I’m no longer even there.

  “It really comes down to one simple question,” Kimmie says, reaching out to touch my forearm. “Is helping Adam really worth the cost of what this is doing to your relationship with Ben?”

  I push my plate of pasta away and remain focused on Ben, knowing that this is just the beginning, because I need to spend a whole lot more time with Adam if I want to figure things out.

  WHEN I GET OUT OF SCHOOL, Adam is already waiting for me in the parking lot. Ben is waiting, too. He’s sitting on his motorcycle, looking in my direction. I’m just about to go talk to him when Freetown High’s Most Beautiful Person intercepts my path. Alejandra shows him something inside her coat and then spins around and starts laughing.

  Ben is laughing, too, but I can tell it’s more of a nervous chuckle, because he gets off his bike and takes a step back.

  “Need a ride, little girl?” Wes asks, sneaking up and snatching my attention. “I’ve got some stale Jujyfruits inside my car.”

  Tiffany Bunkin is with him. Ironically enough, the front of her T-shirt is decorated with big yellow flowers.

  Wes follows my gaze. “Something you want me to sabotage?” He rolls up his sleeves to be funny, as if in fight mode.

  “I really think we should get going,” Tiffany tells him before I can answer.

  Wes checks the time on his digital-camera spy watch. “Agreed. I made reservations for three p.m. sharp at Brain Freeze. What do you say, Chameleon, care to join us for a little frozen sugarized cow cream? The first lick’s on me.” He winks.

  “A tempting offer, but I have work to do.”

  Wes looks toward Adam’s car and then back at Ben and Alejandra, who are still engaged in conversation. “Call me later,” he says. “I beg you.”

  I watch as he and Tiffany take off, which prompts me finally to break things up between Ben and Alejandra.

  “Do you have a minute?” I ask him.

  Alejandra gives me a dirty look. “We’re actually a little busy here.” She looks me up and down with her big amber eyes, pausing a moment to grimace at my shoes (for the record, a pair of ugly, aka practical, rubber-soled shoes, worthy of Wes’s closet).

  “Camelia and I have a lot to talk about,” Ben tells her. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Better yet, you can call me tonight.” She rips a scrap of paper from her notebook, scribbles down what I presume to be her phone number, hands it to him, and takes off; the heels of her tall leather boots clomp against the pavement with each step.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I say, once Alejandra is out of earshot.

  “No you’re not.” He smirks.

  “You’re right.” I smirk back. “I’m not.”

  Ben takes a step closer and gazes into my eyes, almost making me forget every bit of our drama.

  Almost.

  “Are you still upset with me?” he asks.

  “That depends…. What’s with you and Freetown’s MBP?”

  “Excuse me?” he asks. His face scrunches up in confusion.

  I fold my arms, waiting for the initials to finally click in.

  “Oh, you mean Alejandra?” He shrugs like it’s no big deal—as if he didn’t spend the entire lunch period talking to her today. “Not much. She writes for the school newspaper and wants to do a story on me.”

  “What kind of story?”

  He leans toward me over the seat of his bike. His cheek grazes the side of my face as he whispers into my ear: “Just so you know, some people actually find me newsworthy.”

  “Very funny, but
that’s not what I meant.”

  “Jealous?” he asks, amused by the possibility.

  “Hardly,” I say, bursting his bubble with a fib.

  Ben draws his face away, pausing for a moment to glance at my lips. “Well, that’s good, because I’m not really interested in revealing any secrets. I’m a private person, remember? I only let a very select few in.”

  “But unfortunately that select few doesn’t include me,” I remind him.

  Ben looks away, but he doesn’t deny it. “This is just really hard for me.”

  “It isn’t exactly easy for me, either. I’m trying to understand what you won’t tell me.”

  “I’d die if anything bad happened to you.” He gazes toward Adam’s car.

  “Nothing bad will happen to me.” I reach out to touch his hand. “Not if you’re by my side.”

  “And what about us?” he asks, taking his hand away. “Can you honestly say the same?”

  “Tell me,” I insist, “how is helping Adam going to hurt our relationship?”

  “It’s already hurting it.” His dark eyes soften as he stares into my face.

  “What happened to wanting to help me?” I ask him. “What happened to we’ll work together as a team? I mean, if the tables were reversed, I’m not so sure I’d like the idea of you spending so much time with my ex–best friend, someone you used to date. But I’d like to say that I’d understand.”

  “You don’t know what I sensed,” he says, sidestepping my questions.

  “No,” I snap. There’s a broken-glass feeling inside my chest. “Because you won’t tell me.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to regroup—to hold back the flood of tears that sting my eyes. “Did you sense something that might threaten my life?”

  “Do you honestly think I’d let you see Adam at all if I did? I’m not forcing you to stop helping him. I’m asking you.”

  I shake my head, completely at a loss for what else to say. For what else to do. “Adam was your best friend,” I blurt out. “Don’t you care if he lives or dies? Don’t you care about the guilt I’d have to live with if something bad happened to him because I did nothing to stop it? You of all people know what it’s like to live with guilt.” I close my eyes, thinking about Aunt Alexia’s journal, and am reminded of my mother’s guilt as well.

  “Yes, but we can hand this whole thing over to the police. It’s not like we don’t have tangible proof that something weird is going on,” Ben says.

  “I agree that he should tell the police, but that doesn’t mean I can just walk away. The police aren’t as connected as I am. They don’t sense things the way I do.”

  “Just think about it,” he says, taking his helmet from his handlebars, as if gearing up to go. “That’s all I ask.”

  “And what if I don’t? Are you honestly trying to tell me that our relationship will be through?”

  “Honestly,” his lip quivers; he looks just as lost as I feel. “I don’t know.”

  “I have to go,” I say, barely able to hold it all together. I turn on my heel and head for Adam’s car.

  IT’S QUIET IN THE CAR between Adam and me, which is mostly my fault. While he tries to make me comfortable by cracking corny jokes and asking if there’s anything I want to talk about, I remain mostly mute.

  A series of turns and over a bridge later, and I notice that we’re no longer moving. I look at Adam, wondering what’s going on, only to realize that we’re parked outside his apartment building.

  We’ve been sitting in front of it for God only knows how long. Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck in a Ben-filled fog.

  We climb the stairs to his floor and enter his apartment. Adam puts on a fresh pot of coffee, bragging about how he once used to work as a barista and therefore knows the importance of grind, water temperature, and foam consistency.

  I sit at the kitchen table, pull a stash of crossword puzzles from my pocket, and try to arrange them in some sort of order, grateful for the distraction, because my insides are absolutely shaking.

  “I really appreciate you helping me out with this,” he says.

  “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

  “I know.” He sets two mugs of coffee on the table. “It’s just that it means a lot to me, especially after everything.”

  I nod, pretty positive he’s referring to his shady track record with me.

  “Anyway, I’m not so sure I’d do the same if I were in your shoes,” he continues.

  “Well, you wouldn’t let me get hurt,” I say, confident that it’s the truth.

  “No,” he says, sitting beside me and holding my gaze for just a moment too long. “I definitely wouldn’t.”

  He smells like mocha, and there’s a smudge of coffee grounds on his chin. I’m tempted to tell him about it, but I try to stay focused. I grab a pen and some paper from my bag and make a list of the puzzling messages:

  WATCH YOUR BACK

  YOU LIED TWO ME

  YOU ARE NEVER ALONE. EYE AM ALWAYS WATCHING

  EYE WANT TWO SEE YOU BLEED

  YOU DESERVE TO DIE

  CHECK THE BED

  SOON

  I read the list over and over again, hoping to make some sense of it. “Have you lied to anyone recently?” I ask him, noticing how one of the Across riddles mentions lying, too.

  “I was trying to think about that,” he says, “but aside from not being completely honest with you last month…no one.”

  “Well, obviously, this person doesn’t agree,” I say, remembering how he also lied to me about getting in touch with Tray on the night that someone wrote on his door. “And what about the WATCH YOUR BACK message? It’s like somebody’s warning you not to trust someone. Do you have any idea who that someone might be?”

  Adam shakes his head, clearly at a loss.

  “Think hard,” I say, “because these are our biggest clues. The other messages are sort of standard stalker stuff.”

  “I didn’t know there was a standard for stalkers.”

  “It’s true.” I sigh, nodding toward the list. “Basically, this person is watching you and wants you to know it—a bunch of the Across and Down riddles confirm this, too. This person’s telling you who’s in control by calling the shots and breaking in to your place. Plus they’re mad as hell, as also evidenced by clues like: You are despicable; Sometimes I truly hate you; If I cut you, you will bleed….”

  “Wow,” he says, seemingly surprised. His face becomes completely solemn. “It sounds so much worse when you put it all together like that.”

  “This person feels really alone,” I continue, referring to several of the other crossword clues. “And there’s definitely both a payback component and a timing issue.”

  “Meaning I did something bad?”

  “It’s all a matter of perspective,” I assure him. “And this person’s perspective is obviously skewed. I mean, people in their right mind don’t normally send stalker notes, especially ones that you have to decode.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, looking far more serious than I’ve ever seen him before. “Because, like you said, it’s only a matter of time before he or she makes good on all these threats and messages.” He taps his finger against the Opposite of live clue.

  “We’ll get through this.” I place my hand on his shoulder, noticing that his neck is splotched with hives.

  “Thanks,” he says, meeting my eyes. “I’m really glad you’ve been able to forgive me for everything that happened between us.”

  “It’s not such a big deal.”

  “To me it is.”

  I look away to inspect the list of messages again, doing my best to keep things focused on the business at hand, but apparently Adam wants to make them personal.

  “Can I ask you something?” he says.

  I venture to look back up at his face, much against my better judgment.

  “I saw you and Ben in the parking lot earlier,” he says when I don’
t answer. “Even before that…I saw the way you looked at him when he was talking to that other girl.”

  “And?” I ask, wondering about the point.

  “And I just wonder if he looks at us like that.”

  I feel my lips part, almost surprised by his perception.

  “I just don’t want to come between you two,” he continues.

  “No one’s coming between Ben and me,” I say, probably a little too quickly.

  “Well, that’s good.” He forces a tiny smile. “Because I know I’m taking your attention from him.”

  “It’s just hard,” I admit, noticing that my palms are sweating. There’s a streak of perspiration on the table. “Ben and I haven’t really gotten a chance to be normal together. There’s always been all this other stuff in the way.”

  “But that’s just it. I don’t want to be all that other stuff.”

  I bite my lip, thinking how, as horrible as it sounds, and as much as I care for Ben, it would be so much easier to have a boyfriend like Adam.

  “Camelia?” he asks, wondering maybe what’s on my mind.

  I glance at his mouth, reminded of the sculpture I did in pottery class. “Maybe we should see if there’s some other way to piece these messages together,” I say. I begin to rearrange the puzzles once more.

  But Adam stops me by placing his hand over mine. And making my heart pound.

  “I really think you should go,” he says.

  “No,” I insist. “We need to solve this thing.”

  “I actually have a ton of homework to do.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Me, lie? Never.” He smiles. “Come on, I’ll drive you to Ben’s.”

  I’m almost tempted to give him a hug, but instead I grab a napkin and wipe the coffee grounds from his chin.

  “Pretty charming, right?”

  “Definitely charming,” I say, noticing the irresistible curve his grin makes.

  And turning away to avoid it.