Little Creeping Things

by Chelsea Ichaso

  I shrug and smash a pea with my fork.

  After dinner, Gideon volunteers to do the dishes. We finish drying the last dish and then close ourselves off in my room.

  I press my back up against the door. “When are we going to find out something about the investigation? Shouldn’t the state police have interviewed us?”

  “I’m sure that’s coming,” he says. “I want to go to Seth’s house to see if they picked him up yet.”

  “Giddy, I told you I didn’t think it was him.”

  “But you didn’t give me an alternative.” His critical eyes pin me to the wall. “We know Seth and Melody argued yesterday. Plus, remember when we all went to Gina’s last week? Seth showed up, and Melody said he was stalking her.”

  The last thing I want to remember is that night at the diner. The night of my colossal lapse in judgment. But Gideon’s right. Seth was there, and Melody was picking on him, as usual.

  “Melody didn’t say he was stalking her. She just called him a stalker.”

  Gideon’s head dips in irritation. “It’s the best lead we have.”

  Actually, the best lead we have is the person who texted me at school, right after I snooped around in his locker. But Gideon needs to feel like he’s doing something to help, and I’m not going to be the one to stop him.

  “Okay, I’ll come with you,” I offer, pushing away from the door. “Maybe we can look in his car or in the backyard. See if he’s hiding something.”

  “Stay here. I’ll take Asher.”

  I block his path. “You’re not going without me.”

  “Cass, this guy is dangerous.”

  “Then bring Asher. But I’m coming too.”

  Gideon sighs, and his phone buzzes. He pulls it from his pocket, mumbling, “Brandon.”

  Cold, sharp fear streaks through me. Brandon’s threat said we were in this together. But maybe something spooked him and he’s going to share the notebook. With Gideon. “Ignore him.”

  Gideon sends off a quick text and tilts his head. “Cass, I thought you were giving him a chance. Did something happen at the party?”

  “No,” I say, startled. A flush fans up my neck and guilt swells in my chest.

  “Then it’s still about Laura?” He passes me a knowing look. “You can be honest with me.”

  Gideon’s wrong, of course. Honest would mean admitting what really happened a week ago at that party.

  With Brandon.

  I’d never wanted to go to that party, but the boys dragged me along, despite my pouting. There was a lone glimmer of promise: a party would provide an endless amount of faces for casting our favorite classic horror movies. So I stashed the notebook in my purse, planning to spend the evening with Gideon, nursing a Coke and passing the pages back and forth.

  But that’s not how things turned out. When we got to the house, Brandon shoved a beer in my hand and slumped back against the living room wall. Cigarette smoke and spilled booze permeated every inch of the place. I stood awkwardly, wondering how to get rid of the can and wondering how Asher and Gideon had managed to disappear.

  I didn’t want to be alone with him. Gideon and Asher insisted that Brandon and Laura were never getting back together, but that didn’t matter to me. My resentment was rooted in principle—he’d been a willing participant in a long-term relationship with one of my two biggest tormentors.

  Then the front door opened, and I cowered in a corner as Melody appeared. Apparently, she’d deigned to grace a high school party with her recently graduated presence. She strutted into the room, dress skintight, hair majestic, and several sets of eyes frolicked after her, just like old times.

  But Brandon made a face. And I realized he was disgusted by the most beautiful girl in the room.

  “What was that look about?” I asked, lowering onto the carpet beside him. I knew Melody’s big mouth had inflicted some damage over the years. But I’d never seen anyone look at her the exact way I felt. I hadn’t managed to ditch my beer, so I took a sip. Just to busy myself.

  “I’m surprised she made it somewhere without her sidekick, is all.” A slender, dark-haired figure passed through the door next. Brandon’s head lowered. “Never mind, then.”

  “Wait, Laura? Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on the Antichrist.”

  “No—well, not anymore. I was for a while.”

  “Tell me about that,” I said, my words laced with sarcasm. But truthfully, I was curious how someone could possibly be so blind to Laura’s true nature.

  “I just couldn’t figure out why she broke up with me.”

  “You are quite the catch.” I widened my eyes dramatically. “It’s inconceivable.”

  Brandon laughed, and a layer of that wall I’d had up against him crumbled. “But see, I finally figured it out.”

  “She discovered your true identity as a demon slayer and shrank back into the fires from whence she came?”

  “No.” He grinned and took a swig of beer. “A different sort of devil was whispering into her ear our entire relationship, telling her to break up with me. And that devil finally got to her.”

  “Melody.”

  “You got it.”

  A sophomore boy reeking of body odor staggered into the wall, belting words that bore little resemblance to the ones blaring from the speakers. Brandon and I scooted away, beers in hand. “She doesn’t like you?” I asked.

  “That wasn’t it. She’s just…weirdly possessive of Laura. I wouldn’t be surprised if she persuaded Laura to drop her college plans and stay in Maribel so they can work together at Gina’s for the rest of their lives.”

  “But Laura’s not just a pretty face.” Something else about her that always annoyed me.

  “I’m sure Melody will convince her none of that matters as long as they’re together. Maybe that’s why Melody has never had a boyfriend for more than two weeks. Her role as psycho best friend is all consuming.”

  “Maybe that’s not it,” I said with a devious smirk. “Maybe Melody is in love with you, and this was all part of her big plan to get you to fall for her instead. Actually”—I ducked my head lower—“don’t look, but she’s staring at you right now.”

  Brandon’s eyes widened. His head whipped from side to side. Then he reddened, shrinking into the wall. “You got me.” He bumped my shoulder with his. “What about you? Is Melody still giving you a hard time with the cousin killer stuff?”

  “I wish. She’s upped her game from schoolyard bullying, unfortunately.”

  “What’d she do now?”

  My face warmed and my gaze drifted. “Let’s talk about something else.” I took another sip of my beer. Then another.

  “Come on,” he pleaded. “I told you my embarrassing tale.” I attempted to stand, but he touched my arm, gently. “Hey, hey. It’s fine. Keep your big secret.”

  “It’s not a big secret. She has something of mine. Like…” I said, waving my beer and letting the foam slosh up through the opening, “blackmail.”

  “What?” Brandon’s head sprung back. “Cass, that’s—should we—should I—?”

  “No.” I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t do anything. The last thing I need is for her to remember I exist.”

  Brandon sighed and took my mysteriously empty can. He walked over to the kitchen and came back with a full one. I grabbed it. Popped it open. Poured the lukewarm, bubbling liquid down my throat.

  He settled back down. “There’s got to be a way to even the score,” he said, leaning closer. “Something to keep her quiet.” His now-blurry face grinned.

  “What’d you have in mind? Ooh, I know! She wins a free makeover at the mall in Rosedale. But while she thinks she’s getting her makeup done, she’s actually getting our faces tattooed on her face.”

  “But how—”

  “Okay, yeah, bad one.” I took a few more sips. “
We could send her a letter from these big Hollywood movie producers saying they want her to star in their new film. But really, we’re the movie producers and we get some random kid with a camera to film her doing all sorts of stupid crap that we can splice together to create Melody Davenport: Documentary of a Dimwit.”

  “Now you’re thinking. Or we pay some poor sap to go out with her. If she ever threatens you again, we tell everyone she was dating a male escort the whole time.”

  “Are you regurgitating the plot to every movie ever watched at a thirteen-year-old’s slumber party?”

  “Thirteen-year-olds watch movies about male escorts?” His brows furrowed playfully.

  “You might be onto something with getting her a boyfriend, though.” I chugged the rest of the can. “Maybe if Melody is happily in love, she’ll leave the rest of us alone for a while.”

  “Or, I could get her alone somewhere,” he said, dropping his voice. “A mountaintop with a view, like Vista de La Luna. And then, whoops. She fell.”

  I snorted into my sleeve. “Or you could kiss too long, and oh dear, I think she suffocated.” I slapped a hand over my mouth, feigning shock.

  Brandon laughed, flashing that dimple on his right cheek. “I doubt anyone could really get away with murder in Maribel. Everyone sees everything. When I was nine, I tried to steal a candy bar from Carver’s. By noon, my mom and everyone else in town knew about it. No one kills anyone here because they’d get caught.”

  “You could get away with it,” I said smugly. “Trust me, as a longtime viewer of the Investigation Discovery channel. You’d just have to know the perfect place. The perfect time. The perfect method. It could definitely be done.”

  He shook his head, an amused curve to his features. “Now I’m really curious about what she’s got on you.”

  I turned away. “Just something on her phone.”

  “Something we could delete?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “If we had her password.”

  He was silent for a long beat. Then he nodded once. With finality. “Whatever it is, I’m going to fix it for you.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and when I tilted my head, a fuzzy Gideon stared down at me. “Hey, everything good?” I couldn’t help but notice his focus on the lack of space separating Brandon’s hand and my thigh.

  “Of course.” I stood up, swaying a little. Gideon wrapped an arm around my hip to steady me.

  “Some of us are headed to Gina’s, but I’ll tell Asher to take you home.”

  “No, I want to come. We—we want to come. Right, Brayden?” I giggled at the intentional fumble and motioned with a floppy hand for Brandon to follow us.

  He shrugged. “Sure, Casey. Why not top off a few beers with a double chocolate shake? What could go wrong?”

  “What could go wrong?” I slurred.

  Gideon pressed his lips flat and slung Brandon a look. It sent an effervescent charge through me. Even in my muddled head, I knew what that look meant.

  Ten minutes later, we squeezed into a red booth at Gina’s Diner. I nestled against the wall with Gideon at my side, watching the red and white checkered tiles across the room shift and drop like a game of Tetris. Brandon sat down across from me with Asher on the end.

  More kids from the party spilled into the diner until every booth and counter stool became occupied. Melody settled into the booth behind us, and I crouched low in my seat, willing myself invisible. Tina, Laura, and Dave joined her.

  Our table ordered a round of milkshakes and two baskets of fries to share. Brandon asked the waitress if he could borrow a pen, and then he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser. He began scribbling, shielding the napkin with his letterman jacket–covered arms.

  Behind him, Melody started blabbing about Seth, who admittedly, was leering off in the corner at an odd hour of the night. “What a stalker,” she said loud enough for the entire bustling diner to hear. Seth was dressed in the Carver’s standard employee uniform, a blue button-down shirt. His little name pin still clung to the front, like he’d just finished a shift. Melody spun around to face him. “You can stop staring at us now. Weirdo.”

  Seth reddened, his gaze lowering to his Coke.

  The waitress came back to our table and started passing out milkshakes. I attempted to talk to Gideon, but Melody had used her diner employee privileges to duck behind the counter and crank up the ’50s music. She and Laura began dancing and trying to tug the guys from their seats. Asher pulled out his phone, like he was regretting his decision to chaperone a bunch of children. A blushing Gideon tried to shake the girls off. Dave shrugged and got up, smiling like a dopey Prince Charming as his bulky body swayed awkwardly on the diner floor. I sat still, enjoying the show until a warm hand brushed mine. When I looked down, my palm cupped a napkin.

  Brandon smiled at me from across the booth, and I was still beguiled or intoxicated enough to smile back. The napkin was folded into eighths. I unfolded as discreetly as possible.

  Cass, just wanted to let you know you’re still wrong. It isn’t possible

  I rested my chin on my fist, a smile tugging at my mouth. Brandon was trying to keep the comradery going. The thought gave me a rush, like drinking three espressos, one after another. Joking with Brandon, sharing our darkest secrets. It was thrilling in a way nothing else was.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Laura had stopped dancing to glare icily at me. She probably thought Brandon was asking me on a date.

  I pressed a knuckle to my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Let her think that. I fumbled around for the pen, knocking over a water glass. Gideon wiped it up with more napkins, but not before it had seeped through the one in my hand. I dug inside my purse and pulled out the notebook, flipping the spiral-bound pages to a clean section at the back. Then I started scribbling.

  No, you’re wrong. Get her to the abandoned sawmill. She won’t go willingly. So take her somewhere romantic first, like the creek behind my house. There’s never anyone there during school hours. Load her up on raspberry wine coolers flavored with a little something extra. Then get her to the mill and strangle her. Perfect time. Perfect place. Perfect method. Perfect murder.

  Gideon’s fingers unfolded, ready to receive the notebook. Instead, my hand glided across the table and Brandon’s covered it. That surge of adrenaline—stronger than the ones during volleyball matches—hit me when our hands touched. I released the notebook and seconds later, he licked his lips and started scribbling again.

  Gideon tensed at my side. He was looking at Brandon the way he did at the party—like he might reach across the table and grab him by his letterman jacket. Brandon finished writing and pushed the notebook into my hand again. I took a sip of my strawberry milkshake and read the response.

  I had no idea you were this weird. Tell me what she did to you.

  The straw slid from my lips, tiny pink droplets falling onto the pages. I rubbed my fingers over the back of my scorching hot neck and wrote.

  She has a photo.

  Brandon took the notebook, read, and then looked up, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

  My cheeks warmed. “Not that kind of photo,” I whispered, acutely aware of Gideon listening in.

  Brandon gave a dramatic wink, and I giggled. He smiled widely, deepening the dimple on his cheek. It was possible I didn’t hate that dimple anymore.

  Gideon leaned over the table. “What are you—” His hand shot out as he tried, unsuccessfully, to snatch the notebook. But Brandon clutched it tightly to his chest. I squealed, giggling as Brandon hurtled over the back of the booth. He did a slow-motion run, feint toss, and spin before passing it back to me. And I slipped it safely back inside my purse.

  At least, I thought I did.

  All I know is Brandon and I were laughing, Gideon and Laura were fuming, and everyone else in the diner was a dizzy blur.

  I did a lot of reck
less things that night. Drank too much. Chatted and giggled with a sworn enemy. Forgot about Gideon as the booze swam in my veins until Brandon’s dark eyes became warm and that crater dimple transformed into something disarming.

  The most reckless thing I did that night: falling for Brandon’s act.

  Now, I look up at Gideon, trying to bury my thoughts about Brandon. As long as he has that notebook, I can’t say a word about him. To anyone. Gideon leans against my desk, studying me. I reach out and touch his shoulder reassuringly. “I am being honest with you.”

  8

  A few minutes later, we’re all piled onto my bed. Gideon is convincing Asher to drive us, since biking into sketchy neighborhoods in the dark isn’t the safest. Asher’s forehead wrinkles. “So then, where are we going?”

  “Remember Seth Greer?” I ask. “He was in your grade.”

  “You mean creepy Seth from behind the bleachers?”

  “That’s the one. Do you know anything about him?”

  Asher pauses thoughtfully before nodding. “He was creepy. And he lived behind the bleachers.”

  I sigh. “We saw him and Melody arguing yesterday morning outside the diner. And now Gideon thinks he was the person in the woods. So we’re going to spy on him.”

  Asher shrugs and heads off to tell my parents we’re going for ice cream. Then the three of us cram into Asher’s Prius, me in the passenger’s seat and Gideon in the back.

  Seth’s house is two streets from Melody’s, in a neighborhood where rusted chain-link fences barely squeeze between the houses. We park at the end of the block and turn off the engine. It’s dark, but the streetlamps cast a faint glow.

  Asher digs through the glove compartment for his flashlight. “What’s the plan?”

  “We could knock on the door and try to get Emily to invite us in,” I suggest.

  “So this is like The Lost Boys.” Asher turns to grin at me. “We’re vampires.”

  “It isn’t funny,” Gideon mutters.

  “I meant we don’t have to sneak around,” I say. “Gideon and I are friends with—well, we know Emily. I can ask for help with the physics homework. You could just be along for the ride,” I say, motioning to Gideon.