The Color of Fear

by Billy Phillips

  Caitlin blinked and laughed. “On our tenth-story ledge? You were dreaming again.”

  “That’s what I thought. But it’s happened before.”

  Caitlin swallowed. She brushed the hair away from her eyes.

  “When?”

  “Right after we moved here. Night before we started school.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “Like you said, I thought I was dreaming or maybe groggy from jet lag. This morning I finally decided to check it out.” She slid her hand in her pocket. “I found these.” She pulled out her hand and opened her palm.

  Caitlin’s brow furrowed. “What are they?”

  “A peculiar type of domesticated Cicer arietinum.”

  “English, brainiac.”

  “Chickpeas, aka garbanzo beans.”

  “Garbanzo beans?” Caitlin laughed. “Who cares? They probably fell off a tree.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “Who cares? Who cares? Garbanzo beans grow on bushes in Bombay, not elm trees in central London. Ergo, someone had to have put them there.”

  “Yeah, the wind. Stop creating drama where it doesn’t exist.”

  “Excuse me? You’re the one planning to skip the masquerade ball over some irrepressible drama of your own making.”

  How did she know that?

  “How did you know that?”

  Natalie smiled wryly. “I didn’t.”

  Conniving brat!

  Caitlin had to think fast. “I can’t go. I have an article to write.”

  She wasn’t lying.

  “Really? For what?”

  “Unexplainablenews.com.” Also totally true. And Caitlin was truly looking forward to it. She loved writing. And a popular post could win her some fans online and some fame at Kingshire. Most kids loved that pseudo-news site with all of its arcane articles and bizarre, improbable news stories. Even big-brain Natalie read it.

  Natalie took the bait. “What inexplicable story will you be reporting on?”

  Caitlin exaggerated a shrug. “That’s my problem. Don’t have one yet. And I’m supposed to submit the article tomorrow.” Partly true. Caitlin was in search of a story, but there was no deadline. She sighed. “Guess I’ll have to stay home tonight and write.”

  Natalie folded her arms. “Bollocks. You’re too scared to go.”

  Caitlin’s back went straight. “Such a pie hole you have! Two months in London and you talk like a soccer player.”

  “You mean football. You’re in the UK. But smooth misdirect.”

  “You’re a freak of nature.”

  “And you’re demonstrating signs of social anxiety.”

  Before Caitlin could respond, Natalie continued. “If you’re too freaked out to go alone, ask that boy Jack to take you.”

  That boy Jack. If only.

  “That boy Jack” was the ridiculously cute guy in her freshman English Lit class. All the girls shamelessly gawked at him instead of paying attention to Professor Jenkins—not that the professor was some rad, charismatic dude deserving of their attention. But even if, say, Brad Pitt were the substitute teacher for the day, Jack would’ve given him a run for his money when it came to igniting ogles and giggles from teenage girls.

  This was Jack’s first year at Kingshire too.

  And though Jack was certainly hot, it wasn’t the superficial, pop-idol kind of hot. Totally not. Jack had a homespun wholesomeness about him. And a ruggedness. And green eyes and wavy, ash-brown hair. He always looked as if he’d just returned from some uncleared forest after a long day of chopping down pines, shirtless and copper-toned under a mid-August sun. Somehow, inexplicably, Jack maintained that copper tan in overcast London.

  Stardom had found “that boy Jack” on his very first day of school. It started when someone screamed, “Fight!” and a swarm of kids congregated in the commons.

  Barton Sullivan—a ginormous senior and majorly buff rugby player—started flicking the glasses off poor Erwin Spencer, over and over, just because Erwin was a freshman and a bona fide nerd. Truth be told, most girls thought Barton to be kinda cute and charismatic. But he could also be an ignorant bully on some days. This was one of those days. Derisive comments and cackling from the crowd of onlookers only added to the cruelty.

  High school could be so medieval.

  Jack happened to enter the yard after Erwin had picked his glasses up off the ground for about the three hundredth time. Amid all the catcalls and laughter, Jack ran over and literally stepped in between Erwin and Sullivan. The hush that fell over Kingshire’s schoolyard was deafening.

  Big, bad, buff Barton stood there in the silence of the yard and smirked. He towered over Jack.

  He cracked his knuckles.

  “Lemme see what ya got, ya daft twit,” Barton said. He was expecting Jack to cower, like Erwin Spencer had, because Barton Sullivan’s family was one of the major benefactors of Kingshire. Because Barton Sullivan had earned his reputation as the toughest senior in any London high school—and he was a rugby star to boot.

  Not on that day!

  Before the brute’s next breath, Jack belted Barton on the beak with a clenched fist.

  Then Jack handed the brute some tissues to plug the nosebleed.

  Then Jack requested an apology.

  Barton closed his gaping mouth just long enough to wipe his bloodied nose with one hand and shake Jack’s hand with his other. Barton wasn’t stupid. Beating up someone that was acknowledged as consummately cool by the entire school wouldn’t win him any favor with the kids at Kingshire.

  “No hard feelings, mate,” responded Barton.

  He gave Jack a ticket to a rugby game and almost immediately, they became best buds. They had forged a deep friendship over the past two months. Barton Sullivan totally respected and appreciated Jack, almost like a brother. And he never bullied another nerd again.

  Erwin Spencer even began hanging out with them. How crazy was that? Barton Sullivan consorting with Jack and Erwin Spencer.

  And that right there is what made Jack so special. Even though he was considered one of the hipper kids at Kingshire, he wasn’t afraid to hang with dorks, mess with misfits, or defend nerds from creeps who bullied nerds. He easily navigated through all the various cliques at Kingshire by bridging opposite worlds. How? Simply by being nice to everyone.

  That’s probably why he befriended me. It couldn’t be because he thinks I’m pretty.

  Caitlin didn’t want to risk their friendship by making Jack think she might be crushing on him. And she could never dance in front of him anyway. He was a human. Besides …

  “Girls don’t ask boys to masquerade balls,” she said to Natalie.

  “In this millennium they do,” Natalie responded. “Generation Z.”

  Caitlin crossed her eyes. “Ugh. What planet are you from?”

  “See … not adventurous.”

  Before Caitlin could stop her, Natalie climbed back out the window into the early-morning light and snapped more photos from the ledge.

  “Get back in here, now!” Caitlin screamed.

  Natalie smirked while shutting the window from the outside so Caitlin couldn’t grab her. Then she snapped a photo of her through the glass.

  Caitlin’s dad, Harold Fletcher, hollered from downstairs. “Girls, you’ll be late for school.”

  Caitlin darted to the window and shoved it open.

  “Get in now or I’m telling.”

  Natalie was white as a ghost. Spooked.

  “What is it?” Caitlin asked.

  Natalie didn’t answer. She climbed back into the bedroom as if in a daze.

  “C’mon,” Caitlin snapped, swinging her backpack over one shoulder. “I don’t wanna be late.”

  As she exited her room, Caitlin stole a glance at each of the four corners of her bedroom’s ceiling and counted.

  One, two, three, four.

  She admitted to herself that it was a totally dumb habit. But if she didn’t do it, she’d obsess about not having done it al
l day long.

  And today Caitlin couldn’t afford that.

  She had to resolve her no-win situation by sundown. Otherwise the next twenty-four hours, which included her birthday and Halloween, would wind up being the absolute worst day of her existence on planet Earth.

  Caitlin made it down the hallway and stairs before she noticed that Natalie still seemed freaked out. She stopped and tugged her sister’s shoulder.

  “What is it?”

  Natalie tilted the back of her camera toward Caitlin. “Look.”

  Caitlin looked at the small LCD screen. It showed a close-up of her bedroom windowpane.

  A helpless, hunted look crossed Caitlin’s face.

  Thick fingerprints were impressed on the glass. Somehow, someone had placed those strange-looking chickpeas on her tenth-story ledge. Directly outside her bedroom. Only an arm’s distance from her.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Caitlin ambled out of English Lit class, her mind occupied with fetching the gluten-free, sugar-free, wheat-free energy bar sitting in her locker.

  She pulled out her phone and began typing an e-mail while trying to navigate past the swarm of students milling around and lumbering along the hallways. Caitlin had spoken to her dad prior to English Lit. Told him about the fingerprints. He figured window washers on scaffolding had probably scaled their apartment complex to clean the exterior windows. Perhaps they did a shoddy job on Caitlin’s.

  Caitlin was composing an email to the property management company. She asked about the last time the windows had been washed. In all likelihood—

  Then Caitlin saw them.

  Them!

  Piper, Paige, and Layla. The worst clique of elitist stuck-ups at her new school.

  Layla had an envious mane of thick, black curls, serviced by a jewel-encrusted headband. Stick-thin Paige wore an outfit that looked so expensive it just might as well have been made of euros. And the alpha female, Piper, with her Brazilian blowout blonde hairstyle, looked like she belonged on the Real Housewives of Rio de Janeiro. Her laser-whitened teeth were so bright that Caitlin expected moths to appear whenever she smiled. Caitlin was positive Piper had a cauldron somewhere.

  These girls were toxic. And they were in Caitlin’s direct line of sight.

  The energy bar would have to wait.

  Caitlin had almost had a socially fatal run-in with them the first week of school. She had been in the third-floor bathroom, in one of the stalls when she overheard Piper and her friends harassing Alicia Saunders. Sweet Alicia Saunders, never did anything mean to anybody. And what had Alicia done wrong? Apparently Alicia Saunders wasn’t skinny enough for Piper and her coven. They brought poor Alicia to tears, berating her over her eating habits and severe lack of fashion sense. Piper bluntly told Alicia to stay away from baggy clothes and bold patterns, and to go heavy on black spandex and polyester. She suggested calorie counting and then listed places to shop for plus-size apparel.

  Alicia was humiliated.

  Some girls just thrive on hating.

  Caitlin had planned to exit the stall and confront them, but suddenly she felt a bit light-headed. Perhaps a touch of the flu. Or maybe it was period cramps. She remained in the stall till Piper, Paige, and Layla left.

  Now here they were again. Owning the hallway. Flirting with some boy.

  Wait! Some boy?

  Some Boy was Jack.

  Caitlin’s face flushed. She spun and started walking in the other direction.

  “Caitlin! Where you going?”

  She froze.

  The voice belonged to Some Boy.

  She glanced back as casually as she could manage. Jack was waving her over.

  “Caitlin, you need to hear this!” he said.

  She swallowed, trying to dissipate her unease. Then she walked toward Jack as confidently as she could while the Kingshire coven perched themselves around him.

  “Hey, Jack,” Caitlin said. She nodded to the three girls, trying to make eye contact, though she found herself distracted by the light reflecting off their highly glossed lips.“Do you know Piper, Paige, and Layla?” he asked.

  The girls nodded at her with cold eyes and pinched lips.

  Caitlin offered a friendly smile. “Hi. We haven’t met, but I’ve seen you around.”

  Girls like these made Caitlin feel like an empty carton of milk, ready to be tossed in the trash.

  Piper was gawking at Caitlin’s T-shirt with disdain. Without thinking, Caitlin glanced down. It depicted a vintage rendition of Cinderella, flouncing in front of a castle. Her mom had bought it for her when they’d visited the Brothers Grimm Amusement Park in Windsor, Berkshire … when Caitlin was seven. The shirt had fit her like a nightgown back then; now she filled it out quite nicely. Or so she thought.

  Caitlin often relived that family vacation. It was a welcome reminder of happier times. Times before her mom, Evelyn Fletcher, had gone missing four years ago, on one of their annual visits to London to see her mom’s British family.

  “Did you hear about these strange sightings at the cemeteries?” Jack asked. “I was just telling the girls about it.”

  Caitlin nonchalantly wiped away the moisture forming on the rim of her nose. “What sightings?”

  “Spirits of some sort. Or ghouls, supposedly roaming about graveyards,” Jack replied. “In different countries in Europe, and across the pond as well. At first it sounded a bit dodgy. But then I thought it might make a wickedly cool article for you. For unexplainablenews.com.”

  Piper snickered. “You write for that website?” she asked in a tone peppered with scorn.

  Jack’s head tilted to one side as he replied. “I fancy that site.”

  Piper swallowed. Her scheming eyes lit up. “Hey, Jack, why don’t we go ghoul hunting tonight at some old graveyard?”

  She’s bluffing. Just imagine her, in designer duds, traipsing through a cemetery after dark, thought Caitlin.

  “What about the masquerade ball?” Jack replied.

  Piper faked a clumsy laugh. “Oops. Almost forgot.”

  This girl is astronomically obnoxious.

  Jack smiled. “So, who are you girls going to the ball with?”

  “Layla and Paige are going with the Banister twins, Alfie and Piers,” Piper answered.

  Apparently Piper is their mouthpiece.

  Her playful eyes glimmered seductively. “But I haven’t decided yet,” she added. “How about you, J? Who are you taking?”

  J?

  Is she serious? She’s on a first-initial basis with Jack now?

  “Actually, no one,” Jack replied. “I prefer going solo to these kinds of things. Then I’m free to chat and dance with anyone I’d like.”

  Piper raised an eyebrow. “I like that. I suppose I’ll do the same.”

  Caitlin wanted to throw up.

  “Look forward to chatting and dancing tonight, Jack,” Piper said.

  She waved her arm forward as if she were Cleopatra and then departed, her lackeys in tow.

  Caitlin and Jack stood alone in the hall.

  “And what about you?” Jack asked.

  Caitlin bit her lip. Then she casually flipped her head, tossing her long, cinnamon-colored hair over her shoulder. “Me? I’m probably not going … I might have other plans.”

  Jack shrugged. “Oh. I was going to suggest that if you were going, perhaps we’d go alone together. I should say—each of us could go solo—together. Well, you know what I mean.”

  Do you mean you’re inviting me to the masquerade ball?

  Caitlin couldn’t contain her glee. She imagined Piper spotting her with Jack. Then without thinking, she blurted out, “I think my plans have been canceled.”

  Did I just say that? How uncool! How desperate!

  “What I mean is, now that you’re suggesting we go together, I think I could change my plans. So, sure; I’ll go solo with you.”

  They both laughed.

  Jack winked. “Brilliant!”

  Cait
lin suddenly remembered she didn’t have a costume idea yet. “Hey, what are you wearing tonight?”

  “Going medieval—an Arthurian knight. Sword. Tunic. Some chain mail. You?”

  “I have a few options.” She had none. “How about I surprise you?”

  “Perfect,” Jack said with a smile. “I’ll ring you later.”

  He took off for his next class, and Caitlin walked on air toward her locker. Not only because those pretentious divas would see her with Jack, or because going to the masquerade ball with him would help ease her transition to Kingshire. No. Those were bonuses. What really mattered to her was that Jack was simply a cool and decent guy.

  Then it all went flying out the window.

  I absolutely, categorically don’t dance in front of human beings!

  Ever!

  Caitlin froze.

  He’ll think I’m lame, a total loser.

  Dancing meant not caring one bit what others thought of her.

  And that was the crux of Caitlin’s problem.

  She didn’t know how to let go and be happy!

  Especially on her birthday.

  My birthday!

  Emotions stirred inside of her. Caitlin Fletcher’s mom had gone missing on her birthday the year she had turned ten years old.

  Or perhaps Mom had simply packed up and left?

  Caitlin often wondered if her dad was in major denial.

  She wasn’t sure.

  Her dad never talked about it. No one talked about it. And Caitlin couldn’t—and didn’t really want to—remember the details.

  Her pocket vibrated. Caitlin took out her phone. The property manager had replied to her earlier e-mail inquiry.

  She chewed her bottom lip as she read.

  The exterior windows of their apartment complex were cleaned back in mid-July—weeks before the Fletchers had moved into the building.

  Caitlin stared off into space.

  Who, then, had climbed the exterior of the building and left those creepy fingerprints on her tenth-story bedroom window?

  Along with a batch of strange-looking chickpeas.