Little Creeping Things

by Chelsea Ichaso

  All heads pivoted in my direction. My ears grew hotter and my throat constricted. Melody proceeded to pull out the tiny slips of paper and read the names. Once every name had been read, she placed a perfectly manicured hand on the pile of papers and said, “Well, that’s thirteen votes for Laura, and one vote for Cassidy.” Then she brought the hand up to her mouth. “Oh, Cass, you didn’t vote for yourself, did you? That’s so tacky. Plus, you didn’t even qualify.” A shrill kookaburra cackle echoed off the gymnasium walls.

  Most of the girls stared at their feet. Tina looked at Laura in horror. Lillian mouthed, “Sorry, Cass,” like someone had put a gun to her head.

  I ran from the gym. I had no plan. I just had to get outside before I cried or tore someone in half. Portable classrooms lined the back of the campus, their doors facing the dirt road behind the school. I headed toward them, prepared to duck and hide until the tears passed.

  But someone shouted my name. Melody. What the hell did she want now? I picked up speed, skirting the wall and stealing to the front of the portable wing. I tried one door after another until I found an open one and slipped inside. It was the chemistry room.

  I shut the door behind me, ready to face a confused Mr. Ladd, the teacher. But the room was empty. Mr. Ladd must’ve been making copies or getting coffee.

  I lowered onto the paper-thin carpet, the laughter from the gym still ringing in my ears. Then the tears came.

  My attempts to calm down only made my nose drip harder. I was mid-sniffle when the door clicked open. I jumped to my feet, ready for Mr. Ladd to yell at me for being in his room without permission.

  But in walked Melody. She paused in the doorway, hair windblown. Pink lipstick still intact. Brown leather bag slung over her shoulder like she’d stepped into a department store. “Cassidy, what are you doing in here?”

  I stood beside a filing cabinet, wiping at my nose.

  “Is this still Mr. Ladd’s room? He doesn’t know you’re in here, does he?”

  I sniffed. “Why are you following me?”

  She batted her blue eyes innocently. “Coach sent me to check on you.”

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Cassidy, are you”—one more blink as her body shifted to block the doorway—“crying?” Cue long, dramatic sigh. “Here.” She dug into her bag like I was a two-year-old and she was trying to find a piece of candy to shut me up. Instead, she pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. “Take it,” she said impatiently.

  “I don’t smoke.”

  Melody rolled her eyes and slid the cigarette between her glossy lips. She lit it, took a long drag, and her mouth curled around the sizzling paper. “That’s right,” she said, removing it with two slender fingers. She blew a puff of smoke in my direction. “You pyro people have other ways of coping with stress.” Her eyes skipped over the room. “I think I can accommodate.”

  “I appreciate your effort.” I moved toward the door, trying to brush past her. “But I’m good.”

  She lifted the lighter then, clicking on the flame and pointing it at me until I backed up. “Just wait a minute. You’ll feel better if you light something on fire.” She still smiled, but her gaze sharpened. Enough to cut glass. “You know, like you lit my little cousin on fire.”

  A tingle ran from my scalp to my lower spine. I had to play it cool. Everything I did—every tear I shed, every nervous twitch—would be the talk of Maribel High by the next morning. “You’re going to set off the smoke detector.” I played with the ends of my ponytail, which started sticking to my sweaty palms.

  Melody flicked her chin at the ceiling. “These portables don’t have smoke detectors. No alarms. No air-conditioning either, for that matter.” Then she grabbed a rag off the whiteboard sill and lowered the lighter. She examined the ink-smudged fabric quizzically as it ignited. Its once-crisp edges twisted and blackened, and wispy fumes spiraled into the air.

  “Knock it off, Melody.” Louder this time.

  “Come on, Cass. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.” She lifted the burning rag like a flag. Up and down. The smoke fanned, filling the room, and my mind darkened.

  I shut my eyes, but the flames still flashed in my head. Only this time, I wasn’t standing in a portable classroom. I was seated in a small playhouse. The faintest scent of apple pumpkin spice still lingered under the scent of burnt wood. Beneath the crumbling table, my doll peeked out, its big blue eyes staring up at me.

  Sara was sprawled unconscious on the floor.

  I blinked to find Melody staring at me with enormous doll eyes. My heart jolted. I was back in the portable, but I was still seeing things. “Wow.” Her voice came out small. Squeaky. The voice of a child. “This is really working, isn’t it? Like some twisted therapy for psychos.”

  It was working. I was remembering. I only wished I could go further back. To just before the playhouse ignited. “I said knock it off.” Again I tried to push past her, but she blocked me with the burning cloth.

  “I’m only—ouch!” Melody dropped the shriveling remains of the rag onto the shabby carpet and her finger flew into her mouth. By her feet, the smoking edge of the fabric brushed a cardboard box of papers—probably homework Mr. Ladd had set by the door to grade—and the whole thing caught fire.

  “What is wrong with you?” I screamed, frantically searching for something to put it out. The box erupted, smoke gushing. Flames crackled and leapt in every direction. I finally spotted the fire extinguisher clear across the room. Melody stood in a daze, like she couldn’t fathom how this had happened. Beside her, fiery tentacles crawled from the box to the bookshelf lining the back wall. They climbed up the spines of the books like a red, hot phantom, igniting the wooden frame and reaching the ceiling.

  But I didn’t want to let the fire go. Not yet. First, I wanted to remember. I shut my eyes again.

  This time, I didn’t find myself in the playhouse. There was no hint of apple pumpkin spice. Instead, I saw Melody inside the portable classroom. I saw myself charge past her.

  Slamming the door with her still inside.

  Holding it shut as her screams rang through the melting walls and the flames ate her alive.

  My eyelids flung open.

  A cloud of smoke shifted over the ceiling, followed closely by flames. Like a bright orange tsunami, they covered the ceiling. Flashover. I’d heard the term after my playhouse burnt down. Molten droplets poured overhead and smoke cascaded around us. Melody was still standing there, useless. So I dashed toward her, shoving her out of the classroom before the fire consumed her.

  I turned back to try for the fire extinguisher again. But the smoke swirled thick around me. The room swayed. I swayed. Then I collapsed onto my knees, searching deep inside for an ounce of strength to pull myself to my feet. I looked up to find Melody watching me from the door frame, her eyes still far too big. Far too blue.

  She had her phone. It barely flashed through the raging flames, but I caught a glimpse of silver-white amid the plumes of smoke.

  Melody was snapping a photo of me while I was trying to put out the fire. “What are you doing?” I screamed. “I just saved your life and you’re taking pictures?”

  “Just some insurance,” Melody sputtered through a cough. “Let’s go! It’s out of control!”

  I covered my face with the bottom of my practice shirt and sprinted after Melody. Once we’d made it far enough from the portable, I pulled out my phone.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked, snatching it.

  I wheezed and tried to grab the phone back. “Calling nine-one-one before every building on campus catches fire.”

  “If you call them, they’ll know you started the fire.”

  “But I didn’t,” I protested, glancing back at the billows of smoke and gasping for breath.

  “Really?” Melody sneered. “Because that’s what it looks like.” She held up
her own phone, exhibiting the photo of me crouched before the growing flames.

  “But you—”

  “No one will believe it was me. Not with the photo. Not with your history. You’d better let someone else spot the smoke and call.”

  “It might be too late.” Behind us, the bungalow ceiling creaked and moaned.

  “I’m going back to practice,” she said, slapping my phone back into my palm. “You should get out of here.” She started moving alongside the wing of portables, out of view from the football field and the practicing cheerleaders.

  “Melody, wait! You can’t show anyone that photo.”

  She paused, mouth twitching like she was working not to smile. “You want me to keep quiet about the fact that Fire Girl is back at it again?”

  Despite the heat from the flames, a chill wracked my body. “Please. I saved you.”

  Melody’s mouth softened, but her eyes sparkled. “I might be able to keep it to myself. For a price.”

  I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. “What’s that?”

  She licked her lips and spun around. “I’ll let you know.” Then she sprinted off toward the side door to the gymnasium.

  Shouts of “fire” erupted from the football field. The cheerleaders in the common area began to squeal. I climbed the fence behind the last classroom and never looked back.

  That night the local news reported that a classroom at Maribel High had nearly burned to the ground. No one had been hurt, but everything in the building was lost, and there was minor damage to the surrounding classrooms. The fire chief believed it to be a result of arson. No arrests had been made.

  No one had seen me enter the portable—no one except Melody, who seemed hell-bent on proving to everyone in Maribel that I was a bad seed. And the proof was on her phone. All I could do was wait.

  I never told Gideon about Election Day. Or Asher. I was too worried they’d try to fix it and authorities would believe Melody over me. I want to tell Gideon now, to enlist his help against Seth or whoever’s doing this. But this person threatened the ones I love; the cops already think Gideon’s involved. I can’t put him in any more danger.

  All I know is the cops came up empty. I’ll have to dig without involving Gideon or anyone close to me. And I might not have to do it alone.

  12

  The next day, I snatch up Emily Greer as my partner for our U.S. History decade assignment and invite her over after school. It’s easy; Emily follows around us volleyball players—even the lowest on the totem pole—like we’re celebrities.

  That afternoon my mom is surprised but pleased when I introduce her to Emily. My mom loves Gideon but constantly encourages me to make more friends. Sweet Emily exceeds her expectations.

  The two of us settle into my room, using my laptop to research our assigned decade: the 1930s. My room door is wide open, and, five minutes in, Asher strolls by. He pauses when he notices my usual companion has been replaced.

  “Hi, Emily,” he says, and her freckles vanish in a wave of red. Asher pretends not to notice. “How’s your brother? Haven’t seen him around much.” He smiles like he has no clue he’s nearly killed her. Asher and Seth were never friends; this is formality and Asher being Asher. Last week, he stopped to ask my mom’s friend Louisa Stevens about her sick dog. I threw up a little in my mouth.

  Emily continues to stare, so Asher turns to me. “What are you two working on?”

  “Just a project for U.S. History.”

  “Ah, yes. The good old decade assignment. Well, I’m off to finish some work. Happy studies, ladies.” He tips an imaginary hat and heads down the hall.

  Once Emily recovers, it’s clear her mind is not in the 1930s. “I can’t believe Asher Pratt knows my name,” she breathes. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  Sighing, I set my laptop aside. “No, he’s pretty busy with his company.”

  Emily rests her chin on her palm dreamily. “Yeah, I remember he was super smart.”

  “Right…so, what’s your brother up to these days?” I pick at my fingernails and try much too hard to act casual.

  “Seth? He’s still working at the drugstore. Not much ambition. Not like Asher.”

  “What’s he like, anyway?”

  Emily’s eyes sink to the wood floor warily.

  “I’m not making fun of your brother, I promise. I wouldn’t do that.” Emily’s lips purse, but she stays quiet. “I just mean, do you guys hang out much? I hang out with Asher all the time, so I was curious.”

  Emily looks back up with a grin. “It’s not because you have some mammoth crush on my brother?”

  I manage a chuckle. “You got me. I just wanted a date with an older guy.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to inform you, he’s taken.”

  My eyes widen before I can stop them. I nod, trying to mask my shock. “Oh, that’s great. Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “You tell me. He’s been so secretive about it. I’ve never even met her.” Emily rolls her eyes. “But I know she’s real. At least, I’m pretty sure she’s real.”

  My heart flaps in my chest. “How do you know she’s real?”

  “Well, he goes out to meet her all the time and brings her stuff. I guess he could eat the chocolates himself, but why buy the flowers?”

  My foot jitters and my palms slip over the back of the laptop. Gideon and I assumed the argument in front of the diner was Melody telling off her stalker. Was it actually a lovers’ spat? Between Melody and the guy she didn’t want anyone to know about? It would explain why they were in the woods together. I run a clammy hand through my hair and shrug. “Maybe he became a vegetarian.”

  Emily giggles. “Can we please go back to talking about your brother?”

  I let out a long breath. “Because why would we actually talk about the 1930s?”

  One way or another, I’m going to have to get into the Greer house.

  * * *

  After Emily leaves, I find Asher in the kitchen, eating ice cream. It’s my favorite—peanut butter chocolate crunch from Daisy’s Ice Cream Parlor in town—so I help myself to a bowl. “Hey, Asher, I wanted to ask you something about Seth.”

  Asher squints. “Are you and Gideon still looking into that guy?”

  “Sort of. Except I’m doing it alone because Gideon is MIA.”

  “What? Cass, that doesn’t sound safe.” His spoon clanks in the bowl as his fingers move to the scars on his left hand.

  I pretend not to notice, the way I always pretend when Asher goes into security guard mode. “Just tell me what you know about him. All the kids think he took Melody. They’re even giving Emily hell about it.”

  Asher’s eyebrows lift, but he shrugs. “Well, you can’t blame them, I guess. You walked by those bleachers. I’m sure you remember how uncomfortable he made everyone feel.”

  I set my spoon down and lean in. “Yeah, but is that it? Did he ever actually do anything to anyone? The cops don’t seem to be looking at him.”

  “There were rumors about him figuring out girls’ locker combinations and taking stuff,” he says with a head tilt, “but I’m not sure he was ever caught. Girls would say he was following them around.”

  I busy my mouth with a bite of ice cream as guilt swishes in my stomach. But I can’t stop myself from blurting, “Emily said he has a secret girlfriend!”

  Asher’s shoulders straighten. “Okay.” He draws out the word.

  “Well, what if…what if it was Melody?”

  “Melody and Seth?” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I know you’re trying to help, Cass, but let the cops do their jobs.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “It was one thing when Gideon and I were with you. But if Seth’s the guy, he’s more dangerous than everyone thought.” Asher gets up and ambles toward the kitchen door, bowl in hand. “Just stay away from him, okay?” He waits for me to nod and t
hen motions past the door. “I’m taking mine to my room. I’ve got a little more work to do.”

  “See you.” I spin back around, my head nearly sinking into my bowl. I’ll never find the proof I need by keeping far away from Seth.

  I stay, swirling the ice cream around with my spoon in the quiet of the empty kitchen. After a minute, I check my phone again, a habit I picked up the moment Gideon began to distance himself from me.

  Minutes drag by. I stare at the tiny screen on my phone for most of them, willing the glowing beacon of a new text message to replace my reflection. I’m too antsy to sit here. I grab my phone, shrug on my backpack, and head out the door.

  I hop on my bike, headed toward Gina’s Diner. Maybe I’ll have some coffee and get a little homework done. Maybe, since Melody worked at the diner, I’ll catch some town gossip.

  And, just maybe, I’ll run into Seth Greer. He was there the last time I went to Gina’s.

  When I hit the main drag, I spot a familiar car parked in the small lot across from the diner. It’s a blue Honda Civic with a peeled and puckering Maribel High Football bumper sticker.

  Brandon Alvarez’s car.

  Brandon’s in the front seat, so I duck behind the wall. He had an alibi: Tina Robbins. No wonder it seemed like he was interrogating me yesterday. He thinks I followed my own plan and got rid of Melody.

  But maybe Brandon can help me. He already knows about the notebook, and he isn’t a “loved one.” Maybe he’ll be able to help with my investigation. I remember that furrowed look of concern at the party. The finality of his words. Whatever it is, I’m going to fix it for you.

  Would he help me now?

  If he’s headed to the diner, I can accidentally bump into him. I wait a few minutes, but he doesn’t budge. His head is tilted toward his lap, like he’s texting someone.