Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  “Let’s see,” he said slowly. “Fixing the mailbox, your car, sitting through tea with the two nosey ladies across the street, and listening to their gossip makes that—”

  “You fixed my car? There was no dent on it.”

  “Scratches. Mrs. Rutledge and Mrs. Ross believed you deliberately crashed into the Petersons’ mailbox. The scratches would have confirmed it, but I convinced them they were mistaken.”

  “Convinced them how?”

  “By drinking lukewarm tea and eating rock hard scones.” He shuddered.

  I smiled despite myself. “Okay. So how much do you want?”

  “I don’t want your money, Freckles.” His voice became serious. “But one day I’ll need a favor and you’ll drop everything for me.”

  Put that way, it sounded ominous, like he already knew what favor he planned to ask. I shivered. “As long as it’s within reason.”

  “I’ve been told I’m a reasonable guy.” The smile he gave me was slow and so wicked my breath caught. I stepped back.

  “Well, uh, goodnight.” I hurried away, but I was aware of his eyes on me.

  His laughter reached me when I stopped to check the rear end of my car. Did I really have scratches? How and when had he fixed them? Maybe the motorcycle I’d heard after picking up my car hadn’t been a figment of my imagination. He probably went to DC Tires and spray painted over the scratches. One phone call tomorrow should confirm it.

  Magic my butt. He was just screwing with my head.

  ***

  A weird rattling yanked me from a bad dream. I sat up and stared around in confusion, not sure whether I was still dreaming, but the dull hum filling my room was as familiar as the hated freckles on the bridge of my nose. My bedroom was the only room in our house with a vintage fan that droned all night like a plane’s engine. According to Mom, the fan belonged in the junkyard or some metal sculptor’s masterpiece. I disagreed. The fan was one-of-a-kind, like something straight out of a steampunk book, my latest craze.

  I glanced at the clock on my dresser. Almost midnight. I’d barely gone to bed. Sliding under the covers, I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to fall asleep.

  The rattling came again, and realization hit me. Someone was throwing pebbles at my window. Only one person could wake me up in the middle of the night and get away with it.

  Eirik.

  I flung the covers aside, ran to the window, and looked outside. He stood under the tree, shafts of street light bouncing off his golden locks, his faithful companion—a Nikon camera—hanging around his neck.

  “I’m coming up,” he called.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “C’mon, Raine.” He started up the tree right by the house where the balcony ended.

  “You didn’t answer my calls or texts,” I griped.

  “I didn’t have my phone. I still don’t.” For a six-foot-one guy, he was agile. But then again, he’d been climbing up this particular tree since elementary school. I still couldn’t do it without scraping something. He landed on the balcony like a lithe jungle cat and flashed his famous sweet smile, amber eyes begging. “Let me in, please.”

  I crossed my arms. “Why should I?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re dying to know where I’ve been.”

  I was, but I had to take a stance. If I’d ignored his calls, he’d be pissed. He had a terrible temper. “Not interested.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls and texts. I was pissed, and my cell phone flew right out of my hand and hit a wall.”

  I frowned. “You mean you threw it.”

  “If you must be so literal,” he said then added, “Uh, my parents are back.”

  The pain in his voice killed all my protests. His parents were cold, standoffish. They were the least loving people ever. I unlocked the window and stepped back, flipping on the light on my computer desk.

  As soon as he stepped inside, I hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my hair. Eirik and I had been inseparable since we were kids. We grew up together and played in our backyards, which were connected before his parents decided one day to add the stupid fence. We’d shared everything, and in third grade, we’d even promised to marry each other. He was my best friend, and there was not a thing I didn’t know about him. His parents had adopted him when he was a baby, but instead of showering him with love and attention, they’d spent most of their time traveling and leaving him with nannies and a housekeeper. He’d spent most of his waking and sleeping hours at our house as a child and that hadn’t changed. Sometimes I wondered how my loving parents could be friends with his.

  “How long are they going to be around this time?” I asked, stepping back.

  “They’re not. They are talking about moving back home.”

  Home was somewhere in northern Europe. I panicked. Dad was still missing, and I refused to lose someone else I loved.

  “No. You can’t leave. We promised we’d graduate together, go to college, and—”

  “Hey … hey …” Eirik gripped my arms and peered into my eyes. “I’ve spent the last several hours trying to convince them to let me stay.”

  “What did they say?”

  “They’ll think about it.”

  That wasn’t good enough. “I can’t lose you too, Eirik. Not now.”

  He chuckled, lifted his camera, and snapped a picture of me. “I’m not going anywhere, worrywart, and your dad will be back. Your mother believes it, and if you haven’t noticed, she tends to be right about everything.” He bumped my arm with his, then placed his camera on my computer desk. “So, can I stay?”

  “Like you need to ask.” He used to curl up on the window seat with a blanket, but then he turned thirteen, shot up, and the window seat became too small.

  He pulled the rollout bed from under my bed and plopped on top of it. Other than Cora, most people at school assumed Eirik and I were a couple because we did everything together. Not that I cared what anyone thought. I had no interest in other guys, and he hadn’t shown interest in any other girls. He and I would be so great together.

  I threw him two pillows and lay on my tummy, so I could look at him as we talked. “You should move in with us. Mom can talk to your parents if you’d like.”

  “No, I have it covered.”

  He sounded confident, so I nodded. “Okay. About the new guy in your old house, he came looking for you.”

  He frowned, amber eyes narrowing. “Torin?”

  So that was his name. Torin. It suited him. “Yeah, dark hair, leather jacket, and a Harley.” Dipped in arrogance, I added silently.

  Eirik frowned. “He didn’t do or say anything to piss you off, did he?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You wore a weird expression just now.” Eirik put his hands behind his head, and I found myself comparing him to Torin. Both guys were hot in their own way, though Eirik with his blond locks and amber eyes could be considered pretty. Physically, he was leaner and paler, masculine without being overpowering. Torin was taller with a wide chest, narrow hips, and ripped stomach. The guy had zero fat.

  “Do you want the lights off?” Eirik asked.

  For a moment, I stared at him, my mind a hot mess. I shook my head to rattle my brain back into place. “No. So, what did Torin want?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. Why are you staring at me like that?”

  He was a sucky liar and tended to fidget, like now. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m Pinocchio and you’re the Wicked Witch of the West.”

  “Who’s Torin?”

  Eirik shrugged. “He’s related to one of my parents’ travel buddies, I think. They were worked up about his sudden arrival, which for my parents is pretty unusual.”

  Yeah, nothing ever ruffled their feathers, which meant Torin’s people must be important. “So you’ve never met him before?”

  “Nope.” He frowned. “Why the interest?”

  “Y
ou’re fidgety, and that usually means you’re hiding something.”

  He gave me an innocent smile. “I’m clean.”

  “Yeah, right. How long have you known about your parents’ plans to move back to, uh, where’s their native home? Sweden? Norway?”

  “Denmark. I’ve known since last month.” He sighed dramatically. “Can we go to sleep now?”

  “Not after that confession.” I sat up. “You knew for a month and said nothing to me? Why?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Because I knew you’d stress about it.”

  “I don’t stress.”

  “And drive me insane like you’re doing right now,” he added. “You’re like a dog with a bone when you go after something.”

  “That is so insulting.” I hit him with a pillow. He grabbed it and yanked, catching me off guard. I lost my balance and landed on top of him.

  “Get off me,” he grumbled.

  “No.” I wiggled to get comfortable, rested my cheek on his chest, right under his chin, and wedged my hands between him and the mattress. He smelled good. He always did. “How come I’m always cold and you’re always so hot?”

  “That’s because you’re a girl and I’m … me.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just go back to your bed, Raine.”

  “Why?” I asked, pouting. “I’m comfy.”

  “I’m not.”

  I lifted my chin and studied him. He stared back at me with calm, intelligent amber eyes that could be warm one second and impossible to read the next. He had amazing cheekbones and a jaw that could have been sculpted by a master. His hair was a perfect blend of gold and brown. Chex Mix hair. He’d inspired me to come up with that expression. He really was beautiful, and any girl would be lucky to have him as a boyfriend. So why wasn’t he officially mine? He’d never indicated he wanted us to be more, yet I’ve caught him staring at me with a weird expression.

  “We’ve slept together before,” I reminded him.

  “We’re not young anymore.”

  “No, we’re not.” His amber eyes darkened, and an insane idea popped into my mind. “Kiss me.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “I ask you to kiss me and you ask why?”

  He grinned. “Absolutely. You don’t do anything without a reason.” His eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re doing you sneaky little … You’re trying to get out of wearing the T-shirt of Shame.”

  He could be such a tool sometimes. Why I desperately wanted him to kiss me now was beyond me. Still, his lack of interest hurt. We’d made a pact that by our seventeenth birthday, if we hadn’t kissed someone, and I mean seriously kissed with open mouth and tongue, we would wear a T-shirt with the words Seventeen and Never Been Kissed. He’d turned seventeen six months ago and worn his T-shirt without an ounce of shame because that was the kind of guy he was. Bold and cocky, but in an endearing away, unlike a certain neighbor. Girls at school had thought it was a joke and stopped him in the hallway, in class, outside school, everywhere to kiss him. The whole incident had started out funny, but it became annoying fast.

  “Raine?”

  “Okay, you busted me. I don’t want to wear the stupid T-shirt.” I pushed off him, turned off the light, and crawled back into my bed. I could hear him move about as though trying to get comfortable.

  “If I thought you meant it, I’d kiss you,” he said.

  “Oh, shut up.” He was humoring me now.

  Another stretch of silence followed, and I wondered what he was thinking. “You are in a crazy mood tonight,” he said.

  He had no idea. “Do you remember the pact we made when we were ten?” I asked.

  “Which one? I lost count after the one about not having sleepovers when you grew boobs.”

  I giggled, remembering that conversation. “So, why are you here?”

  “I don’t know. What pact are you talking about?”

  We’d vowed to always discuss anything that bothered us. Torin bothered me in a way I didn’t understand, yet I couldn’t see myself discussing him with Eirik.

  “We said we’d apply to the same colleges our junior year,” I improvised.

  “Don’t worry about it. We will go to the same school.”

  If only I could be sure of myself the way he was. “I think we should choose now and go for early decision. Berkley maybe or … Where are you going?” I asked when he sat up.

  “Can’t you see it?” He pointed outside.

  The light from the upstairs bedroom in Torin’s house was flickering on and off. Three flashes, pause, one, pause, three. It was a signal Eirik and I had developed and used whenever one of us wanted to talk. “How does he know our signal?”

  “I don’t know,” Eirik said, sounding pissed.

  “Wait.” But Eirik was already across the room. He opened the window. I followed as he scrambled down the tree. I could see a silhouette in his old bedroom. Torin. The flickering light stopped. Seconds later, Torin opened his front door and stepped outside.

  How did he move so fast? Or was there someone else with him in the house? A parent perhaps? I couldn’t climb the stupid tree, so I peered at them from the balcony. Their voices didn’t carry, which only added to my frustration.

  After a few minutes, Eirik came back and stood at the foot of the tree. “Throw down my keys.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m heading home. My mother called him.”

  I glanced at Torin. He was leaning against the porch pole, his arms crossed and eyes on Eirik as though making sure he left. “I’m coming down there.”

  Eirik shook his head. “No, Raine. You’ll break something.”

  “I’m not using the tree.” I closed the window behind me, grabbed his keys, shoes, and camera, and crept along the hallway. There was no sound from my mom’s bedroom, but she was a light sleeper. I frowned, hating the fact that I was starting to think of the bedroom as hers instead of hers and Dad’s. Downstairs, I found Eirik waiting outside the front entrance. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve got to go.” He looped his camera around his neck and slipped on his shoes.

  “Why did your parents call him and not me?”

  “Because they always assume I’m at the old house whenever I’m not home.” He took his keys, and for a moment, he stared down at me. The silence stretched. I was so sure he’d kiss me, especially when his eyes went to my lips. Instead, he stepped back, lifted his camera, and clicked. He grinned when I scowled. He clicked again. “Night, Raine. See you tomorrow.”

  I walked down the driveway and watched him drive off, then glanced at Torin’s house. He stood on the porch, still leaning against the pole, except his eyes were now focused on me.

  What was his game? I wanted to march over there and demand answers, but I was too pissed. I turned, entered the house, and crawled into bed. Sleep eluded me for so long and when I finally slept, I had a weird dream I was being chased by something invisible.

  ***

  The scent of fried eggs reached me when I woke up. Dad. He often cooked a special breakfast on my birthdays. Excited, I ran downstairs, taking two steps at a time. I stopped when I reached the kitchen and saw Mom at the stove turning scrambled eggs in a pan. Disappointment rolled through me.

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she called out, bangles jiggling on her wrists, her hand-made stone necklace and matching earrings bearing the same weird symbols. “Eggs and toast coming up.”

  Smoke drifted from the toaster. I popped the toast out. “Do you need help with anything?”

  “No, I’m doing fine.” She turned off the stove and turned to study me. “When are you wearing your shameful shirt?”

  I frowned. “T-shirt of shame? What … how did you know?”

  “Sweetie, you’re my only child. Of course I know everything you do, including bets you make with your friends or when they sneak in and out of your room instead of using the front door.” She glanced toward the stairs.
“When’s Eirik coming downstairs?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it without saying a world. No wonder the table was set for three. “Since you know everything, you should know the answer to that question.”

  She chuckled and glanced at me from the corners of her eyes. “Speaking of the T-shirt of shame, you and he haven’t kissed or—”

  “No-oh.” Images from last night flashed in my head, making me blush. “He was feeling kind of sad last night. His parents are thinking of moving back home to Europe, and he’s trying to convince them to let him stay here and finish high school.”

  Color drained from Mom’s face, leaving her pale. “Really? I must talk to Sari and Johan.”

  “Eirik said you shouldn’t.”

  Mom walked to where I stood and rubbed my arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know how close you two are.”

  “Can he live with us if they let him stay?”

  “I don’t know.” She stepped back. “That depends on his parents. If they don’t mind, of course he can stay with us.” She picked up a toast and scraped the burnt parts into the garbage can before scooping the eggs onto two plates. The top side of the eggs looked undercooked.

  I tried not to cringe. She was trying, so no matter how gross it tasted, I’d eat it. “About tonight, I’ll need money for pizza and drinks.”

  “Okay. Remind me to add money to your debit card, too. Oh, and I’ll buy the cake.”

  “Double chocolate with whipped cream frosting,” I said.

  She laughed. “Double chocolate it is. Get my wallet, sweetie, will you?”

  I rummaged inside her hand-woven bag, found her wallet, and placed it on the table. After pulling out some bills, which she handed to me, she picked up her plate.

  “I’ll be home early with the cake. Happy birthday.” She touched my cheek, turned, and walked away, forking her eggs. She disappeared upstairs.

  The eggs were so terrible even pepper couldn’t save them. I reached for a toast and smeared it with jelly. I was munching on a piece when Mom reappeared downstairs.

  “Bye, honey. Love you.”

  My mouth was full, so I signed ‘I love you’. The door leading to the garage closed behind her. I gave her five minutes, then dumped the rest of my food in the garbage and poured myself cereal. I finished eating, tidied up a bit, and headed upstairs.