Unnatural Deeds

by Cyn Balog

  Rachel and Parker even stopped glaring at me. Z seemed to take a day off every so often, claiming to be sick but returning perfectly fine the next day. But when I had to look on with Rachel and Parker in chemistry, they didn’t make nasty comments or shut me out. In fact, as I was sitting at the corner of their lab table, bracing myself for their attack, Parker looked at me and said, “Want to try, Victoria?”

  I stared at her. She was asking me to help? I took the red litmus strip and stuck it in the green liquid, then pulled it out. We all observed. “Base,” Parker said. We wrote that down in our notebooks.

  We kept doing that, alternating tries, getting into a rhythm. When we were finished and it was time to clean up, I washed my hands, and as I was drying them, Parker was waiting for me. “Done?” she asked.

  I wondered why she was asking, but no sooner had I dried my hands than she had plucked the paper towel from my hands. She threw both towels into the garbage.

  Parker Cole was being nice to me.

  Something was up. She must’ve been waiting until I had my guard down so she could pounce. But while we were passing the last few minutes, waiting for the bell to ring, she didn’t turn her back to me like usual. She sat between me and Rachel, talking as if she was including me in the conversation. She was saying something about texting, and I really wasn’t paying attention until I realized she was looking at me. “And so I told her that if she keeps putting winking emoticons on every one of her texts, of course guys are going to get the wrong idea.”

  Rachel nodded in agreement. “Though maybe it’s not the wrong idea. Maybe she really does want to do all those guys.”

  They both laughed, and Parker turned to me. “What do you think, Victoria? Does a wink mean, ‘I’m just playing around’ or ‘I want to do you’?”

  I was caught so off guard that I nearly fell off my stool. I was no expert in texting, even with my recent experience with Z. His texts were very emoticon-heavy. He constantly winked at me. Did that mean he wanted to get in my pants? From the way we’d been going at it lately, maybe. I pulled my books to my chest. “Definitely.”

  Rachel squealed, while Parker made a gross-out face. “Great. My dad winked at me yesterday. Ew.”

  “That’s different,” I explained.

  “Yeah,” Rachel said, “Dads are allowed to wink without it meaning anything pervy.”

  I thought about my own dad, who had never sent a text in his life. “Parents are texting clueless.”

  They both nodded as if I made sense. I couldn’t believe it. I was having a conversation with two girls who, up until this year, didn’t even know I’d existed. I knew it was because of Z. Z and me, me and Z—we were a package. Everyone accepted him, and now they accepted me too.

  Despite this new development, I still missed Z like crazy. He’d texted me that morning. I think I have the flu. Or maybe I’m just hot for you? I’d thought about the day before, when he’d cornered me in a stairwell between trig and lunch. We’d made out until Mr. Vargas, the Spanish teacher, walked by on his way to the faculty room and Z pretended he was looking for dirt in my eye.

  I’d written back, Great, I hope I don’t get it.

  And he’d responded, Are you putting yourself off-limits? :( I might as well die.

  After that, I resisted the urge to text him, which hit me every two seconds. He needed his rest. The minutes dragged on, and I felt like I might as well die too. I’d take every deadly disease known to man if it meant I could have one more kiss from him. It would be worth it.

  Chapter 26

  Were you friends with Victoria Zell?

  Hardly.

  And why is that?

  She was…different.

  In what way?

  Well, there were some rumors going around about her. Something about how she’d had a nervous breakdown at her old school.

  Breakdown? Had you ever witnessed her behaving oddly?

  Um…well, no. She was more uptight. Guarded. High-strung. She kept to herself most of the time, always looking as if she was one wrong look from a panic attack. And then she surprised all of us by auditioning for the play.

  Macbeth. Was that at Z’s urging?

  Maybe. Like I said, he gave people energy, made things happen. And it was obvious she worshipped him, and he got a kick out of that.

  Is that so?

  Oh yeah. If they were in a room together, it was like no one else was there. They were constantly staring at each other.

  So Z was gazing at her too? Is it possible he liked her?

  Well, it didn’t strike me as gazing so much as sizing her up. He never seemed like the kind of guy who fell in love, you know, like with flowers and poetry and cupids and crap. He seemed to be into figuring her out. I got the impression he prided himself on being the biggest mystery in the room, the one everyone wanted to understand. But to do that, he needed to dethrone her first.

  You were in Macbeth too. How was it, working with her?

  I think Reese was amazed that she said more than two words in one day. But Victoria was always fading into the background so you’d forget about her, and then doing something that screamed, Here I am! It was almost as if she lived most of her life in another world, not ours. Like she just visited here every so often.

  —Police interview with Rachel Watson, junior at St. Ann’s

  And then there was that night in early November when winter started meaning business in Maine, even though it technically wouldn’t arrive for weeks. You came to my front door and knocked in your signature way.

  You looked tired and droopy eyed. Your eyes brightened for a split second when I opened the door for you, Andrew. But then you read the disappointment in my eyes, and your face fell. You always could read me so well.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  You shrugged. “Nothing. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  I stared at you. “I saw you yesterday.”

  “Two weeks ago, Vic,” you said, digging your hands into your pockets. “I saw you two weeks ago. Way before Halloween.”

  “Sorry,” I said, leaving the door open for you and collapsing onto the sofa. “I’ve been busy. The play.”

  “Right, I keep forgetting,” you said, but I know you well too. You probably thought about that play every afternoon between when school ended and I got home. “When is that, anyway?”

  “November twentieth? You’re coming, right?”

  Your eyes brightened at the invitation. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” You smiled, and then my phone dinged upstairs. It was a sound my ears had been trained to seek out, but you didn’t seem to notice. You kept right on smiling, but my attention was suddenly elsewhere. “We’re still on to see Perahia?”

  At that point, the conversation becomes blurry. I think I said something like, “Of course! I can’t wait. When is that?”

  “November thirteenth. My actual birthday. The big one-seven.”

  “That will be easy to remember then. The date is etched in my memory,” I said, tapping the side of my head. “Ironclad.”

  You laughed, and I gave you a peck on the cheek as I ushered you out the door, making up some excuse about homework.

  “Was someone at the door?” my mom asked, coming into the foyer. “I didn’t hear—”

  I’d already closed the door. “No one. Just Andrew,” I mumbled, rushing up the stairs two at a time. In my room, I grabbed my phone. Are you as bored as I am?

  I texted back. Totally.

  How adventurous are you?

  It was Tuesday night, and normally I’d have been happy to snuggle under blankets. But Z had a way of making any proposition appealing. Venturing out in frigid temperatures? Sure. Snorkeling with sharks? Awesome. What did you have in mind?

  Meet me at my house. Can you?

  I thought about that. I’d have to either steal my pare
nts’ car or walk. In the pitch-black. In freezing temperatures. I don’t have a car. And my parents won’t let me out this late.

  Tell them you’re going to bed. Can you get to the corner? I’ll pick you up there.

  I thought about it, my heart already beating hard and fast. There was only one answer I could give. What time?

  Ten.

  I raced to get myself ready, taking a shower, putting on my mom’s passion fruit lotion and a new denim skirt I’d bought to fit my slimmer shape. All the while, I felt like I was at the top of a roller coaster. Scared, thrilled, unable to escape…and wanting it that way. At quarter to ten, while my parents were downstairs watching TV, I climbed out my window, the same way Z had come up, and sneaked toward the street, stopping once to look up at your window. It wasn’t lit, Andrew. You were probably… I don’t know. I usually knew exactly what you were doing, but this time, I had no clue.

  But I didn’t care.

  I made it to the corner of Spruce Street and Eleventh, which was lit by a single streetlight. A copse of trees and brush effectively hid me from our duplex and anyone looking down the road. I wondered if Z would be late like he always was, but he came right on time. The streetlight illuminated the stubble on his jaw, and he was wearing a rumpled, untucked T-shirt, like he’d just woken up. When I slid into the seat beside him, all I could smell was that intoxicating cinnamon-and-cloves smell that seemed to accompany him everywhere—spicy and sweet. But he said, “Wow. You smell amazing.”

  “Thanks.” Before I’d even slammed the door shut, his hand had found a comfortable place on my knee. But this time as he drove, his hand crept up, higher and higher, until it found its way under my skirt. I gasped. “That’s dangerous,” I said, breathless.

  “I think you like it.”

  I denied it, but he was right. If I hadn’t, I suppose I’d have worn sweatpants. Or I never would’ve met him on the corner in the first place. I knew he wasn’t being protective or brotherly anymore, and I didn’t care. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

  We drove for a few minutes with his fingers rubbing the goose bumps from my thigh, all the while inching further and further up my skirt. When we pulled into his driveway, his fingers had inched between my legs and I’d parted them.

  Sparks ran up and down my spine, threatening to ignite. Suddenly his voice broke through the electricity. “Guess what?” he said, little-boy sweetly.

  “What?”

  “I was getting ready for school this morning, and I saw something in the woods. Thought it was a horse, but who goes horseback riding at 6:00 a.m.? So I ran out back and it was a moose! A fucking huge moose. It was fucking insane.”

  I pretended to yawn. “Oh, you people from away. Little Z, there is so much of the wide world you know nothing about.”

  He grinned, then reached so far up my skirt that I gasped. His fingers were warm, and every inch of me buzzed. “Teach me.”

  Somehow I was able to steady my knees and climb out of the Civic. His trailer was completely dark. “What about—”

  “Bethany’s at work,” he said, taking my hand and leading me out back. There was a rusting trampoline abutting the tree line. My parents would call it a death trap. He climbed out onto it, then motioned for me to follow. I did, falling back onto a blanket of dead leaves, face to the sky like him. Here you could barely tell where the pines left off and the sky began, except for a few pinpoints of stars fighting their way through the clouds.

  The woods behind his house were strangely quiet. The only sound was the breeze rattling the dying leaves off the trees. I could see my breath in the cold.

  “My mom,” he said suddenly. “I was six when she left. She told me that if I missed her, all I had to do was look up at the sky because she’d be sleeping under the same one. Like that was supposed to make me feel better.”

  I said, “It doesn’t?”

  “The sky’s always changing, Precious. There’re a billion different skies, and some of them are nicer than others.” He was quiet for a really long time while I tried to comprehend what he was saying. Z was the last person I’d expect to wax philosophical on me, but like he said, nothing and nobody are constant. “What’s your sky look like tonight?”

  I smiled at that. “Um, cloudy?”

  “Not anymore. Before, yeah. Not now.”

  “OK,” I said. “Um, what are we talking about now?”

  “You.” He rolled up onto his elbow. “Why’d you hide yourself from everyone before? Why were you so nervous?” I didn’t have time to feel worried about how to answer because he said, “Why would you, when there’s this…” He inched his hand under my skirt again, and I giggled and squirmed away.

  “I don’t know. I just…I don’t know.” That was the truth. A lot of times when I talked to him, my mind was a complete blank.

  “Do you like it?”

  “What?”

  “You know…not hiding.”

  “Very much,” I answered almost too eagerly. “For once, I actually belong.”

  He reached over and grabbed my hand. It was only when I felt his warm hand that I realized mine was icy. It tingled numbly. “You cold?”

  I nodded.

  He rolled over me, his face hovering just inches from mine. “There’s a way to fix that,” he murmured, pushing the hair out of my eyes.

  I could barely speak. “How?”

  He rocketed to his feet. “Jump.” At first there was a tremor, and then he nearly bounced me over the side. I backed away and laughed as he pulled me to my feet. Here I was, sneaking out of my parents’ house in the middle of the night and risking their wrath to…jump on a trampoline.

  How daring.

  He jumped on the trampoline like he did everything else: expertly. He never got out of breath and even pulled off a few flips that I didn’t know he had in him. All I could do was bounce, and not too high, for fear of hurting myself or showing off everything under my skirt.

  When I was red-faced and panting, he said, “I’m thirsty. Let’s go inside.” We climbed off, and he opened the door to the trailer. “You’re not really allergic to dogs, are you?”

  I froze. Great. Now I’d have to tell him about my stupid fear. I was already nervous enough as it was. “No, but—”

  “Dog’s not here either. OK?”

  I smiled, loving that he didn’t want me to explain. That he just got me. “OK.”

  He flipped on a light and let me inside. “Home, sweet home.”

  We were in a small kitchenette. For as run-down as it was outside, the trailer was kind of cute inside. It was old style, with little gingerbread men and wood paneling everywhere, but clean. It even smelled like gingerbread. “Nice,” I said, but he wasn’t looking for my reaction. The moment he closed the door, he pulled me against him, digging his hands into the back pockets of my jean skirt, and cupping and lifting my backside so that the only natural response was to wrap my legs around his hips.

  He threw my whole body into a tailspin. In his arms, I didn’t know which way was up or down. There was no tentative invitation like with you, Andrew. From the second his lips found mine, our connection was deeper and more consuming than any kiss—anything I’d ever experienced. I couldn’t stop it. I don’t think the apocalypse could have stopped us.

  I embraced him desperately, hungrily. I felt his legs guiding us through a narrow, dark hallway, bumping knees and elbows as we went. I vaguely knew that we’d arrived in his bedroom, and while I wanted to know what his place was like—oh, I wanted to know everything about him—at that moment, as wrong as it was, I just wanted him.

  He finally broke our kiss and stared into my eyes. “I need to be closer to you.”

  I needed it too. We had gone beyond want. Want implied there was choice. Together, we were completely bound to follow this path that had been laid beneath our feet.

  Chapter 27

/>   See you tonight.

  K. Remember where?

  KW?

  Yep 12

  OK. Don’t be late. Place freaks me out.

  Under control.

  —Cell phone records from November 22, the day of the murder, courtesy of the Duchess Police Department report

  At that point, I wasn’t deluded enough to think that Z was the love of my life. I didn’t think we’d break up with our significant others, get together, and live happily ever after. No, I saw us as the tragic characters in a play. We were two best friends who simply couldn’t deny or quell the attraction between us. We were happily involved with other people, and yet we had this whole secret life together. I was no longer Boring Victoria Zell. I was mysterious, interesting. While a small part of me ached to fully be his, mostly I liked that we couldn’t be a real couple yet. The pain of being apart was the sweetest pain I’d ever felt, and when we were together, I was utterly euphoric.

  All weekend, I replayed the hours I’d spent with him, shivering with each memory. He’d had sex before, probably a lot of it, with his girlfriend in Arizona and likely others, considering how smoothly he unhooked my bra closure. Considering he knew exactly how to touch me. Considering the package of condoms he kept under his mattress. But that didn’t surprise me. There’d been no pain, no awkwardness, no regret. He made it seem only natural to do those things with him.

  And as usual, he left me wanting more. Much more. I’d never done drugs, but I could understand addiction. I’d gone so many years smugly thinking that I’d never fall under anyone else’s control…and yet, here I was. Fallen. Weak. And totally OK with it. Not just wanting more, but needing more.

  This was different, I told myself. With addiction, the drug owns you. But we owned each other. Equally. While I was lying in my bed thinking of him, a text came in.