Manipulation (Shadows)

by Jolene Perry

  I slide my feet again and Dean shifts his head uncomfortably, running his fingers over his ears, but just briefly. Funny. I’ll file that away for later—his apparent aversion to scraping noises.

  “Five more minutes to finish up,” the teacher says. I really should have paid attention when she introduced herself.

  I want out of here now. I think it and direct it toward her. I’ve never had any luck without touching someone, but it could start now. Class is over. Thank you. See you next week.

  She pauses in front of her desk for a moment. “Thank you. Set the papers on my desk. We’ll finish up next week.”

  Wow. Did I do that? Did I do that? Dean is smiling almost as widely as I am. Both Dean and I jump out of our chairs. I know it might not last long. She could laugh and change her mind. We’re supposed to be here for another hour. He sets his paper down. I rest mine on top and follow him out of the room.

  We almost look one another in the eye. No heels with him. I stifle a giggle. What on earth would Dean and I ever do together? Nothing. That’s the simple answer.

  “So, that was weird, huh?” I say as we reach the door to outside.

  “Yeah, but kinda nice.” He nods at me, turns right out of the doorway and jogs to the bus stop.

  I stand still, watching him and almost ask if he needs a ride, but that’s so not a good idea. He seems…real. Way too scary. And I’m with Chase anyway.

  I see the front of Dad’s car and Jimmy parked just off the corner. That’s miraculous. The poor guy can rarely park. He generally has to circle like a vulture until we need him again.

  I look toward Dean as I walk. He sits on the back of the bench, resting his feet on the seat. He’s completely at home, at the bus stop. I’ve never waited for a public bus my whole life. Those seats would definitely ruin an outfit and I probably wouldn’t hesitate bathing them in sanitizer.

  SIX

  Dean

  Wow. Without touching her and here I am, free, on a bus headed for home.

  I. Am. Awesome.

  I’m once again standing and leaning against the post in the aisle. It’s commuting time and the buses are packed.

  I wonder how Addison got stuck in that class? My guess is her daddy has more than enough money to do some sort of private classes or therapy or something. Maybe they’re masochists and think it would be good for her. I dismiss that thought because she dresses too nice and because I saw the car she got into. Okay, wait. Why am I thinking about this girl? It makes no sense. And will get me nowhere but frustrated.

  But she’s hot. It really couldn’t do me any damage to just picture her, could it? She’d be a lot prettier if she wasn’t wearing a perpetual scowl. I still can’t believe I told her about Jeremy. Crazy. It adds weight to my passing thought that she can do the same thing as me. I know I’m just being paranoid. Still…it might be worth thinking about.

  * * *

  “Wow, Dean!” Jeannette throws her arms around me as I walk in the door. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Even with two headbands and a ponytail holder, her frizzy brown hair sticks out around her face.

  “It’s because you haven’t.” I give her a side squeeze. “You’re at rehearsals when I’m home and sleeping when I get up for school.”

  “Well.” She widens her eyes at me. “It’s because you have to get up so freaking early!” She pats my shoulder and wanders into the kitchen. She’s still in her leotard and legwarmers. I swear she comes home wearing that stuff just so people will know she’s a dancer. She’s never had a leading role in anything big, but she’s always part of some production or another.

  “Is the new guy here?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “Oh, yeah. He’s setting up now. I told him to take the top bunk and the right side of the dresser. That’s what’s you wanted, right?” She’s stirring something on the stove.

  “Yep.” I run a hand through my hair, really not looking forward to sharing my space. This is when I feel like they’re just housing me—when people rotate through.

  I step into the room and come face to face with a broad black guy who’s definitely over six feet. I’m barely five foot, ten and realize he’ll be sleeping on the old bunk bed above me. “I’m Dean.” I stretch out my hand.

  “Ben.” His voice is low and vibrates through my chest. How is this guy under eighteen?

  “You’re welcome to the bottom, if you like,” I say. Please take the bottom.

  “Oh man, that’d be great. I don’t like ladders.” He smiles.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” And then I realize I probably sounded like an ass just then.

  “Not when I’m sleepy.” He shrugs.

  Right. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m supposed to meet a friend.” The Great Gatsby is on my dresser and needs to be read for English. I slide it in my pocket.

  “Later.” He’s pulling clothes out of a backpack and that’s all he has. One backpack.

  It kind of hollows me out and makes me feel a little bad for being sorta pissed that he’s here.

  “I’m headed to Starbucks,” I tell Jeannette.

  “Dean, dinner’s almost ready.” Jeannette smiles from the stove.

  In three years I haven’t gotten used to the weird crap they eat. Eggplant should not be consumed. Not by people. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I ate on my way home.”

  “Okay. I’ll save some in the fridge if you get hungry later.” She licks some red sauce off her fingers.

  “Great.” I half jump out the door feeling a little guilty I didn’t warn Ben about the food.

  * * *

  Starbucks is quiet tonight. This is perfect. I have ten bucks. I order an Americano, sit down at a table, and pull out my book. I’m on chapter four, and have no idea where it’s going. I like that. Books don’t surprise me often.

  I kick my feet onto the chair across from me, lean back, take a drink and continue reading. All I know is there’s no way for this story to end well. Snobby rich girls ruin everything. Ha. Addison. Okay—I should not be thinking about Addison.

  “Hey, Dean.” Familiar hands touch my shoulders and creep down my chest.

  “Hey, Sam.” I tense up. Sam is one of the girls who will always remember how I screwed up since I was her first. The problem is she wants more, and I have no intention of going there again.

  “What’s up?” Her lips slide against my ear.

  I move away. “I don’t want to be rude, Sam, so knock it off.” I try to sound bored. Anything else will piss her off.

  “Oh, now you’re worried about being rude?” Her tiny pink mouth pulls down at the corners.

  “If you’re still mad at me, why are you here?” I rest my book on the table and look up at her. Crap, but she’s hot. The curve of her chest is easy to see at the top of her low shirt, and it reminds me of what she looks like with no shirt… Nope. Really, really, can’t go there. Sam’s a disaster. A fake platinum-blonde disaster.

  “I’m sad, Dean. You used to always be up for some fun.” She pushes her lower lip out in something she thinks is cute and pouty. It’s really just a reminder of what cute and pouty has gotten me in the past—a pissed off ex-girlfriend.

  “Uh…no. Not after you said you wanted fun but really wanted more.” I press my lips together.

  “Well, I didn’t know you’d be making out with Katy on our off days.” She sits down on the chair opposite me, ignoring my feet.

  “Sam.” I rub my eyes with my free hand. “I really don’t need this. Katy and I kissed once. After you said you didn’t want a relationship—just fun.”

  “Which I said after you told me we were too serious.”

  “Right. Which led me to believe you felt the same way.” Why do girls think guys are smart about girls? It freaked me out being as close as we were. I was sixteen! What kind of guy wants a forever relationship at sixteen? She was picking out colleges we could go to together and neighborhoods and kids’ names.

  “Then we shouldn’t have kept having sex!
” She leans toward me over the table.

  I glance around. Fortunately, most people seem to continue to be into their own conversations, not mine. “It was your idea, Sam. Yours.”

  “Well, it was a bad one.”

  “Sorry.” I lean back and pick my book back off the table.

  “Are you really going to brush me off like this?” She arches an eyebrow.

  What does she want? Hey Dean, brilliant. Just ask. “What do you want from me?” I try to keep my voice calm, nice.

  She licks her lips slowly, and I’m sure I’m staring. Sam was an amazing kisser. “I just thought maybe we could hook-up? You know, just for fun?”

  I can’t lie. There’s a part of me right now that really wants to follow her out of here. But crap, it’ll just put me back in that situation and I’m really trying to be better than that. And she was just pissed at me. Definitely mental. I used to think it was hot that she looked like Gwen Stefani until I realized how hard it was to stroke the ego of a girl who spent her days trying to be Gwen Stefani. “That’s not what you want. Not really. And I don’t need the drama.” I shake my head.

  “I knew you were an asshole.” Her eyes narrow and her brows pull down.

  “Are you crazy? Why are you here?” How is any guy supposed to know what to do with girls, ever?

  “Whatever, Dean.” She stands up and walks away.

  What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I take another drink and dive back into my book. That’s what I’m going to do with that. Drink caffeine and read. Random. Weird. Girls.

  SEVEN

  Addison

  I’m in my last class of the day. Finally. Does high school always move this slow? The conversation with Ellie about Chase and Caitlyn is running around in my head. It shouldn’t be. She’s eleven and knows nothing. Right? The problem is kids her age are much more likely to tell the truth than people my age, so I wonder who her source was. I feel that horrid, afraid feeling that crawls through me when I think too hard about Chase. That little warning from somewhere deep that I try not to listen to.

  I love Chase. When I’m eighteen, and he finally talks to his parents, we’ll be able to be together. Together in our own fabulous downtown apartment, and then all this worrying will seem stupid.

  I check my phone, even though I know he hasn’t called. I’ve called him twice. Once today. Once yesterday. It wouldn’t be too weird to call him again today, would it? Would I seem needy? I really don’t want to seem needy.

  Mr. Clancy glances briefly out from his computer. I drop the phone in my lap and turn a page in the book I’m not reading.

  The bell rings. I grab my phone, book, and start toward my locker.

  Maybe Chase will be able to come here. I know he’s planning on being in town for a few days. That’s enough to do it. To make me dial the phone. There’s a few other students with their phones out already. No big deal.

  He picks up on the second ring. “How’s my Princess?”

  “Hey. Just calling to say, hi.” Now I realize I probably should have waited until the noise of high school calmed down before calling. If Caitlyn is prowling, this is definitely not going to help my cause.

  “No. You’re calling to see when I’ll be in town.”

  “Maybe.” I bite my lower lip.

  “I’m not sure, Addison. Things are really stacking up.” His voice has that tired quality that Dad’s always has.

  “Right. Because you do what? Oh, right. Nothing.” I tease him about it, but sometimes it really pisses him off.

  “Don’t be like this. You and I are fun, Addison. Don’t make it different.”

  Why do I feel like he’s dismissing me?

  “I’m almost eighteen.” He knows this, right? This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I stop at my locker, tuck my book under my arm, and scroll through the combination.

  “Oh.” His voice makes me feel like he doesn’t remember.

  “You know, what we’ve talked about?” I open the locker, no longer able to think or concentrate on what needs to go in my pack because Chase is obviously thinking way too hard to remember an event I’ve been looking forward to for two years.

  “Ohh…” He knows now, but there’s no excitement in his voice, just hesitation.

  I’m silent. Barely breathing. Waiting. Hoping.

  “I’ll make it to town next week.” His voice is flat.

  “Okay.” I’m doing best to keep my voice neutral, but his attitude is ripping at my chest.

  “So… We’ll get together.” His voice only has a small shadow of the enthusiasm I want from him.

  “If you can find me.” I try to tease but maybe it came out all wrong.

  “There’s my girl.” He chuckles sounding like the relaxed and easy guy I know. “See you soon.” His end clicks before I can answer.

  The feeling is horrible. Like Chase is starting to pull away from me. I have no idea how to get him to pull toward me without coming off completely needy. I haven’t seen him in two months. Maybe longer. He doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. This sucks. It’s time for the shopping trip to replace my jeans and Gucci tee, and maybe a few other things—like Chanel boots.

  “Addison.” Trent kisses my cheek from behind.

  “Eww!” I push him away.

  “That’s not what you said on Prom night.” He wags his eyebrows, smiling.

  “Oh, get over yourself. We kissed one time. Don’t get all touchy-feely just because you happened to be the one there.” I stare at the inside of my locker. What the hell do I need?

  “You know you miss me, Addison.” Trent runs his hand through my hair. And stupid Chase probably doesn’t care anyway, right?

  I turn toward him. His eyes are all wrong, his face is all wrong. Crap. I’m thinking about Dean. The one I can’t hook up with, not even for fun. Because, it’s all just too weird.

  “Trent. Are you or are you not going to spend the next few years in London?”

  “Um. Probably.” He shakes his blond hair out of his face.

  “See you.” I shut my locker and start toward the front door. I don’t know what prompted me to go with him to prom in the first place. It just makes things hard. Complicated. Definitely need a shopping trip. I know what happens when I start thinking too deeply. It brings worrying and awkward feelings in my chest. I want none of it.

  * * *

  I rummage through my closet for a good shopping outfit. If I’m not dressed good enough, I might not get the help I need, and that’s really irritating.

  Something dark flashes on the edge of my vision and I spin around, but I’m still alone in my closet. Was it nothing? But if it was nothing, why is my heartbeat taking over my body?

  My heart hammers harder as I push open my closet door. I clutch the handle and look around my room, almost afraid to step into it. What’s going on?

  I’m sure I saw something. Had to be. Right? I slide my phone from my pocket, and then realize how stupid I’ll sound if I told anyone. What on earth would I say—I think I maybe saw a moving shadow in my room?

  Right.

  “Were you serious about shopping or were you teasing me?” Deborah’s voice carries down the hall.

  “Serious!” I call back as I take another deep breath and try to convince myself I’m crazy.

  “Does that mean serious shopping?”

  “I’m still saving, a bit,” I say as my heart continues to slow down.

  Deborah’s face appears in my doorway. “What for?”

  “I…” But there’s really no logical explanation. It’s just something I’ve been doing. Like a compulsion. Mostly, I have a limit on my credit card, but I also get cash once in a while. I stash almost all of it. Deb knows this because she’s always trying to get me to dig into my stash.

  “Whatever. How much do you have to spend?” She pulls her phone out to check it. Deborah’s always fidgeting. It makes me crazy. Just stand, or sit. Hold still.

  “Well, I’m already in trouble so I figure it doesn’t m
uch matter.” That and after Chase and getting in trouble and thinking about Dean. I’m feeling reckless.

  “Perfect. Ready?”

  I glance down. “Do I look ready?”

  “You look like you spend money. Is that what you were after?” Her mouth pulls into a half-smile.

  “Exactly.”

  * * *

  Unfortunately, shopping is passing in a blur. It seems silly to get the same Gucci top, but I’m having a hard time deciding. Deb’s bored and can’t believe I haven’t gotten more than a pair of jeans. I point out that they did cost me close to five hundred dollars. I probably should have put my old pair in the wash. I think about Chanel boots, but Dad would have an aneurism.

  “I need Adidas.” Okay, I know I shouldn’t be thinking about Dean, but I obviously am. One sixty dollar pair of shoes isn’t going to hurt anything.

  “What?” Deb’s mouth opens and she gives me this half-chuckle of disbelief.

  “I just need something comfy.” That should be a good enough indication, right?

  “Your flats are comfy. And not Adidas.” Her whole body suddenly looks weighed down with invisible weights. She’s so dramatic. “Gucci makes this adorable—”

  “Come on. It won’t kill you to come to Macy’s with me.”

  “It might.” She folds her arms.

  “Not everyone shops at nothing but designer stores, Deb.” Even me. Even most of the people I know aside from you.

  “I guess.”

  Has she always been this spoiled?

  Once we get to Macy’s shoe department, it only takes five minutes to spot them. Old school black Adidas with white stripes. Just like Dean’s. The guy I met once, sort of twice. What am I doing? But they end up under my arm, right next to my five hundred dollar jeans.

  “Where on earth are you ever going to wear those?” Deb’s head flops to the side and her perfectly manicured brows go up.

  “To class.” The one for delinquents, like me.

  * * *

  I have on my new shoes, jeans and a hoodie. But my shoes look new. Too clean. Then I realize Dean may think I’m crazy or stalking him or something. Whatever, I don’t care what Dean thinks about me. Finally, annoyed with myself, I slide off the tennis shoes and put on a pair of flats. Then I trade out my sweatshirt hoodie for a cashmere version of the same thing. I’m sure I’m being ridiculous. Why am I over thinking this? Why am I thinking about this at all?