by Sadie Munroe
But Star just laughs. “You get used to it,” she says. “He’s a Resident Advisor. He was in charge of our floor last year. It freaked everyone out so bad. No one on the floor dared do anything where he could see. Guy’s got feet like a cat. Autumn and I tried putting a bell on him last Christmas. It didn’t go well.”
Now I’m picturing probably-a-seriel-killer-Roth with a Santa hat and murder in his eyes. It’s scarring. “Oh god,” I say, scrubbing my hands over my face. “How are the two of you still alive?”
“They have nothing to worry about,” a voice says from behind me, and I just about keel over to see Roth standing behind me. Again. Jesus Christ. But he just calmly takes a sip from his mug and stares at me from above the rim.
“Uh, okay,” I say. “Can I ask why?” Just for my own self-preservation.
“Serial killers generally don’t kill outside their own sexual-preference group,” he says. “Therefore, Autumn and Star would be quite safe, if I had such urges.” He hasn’t blinked once during the entire time he’s been standing there. What the hell is wrong with this guy? My eyes burn as I try to keep an eye on him, but I, unlike Roth, have the urge to blink. Because I’m human. But luckily, before it gets too bad, he takes one last sip of tea and leaves the room. Distantly, I hear him talking to Autumn, and then there’s the sound of the screen door in the front swinging open and then slamming closed again. The metallic rattle echoes through the house, and then Roth’s words finally catch up to me.
I whip around to look at Star, but she’s already laughing. “What. The. Fuck?” I demand.
She just shakes her head, sending her dark hair tumbling around her bare shoulders. Great. Now I’m terrified and turned on at the same time. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Autumn and I aren’t really Roth’s type. If you know what I mean . . . ” She waggles her eyebrows at me. It takes me a shameful amount of time to realize what she’s trying to communicate here.
“You mean . . . ?” I say, and my hands make a weird gesture on their own before I can stop them, my face burning. Fuck. I don’t think I’ve blushed this much since I was a little kid and my friend Johnny told Katie Jenkins that I wanted to kiss her. Which, whatever. It was true. She was adorable. Didn’t want to give me the time of day, though, much to my shame. It sucked being the short kid.
Still kinda does, especially when Star’s friend the BTK killer has a good six inches and probably twenty pounds on me. It’s a little intimidating. I’m man enough to admit that.
But she just smiles at me. “Gay as Christmas,” she confirms, and turns back to the box she was working on, grabbing the flaps and folding them one over the other, so that the box is sealed closed.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.” I turn back to what I’m supposed to be doing, gathering up obvious trash and stuffing it in one of the bajillion garbage bags that are hanging around the house. When I first saw how many she’d bought, I’d laughed, thinking we’d be using them ’til Judgment Day. Now I’m just hoping we have enough. We’ve already been getting dirty looks from people when we go into town. I don’t think that buying out every box of garbage bags in the place is going to endear us to them any further. But as I gather stuff up and shove it into the bag, her words play over and over in my mind, like a record with a skip. I’m missing something. I know I am.
All at once it hits me.
“Wait!” I cry out, louder than I intended to. “How does that help me?” If what Mr. Psychopath said about serial killers is true . . .
Star just grins at me. “You’ve been to prison Ash,” she says. “Toughen up a little.” Then she throws her curtain of long, inky-black hair over her shoulder, picks up the box she was working on and walks out of the room.
Goddamn, I think, feeling the confusing scared/turned on feeling well up inside me as I watch her body sway as she walks away. I’m in way over my head.
Star
“So . . . ?” Autumn sidles up next to me, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. I blink at her.
“So?” I prompt, pulling open another box. I peer down at the contents. Old magazines. Again. I sigh and replace the lid and pull one of the permanent markers out of my pocket. I use my teeth to uncap it, and scrawl garbage in crooked letters across the top before hefting the box to the side and starting on the next one. The sheer amount of money my mother spent on magazines astounds me. I could have paid my entire first year’s tuition just on what I’ve found so far. And most of it was going straight into the trash. We’d salvaged what we could, and had filled up bin after bin of recycling, but the terrible condition of most of the stuff made it impossible to save.
“Soooo . . . ?” Autumn draws out the word like it’s full of syllables, which, considering she’s an English major, she should know better. I turn and look over my shoulder at her. She’s bouncing on her toes like a little kid with a secret. Oh god. “What’s going on with you and Ash?”
My eyes go wide and I scan the room to see if he overheard her, but he’s off in the dining room, working his way through the leaning tower of newspapers, and luckily he doesn’t look up. I turn back to her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hiss under my breath, hoping against hope that she’ll take the hint and be quiet.
Unfortunately, my panic doesn’t seem to register, and she keeps going. “I mean the looks between the two of you . . . ” She waggles her eyebrows at me, grinning. “It’s like there’s fireworks going off in the room every time you meet each other’s eyes.”
“Shut. Up.” I mutter as quietly as possible, and look over my shoulder at Ash, just to make sure he can’t hear her. But he still isn’t looking at us. Instead he’s staring down at one of the newspapers, and the sheets of newsprint are trembling a little in his hands. My brow furrows, and I move to take a step closer, to reach out and ask him what’s wrong. But before I can take a single step, he shakes his head like he’s coming out of a fog and tears the top page off the newspaper. As I watch, he tosses the rest of the paper aside and slowly, carefully, folds up the piece he tore off and slides it into his pocket.
What on earth?
Autumn nudges me, but I don’t turn back to her. Not yet. Instead I watch as Ash takes a deep breath and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment. Then he lets out a sigh and scrubs his fingers up through his hair, leaving the pale strands sticking up in wild tufts.
“Hey, Ash . . . ?” The words are out of my mouth so quickly I can’t believe I’m the one who actually uttered them. Ash reacts with a jolt and turns to look at me, and I can see something in his eyes for a brief second, something almost haunted, before he manages to compose himself and nod at me. “You okay?” But I can see from here that no matter how he answers, the real answer is no. He’s not okay.
But he just nods and I let it go. Whatever’s bothering him, it’s not my place to bring it up in front of Autumn. If he wants to tell me, he’ll tell me. If not, well . . . that’s his decision.
He reaches down and hefts up the rest of the pile of newspaper, a stack about a foot and a half high, and makes his way toward the door. His path brings him right past Autumn and I, and as he passes I reach over and run a hand down his arm. Our eyes meet and we pause there for a second, frozen in our own little world.
“Fireworks,” Autumn says, and my entire body jolts and I yank my hand away like it’s been burned. I turn and glare at her, but she just smirks at me.
“What’s that?” Ash says, confusion lacing his voice.
“Nothing,” I mutter, and try to turn away and go back to work before I’m forced to kill my former roommate in cold blood. My heart is slamming so hard in my chest that it’s a wonder no one else can hear it. To me, it’s absolutely thundering. Dammit, Autumn.
But she isn’t done, and I have yet to figure out how to kill people with my brain, so she turns to Ash and I can feel her sunbeam-smile from where I’m standing, even though my back i
s turned. “Fireworks,” she says, and pauses because she’s trying to kill me. Just as I’m about to whirl around and drag her out of the room kicking and screaming—and probably laughing her ass off—she continues. “I was just telling Star that Roth and I are taking you guys out to see the fireworks tonight.”
Wait. What? I turn to look at her, and I’m more than a little concerned when I see the glint in her eye.
“Fireworks,” Ash says, like the word is unfamiliar to him and he’s testing it out for the first time. I catch his eye and we come to a silent agreement that Autumn is insane. At least, I think that’s what that look means.
“Yup,” Autumn says, her voice light and perky, turning herself into a bouncy cotton-candy-for-brains version of herself, which she always does when she’s lying and doesn’t want to get caught. I’m going to kill her for this. Dead. Gone. And then I’m taking her book collection.
And burning it, out of spite.
Well, not all of it. There’s a bunch I want for myself.
“We saw a flyer when we were heading to the B&B last night,” she says. “Apparently there’s a big fireworks festival down at the beach tonight, and we thought it’d be fun for all of us to go watch it.” She turns to me and pins me with what I’m hoping isn’t as super-obvious a look as I think it is.
“Together,” she adds. Because she’s evil.
Ash
I haven’t seen fireworks since I was a kid, so I can’t be sure, but I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed them as much as I did tonight. And I barely even looked at the explosions. I was too distracted by Star.
I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was how relaxed she was, how happy she was to be around her friends, but she was glowing nearly as brightly as the fireworks themselves.
Autumn had insisted that heading down to the fireworks was necessary, and she’d had this look in her eye that even my own mom had never quite been able to pull off with me. The one that said you’re doing this and you will not argue. Or else. But honestly, until she’d said something, I hadn’t even remembered that the town did fireworks every year, even though it made total sense. Who didn’t do fireworks on the Fourth of July? But if someone had just asked me out of the blue if I was interested, the answer would have been fuck no.
But she hadn’t asked me first. She’d asked Star. And, after the initial shock on her face had passed, the smile that had spread across Star’s face turned my answer from fuck no to hell yes before I could blink. Before I’d even realized what was happening, all four of us were bundled into serial-killer-dude’s truck with a blanket, a bottle of Autumn’s homemade wine, a couple six-packs and a grocery bag full of hot dogs and buns. I was going to leave Bruiser tied up in the backyard, but Star had been afraid that the fireworks would scare him off—which, okay, they hadn’t bothered him as a puppy, but he’d been on his own for years while I was in prison; I had no idea what would freak him out now—and told me to bring him along.
It was almost worth it for the prissy look on killer-boy’s face at the thought of my big, dirty dog in the cab of his truck, but I really wasn’t all that willing to push my luck with him. Star seemed to think he was cool, but I still wasn’t so sure. So I hopped up into the flatbed with Bruiser for the ride.
But Bruiser is already ass-over-ankles for Star, and the second we get there and she hops down from the cab, he is up and over the side, bee-lining for her. She laughs and ruffles his ears before standing up and tugging her hoodie tighter around her sweet little body. It takes everything I have not to go over and offer to keep her warm.
Instead, I just lean back against a big rock not far from where they have laid out the blanket, and smoke. The beach is already packed with people, even though dusk has barely set, and our little group ended up on the outskirts of the sand, near where the beach met the forest. Even though we are on the edge of the crowd, we still get looks. After half a dozen people pass us by and pin me with a side-eyed glare that says they know exactly who I am and what I’ve done, I almost bail, ready to tell the others I want to head back. But then I see Star, how happy she is, how good her smile and skin look in the fading sunlight, and I can’t do it. I stay. I keep myself separate, so that the glares from the good people of Avenue are directed at me and not at the group, but I stay.
Damn, I want to join Star on that blanket, though. And maybe do a little more than just watching the fireworks go boom. But she is laughing and eating and drinking with her friends, and I am happy enough just watching her do it.
They are sprawled across the blanket. Roth on one end, poking at the little fire he got going while doing a fairly fine impression of nursing a beer without actually drinking any of it; Autumn in the middle, all bundled up against the cool night air. And then there is Star. Hot as hell in the little ass-hugging shorts she’s been wearing all day, wrapped up in a black hoodie that is about two sizes too big for her. Her legs are all stretched out in front of her, and even my damn dog has weaseled his way in there. He is lying half on and half off the blanket, but his head is resting on my dream girl’s upper thigh, and she pets his head between sips of her beer.
Smart mutt, I think with a snort, and take another drag on my smoke, trying to smother a smile.
“You okay over there?” Star calls, and I send a little chin-nod in her direction and blow out a lungful of smoke. She just shakes her head and smiles at me. Then, without another word, she laughs and shoves Bruiser’s head off her lap—he gives out a pitiful little whimper and I scoff at him. You’re not subtle, buddy, I think, but he knows what side his bread is buttered on, and as soon as Star’s on her feet, he’s already nosing around Autumn, looking for some love.
I watch as Star pulls herself to her feet and brushes the stuck-on sand off her long legs and make her way over to me, fresh cup of wine in hand. She stumbles a bit, and I smile, trying to figure out if it’s the uneven ground or whatever Autumn keeps refilling her cup with that’s making her move like that. My own cup is half-full of cola I didn’t really want, but couldn’t turn down when I realized that was the only non-alcoholic drink we had. I’d been a little worried about hanging around the others while they drank, but so far it hasn’t been too bad. They sure as hell don’t drink like my old friends and I used to. Roth seems to barely touch the stuff, and Star and Autumn seem content to get quietly tipsy, while my old group wouldn’t stop until at least one of us was puking our fucking guts out on the sidewalk and laughing all the way through it. This is different.
This is nice.
Star sinks down in the sand next to me and leans back against the rock I’m using to prop myself up. She’s holding her cup loosely in her hand, and even from here I can tell that the amount of booze in it is fucking astounding. What the hell is in that wine Autumn makes? Lighter fluid? “Hey,” she says, her voice soft, almost husky. It makes me want to reach over and wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. Instead I switch my smoke to the hand closest to her, and bring it to my mouth, just to keep my arm occupied so I don’t do anything stupid.
Like touch her.
Don’t be a fucking moron, I tell myself, but I can feel the warmth of her skin next to mine, and I can’t help but want.
“How are you doing over here?” she asks and sort of sways into me.
Better now that you’re next to me, I want to say, but glare at my bent knees instead and stub the last of my smoke out in the sand between us.
“Not bad,” I tell her, then glance over at her friends, sure they’re watching us. But they’re not. The-next-famous-serial-killer is off gathering up more twigs for the campfire, and Autumn is having a wresting contest with Bruiser on the blanket. Bruiser, as always, is losing. But they both seem to be having fun. I look back over at Star, and in the fading light it’s hard to make out the lines of her face, but I can feel as much as see that she’s smiling. At me.
“Sorry you got dragged out to this,” she says, taking a si
p of her drink. “I know it’s probably not how you wanted to spend your Fourth of July.”
“Eh, it’s fine.” I shrug. I’m fighting the urge to pull out another smoke and light up. I need something to do with my mouth other than talk, because apparently I’m fucking awkward as hell. I used to be smoother than this. I know it. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”
“But sti—”
“Ashley?” My body jolts with recognition as I hear a voice call my name. I turn, squeezing my eyes shut for a split second, praying to whoever’s up there that I’m wrong, that the voice doesn’t belong to who I think. But whoever’s in charge up there still has a beef with me, so of course it’s exactly who I think it is.
I let out a sigh and reach into my pocket. I need that cigarette. Now.
“Hi, Mom.”
Chapter 12
Ash
I’m never fucking leaving the house again. The only place in this damn town that’s safe is Star’s mother’s house. And considering the fact I could be crushed to death by the stuff inside it at any second, that’s saying something. So just no. No more going outside. I’m putting my fucking foot down.
It just isn’t worth it.
Mom is staring down at me, Dad hovering at her shoulder like the world’s largest, most uncomfortable mosquito, and I’m racking my brain for something to say to make them leave before they realize I’m sitting with Star. Whatever they have to say to me, I don’t want her to hear it. I still have some pride. Her gaze flickers down to Star, and she gets this look on her face, one that I’ve seen directed at me a million times. Disappointment.
“I don’t believe I’ve met your . . . friend, Ashley,” she says.