“Thanks,” I mumbled.
We stood facing each other for what felt like eternity. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug me or I wanted to hug him. I put my hand out awkwardly in the small space between our bodies, and we shook. I’d never gotten the urge to kiss someone while shaking their hand before, so that was new. I retreated as he stepped closer.
“You should go,” he said, reaching past me to pull open the door, his face inches from my own. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
My face probably turned every shade of red right then. I avoided all eye contact as I got in the car. When I was sure Noah was gone and my breathing had returned to something resembling normal, I texted Heather.
WANT TO COME OVER?
My phone dinged with her reply.
ADDRESS?
I shot it over, then got my ass home and waited for her in the foyer by the front door. We weren’t best buddies – we had just met – so I didn’t plan on telling her anything. But I hoped she could answer my looming questions. I had to be careful though. I didn’t want to put her in harm’s way. She seemed eager to be my friend, which meant I just had to trust she wouldn’t turn what I was about to say into gossip.
Heather showed up with two magazines and an armful of candy. “I hope you like Jelly Bellys,” she said, as I led her inside.
“Of course I do,” I lied. I liked them about as much as I liked chicken pox – neither of which I’d encountered since I was eight. “We better go to my room before my dad tries to meet you. It could get ugly if he takes out the baby books.”
I would never admit it, but I was actually excited about the possibility of becoming friends with Heather. It felt…natural. As if we’d already known each other forever.
Upstairs, we sat crisscross on the carpeted floor. My room still reeked of fresh paint but under the fumes, you could almost smell the lavender and vanilla vacuum powder the cleaners had used before we moved in.
Heather set her magazines between us with the candy on top. “Why didn’t you come back after lunch? I missed you eighth period.”
I wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. I needed answers, not questions. “My dad called and said he needed my help with something.”
“No way,” she said, and for a moment I thought she knew I was lying. “That rocks. My parents never let me leave school early.”
“Yeah, well, my dad lets me do whatever I want.” Another lie.
“Cool,” she said, bobbing her head. She nodded at my iPhone synced to my Blue Tooth speakers. “What do you listen to?”
I shrugged. “Whatever’s fine. You have an iPhone? I’ll plug it in.”
She handed me hers, and I switched on her music. The first song that came up was “Dog Days Are Over,” which pretty much sealed the deal. Heather was a keeper.
I reached under my mother’s vanity desk and pulled out my nail polish case.
“You liked the coral?” I held up the small bottle of pinkish-orange.
“Loved it,” she said, smiling with her big teeth. Not horse teeth or anything. Her teeth were nice, except that one of the bottom ones turned a little crooked, as though she’d had braces but didn’t wear her retainer long enough. “Why, you giving out free manicures today?”
“In fact,” I said, scooting closer, “I am. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Heather’s fingernails didn’t collect dirt like mine. I wore polish to hide the filth, as I could never seem to keep them clean. Her nails were bare and beautiful. It almost seemed a shame to cover them, but I started out with her pinky nail. Meanwhile, she used her other hand to flip one of the magazines open to a quiz.
“Time to get to know Emily,” she announced.
I giggled. “Right. But you first.”
The quiz could have been a window to ask questions about Sarah, but it wasn’t. Instead I learned Heather’s go-to hair accessory was a hair tie, that she always wanted to try bright lipstick but feared it would be too bold, and that on weekends she went to see live local bands at coffee shops and firehouses. The most important thing I learned was that Heather was as honest as they come, but her true self and who she wished to be didn’t match up. I liked the dichotomy. She was a low-maintenance girl who loved fairytale glam.
When we were done with her manicure, she held her nails up to the light for inspection. “Wow. You’re great with polish.”
“I’ve had tons of practice.” On myself, I don’t add. “Keep this up and pretty soon we’ll be asked to sit at the It Girls’ table.”
Heather scowled. “Why would you say that?”
Because I’m trying to get you to talk about them. “I didn’t mean any offense. I only meant it’s fashionable.”
Heather’s lips twisted together. “The It Girls aren’t where they are because of fashion,” she said. Finally, the conversation was going in the right direction. “There’s something about them.”
I pretended not to be too interested by picking out a speckled jellybean. “If this is popcorn flavored, you owe me a soda.” I winked. “So what’s the real story with the It Girls?”
Heather sighed. “It’s mostly Sarah,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back against the bed. “I don’t know what it is, but it happened suddenly. Like, I’d known her since grade school. In fact, we used to be friends. Then she went away one summer before high school. And when she came back, she was…different.”
“So you two always spent summers together, and then she went – I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Where did you say she went?”
For two seconds, I felt bad, using Heather for information. I did like her. I just needed to find out as much about Sarah as possible. If she knew my reasons were in part because I wanted to know how my mom had died, maybe she would understand. If I could tell my new friend that without dragging her into harm’s way, I would.
“Okay,” Heather said, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you, but only because I trust you.”
She really shouldn’t, but this wasn’t one of those times I was going to point that out. Also, I sensed these were the beans she’d been waiting to spill. Not the colorful ones scattered on the floor in front of us.
“I won’t say anything,” I promised.
“It started at the end of the school year in eighth grade. We were hanging out with these older boys. Well, Sarah was, and I would tag along. They liked to go ghost-hunting.”
She laughed nervously, even though she didn’t have a reason to be. I didn’t think ghost-hunting was all that strange of a hobby.
She adjusted her red-winged glasses before continuing. “It was silly. At first, we did it for fun. Until we went to this abandoned asylum, and Sarah like…she became obsessed with the place. She even got picked up by the cops twice for trespassing, but she kept going back.
“It was all she talked about, and half the time she didn’t even make any sense. The third time the cops found her there, she was like, catatonic. Her parents admitted her to a ’special facility’ in Belle Mead. She returned as the ’New Sarah’ and wouldn’t even talk to me. She spent her freshman and sophomore years building her little clique. So, yeah. That’s where the It Girls came from.”
“Wow,” I said, trying to blink away some of the weight of what Heather had said. “Intense.”
“Yeah, well, what’s done is done.” An edge of hurt sliced through her words, one that cut me with guilt. She needed someone to vent to, and here I was, using the gossipy details to figure out how to help some guy. “It’s over now.”
“Obsessions can be a crippling thing,” I said, scooting closer to her again. “I’m sure Sarah regrets you two falling out, though.”
Heather lips twisted to one side. “Maybe.”
What if I misread her and she wasn’t seeking comfort over their lost friendship after all? I moved back into gossip t
erritory. “Crazy an abandoned asylum would have such an effect on people. Where do people even find places like that?”
“It’s kind of all New Jersey has to offer. There’s dozens of them across the state, most of which are said to be haunted. There’s even an entire magazine and website devoted to it.”
“Well, no offense, but I’ll pass,” I said, mentally filing away every sentence she said. I needed to find that magazine or website and figure out which one Sarah had gone to. “If I want a scare, I’ll Netflix some horror movies.”
Heather nodded. “I like movies, but I prefer bowling.”
Bowling? So far, this friendship had been a one-way street. Least I could do was take the girl bowling.
“You any good at it?” I asked.
A smile lit up her face. “Yup.”
“Your nails are dry, right?”
She nodded as I rose to my feet, tugging her up by a hand. “I have time to kill before dinner, and I’m not spending it in this room. Let’s go knock down some pins.”
On the way there, Heather told me how the It Girls became popular. It started when Noah began following Sarah around like a lost puppy. Though he looked miserable doing it, according to Heather, he was still the cutest guy in school, and it seemed as though he was pining after her. Soon, every guy in school wanted her, and she and the other It Girls were designated the hottest thing to hit the halls of Hackensack High.
I feigned interest in the rise of the It Girl Empire. All I really cared about was what she said earlier – about what had happened to Sarah at that asylum that would have made her want to shed her past.
As we bowled our first game, I spent half my time engaging Heather in conversation and the other half searching the web on my phone for abandoned asylums in the area, trying to figure out what the hell magazine she’d been talking about.
After two games, a basket of onion rings, and a flurry of high-fives for Heather and all her strikes, I finally found my destination: WeirdNJ.com.
The weekend passed by painfully slow, with me checking my phone every fifteen minutes to see if Noah called or texted and I had somehow missed it.
I hung out with Heather most of Saturday, though I bet she could tell I wasn’t mentally in tune with her. Sunday I ran errands for Dad, admittedly only because I wasn’t in the mood for more one-on-one time with my new best friend.
By Monday morning, I was a mess. I walked into school filled with anxiety at seeing Noah again. It made no sense. I’d already talked to him. He’d even shown me his secret hideaway. Yet I was more nervous about seeing him today than I’d been about anything else in my life. All my first days of school combined were no match for the jumping in the pit of my stomach today.
When he wasn’t in first period, disappointment took hold. All I could think was when I’d run into him. Not because I wanted to tell him what I’d found out about Sarah – which wasn’t much – but because I wanted to see him. I’d even spent the night before taking stupid “Is he into you?” quizzes online when I should have been doing more research to locate Sarah’s asylum.
Between classes, I searched the halls. I saw him everywhere, when really he was nowhere to be found. I began thinking I was going crazy, like Sarah, because I was telling myself maybe he was avoiding me, which would be silly. Wouldn’t it? Just because he missed a day of school didn’t mean he wasn’t into me. Not that he was into me, either. But I hoped he was. Damn it. I had a crush. Bad. Dad would not be pleased if he knew.
I couldn’t focus on any of my classes, so I alternated between reading through pages of WeirdNJ.com from my phone and playing lone games of MASH. I didn’t care so much if I got Mansion, Apartment, Shack, or House, what car I got, or how many kids I would raise, but I fudged the math every time to land on Noah, the whole time musing about how my mom had taught me the game shortly before she died.
Such a silly thing to leave behind, and yet that simple thing – that moment at our dining table in our old kitchen with wood-paneled walls and linoleum tiles – was so vivid in mind. Her leaning across the table, pointing things out with her pen, explaining “the lost art of Mash” and trying to convince me it would make a comeback.
Someone ought to make an app.
At the end of the day, I finally spotted him – for real this time – on the other side of the hall. A sea of students bobbed between us, and he stared at me with stormy eyes. Seeing him made my already queasy stomach rattle harder. His jaw clenched, and with a shake of his head, he walked away.
Had I pissed him off? We’d left off on a good note before the weekend, and I hadn’t spoken to him since.
Part of me wanted to yell, “Hey, wait!” then run over and demand he tell me why he was ignoring me. But a girl’s got to draw the line somewhere, and I was already sinking on the pathetic ship.
I turned on my heel, went home, did my homework, and turned in to bed early.
The next morning, I woke to hundreds of drawings of Noah scattered all over my room.
4
MARKED
The drawings meant one of two things: Either Noah was in a lot of danger, or I was thinking about him way too much. Probably both.
Downstairs, I made myself breakfast. Despite going to bed earlier than usual, I’d woken later than I wanted, which didn’t leave much time to make food. Dad never cooked, so I rummaged through the fridge for something to put together.
“You okay, Squirrel?” Dad sat at the table, coffee in hand, newspaper open in front of him. “You crashed before dinner last night.”
“Up late studying the night before,” I said. Not a lie. I stayed awake till three a.m. the previous night on account of all the reading I was doing on WeirdNJ.com. The site contained hundreds of pages to sort through; I would need another hint. “Guess I needed to catch up on my rest.”
“There’s cereal in the cabinet.”
“Want a smoothie?” I asked.
Dad grimaced. “Not if you’re adding vegetables.”
“You can’t taste them.” I grabbed the bowl of fruits and a carrot and some celery out of the crisper. “I’ll use strawberries and mangos. You’ll never know.”
He slurped his coffee. “I already know, Squirrel. I already know.”
I dumped the ingredients in the blender, pureed everything, and poured his in a glass and mine in a shaker cup. “I’m a little behind today,” I said, handing him his. “Just drink it. Tomorrow I’ll make a proper breakfast.”
“You shouldn’t be taking care of me,” he said, setting his smoothie on the table. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”
“You do.” I kissed him on the cheek and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Listen, I won’t be home right after school today, but I’ll text you. I’m doing some research on a paper, and I’m maxed out on what I can find online at home.”
Dad nodded, lifting his hand in parting. “Go on, get out of here.”
And I did. But I wouldn’t make it to classes that day.
Idrove as far as the second to last turn before the school when I saw him standing in the road. When I stopped to avoid running him over, he walked up to my car and opened the driver-side door.
“Move over,” he said. “I’m driving.”
Noah’s eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in red, as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep. I tilted the corner of my mouth up into a nervous smile. “Get in. I can handle the driving.”
His lips pressed in a firm line. “So can I. Move over.”
My hands lingered on the steering wheel as I glanced around. I didn’t see any other cars. With a nod, I crawled over the center console to sit in the passenger seat while Noah took my spot.
I studied his vivid blue eyes and wind-swept curls. It shouldn’t matter that he was so cute. Though, at the moment, he looked as if hell had taken a few shots at him.
“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. �
��I didn’t want you to see me like this, but you can’t go to school today.”
“Why –”
“Close your eyes. I’ll tell you when we get there.”
We cruised for a while before his hand wrapped around mine with a gentle squeeze. Once we pulled to a stop, he said I could open my eyes. We were back at the place he’d taken me before. This time, grave-like mounds of dirt were scattered across the embankment, as if the ground in a dozen places had been dug up and filled back in.
“Oh my God. What happened?”
Noah stared into the distance. “It’s a warning.”
“Did someone find this place?”
He shook his head.
“Then who did this?”
“Me.” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“Too late now.” I struggled to quit staring at him. His face, even under duress, was still sharply beautiful. “I found out some things.”
“Maybe you should stop looking,” he said quietly, turning away.
“Hey,” I whispered.
His face swiveled toward mine. The charged silence between us held everything that was unspoken. I shoved down the urge to kiss him by clearing my throat.
“Can you go back?” he asked. “To wherever you moved here from?”
I shook my head.
“Would you if you could?”
“No.”
“Why not?” His gaze searched mine. “Because of me?”
I snatched my shaker from the console and sipped at the smoothie, trying to delay my answer.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. This was going to be one of those lying moments. No way would I admit my feelings about this miserable excuse for a town had changed over some guy. And yet a “Yes” tumbled from my mouth.
Noah cursed under his breath and slammed his fist on the dashboard. I jumped.
“That upsets you?” I asked, my hurt catching in my voice. “Why do you care?”
He laughed bitterly. “Great question.”
Something like Voodoo Page 4