“Lana, it’s me.” As in, Caleb.
“Hey, what’s up?” I tried unsuccessfully to sound casual.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Oh yeah?” I said. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Never, ever play three varsity sports in one season,” he groaned. “I want to see you. It’s been insane down here. Lucky for you I’m recovering from an ear infection, so I get to miss a water polo game this weekend. If I come up to Sonoma on Saturday, can you hang out?”
My cheeks hurt from smiling. “I think I may be free,” I said. I forgot that I hated him. All was forgiven.
Five minutes after I got off the phone with him, it rang again.
I picked it up before my dad could.
“Miss me that bad?” I said, laughing.
There was silence for a few seconds. “Good evening.” The voice was deep and accented.
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Is your father there, Lana?” His voice gave me chills, like something evil was creeping out of the phone.
I heard my dad pick up in his room. “Victor?”
Victor’s voice changed. It got sharper. Rougher. “The situation has changed. We need to talk.”
I put the phone back in the cradle.
What situation?
***
By the time Caleb rang the doorbell Saturday afternoon, I had been in and out of three pairs of jeans. I ended up in some old ones. They were newly washed and felt soft and snug on my legs. I didn’t want to look as excited as I felt, so I had pulled on an old t-shirt and a fitted flannel shirt.
He showed up looking amazing in jeans, a navy sweater, and a black Patagonia jacket. It felt like I had just said good-bye to him yesterday instead of five weeks ago. It’s been five weeks since he kissed you.
“You look great.” He grinned at me like a fool. I’m pretty sure I did the same, since my cheeks started to ache.
“Thanks. Want to come in?”
He glanced behind me. “Is your dad here?”
“He works on Saturdays.”
His eyes twinkled at me. “If you’re offering me a tour, the answer is hell yes.” He stepped inside and looked around. I cringed. No Sub-Zero fridge, no marble countertops. The toilet in the bathroom had one of those soft, puffy seats.
“Here you see our magnificent kitchen, where I make the culinary magic happen,” I said. “Down this hall is the den and our luxurious sleeping accommodations.”
“Any magic happen in those?” he asked. My face flushed and he grabbed my hand as I led him down the hallway. Pale winter light streamed through the windows at the back of the house, casting shadows behind us as we walked.
Caleb stopped when he saw the photographs on the wall. Framed pictures and newspaper clippings of my dad in his glory days. Him with his pit crew, him racing, him holding trophies.
“Is this is your dad?” He read one of the clipping’s headlines. “‘Goodwin Wins Again.’ I can now confirm that your dad is the coolest dad ever.”
“Maybe he used to be. He raced for a long time, until he crashed. My mom made him quit after that.”
Caleb regarded me with curiosity. “Well, ex-race car driver sounds a lot cooler than what my dad does. ‘Venture capital attorney.’ It’s so boring I could die.” But probably a little better for paying the bills.
He moved down the hall to the family photographs. Me as a baby. Me at three. Me at four. Me at five. Me at six. Me at seven.
My mom was the designated family photographer. There were no photos of me after age seven.
Caleb stood in front of the last picture on the wall.
“Is that your mom?” In it, we’re sitting on the front porch of the house, a few weeks before she died.
“Yeah.”
He looked over at me. “I guess it runs in the family.”
“What does?”
“Strawberry blond hair. And gorgeousness.” I opened my mouth to respond but I forgot what I was going to say, because right there in our creaky hallway littered with dusty photographs, standing right where I’d stood a thousand times in my pajamas, he kissed me. Kissed me like he needed it.
He pulled away and blew out a breath. “This is officially the best house tour I’ve ever had. Is there anything else you’d like to show me?” I tried to pull my thoughts together, but they’d scattered to bits.
“Um, no, that’s pretty much it. Except for the bedrooms.”
“Oooh, I love girls’ rooms,” he said. How many has he been in?
He tapped on my door. “This one, right?” I nodded. “I can always tell.” Nerves zipped up and down my spine. My brain scanned a frantic mental checklist:
Embarrassing/unflattering photos of myself stashed under bed? Check.
Pre-teen novels removed from bookshelf? Check.
Computer web browsing history cleared? Check.
Yes, I had prepared a little, just in case. He opened the bedroom door and gestured to me. “After you.”
He went right over to the crammed bookshelf next to my desk.
“I haven’t even read half of these. But, I’m not going to start now.”
He pulled me over to the bed and half tossed, half pushed me onto it. I landed, laughing, and tried to get myself into a less compromising position. Before I could sit up and straighten myself out, Caleb was leaning over me, one hand slipping under me and around my waist, the other pushing the hair out of my eyes. He hoisted me up a little and pressed his body to mine. I closed my eyes and our mouths met. I pulled his head down to mine. He let out a soft groan. His hand slid up my back, under my t-shirt, and I felt his fingers graze the strap of my bra.
“How long till your dad bursts in here with a shotgun?” he whispered, his face buried in my hair.
“Probably an hour. Longer if he stops to buy the shotgun.” Our faces were just inches apart. I stared at the individual lashes around his bright eyes and raked my fingers through his hair.
“Oh Lana,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re killing me.”
“Should I stop?”
“Absolutely not. Do not stop.” He gripped me tighter and his mouth was everywhere—my neck, sliding down my neck to my clavicle. My shirt buttons became unbuttoned. My hands were lost in his hair, and my mind was lost in the sensation of lips on skin. His hands moved up the side of my body, swept under my thin t-shirt and over my bra. One hand stopped and cupped my breast.
Heat swept over me and my stomach muscles clenched tight.
“Caleb, wait.” His mouth covered mine again. My brain was lolling in a waterbed of pure bliss. I did not want him to go further. Well, I did, but not now. Not here. Not with my dad coming home soon.
“Caleb. Wait!” I gripped his hair in my hands and pulled his head back a few inches.
“Okay, okay.” He stared at me, a look of delight on his face. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His fingers traced the edge of my shirt again. He leaned down to kiss the V where the last button on my shirt was still valiantly defending my honor.
“Do you kiss a lot of boys in this room?” he asked. I sat up and buttoned my shirt.
I shook my head. This is going to suck. “You’re the first.”
“Oh.” He looked chastened.
“Ever.”
He looked confused.
“First guy you kissed in your room?”
“First ever…anything. Anywhere.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Wait, so, you mean, you never—?”
“Right.”
He looked like he’d discovered I was a vampire. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. He let out a deep breath and chuckled. “That pretty much makes you a unicorn at Briar. I thought so. We all start out that way, right? I’m glad you told me.” I didn’t bother asking him if he was a virgin. Pretty sure I could guess the answer.
I heard a car pull up the driveway.
“I think my dad’s home.”
Caleb winked. “To be continued.”
&nbs
p; ***
Wolf House in Jack London Park was a wrecked castle of stone and shadows. Jack London’s towering dream house he built for his beloved wife, Charmian. The roof burned away in a fire days before they moved in. Massive three-story stone walls supported open-air walkways in the sky that were half-hidden by towering trees. Rounded doorways led to nowhere. A thick pelt of emerald moss carpeted the ground inside. Twin stone chimneys stood guard at the entrance, fifty feet tall. A sunken reflecting pool was now a deep lake of brackish rainwater that dominated the inner courtyard.
I thought I knew everything about Wolf House, but I hadn’t known it was such a perfect place to make out with a boy. The few tourists wandering around didn’t notice the teenage couple kissing in a shadowy corner of the ruins.
“I really did miss you, Lana,” he said. “You have no idea.” His words sent tendrils of warmth through my body. His kisses crept from my neck to my lips. A haze of pheromones and heat radiated off our bodies and all rational thought shut down. This is what physical attraction feels like.
It was like discovering a new drug. I was becoming addicted to Caleb Weaver.
He suddenly broke away. There was a weird look on his face.
“Lana, don’t turn around,” he said, “but that fat guy over there is staring at us.”
“What? Where?”
He nodded his head in the direction of the reflecting pool. “Be casual.” I crouched down and pretended to tie my shoes. A portly man wearing a raincoat, wireframe glasses, and a 49ers hat was staring at a map. He had a brown cigarette clamped between his teeth. I caught a whiff of the smoke. It smelled like cloves.
The man kept glancing at us and back to his map. Then over at us, and back to his map. When he caught me looking at him, he wandered away.
“Weird. What was he doing?” I asked.
“Obviously checking out the best-looking girl in Sonoma County. Come on, I should get you back.” Gray clouds were spooling across the valley, swallowing the sun. We walked down a rustic pathway. Rays of light filtered through the trees. It gave the misty air an unreal, dreamy quality.
A loud crack of thunder rang out and raindrops started pelting us. We ran to his car.
I knew I was falling in love with Caleb Weaver. But I didn’t experience girlish joy or giddy delight or whatever you’re supposed to feel when you’re falling in love for the first time.
I just felt dread.
***
Once we made it to my driveway, it took a good twenty minutes to say good-bye to each other in his car. By the time I got the door open my hair was all mussed and my cheeks hurt from kissing. Caleb had to head back to the city—his parents were throwing a big party in San Francisco for his little brother and his entire class.
It was still raining, so I ran into the house holding my jacket over my head.
I didn’t notice the rose bushes.
When I stepped inside, the fragrance hit me like a wall.
“Dad, are you here?” There was no response.
My throat tightened up. I dropped my bag at the door and scanned the kitchen and den. I didn’t see anything out of place.
I took a step forward and heard a muffled crunch. A rose from the garden lay crushed under my shoe.
I screamed when I saw the rest of them.
There were roses strewn from the front door down the hallway to the bedrooms. Not strewn—someone had carefully placed a rose every couple feet. All the roses were pointing in the same direction, like arrows.
Ghost, was this you?
I forced myself to pull my phone out of my pocket. I dialed 911 and my finger hovered over the Send button. I forced myself to follow the roses. They curved to the right and ended at the door to my bedroom.
A single rose hung from a noose made with a man’s black leather belt.
Not leather—some kind of reptile skin.
The loop was cinched tight below the blossom. The rose murderer had held the belt against my bedroom door and stabbed a slender knife through it, so the terrifying thing hung at eye level.
It was no ghost. My body went rigid and I tried to scream again, but only a strangled whimper emerged.
The phone in my room rang. I forced myself to turn the knob and fling my door open.
Whoever had broken in had trashed my room. Someone had emptied every drawer onto the floor. Clothes, school papers, books, shoes—all my worldly possessions, in a few jumbled heaps on the floor. My jewelry box was overturned on my desk.
The phone rang again and I nearly leaped out of my skin.
“Hello?”
“Hi honey, it’s me. How was your date?” I fell apart.
“Dad! Someone broke into the house. They went through all my stuff, ruined mom’s garden. We have to call the cops.”
His voice turned ice cold. “No. Do not do that. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
***
My father yanked the knife out of the door. The belt clattered to the floor, beheading the rose. Severed from its stem, the rose blossom tumbled across the floor.
I stood with my arms crossed in front of him. Adrenaline pumped through my body. He picked up the belt and examined it.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or should I call the cops?”
His face contorted in a way I’d never seen before. He grabbed me by my upper arms and shook me.
“Under no circumstances can you go to the police, Lana! Do you understand?”
I stared at him. Not again. This can’t be happening again. I was in danger again, because of him. More than when we lived with the Crawfords, possibly.
“Let me guess,” I snapped. “Your wonderful investor Victor is actually some kind of loan shark and he wants you to start paying up. You can’t. So he’s trying to scare you.”
He released my arms and sank to the floor in front of my room. “Maybe.”
I shook my head in disgust. “You were just telling me how great he was.”
He let out a tremendous sigh. “We had a deal. He changed the terms on me.”
“So let’s sell this stupid house already! We can make enough to pay him back and we’ll have plenty to live on.”
“Stupid house? What happened to ‘over my dead body’?”
“I didn’t mean it literally!” I went to the kitchen and found the broom in the utility closet. I started sweeping up the broken stems and leaves and crushed petals littering the hallway.
He held the scooper for me. I carefully swept the destroyed roses into it. “Anyway, it’s too late to sell,” he murmured.
“What?” I gasped. “What do you mean?” He gave me a halfhearted smile.
“Nothing, nothing. It’s all going to be okay. Don’t worry, honey.”
It was pretty far from okay.
But I just kept sweeping.
Mare Undarum ~ Sea of Waves
Do NOT tell me what he looks like with no shirt on again,” I pleaded. “I get it.”
I needed to keep my mind on my notes—I had a history quiz after lunch on the French Revolution but Piper kept right on describing Wyatt’s upper body in rich detail, including his extensive collection of tattoos. It was a warm day for early February. We were sitting in our usual lunch spot and the breeze was ruffling my skirt. The scent of flowers wafted up from the vineyards on the hillsides around school. The pear tree next to our bench was in full bloom with dazzling white flowers. They floated down on us whenever the breeze rattled its limbs.
Spring fever was percolating. The end was near and we all felt it.
“Piper, enough!”
“Sorry, sorry. Hey, Valentine’s Day is this weekend. Should we all do something? Do you and Caleb have any plans?”
I slammed my notebook shut. “Caleb has a water polo game,” I lied. “In San Diego.”
“He has one, like, every weekend. Can’t they give him one day off?”
“I guess not.” The rest of the afternoon I was in a horrid mood. If I had to hear about Valentine’s Day one more time I wo
uld kill someone.
At senior assembly, things got worse. Olivia Miller, the class social chair, announced the theme of the prom.
“This year’s spring formal will be at a fabulous hotel in downtown Sonoma. The theme is A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You have six weeks to find those dates, ladies! We want 100% participation this year. No excuses.” She pointed her finger around the room like she meant it. But I had an excuse. I had a quasi-boyfriend who didn’t know he was my boyfriend.
I made a mental note to tell Justine I’d be available to work that night. My bad mood turned black.
As we walked out of assembly, Piper was still gushing.
“I still can’t believe we have boyfriends just in time for the prom.” She had been repeating this for days on an endless loop. “I just wish Maya and Evan could go with us!”
I fought the urge to stab her with a pencil.
“Oh, you have a boyfriend now, Piper?” Cressida and Ginger materialized behind us. Ginger sneered. “Who’s the lucky dork this time?” Ginger cackled. “Last year your formal date was what, thirteen? That fat kid, remember, Cress?” Cressida smiled her too-wide smile and looked like she was about to swallow something whole.
Cressida cleared her throat. “Lana, I hear the prom committee is looking for some valet parkers. Maybe you’ll get to go this year.”
I smiled back at Cressida. “I’m going with my boyfriend, too. He’s a freshman. In college.”
If I asked him. And he said yes. Which I doubted.
But I’d work out the pesky details later.
Ginger put a finger to her eye and dragged it down her cheek, tracing the track of a nonexistent tear. “Aw, imaginary friends don’t count, Lana.”
Piper let out a tremendous hoot. “Ha-ha! The joke’s on you, Cressida, ’cause—” She bit her lip and grabbed my elbow. “Aw, forget these losers, Lana. Let’s go.”
I stood my ground on the bottom step as hordes of girls streamed past. I was over their mockery. Their condescending attitude. It had to stop. And Piper—if she hadn’t chosen to be my friend, they would never have dared to tease her like that.
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