Two hours later, after trying to make some headway on the schoolwork she’d missed, Hannah climbed into bed, eagerly welcoming the notion of sleep, when she heard a small noise. She rolled over, ignoring it, but it persisted—a tapping sound with an inconsistent rhythm. No wind does that, she thought. She stood on the bed for a better look, and that’s when she saw him.
Oh my god, they’re going to freak, I’m so dead, she thought, panicking. She had to get rid of him. Slowly, she opened her window, praying it wasn’t going to make that screeching noise it usually did and wake everyone upstairs. The crisp October air rushed into her face, sending harsh chills down the inside of her sweatshirt. The smell of burning wood filled her nostrils as she whispered frantically into the darkness, “What are you doing?”
“Gonna let me in?” Deacon asked, standing below her window, his hands resting in his coat pockets. He shivered slightly as his breath made white puffs in the night air.
“No way! My parents’ window is just above mine. They’ll totally hear you.”
“Come on, let me in. It’s cold out here,” he whispered back, looking up at her with those irresistible puppy-dog eyes, a persuasive trait of his that Hannah was beginning to recognize as deliberate. It still made her smile.
She could tell he was standing in her mother’s hydrangea bush—a skeleton now, barren of leaves, but wickedly sharp. Her windowsill was eight feet from the ground; he’d need something to stand on in order to clear it. She grabbed the step stool from her closet and handed it down to him. As soon as he stepped on, it immediately sank into the ground. He repositioned it on the bush, most certainly damaging it, but it did the trick: he hoisted himself up and climbed through her window.
Hannah’s heart stopped as they clasped hands, teetering together on the bed, listening intently for any sound coming from upstairs. After a moment, she exhaled. Deacon stepped off her bed and let his trench coat drop to the floor. He lay back on her pillows and motioned for her to join him, but she shook her head and sat at the edge of the bed, straining to hear anything outside her room, her brain screaming that they were about to get caught.
Deacon made himself at home, resting both hands behind his head as he crossed his feet and watched her. The moon outside was bright enough that even with the lights off, she could see his face.
“So, hi . . .” she began uncertainly.
“Hi,” he said softly. “Surprised?”
Hannah nodded. “Kind of.” Her heart flipped wildly out of her chest, not knowing if it was out of exhilaration or fear that he was actually in her bedroom. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, his features became crisper. “So . . . why?”
“My parents were out, I didn’t want to be alone.”
“You’re crazy, we totally could get caught.”
“Probably.” With that, he reached for her hand and turned it over, tenderly kissing her palm. His lips, cold against her skin, sent a tingly sensation down the inside of her forearm like an electrical current. She didn’t move her hand, wanting him to kiss it again. His lips brushed the inside of her wrist, igniting more vibrations down into her elbow. Hannah cupped his cold cheek, transferring her warmth to him. She became transfixed by the angles of his face, wanting to run her fingers along every turn and slope.
He broke the spell by pulling her toward him. Shyly, she leaned into him, and he wrapped his arm around her. She started to calm down a bit and relaxed her head onto his shoulder. They didn’t speak for a few minutes, and Hannah wondered if he had fallen asleep. She picked up her head slightly and saw him staring somewhere beyond her closet. She felt grateful for the shadows cloaking her tiny room, along with her stuffed hippo, which lay facedown in the corner.
“Do your parents stay out a lot?”
“Yeah, they’re never home. Yours?”
“I wish.” Hannah inhaled, enjoying the subtle remnants of his cologne and wondering if he wore the same one every day.
“Are they over the sliding door yet?”
“Hardly.”
“Parents suck.”
Hannah nodded absently, watching his chest create waves as he breathed. His body took up most of her bed.
“Did they ground you?”
“Yeah . . . not like I go anywhere, though,” Hannah admitted, thinking that she probably sounded like a dork.
“I’m out all the time,” Deacon said dryly.
“With friends?”
“No . . . work. Sometimes at parties, mostly to deal. People always want something.” His voice drifted off like he needed her to ask him more. Instead, she bit her bottom lip, unsure what to say and trying not to think about that side of him. She didn’t even know where he got his drugs or if he’d ever gotten busted. Why would such a gorgeous, well-off boy resort to dealing? she wondered.
They both got quiet, listening to the night outside. Hannah decided to let the mystery of Deacon remain for now, and to simply relish in the fact that he told her today that he liked her. Part of her still found it hard to believe, but then again he’d just snuck into her bedroom, which was probably the wildest and dangerous thing that had ever happened to her—except for accidentally taking LSD of course.
“You’re beautiful, Hannah. Those eyes . . .”
She flushed. “It’s dark, you can’t possibly see them.”
“I noticed them the first time . . . and every time after. They’re like peacock feathers: green, gold, sort of a purplish-blue. They keep changing, like a kaleidoscope.”
“It’s my built-in mood ring,” she said loudly.
“Shhh, you want them to catch us?” Deacon said playfully, and turned her toward him. He brushed back her hair a couple of times, then tilted her face up to his and kissed her—once, then again, sending a strange sensation through her and down below. Her smile gave her away and she kissed him back, careful not to hit her nose. Oh my god, I’m kissing Deacon Giroux, her brain squealed in delight. The frosty air lingered on his lips, but his tongue tasted warm and delicious, with a hint of mint.
He pulled away slowly, smiling. “Mmm, peanut butter.”
Hannah’s hand flew over her mouth, and she cursed herself for not brushing her teeth before bed.
“My favorite,” he said, moving her hand away and kissing her again.
Just as the sky started to lighten, Deacon lifted himself up. He gazed into Hannah’s eyes for a moment and gently kissed her forehead, before jumping down from the window. Hannah again prayed he wouldn’t wake anyone. She watched his dark form cross over the next two neighbors’ lawns, growing smaller by the second. Still, she could see it when he pulled his coat around him tighter, and his breath was still visible. She fell back onto her bed when she finally heard his car start; her sheets still held his scent.
She drifted off almost as soon as she closed her eyes— thoroughly exhausted, but for the first time, blissfully at peace.
CHAPTER 16
HER ALARM BLASTED HER BACK INTO REALITY. SHE SLAMMED it down and didn’t look back.
“Hannah, get up!” her mother yelled from the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, she threw her legs over the side of the bed—and only then noticed the streaks of mud on her windowsill, down her wall, and across her sheets.
“Holy . . .” Quickly, she stripped the bed and stuffed the evidence into her closet. She frantically wiped down her window and wall with a sock and threw it in as well, just before her mother threw open her door.
“I’m up, Mom. Ready to go.”
“Hurry up. I’ll drive you.”
“Think I just witnessed a miracle,” Hannah muttered under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Thanks, Mom. I’ll be right out.” Hannah dressed like the house was on fire, pausing only to splash cold water on her face and hesitating for a millisecond in front of the mirror. The natural look will have to do, she told herself. Screw her father and his tirades over her acne. Then she thought about seeing Deacon and hastily applied some eye-liner and blush. S
till, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was forgetting something.
“Hannah!”
She made it to school as homeroom was ending. She could barely keep her eyes open. She spied Deacon down the hallway, talking to someone she didn’t recognize, as she grabbed her books from her locker. When she looked back again, he was gone.
She fumbled with her lock, swearing underneath her breath, and scrambled to class with everyone else. She was used to being invisible, but today for some reason she wasn’t. God, she thought, is my sweater on backward or something? Hannah glanced back and caught some students looking at her weirdly. She tucked her head into her binder, holding it tightly against her chest, and soldiered on through the crowd. She heard her name as she passed the cafeteria. To her right, a boy stood laughing with a group of jocks. They all looked up and stared. Now what? she wondered, shaking her head. Rumors spread so quickly at school . . . Oh my god. Gillian.
The redheaded witch had told her that she was going to make her pay. The thought made Hannah want to cry. All at once her legs grew heavy and thick, each step becoming more unbearable than the next. Where could she hide now? Maybe she should beeline it for the nurse’s office and claim really bad cramps. More laughter erupted behind her. Come on Hannah, pull it together, it’s nothing, she told herself, nothing at all. She began tugging on her hair, pulling the strands tight around her lips. God, now I have more enemies in this school without even trying.
She prayed that she was imagining the strange shift around her. She thought about Deacon, and wondered if he knew if anything was up. Why did people twist everything she did? Sometimes they judged her before she even opened her mouth. Just a few more feet to first period, you can make it, her brain coaxed. Her thumbs now tingled, and her eyes were inches from tears as she entered her classroom, not meeting any of the kids’ faces.
Push it down; push it back down.
Mrs. Myers kept calling on her again in English, probably to keep her awake. Sitting there, Hannah felt strung out from lack of sleep. Her thoughts kept drifting to her mother finding her closet filled with the evidence of Deacon’s nighttime visit; she wondered if she could get home in time to wash her sheets without her noticing.
Her life had gotten so complicated in less than a week now that Deacon was in it. He seemed so daring and willing to take chances. It was exhilarating to be with him. When he kissed her, he made her feel beautiful. His seductive presence coursed through her veins like a drug, and she found herself wanting more.
Hannah sprang up to leave as soon as the bell sounded. She had to find Deacon to see if he knew anything. She heard a couple girls laughing behind her and looked back to see if it was about her. But then Peter from her bus stepped in the path of the two girls, stopping them in their tracks.
“Shut the F up,” he said, glaring at them, before turning to look directly at Hannah. His liquid blue-hazel eyes flashed her a message she didn’t understand. Embarrassed, she quickly walked away. What the hell was that about?
Hannah dawdled at her locker between periods, wishing she could ditch school altogether. She shook her head; something was off, big time. She closed her locker and turned around—and came face to face with her worst nightmare. The coven was blocking her from going in either direction, with Gillian perched proudly in front, her cold, cobalt eyes seeping venom. Leeza stood in second command with her hands on her hips, wearing her newest preppy cable sweater and kilt pin skirt—looking no more threatening than a Girl Scout on cookie delivery night. Taylor, on Hannah’s left, couldn’t even make eye contact. Her bored stance made it clear that she didn’t want to be there.
Like magic, kids filled in behind them, rubbernecking and jamming the hallway. This attack had been announced. Panic seized Hannah’s throat, preventing her from swallowing. Her eyes darted around the growing mob. Where’s Deacon, where the hell is he?
“Yeah, keep on looking. This time your boyfriend isn’t around to help you,” Gillian sneered. Hannah could almost see blood dripping from her canines.
Hannah closed her eyes, trying to remember the words Mrs. Myers had preached to her the previous day. Towering over Hannah’s desk, the young teacher’s resolve had oozed of spitfire and sass—but also kindness. Distracted by her teacher’s sudden change in demeanor, Hannah hadn’t quite heard her the first time, causing Mrs. Myers to repeat herself.
“You are better than them. Smarter. Braver. Stop getting in your own way. Believe in yourself. You, Hannah Zandana, can be and do anything. They’re afraid of you. Now act like it. Go.”
“I think she fell asleep,” Gillian said, and the other girls laughed. Hannah heard another kid behind them yell something she couldn’t make out.
What the hell am I going to do now? Then it came to her. Scare them.
Hannah lunged forward with everything she had, running her upper body into Gillian’s and catching her off guard.
The redhead immediately stepped back a pace.
“You f-ing dyke,” Hannah said in an angry whisper. “Get out of my face or I’ll tell everyone what you are. You don’t think I know about you?” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the exchanges around her—the shaking of heads, the confused looks. Even Leeza gasped.
“Whaaat did she just say?” asked Taylor.
“Nothing . . . right, Gillian?” Hannah said, louder this time, as Gillian’s eyes grew into saucers and her lower lip displayed the faintest of quivers. Got her.
“Nothing, she fucking said nothing,” said Gillian. “Come on, this is bullshit. She’s bullshit.”
To Hannah’s incredulous relief, the coven turned and single-filed it through the crowd as they parted for them. The onlookers disappointedly followed, leaving Hannah alone. She was left speechless, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. What the . . . ?
She had guessed right.
CHAPTER 17
DID I ALWAYS KNOW ? HANNAH PONDERED THAT QUESTION the rest of the day. Probably not, but there were inklings— pieces she hadn’t put together until today—like the games Gillian would orchestrate when they were kids, including those awful kissing ones. But nothing concrete until that night last July, when she saw something she shouldn’t have.
Hannah’s mom had sent her to retrieve her sister’s ball from Gillian’s yard—the one with the princess characters, Kerry’s absolute favorite. Hannah heard voices near the back deck and looked over. Gillian’s back was to Hannah, a dainty hand with dark polish grabbing her butt. She hadn’t seen the girl before; she was very pretty, but not from their school. It was dark though. Hannah didn’t think Gillian saw her—she was too involved in the kiss. But the other girl did; Hannah could tell by the way her eyes expanded in alarm then turned pleading.
Hannah clumsily scooped the ball into her arms and quickly got out of there.
“Heard you had a bit of drama today,” Deacon said, slipping his hand into hers as they walked together through the parking lot to his car after school.
“Sort of,” Hannah said. “I took care of it.”
“Heard that too. What did you say to them?”
“Nothing, really.”
The thought of Gillian liking girls was so foreign and completely unexpected, but then, everything about Gillian had always put her on edge. She realized now that she really didn’t know Gillian at all, and few people, if any, probably did. Was it possible that behind Gillian’s wicked persona was a misfit just like her? Maybe that’s why she worked so hard at ganging up on people—to gain power and control over them so they couldn’t do it to her first. Who knows, Hannah thought. She felt naïve when it came to girls liking girls. No one ever talked about such a thing at school. But she knew all too well what it was like to have secrets no one else could understand. How exhausting it was.
They got into the car, and Deacon smiled at her and rested his hand on her upper thigh—something he’d never done before. Hannah began to chew on the ends of her hair, but quickly stopped when she saw him watching her. She continued to tu
g on her hair, however, as they drove. With Depeche Mode playing in the background, she thought about Gillian and the girls taking the bus home when they passed the houses into her neighborhood. She wondered what Monday would bring, then pushed the thought away and smiled at her “boyfriend,” as Gillian had referred to him. Hannah wasn’t even sure Deacon considered them to be “going out.” What are we doing?
Deacon pulled up to Hannah’s house. Her mother’s station wagon was parked in the driveway.
“I’d have you in, but . . .”
“Oh, I have my ways,” he said in his devilish tone.
“You sure do,” she said, grinning. “I’m exhausted. Did you sleep any?”
“Nope,” he said. His eyes narrowed, and he nodded toward the driveway. “I think someone is sleeping in your parents’ car.”
“What?”
But Deacon had already jumped out and was heading toward the station wagon.
“Deacon, what are you doing?” she said, following him, scrambling to keep up with his long strides.
“Could be somebody trying to steal it . . .” He stopped diagonally behind the driver’s side window then looked back to Hannah. “It’s some woman.”
“M-Mom . . . what are you doing in the car, are you sleeping?” She tried the door. “Mom, unlock the door!”
Her mother blinked several times. “H-hannah . . . you’rrre home earrrrly,” she said after her second fumbling attempt to open the driver’s side door proved successful. She stood on rubbery legs, making slow and deliberate movements, her eyes bloodshot like she’d been crying.
“I got a ride. Mom, what are you doing out here . . . where’s Kerry?”
“Inside . . . watching TV.” She swallowed, but it sounded more like a burp. “Ooh, ’scuse me . . . I must have dozed off . . .” She held on to the side of the car.
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