Emily walks by, unaware of my half-concealed presence behind my locker door. “Hey, Emily! Wait up!” Hastily, I swap out my books and slam the door. Then I scurry over to her. “Are you headed outside?” She was clearly walking toward the auditorium, but I take my chances. “Because some fresh air sounds great.” I flash her a big, fake smile.
Sure enough, she alters her path toward the courtyard, returning the grin until we approach the back doors. “Looks freezing out there,” she says, hesitating. “I don’t have my coat with me.”
“We won’t stay for long. I just need a little breather before third period.”
Outside, the air is biting and blustery. Emily shoots me an impatient look. She has a point. What is Gracie doing out here? I scan the courtyard, keeping my head facing Emily. I have to appear engaged in conversation.
Gideon’s seated on a bench, no sign of being affected in the slightest by the frigid air, staring at Gracie. She’s sitting on the low red brick wall bordering the courtyard, wiping her face. Her violent shivers are noticeable from a distance. As I watch, guilt and sorrow swell in my chest.
Gideon has been pulled out into the freezing cold by a familiar tug. It’s the tug that made him stay behind for theme park day in fourth grade, when Johnny Larson’s parents refused to sign the permission slip. That same tug made Gideon the only sophomore at the senior prom when he found Katie Shaw crying by the drinking fountain and asked if she would be his date. It’s the tug that made us friends in the first place, when he rescued me from the second graders and their Fire Girl jokes.
It tears him up to see someone this way—anyone really, but I bet he feels responsible for Gracie. And I know his mind is spinning, turning over and over, wondering if and how he can fix her.
The thought reaches into me like an invasive woodland vine. It coils around my brain, around my limbs. Filling. Squeezing. Immobilizing. I stand frozen as Emily’s pleas to go inside bounce off my ears on the back of the harsh, whistling wind.
18
Eventually I hear Emily’s pleading and follow her inside. I’ve watched long enough. Watched my best friend slip away.
I’ve got to get him back. Even if that means diving headfirst into whatever game Seth Greer is playing.
Emily said he still lives at home. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get inside his house and look for Melody’s necklace or phone or some proof he’s the guy. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll find that crumpled notebook while I’m at it. And I can burn those pages. This plan means breaking my promise to Asher about staying out of the Greer home. But I ignore the twinge of guilt and ask Emily if we can meet there for our project. She seems reluctant at first—which I attribute to her interest in Asher—but she agrees.
In the daytime, the Greer house is a faded tan, the paint peeling off in patches. One of the rotting porch posts buckles, causing the overhang to tilt. The lawn is an overgrown field of yellow weeds. Emily walks in front of me, ducking her head inside the front door before allowing me to pass.
“My room’s this way.” She squeezes by me in the tight hallway, knocking the poster board I carry. The poster was my excuse to ensure that—one way or another—I ran into Seth today. Since he wasn’t at the drugstore, I’m hopeful he’ll make an appearance here. Emily opens the first door and goes inside. I hang back, peering down the dark hall, which contains two more closed doors, before making a sharp turn.
“Is anyone else home?” I ask, attempting nonchalance as I follow her.
Once inside, I have to blink away the blinding pinkness of the place. Emily’s room looks like the venue of a four-year-old girl’s birthday party. There aren’t any actual balloons, but the number of heart-shaped pillows, Disney princess posters, and bubble gum–colored beads strung from wall to wall could fool anyone. “My parents are at work. Seth might be here. He hasn’t been sneaking off with”—her voice drops—“you know who much lately.”
Because that would mean hanging out with a corpse.
“Yeah,” continues Emily, “I don’t want to know what’s going on there.” She manages to wince without losing her smile.
“Why not?”
Emily balks. “Why don’t I want to know about my brother’s love life? Do you talk to Asher about that kind of stuff?”
I pause thoughtfully. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend. But I think he’d talk to me about it, if he did. We talk about everything.” Well, we used to, before I accused his best friend of murder.
“That must be so great.” Her face softens wistfully.
“I take it you and Seth aren’t very close.”
“I mean, I love him, but he hasn’t exactly made my life easy. Every time I go anywhere, it’s the same thing. Oh, you’re Seth’s sister. And then there’s the look.” She lets out a loud breath. “I know there’s never been an ounce of truth to the rumors about my brother, but still. It’s like…I resent him anyway. I know that sounds terrible.”
“No, I get what you mean. It can’t be easy getting teased for something that has nothing to do with you.” It’s not even easy getting teased for something that has everything to do with you.
“Yeah.” The curve of her lips finally wavers. The ripple of guilt comes back.
We hunker down on the carpet, poster and books sprawled out on our laps. I rest my back against the ruffled pink tulle bed skirt bordering Emily’s bed. I’m anxious to get this over with. I keep straining my ears for footsteps or some sound to give away Seth’s presence in the house.
I sit up, pushing my textbook off me. “Hey, can I use your restroom?”
“Sure.” Emily points toward the open door. “It’s the one on the right.”
“Thanks.” I creep down the hall to the bathroom, pausing by the door on the left side—probably Seth’s room. The wraparound part of the hall likely leads to the master. It’s quiet on the other side of Seth’s door, so I press my ear up against it. Heart pounding, I reach out to place a sweaty hand on the knob. I inhale and twist.
The door opens easily and I lean in, expecting to find the space where all the princesses from one room over come to be executed. Instead, I step inside to find something resembling Asher’s room. The walls are lined with classic rock posters, and a shelf is stocked with books I’ve never heard of. I get a quick flash of the first time I spoke to Seth, my sophomore year, in the school library. He wasn’t into wearing all black and stalking girls yet. He was reading a hardcover—something about ants—and I paused by his table to ask if it was good.
He smiled and lowered the book. “I’d say you were welcome to check it out after me, but it’s my own personal copy.”
I raised a brow. “You already read everything in here?”
He laughed, light and easy. “High school libraries don’t typically carry books of this nature.”
I brought a hand to my mouth and looked over my shoulder. “You’re not saying our school has something against insects, are you?”
“Something like that.” His lips curled. “But you can take a stand for the six-legged creatures and borrow it from me.”
I pointed to my volleyball jersey. “I don’t have much time for extracurricular reading at the moment. But maybe later.”
Now, the books strewn over his desk show that his love of obscure reading material didn’t go out the window along with his old wardrobe. I turn to face the opposite wall, where the bed resides. It’s pretty bare, surprisingly absent of the heavy metal posters and graphic novels with creatures devouring body parts that I’d expected.
Also absent: Seth.
I do a quick scan of the room. The closet is open, revealing a dark, monochrome wardrobe. When I spoke to Seth for the first time in the library, he was wearing green. It turned his hazel eyes into emeralds.
The second time we spoke, his jeans and Converse sneakers were just like everyone else’s, and his eyes looked amber above his yellow shirt. That
second time we were in the library again. Seth seemed to like the library, back in the days before he swapped it for the bleachers.
I approached the table where he was seated, just like the first time. “So, I see you finished your encyclopedia,” I said. “Or did you give up?”
His lips quirked at one side. “Finished it. And Volleyball for Dummies in between, just in case you came back in here. So I’d have something to talk to you about.” His eyes met mine, and my cheeks ignited.
Some people might have found this behavior creepy, borderline stalker, but truthfully, I didn’t. I thought it was kind of sweet. After feeling rejected by Gideon for so long, having a guy put real effort into getting me to notice him was flattering. “Really? And what did you learn?”
“Okay, I made that up. That book might not even exist, but I did a little research. Did you know that volleyball dates back to 1895?”
“They didn’t give us a history lesson. Just a uniform.”
We kept chatting until the librarian shushed us, and I headed off to my locker, beaming the whole way.
I lean inside the closet now, rifling through black shirts and jackets. There’s a wink of metal, and I halt. But it’s only a zipper. I grab the molding to catch my breath. What am I doing in here? Am I really going to find Melody’s necklace hung up next to tomorrow’s outfit? I back out of the closet, tripping over a black boot that toppled from the shoe rack. I recover, hoping Emily’s house has thick walls.
I dash over to the desk, pulling open each drawer in turn. All I need is that necklace, her phone, a love note she sent him. Anything that proves he was seeing her.
The drawers are just as orderly as the rest of the room. There are stacks of paper, envelopes, half-filled-out job applications, and a little tray of pens neatly arranged in compartments. Someone as intelligent as Seth shouldn’t be stuck working in the dinky town drugstore—especially not when it means being harassed on a daily basis. He must’ve stayed for Melody. I flip through the papers, stopping when something colorful catches my eye. Hidden beneath the forms is a collection of photographs. They’re quite good; it seems Seth is somewhat of an amateur photographer. There’s a blue jay perched on the branch of a tree, its lilac-colored blossoms bordering the scene. Beneath it is a photo of a sunset taken from a nearby hiking spot. I dig further, uncovering an image that makes every nerve in my body coil.
In it, a girl bends over to retrieve something from the floor. I recognize the medicine-filled aisles on either side of her. The photo looks like it was snapped from behind the drugstore counter. I also recognize the blond hair and slim figure of the unsuspecting shopper.
It’s Melody Davenport.
I slide the photo into my back pocket and rummage through the remaining drawers, checking over my shoulder every few seconds. But there’s nothing.
I turn to face the bookshelf, my last hope for finding something to prove Seth’s connection to Melody. A thump resounds from the next room. Emily has shifted from her position on the floor. I don’t have much time before she comes to check on me. I kneel down, my fingers skimming each spine until they brush a familiar cover. Last year’s Maribel High yearbook; Asher and I share a copy. But I stop because a slip of paper pokes out from between the pages, like a bookmark. I ease the book from the shelf, my hands shaking beneath its weight. As I let it fall open to the bookmarked page, my stomach springs into my throat.
It’s the volleyball page of the activities section. My photo is at the bottom, alongside the faces of Laura Gellman, Stephanie Reed, and the rest of last year’s varsity squad. But my eyes are immediately drawn to the middle row. There in the center of the pristinely posed group, Melody Davenport’s smile shines brighter than anyone else’s. Her long blond hair is curled to perfection, making Lillian Jeffries’s and Kate Lowe’s photos on either side pale in comparison. But there’s another reason Melody’s photograph stands out among the others.
Her eyes have been removed.
Dark, jagged holes stare back at me as my trembling hands try to keep the book from plummeting to the floor.
I snap a quick photo with my phone and close the yearbook. Thoughts screech in my head, but I have to return the book to the right spot. I thrust it back in, then turn around to find a dark shape in the doorway.
19
Seth Greer glares at me from across the room, blocking my path out the door. I try to catch my breath but manage only shallow intakes of air.
“S-sorry,” I stammer. “I was looking for the restroom.” This lie takes up whatever air supply I had, so Seth’s clothing isn’t the only black in the room. My vision tunnels, his menacing hazel eyes at the focus.
He doesn’t reply, but takes a step toward me. Should I call out to Emily? No. I need to get him talking. I’m already in deep; I have to make sure he was the one in the woods with Melody.
“Um, is it”—I point out the hall—“the one across the way?” No answer. Just another step closer. Okay, one more try. Then I’ll resort to screaming and bulldozing past him. “I’m Cass. We’ve met before, in the library?”
“I remember.” His voice is eerily calm. “Did you come by to borrow that book?”
I slap my head like I’m remembering. “Oh, yeah, about the ants.”
“Termites.”
“Right. I’d love to borrow it. I’ve been wanting to learn more about termites.” I cringe at the squeakiness of my voice.
“Oh, it’s not about termites,” he says with a smirk. “Not really.” Another step. “It’s about a teenage serial killer.”
I take a ragged breath. “I can see you’re still into reading.” My hand shakes as I motion to the piles of books.
One step closer. “And you? You’re a writer now. At least, you sure can weave a story.”
He knows. He’s talking about that day, two years ago.
It was the day Seth and I spoke for the third time. Our conversation started in the library again, but this time it continued into Hathaway Hall. His eyes were a hazy green, like a lake you could just float off into. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt, and a cowboy joke danced on the tip of my tongue.
But Melody Davenport called me over, and I had to say bye to Seth before she could embarrass me in front of him.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting pretty friendly with that nerdy guy.” Her coy smile made my teeth hurt. “What would Gideon think?”
I had always made a point not to answer the girls’ questions about whether Gideon and I were a couple. If I answered in the affirmative, it would’ve been an outright lie. If I answered in the negative, it would’ve meant that Gideon was single. So I just left it ambiguous, which it sort of was. Still, Melody’s threat hit a nerve.
“That guy?” I asked, tossing a thumb over my shoulder to where Seth stood at his locker. “No way. That guy’s stalking me. He told me he read an entire volleyball guide just so he could learn more about me.”
“Uck. Perv.” Even while fake gagging, Melody was gorgeous. “He probably just wanted to look at pictures of girls in spandex.”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
Melody gasped and nudged me. “He’s totally staring at you.”
I turned around, and Seth’s eyes met mine. He waved and gave a shy grin.
I smiled and then twirled right back around to face Melody. “So scary, right?”
“We should go warn the others.” Melody skipped over to where more volleyball players huddled around a cement planter. That kookaburra cackle reverberated off the lockers in her wake.
It was a lie that got away from me. Then it rolled like a tumbleweed, picking up bits and pieces as each student added to the rumor. If Seth was spotted near the bleachers, it was because he was stalking cheerleaders. If Seth ate in the cafeteria, it was because he was spying on girls.
I don’t know what made Seth decide to give in to the rumors. To be the dark, solitary cre
eper we said he was. Maybe it was because he couldn’t even pass through the library anymore without hearing the teasing, the whispers.
I know what that’s like.
And I know what it’s like to want to give in.
I felt bad about Seth. I almost apologized, but he didn’t know it was me. Melody was the loudmouth, so he likely credited her for his newfound infamy. I managed to get Maribel High talking about someone else for a change, and no one was the wiser.
But right now, Seth’s bladed glare is unmistakable: he figured it out.
He knows that every problem he’s had in the last two years, every problem his sister has faced, is thanks to me. And I never could’ve done it without Maribel’s sweetheart, Melody Davenport.
I throw one more desperate glance at the bookshelf before turning back to Seth. “Give it to me.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“My notebook. You have it, and I want it.”
He lifts one dark brow.
“Look, you psycho, I know what you did, and what you’re trying to do to me. You’ll never get away with it.”
“You and Melody always had a knack for name-calling. But I’m confused. You’re in my room, digging through my stuff, and I’m the psycho?”
You and Melody. He sees us as a team. Together, we ruined his life. And now he’s taking the two of us down as a team. The second I leave this place, Seth is going to hand that notebook over to the Oregon State Police.
The only way around this is to give them Seth, to totally slash his credibility before he gets the chance. I didn’t find Melody’s necklace or phone, and I’m not sure how helpful my snapshot of Seth’s yearbook is going to be.
But the creepy photograph he took of Melody is tucked safely inside my back pocket.
Little Creeping Things Page 13