by Anna Katmore
“Sam!” Tony’s hand closed tightly enough around mine to cut the blood flow to my fingers. He pulled me back. I looked at him over my shoulder. His gaze sharp, he mouthed, “You promised.”
“But—”
“No, Sam.” He eased his grip on my hand but didn’t let go. “She’s not worth it.”
A second passed. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me defend his honor. But in the end, it didn’t matter. “You’re right,” I said, turning away from Chloe and toward him. “Let’s get out of here.” I pulled him with me and we headed outside.
As soon as the heavy door closed behind us, the music faded to a dull noise. A cool wind whirled my hair around my face as we walked down to the street. Finally letting go of Tony, I raked my hands over my skull, tilting my face up. Thousands of stars dotted the sky. The silence was calming. I sighed.
A gentle arm sneaked around my shoulders and pulled me against a comforting chest. Being so close and held by Tony made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
In a soft voice, he said in my ear, “I’m sorry about the crap she threw at you.”
“She’s not over you yet,” I mumbled against the fabric of his shirt.
“Looks like she isn’t.”
“Is it strange that I feel sorry for her, no matter how ugly she was to us in there?”
“Not at all. She can style her hair like yours all she wants. Your compassion will always be the one big difference between the two of you.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist, enjoying his caress on the back of my neck. “So you think so, too. She’s trying to copy me, isn’t she?”
“Mm-hm.”
“But why? She hates me,” I whined.
“Maybe she does. But she also adores you, I think. Did you know that imitation is the highest form of flattery?”
Now I tilted my head back and gave him a skeptical look. “Where did you get that from?”
Tony grinned, loosening up the tension inside me easily. “Data. I’m a Trekkie.”
He was? Realizing I still knew so little about him, I hugged him tighter. “So you love Star Trek…what else?”
He cut a glance up to the sky, deliberating. “There’s cheese crackers and mayo, for one. Dogs. And video games.” He looked down at me again with a smirk. “And then that hot black top you’re wearing right now.”
That made me laugh.
We strolled off, hand in hand. When we reached Tony’s car, or rather his mother’s, he said, “Want me to give you a ride home?”
“Umm, no thanks. I think I’ll walk tonight.” I needed to calm down before I got back to my aunt’s house. Tony pouted. He looked so sweet it made me want to kiss him on the tip of his nose. “But if you like,” I added in a low, hopeful voice, “you can walk me home.”
His pout disappeared in an instant and the corners of his lips tilted up. Oh yes, he liked.
I walked slowly, because I didn’t want to reach my aunt’s house too quickly. Ambling in the dark with Tony appealed to me. He swung our hands back and forth between us, stroking his thumb over my knuckles. We didn’t talk much at first, which was a shame, because the only thing missing to make this moment perfect was the sound of his voice and laugh.
Thinking about it made me remember last Sunday, when he’d taken me to his aunt’s house. The day with him and the horses was one of the very best of my life. With that memory also came the image of the picture he’d drawn of me that afternoon. The one I’d destroyed.
“I’m sorry I shredded your drawings,” I said in a low voice.
Tony eyed me sideways. “Why did you?”
“Because I thought I hated you.”
“You thought?”
“Yeah, well…” I raised our joined hands to his view. “Obviously, it wasn’t true.”
He smiled at that. “Don’t worry, Bungee. I do have one or two more drawings of you.”
My shoulders dropped. “The witch?”
“Nope, not the witch.” He frowned into the distance. “I shredded that one myself the other day.”
“Really?” That was news to me. Good news. “Then what?”
“Nu-uh, not saying.”
“Oh, come on, please,” I begged, dancing before him, walking backward a few steps. “When did you draw me?”
With a big, round smile, Tony pulled me to his side and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, not letting go of my hand. “The first one I drew after I saw you practicing with the cheerleaders for the first time.”
My forehead creased. “That was—”
“Tuesday. Your second day at school.”
As the information sank in, I stopped dead. His hand dropped from my shoulder. “That was before Mrs. Jackson gave us that particular homework about villains.” I turned to face him. “Why did you draw me back then? And what did you draw?”
A sly grin sneaked onto his face. “No, Summers. You’re not getting me to tell you that right now.”
“Ryan said it looked quite awesome,” I mumbled, remembering how he’d found me under the tree in tears.
“Yes, he was the only one who actually ever saw them. Or one of them.”
“Will you show me?” I pleaded when my curiosity actually started to kill me.
Obviously feeling a little uncomfortable now, he laughed. “Maybe. One day.”
Great, that wasn’t a no, so all it would take was a little more persuasion. And I would have lots and lots of time for that…now that he was my boyfriend. Oh my freaking God—that word alone combined with Tony made millions of tiny, excited butterflies erupt in my stomach.
Unaware of my turning into a butterfly playground, Tony pulled me on. “Why do you wear camouflage pants all the time?” I knew he’d changed the subject so he wouldn’t get pestered about the pictures anymore.
I let it go. “Why not? I like them. And you never know when they’ll come in handy.”
He arched his brows, dipping his chin, and gave me a dubious look. “Come in handy?” he repeated flatly.
“Yeah. See, if I ever need to hide from someone, I just jump in here—” For demonstration purposes, I skipped into one of the bushes in someone’s front yard, and spread my arms in a silly ta-da pose. “And no one can see me. That’s it. I’m a bush.”
Tony’s laugh made my heart skip. “Come here, bush.” He took my hand and roughly pulled me out of the weeds and against his chest. Looking down at me, he picked a twig and some leaves out of my hair then brushed a strand behind my ear. “You know that you’re insane, right?”
I smiled up at him.
At the same time, his cell phone went off in his pocket. Just a whistling sound. He pulled it out, studied the display, then keyed in a message.
“Who’s texting you?” I asked.
“Hunter wants to know where I am.” When he was done, he laced our fingers again and we strolled on. But a few seconds later, another text arrived. “He asked me to come to his beach house tomorrow afternoon. Most of our friends will be there.”
An invitation? It didn’t escape me that my cell phone hadn’t buzzed with a message. I wanted to pout but held off and gave Tony a cute look instead. “Can I come with you?”
“No. You’re too crazy, bush.” Playfully, he tucked me under his arm.
Squaring my shoulders, I looked into his mocking eyes. “I can do normal.”
“Oh, really? I’m dying to see that.”
Sulking, I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Relax, Bungee.” Tony chuckled. “Hunter actually said, ‘bring Sam’.” He taunted me with a roll of his eyes.
A lunatic grin on my face spread wider and wider.
“Give me your number,” he demanded then. “I’ll call you tomorrow before I pick you up.”
We’d reached my house, and I sat down on the curb of the sidewalk, reciting my number while he punched it in. Tony lowered himself beside me, stretching his legs out on the street. They were so much longer than mine. “My dad says there’s a chance I’
ll grow a little more before I turn eighteen,” I told Tony for no obvious reason. Maybe I just felt I had to defend my height to him.
“That’s cool. But I like you the way you are.” He said it so absently, so naturally, that it sounded more like the truth than anything else I’d heard from him. My mouth dropped open, but he didn’t notice as he was still busy with his cell.
The next instant, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. “You’re calling me?”
Tony rang off before I could answer his call. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Now you have my number, too. And if you get bored alone in your room later, you can text me.” He winked, setting my blood to a boiling temperature. Texting Tony. That was like emailing him, only better. And I’d loved reading the emails he’d sent me the other day.
Anticipation crawled into my chest. I tried to hide it from him, because it made me feel a little silly. With my finger I traced the outline of one of the holes in his jeans. “So, you expect me to send you a message later?”
“No.” His answer came out flat and emotionless, but in the next moment his eyes took on a mischievous shine. “But I hope you will.”
Oh, he could definitely have that. Now I couldn’t wait to get inside and think of a nice good-night message to send him.
“Be careful,” he growled with a smirk, nodding at my hand on his thigh where I kept playing with the loose threads.
“Why?”
“Bigger kids than you have gotten lost in that hole.”
That made me giggle. When I didn’t remove my hand, he gave a sudden imitation of a wolf’s bark and clapped his hand on mine so fast it made me jump.
I squealed and then broke out in a laughing fit, my eyes tearing up. Staring at me, fascinated, Tony waited until I got a grip again. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
Tony cracked a smile. “Oh no, I made you cry again,” he said, tilting my chin up with his knuckle and stroking his thumb across my lip.
“Yeah, but the important part is, are they good tears or bad ones? You can make me cry like this anytime you want.”
A soft breeze whirled around us. I zipped up my hoodie, trembling slightly. Tony was only wearing his short-sleeved shirt and he didn’t seem cold at all. But my shiver didn’t go unnoticed. He rose from the concrete, took my hand, and pulled me up, too. “It’s late and you’re cold. You should go inside now.”
I nodded. “Will you go back to the party?”
“Nah. Just going back to get my car.” He enveloped me in a tight embrace with my hands trapped between our chests. The warmth from his arms seeped through the fabric of my hoodie, but still, my shivering got worse. Even my lips trembled when Tony placed a soft kiss on them. “Freezing girl,” he complained with a chuckle. “No good-night kiss then.” Releasing me, he walked me up the drive but stopped in front of the steps that led to the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Tomorrow. I smiled then I let myself in and tiptoed upstairs.
Taking a shower before going to bed, I thought of the sound of Tony’s laugh and it made me giddy. Lost in reverie, I forgot the time and stood under the warm spray for almost half an hour. He would be home by now. Hopefully, he hadn’t gone to bed already. I still wanted to send him a sweet message. Just what could I write?
When I got back to my room, the problem was solved. He’d already sent me a text while I was in the bathroom.
IF YOU’RE STILL UP, CHECK YOUR INBOX. NOT ON YOUR PHONE. DO IT ON YOUR COMPUTER.
My heart lurched to my throat. Another email? What couldn’t he tell me in a short text? And why couldn’t I check it on my iPhone? Oh, the guy had me taut, all right. I rushed to my desk and booted up my laptop. Nervous, I typed my password incorrectly twice.
When I finally got access to my inbox, there was one email waiting for me.
___________________________
From: Anthony J. Mitchell
To: Samantha Summers
Date: Sat, 17 Nov 2013 23:57
Subject: Why wait?
7 Attachments (12.27 MB)
Sam…I know I said one day, but tonight’s as good as any, I guess. Here are the pictures. I’m sorry you only saw the ugliest of them all.
T.
I took a look at the pictures in the slideshow viewer, but after the third I opened them fully, one after the other. My mouth dropped open as my eyes widened. All seven files were scanned pencil drawings of me in various positions I’d been in over the past couple of weeks. He’d dated them all and signed them with his distinctive T.
In the first drawing, I was doing stretches against a tree. My hair was falling into my eyes as I bent forward to grab my ankle and lay my head on my knee. The way he’d drawn me, I looked a little shy…like I’d been caught staring at him. Damn, he’d drawn that from memory? I couldn’t believe it. So many small details. It was perfect. And so beautiful.
I switched to the next drawing. It was dated 11/8/13. Two days later. In this one I was sitting at the table in the cafeteria, sucking on a lollipop. This drawing made me giggle.
The next one was from 11/9/13. Me hunkering under a tree, arms folded on my bent knees and face hiding in my arms.
11/11/13. I was squatting in front of a campfire, warming my hands over the blaze. And I was wearing Tony’s black hoodie.
On 11/12/13 he’d drawn two. In one I was standing in front of a dreamy forest, shoulders hunched, rain falling on my head. I was smiling at the viewer. In the other—oh my freaking goodness—I was dancing.
The drawings were all gorgeous. But it was the last one that surprised me most. It was the exact same picture he’d drawn of me in AVE, which I’d shredded before returning it to the sender. Tony had replicated it—last Wednesday. The day I’d given him the sweatshirt back.
Leaning back in my chair, I laced my fingers behind my head and studied the screen for what seemed an eternity. The picture started to swim in front of my eyes. What I saw in my mind then was how he’d gazed at me during that lesson. How he’d looked at me in the restroom today when he didn’t want me to leave. And how he’d looked on the stairs in Ryan Hunter’s house tonight, shortly before he kissed me. Oh, he could make a girl go dreamy, all right.
Releasing a deep, happy sigh, I smiled to myself, then typed an answer for Tony.
___________________________
From: Samantha Summers
To: Anthony J. Mitchell
Date: Sun, 18 Nov 2013 00:41
Subject: I can’t believe you did this!
Dear crazy stalker!
The drawings are beautiful. Thank you for showing me.
See you tomorrow.
:-) Sam
It took all of forty seconds for him to reply.
___________________________
From: Anthony J. Mitchell
To: Samantha Summers
Date: Sun, 18 Nov 2013 00:42
Subject: Re: I can’t believe you did this!
I’m looking forward to it.
And so was I. I shut down my laptop, turned off the light, and climbed into bed, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
CHAPTER 9
“MOM! DAD! COME quick! There’s something wrong with Samantha!”
Ugh. Something was wrong with me? I forced my eyes open and groaned. Bright light was blinding me. Hell, what time was it?
Tuning my head to the side, I shielded my eyes with my arm, fighting against a murderous headache. Too little sleep. Vaguely, I noticed that my quilt was gone.
Worried voices drifted from downstairs, then footsteps rushed closer. I pulled my arm away from my face, blinking a few times, trying to focus. The lights in my room and in the hallway were on. Outside the window it was pitch-black. I knew I couldn’t have slept longer than an hour or two.
“Goodness gracious!” a deep male voice barked.
Without a clue why three people were suddenly standing in my room, I sat up in bed and kneaded the spot between my eyes. “What’s going on?” I murmured. Was
there a fire in the house?
“Sam! Oh my God!” Wrapped in a light blue dressing gown, my aunt fell on her knees in front of my bed, pressing her palm to my forehead and then touching my cheeks, my shoulders, and my upper arms. “Are you all right?”
I pulled my legs to my chest. “Yes. Sure.” Just dead tired and confused as hell. “Why’s everyone so upset?”
All of a sudden, Pamela’s eyes grew as wide as her porcelain saucers. She leaned away from me but held me tight by my shoulders. “Samantha…have you been drinking?”
What stupid change of topic was that? My brows knitted to a frown. “No.” Then I caught a glimpse behind her of my uncle lifting my desk chair from the floor. Had it fallen over? How strange. And not just my chair. The doors of my wardrobe stood wide open, clothes littered the floor, and—Shit! My laptop lay open and upside down next to the desk, pieces of the shattered screen all around. “Was there an earthquake?”
“If only!” Jack snarled. He stood in front of me now in long flannel bottoms, his feet and chest bare. In each hand he held a bottle for display. One empty, the other containing a mouthful of—what? I read the square black label. Scotch?
“When did you drink these?” my uncle demanded, his voice growing louder with each word.
“I didn’t drink them.” What in the world made him think that?
“Don’t lie to me, Samantha! These are the bottles that disappeared from our living room,” he thundered. “So when the fucking hell did you drink them?”
“Jack!” Pamela shouted, shocked, and whirled around to him. She sure wasn’t used to her husband swearing. Frankly, no one was.
My mouth went bone-dry. My mind started to swirm. “I didn’t take them. And I didn’t drink them. I promise.”
“You promise? You smell like a distillery, and you honestly expect us to believe you?”
I smelled like a what? Dammit, now that he’d said it, I noticed the heavy odor of alcohol in the room. But where exactly it was coming from, I couldn’t say. I opened and closed my mouth a few times. No sound came out. This was too weird. I hadn’t had any alcohol at the party. What the hell was going on?