“Ookay-bee,” she says, eyebrows raised to her hairline.
“If Luke Whitmore wants to be an ass, then he can.” Simple. “I’m not wasting energy on him.”
Carly sucks her lips in with a popping noise.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing,” she shrugs. “He’s just, I don’t know, hotter than hell, an obvious romantic, willing to go out of his way to make sure you’re home safe and dry, and…mysterious.” She wiggles her eyebrows as she brakes at the light.
“You’re the one who reminded me just the other night that he might be an ex-gang member with an anger management problem.”
“Yeah–but in the light of day, well, he’s totally gorgeous. The whole female population of Cougar Creek is talking about him. And you don’t know that he made that hole in the wall by the auditorium. His knuckles aren’t even cut.”
I shake my head. “It sounded like someone punching the wall, and he was standing right there.”
“Medically impossible to heal that quickly.” Carly has her pre-med face on.
“Hey, where are you taking me?” I ask as we pass my house.
Carly smiles. “It’s baked ziti night and Mom told me to bring you home with me.”
My stomach clenches. I look out the window when I feel the muscles in my forehead start to tense. I am definitely going to get premature wrinkles. “Um…is your brother home?”
“I’ll kick his ass if he bothers you again,” Carly says, as if she doesn’t weigh eighty pounds less than him. “Anyway, he’s back at school.”
I feel my stomach unknot some. “Okay. Ziti,” minus Eric, “sounds perfect.”
* * *
Patricia Ashe serves the best ziti I’ve ever had. “I’ll pack some for you to take home again, Jule.”
“Thanks, Patricia.”
She gives me a sincerely sympathetic look. “How’s your mom doing? You know they won’t let me see her.”
“Yeah, orders from the doctor. Only family, I guess.” I smile and swallow the warm homemade sauce. “She’s eating now and, well, she seems like her old self again.”
“Good.” Patricia nods. “I’ll visit as soon as she gets home.”
I stab at the cheesy noodles. I’d better warn Mom. I don’t want her to do anything that will throw her back in Sunny Acres.
“Let’s do our homework,” Carly says. “We just got a new sectional sofa in the den. It is, like, mucho grande. Let’s go there.” She leads the way down the short hall.
Goosebumps pop out on my arms as I survey the built-in bookshelves. I wonder which one my mom was looking at when the wall supposedly moved. I glance at Carly, who plops onto the middle of the dark leather sofa. Does she know about the secret room? What would she do if I showed it to her? I guess that all depends on if she knows about it or not. Do I really want to know if she knows?
“What are you staring at?”
My gaze snaps back to Carly. “Nothing, just thinking.”
“About…Luke?”
Luke. Furthest thing from my mind right now. And that is a good thing. Just the thought of his twisted behavior makes my head hurt. “No. I was just…wondering how old your house is.”
Carly’s forehead wrinkles. “I think Mom said it was built sometime after the Civil War, so it’s not as old as yours.”
I nod with what I hope looks like nonchalance. “Cool.”
I sink onto the sofa with her and drag out my English Lit book. Carly’s phone starts playing Eminem’s “Love The Way You Lie.” “It’s Lindsey. Probably needs to boohoo about Hunter blowing her off today. All around, it’s been a bad Monday for relationships.”
“I’m not in a relationship,” I mumble as I scan Chaucer’s description of the monk.
“Hey, Lindsey,” Carly says and makes the universal quacking-hand sign for “talks a lot” before walking out of the den and down the hall until I can’t hear her anymore.
I glance around the room and along the shelves until I spy what looks like family picture albums. I stand casually and walk over to peruse them. Could there be a nanny-cam set up? Does whoever collected the pictures know my mom was in here? Are they recording me right now? Chills prick the hair along my neck. I reach out to touch a dark-green album.
“Damn it! What are you doing?”
I whirl around, eyes about to drop out of my face, to see Coach Ashe, Richard, glaring my way.
6
“Happy Birthday to you… Happy…Birthday…to…you?”
~Jule Welsh
“I…uh…I’m sorry,” I stutter.
He cuts me off with a palm held out. It’s then that I notice he’s rubbing his toe and grimacing.
“What’s going on?” Patricia runs into the room. “Richard?”
“Stubbed my damn toe. You make me take my shoes off in the house, and then this happens.” He smiles to show he’s not really mad and lowers his foot. “I think I startled Jule.”
“Hey, what’s Dad cursing about?” Carly asks from the doorway. Eric is on her heels. Carly mouths “sorry” and crosses over to me.
“Your dad stubbed his toe and scared Jule,” Patricia says. She smiles the smile of someone confronting a possibly deranged animal. I must still have “scared shitless” across my face. “Were you looking at the albums? I’m sure there are a few pictures of you and Carly as toddlers in there.”
I concentrate on relaxing my facial features. “Uh…no. I mean, yes.” What am I supposed to say? I look around the room at the four Ashes surrounding me. I feel weak, breathless.
Patricia walks to the wall and snags a pink scrapbook. I watch for a moment to see if the bookshelves will suddenly slide open, revealing the little Welsh family shrine, but everything stays solidly in place. Carly’s mom flips it open and laughs. She brings over a picture of Carly and me running through the sprinkler back in Virginia. I grasp the book like a lifeline and try to breathe normally. My stomach rises with a wave of partially digested ziti. “I don’t feel too good.”
“Oh dear,” Patricia says and runs a manicured hand down my arm. “Richard, you scared the poor thing.”
“No, I just…it’s been a long day.”
Carly swoops in to link arms. “Let’s go upstairs. You can lie down.” Eric silently gathers my books and hands the bag to me.
“Thanks,” I mumble. He nods but doesn’t smile. Is it my imagination, or does he check out my boobs? Ugh! “I think I need to go home.”
“Are you sure?” Carly asks in the hall.
“Yeah. I’m tired, and the ziti isn’t sitting well. Probably all the stress from school.”
We head out to Carly’s car. Eric’s red sports car is parked behind her, blocking my escape. “Wait, I’ll get Mom’s keys.” Carly runs back in and I stare at the house with the sun setting behind it. Manicured flowerbeds, white porch swing with handmade cushions, and bird feeders. Beautiful, comfortable. I shiver. When did the Ashe house become so threatening?
“Got ‘em.” Carly races back. “Sorry about Eric showing up,” she says as she backs out of the drive. “I’ll tell him to leave you alone.”
“It’s his house. He’s got a right to come home.”
She frowns, because she knows it’s true. “Well, next time we’ll get a to-go box from Mom and eat at your house.” She smiles brightly.
I grin back weakly. I really love Carly. Why the hell does she have to be an Ashe?
The porch light and lights inside are on, even though Dad’s car is gone. Maybe Dad stopped by to turn on the lights before going to visit Mom. Not likely, but I’ll hold onto that version of the truth. At least I know Eric’s not lurking somewhere inside.
Mica’s been fed, again presumably by Dad, who still can’t remember to put the milk back in the fridge after making his coffee. I dump the rest of the warm gallon down the sink. I walk through the house with Mica following, checking locks and closets. No one.
I’m tired. I lie on my bed and breathe. Mica barks, and my spine stiffens.
&nb
sp; “Hi there, pup,” Dad’s muffled voice comes from the foyer. I let my eyes close. I’ll get up in a few minutes to start my homework. “Jule?”
“I’m upstairs, Dad.”
“Thanks for the lasagna.” My eyes snap open and my forehead tenses. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up slowly. Lasagna? Downstairs, Dad’s pulling a disposable lasagna pan out of the oven. “Did you make it earlier? It’s still sort of warm.” He cuts into it while I stare, speechless. “Oh, you added mushrooms, too.” He smiles. “That is your favorite, isn’t it?”
All I can do is nod. Rachel’s mom? Not a chance. And how would she get inside? Dad bites into it and moans with a smile. “This is fantastic, Jule. And just what I needed. I worked late and headed straight over to see Mom. No time to eat.”
And no time to stop by the house, put a lasagna left on the porch into the oven, turn on lights and feed Mica. Chills run down my neck to spread out over my shoulder blades. Either Martha Stewart is suddenly haunting my house or someone is…visiting.
* * *
I sit by Madison in homeroom the next day. Luke shows up several minutes after me, probably waiting until I left my locker. His gaze moves about the room. It stops on me for two seconds, as if he is making sure I’m there. Then he sits far away. He strides out of class before me. In chemistry, Taylin whispers and glares while Kiara just shakes her head and rolls her eyes in my defense. In lit we have to form a circle with our chairs, and Luke’s ends up next to mine.
I sit there not daring to move my leg, which is only three inches from his muscular calf. His strong fingers grasp the far edge of his desk as if he’s gripping a life-saving cliff overhang. I drop my only pencil and snap forward automatically to catch it. My hair fans out across Luke’s desk. I hear him inhale quickly.
“Sorry,” I mumble and pull the thick mass to the opposite shoulder. When I sit back up, his eyes flick to me with a nod before he glances away.
The tone sounds, and instead of leaping up like before, Luke just sits there. His hands are fists as he turns to me. There is some raw emotion in his eyes, part pain, part longing, part anger.
“What?” I ask and stare back, unable to swallow. He shakes his head, breaking the cable connecting us. I huff and gather my things. He follows me out to the lockers, just a foot behind me. If I stop suddenly, he’ll probably crash into my back. I’d feel his hard chest up against me, with his warm, fresh smell. But I’m pissed. Obviously something is going on with him. Whether it has to do with something in Boston or Matt and Taylin, who knows? But not knowing is going to drive me insane if I let it. My only defense is apathy. I ignore him and spin the dial on my locker.
Luke stands next to me, and I swear I hear him inhale again. Tendrils of excitement take root in the simple brush of his arm against my hair. My heart pounds and my stomach back-flips. To hell with apathy! I spin toward him and barely control my gasp at his closeness. I lean back slightly so I can focus on his face. Time to take the offensive.
“So what? You were interested,” I throw up little quotation marks with my fingers, “the other night. But now you’re ignoring me?”
“It’s complicated.” He stares into my eyes as if willing me to just take his word for it.
I nod and repeat. “It’s complicated.” I frown. “Life’s complicated, or hadn’t you heard?”
He almost smiles. “I’ve heard that, actually.”
“So what’s so complicated that you’re not interested anymore?” Ah, the big question. I should get points for kick-ass bravery.
He shakes his head, sending the thick, perfectly casual mane swinging around his strong jawline. His dark, blue-black eyes catch mine again with an intense, hooded look. “Interested?” A low chuckle comes out more like a growl and I feel a prickle spider-walk along my shoulders. “More like obsessed.”
I blink. Did he just say he’s obsessed? With me? “O-okay. Lost here.” And a little creeped out.
“It’s better that way.” He turns to his locker and grabs a lunchbag. He walks away.
“Hey.” I can’t just let him go when he is finally sort of talking. “Did you bring me dinner last night?” A blush heats up my neck into my cheeks.
He turns back with a smile. “You like mushrooms. My mom makes a killer lasagna.”
“So, you broke into my house, fed the dog, left dinner, and turned on the lights for me. I almost called the police.”
He leans back against the lockers and glances at the ceiling like he is beseeching heavenly help. “I want to…I need to make sure you are…taken care of.”
My eyes narrow as I try to understand his words. “And you have decided to take on the assignment? Why?”
A sad smile touches his mouth as his head rolls across the lockers so he can look at me again. “I believe I mentioned being obsessed.” His face suddenly seems tired, older somehow, like he has lived a long time and is tired of the whole thing, like he is hopeless.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Seventeen.”
“How long have you been seventeen?” I know it’s a ridiculous question, but my heart slams in my chest and I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. There is just something strange about him, something dark, and yet I’m drawn to him, want to know all about him.
He laughs and this time the smile reaches his eyes. “Since last October thirty-first.” He steps closer to me. I freeze as his warm palm cups my cheek, covering the whole expanse. “See, I’m warm.” He drops his hand. “And I eat lasagna, too. Lots of it.”
October thirty-first? Halloween? “Your cousin, Taylin, her birthday is October thirty-first, too.”
Luke’s smile fades and his gaze moves to a spot on my forehead, like he can’t look me in the eyes. “It’s complicated, Jule.” His eyes move down to meet mine. They are narrowed, fierce and sad again. He drops his voice even though the hall is virtually empty. “You and I,” he shakes his head, “we shouldn’t be together. I’m…dangerous.”
“You leave a dry towel for me on the porch, but you’re dangerous?” My eyes are narrowed right along with his now.
Luke swallows and glances away. “I can’t go into it. Just know that we,” he looks back, “we can’t be together, ever.” With that, he pivots on his heel and heads toward the outer doors, away from the cafeteria.
“Is Matt’s birthday also on Halloween?” I yell after him, but he won’t take the bait. He slams into the double doors at the end of the hall. One of them bangs against the brick outer wall with a crunch. When the door swings back it doesn’t close but hangs like an injured wing on its metal hinges.
* * *
The next morning before homeroom, I find a note in my locker. My heart thumps into overtime and I glance around. No Luke. I unfold it.
Stay away from Luke Whitmore. He’s dangerous.
More chills. At this rate, I’d better start carrying a sweater. There’s no signature, of course. I glance around again, but don’t see anyone paying attention to me. I look back at the thin scrawl. It looks like a girl’s handwriting. Probably Taylin. And she’s not telling me anything that Luke hasn’t already said, but somehow seeing the words written down, and by another party who seems to really know Luke, is freaky. Like there should be some sort of horror music playing in the background.
A finger taps my shoulder and I spin around. Madison grins at me. “You’re jumpy.”
My hand is flat against my pounding heart. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Lost in thought?” Madison loops her arm through mine and pulls me toward homeroom. My heart slows enough to let my brain function. “So…Derek,” she starts. I wait, but she doesn’t continue.
“I know Derek,” I say. She laughs and pulls me into the seat next to her.
A quick scan of the room shows no Luke.
“It’s his birthday today,” she informs me, which makes me think about the strange coincidence of another birthday.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, and I got him a cake,”
she giggles. “We’re planning to ambush him at lunch,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Will you be there?”
“I plan to eat lunch.”
“Good.”
Luke walks in and looks right at me. He’s wearing jeans today, and a black T-shirt with some hockey logo on it. It hugs his chest and upper arms, and his biceps bulge when he lifts his bag of books. No time to stop at his locker, I guess. Luke sits, his gaze still on me. He smiles a lazy, lopsided grin. What the hell? He tells me that we can’t be together and then he smiles at me? Madison evaporates, along with everyone else in the room. It feels like I’m in a tunnel leading directly to him. I notice the way his hair lies around his jaw that has a shadow of a beard. His blue-black eyes look bluer today and his lips…I wet my own as I watch the way his mouth straightens from his grin, his gaze intensifying as he stares back.
“So, what do you think? Should I ask him?” Madison pulls at my shoulder and I blink, turning to look at her.
“What?” I ask weakly.
Madison loses her constant smile. She huffs, her cheeks red. “Should I ask Derek to Homecoming? I think he’d rather go with you.” Her gaze moves back and forth between me and Luke. Her smile creeps back. “But maybe you’re already going with Luke. If you’re not, you should be. God, get a room,” she giggles. “The temp has risen, like, ten degrees since you two started staring at each other.”
“No.” I shake my head and her grin weakens. “But yes, you should ask Derek.”
“But what if he says no because he wants to ask you?”
I frown. Could that happen? “Tell him you heard I was going with someone else–Luke, I guess. Invite him and suggest we double-date. By the time he finds out Luke and I aren’t going together it will be too late.” She nods, considering. “But really, Madison, I don’t think he’s going to ask me.” I smile reassuringly. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled if you ask him.”
“You think so?” Her face takes on the hopeful, dreamy gaze of a stereotypical teen girl in love. Ugh! Does love make you look like that?
“Definitely.” I nod for emphasis, but her look says she wants more. “You’re a drama freak, he’s a drama freak. You’ll probably get married and have lots of little drama freaks.”
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