Trisha shrugged with a breezy sigh, “Shane has issues.”
She didn’t seem put off by the fact. In fact, she seemed pleased by it. Like for her, Shane was her exciting trip on the dark side.
“He’s the best kisser at our school,” she told me.
I guess she would know. She’s beautiful and has kissed a lot of boys. I quickly changed the subject though—since hearing about Shane Shade’s kissing techniques had me needing to take a cold shower. (What is wrong with me?)
Anyway, after that day I always tried to steer Trisha away from discussing Shane with me. I felt sort of unfaithful to Blake that I was so interested in Shane’s heated relationship. I mean, how demented was I? Shane was my boyfriend’s enemy, and the dude only talked to me—ever—to get Blake wound up. Plus, he had laughed at me for crying during his poem. (Jerk!!)
So, yeah, I bowed out of any conversations Trisha started about Shane—but it was hard, because the girl liked to gab. Especially about Shane. (Wince.)
But one day when Trisha was supposed to come to my house to do a read-through for the play, she never showed. She came to my house the next day and told me her parents were making her change schools.
“Because of Shane,” she grumbled. “They found out I’ve still been seeing him. They caught us together, and they freaked out. They’re making me change schools, so I’ll stay away from him. They even paid me to stay away from him.”
“So are you?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. This guy I used to date—Todd—he’s in college now, but he’s back in town this semester. My parents love him—and I used to. I was heartbroken when he went away to college, but then I met Shane and sort of got over Todd big time. But now—I don’t know. My parents would pay me to go back to dating Todd again. Compared to Shane, Todd is a saint in their eyes.” She added with another sigh, “Plus he’s rich and doesn’t have impulse issues.”
In the end, Trisha gave into her parents and broke up with Shane. They bought her a new car—and the new school she went to had an awesome drama department.
Then—man! One day right after their big break-up Trisha didn’t come to an important play rehearsal until wayyyy late. I mean, it was almost over.
She pulled me aside and told me confidentially, “Shane is in the hospital.”
I gasped. “What?! Is he okay?”
She groaned. “No! He’s not okay. He’s in the mental hospital.”
My heart sank to the floor. She went on sounding exasperated, “He drank drain-cleaner right in front of me.”
A chill raced down my spine. My heart completely stopped. He could have died!!
Trisha shuddered, yet went on in exasperation, “I told you he has impulse issues, right? When I told him I really wasn’t going to see him anymore, he told me not to do it—to not let my parents break us up. He said he wanted to die without me, and then to prove it—he drank the bottle of drain-cleaner! Just grabbed it off the shelf and drank it.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist feeling so sick. “He could have died,” I whispered, chilled to the bone.
“Right. I know!” she shrieked. “I called 9-1-1 and the ambulance came. They took him to the emergency room and they pumped his stomach or whatever—and now he’s in the mental hospital! Of course my parents are all, ‘We told you he was trouble.’”
After that, Trisha never went to see Shane in the hospital. Instead, she got back together with Todd. He bought her expensive gifts and took her to fancy places, and she seemed to have decided she’d had enough of the dark side.
But I couldn’t get over it. Poor Shane! He’d been so in love with her—and to prove it to her, he had drunk the poisonous chemicals. I knew he had issues. Tons of sad, sad issues. They probably stemmed from his mom when he was a little boy—his loving her, and wanting desperately to be able to live with her—but her habitually choosing Shane’s abusive dad over keeping Shane safe. Made it so Shane didn’t get to live with her, the woman he loved, and needed to love him back. And now this. Maybe to him it was the same thing. Desperate to be loved, yet left all alone.
It was so tragically sad.
I couldn’t get the heartbreaking incident out of my head—poor Shane out of my head.
That night I went to the hospital Shane was forced to stay at—Sunny Brooks Mental Hospital. I left an anonymous care package for him at the front desk. I packed it with cookies and other baked goods I’d quickly made for him, and a play-list of songs I chose for him with the utmost care. And I bought him this funny movie that had just come out on video—something that I hoped would cheer him up.
I just wanted him to know someone cared.
… only, I couldn’t let him know it was me.
I figured he would probably think/hope it was Trisha. But that was okay, as long as it gave him hope. I just needed him to feel better. To know he wasn’t alone. Give him some inkling of proof that life wasn’t totally dark and hopeless (like he was probably at that moment feeling it was.) I just wanted him to know that someone cared.
That’s how I filled out his card to him with the package: “From someone who cares. Get well soon.”
I wasn’t sure if it was lame or not. I figured maybe it was, but I really didn’t care. I just needed to do something—to let him know he wasn’t alone.
But after that night, I kept thinking about him.
… and kept giving him anonymous gifts and poems.
Even after he got out of the hospital and came back to school—I still gave him gifts.
Maybe it was twisted—since he was my boyfriend’s enemy, and obviously didn’t actually care if I cared about him or not. Still, it was just something I needed to do. You see, my mom’s life was taken. I couldn’t help that. But maybe in a small way I could help Shane keep his. The sad thing was: he didn’t seem too terribly interested in it—whether he lived or died.
I felt he needed a ray of sunshine—a small ray of hope. Hope makes life worth living. You give up on hope and you give up on life. I didn’t want him to do that.
So … the gifts.
But then, my aunt caught me leaving a video game for him on her front porch.
“It’s been you?” she asked with a weary sigh.
After a pained moment she went on, “Bethany, I suppose your mother was right. I shouldn’t have encouraged you to be friends with Shane.”
I blinked at her. “You didn’t. You never did.”
“In a way I did,” she said. “You were always fascinated by him—so I would tell you things about him. He was—is—a sweet boy. I thought you could be a good influence on him. But now I’m worried. Worried what kind of influence he might have on you. He’s troubled, Bethany. Obviously a lot worse than I had realized.”
“No, Aunt Jenny. He wasn’t trying to kill himself. He was just, in his crazy way, trying to show Trisha he loved her.”
My aunt gaped at me, looking horrified. “Don’t romanticize what he did, Bethany. The only part of your scenario that you got right is it was his ‘crazy’ way. His terrifying, insane, troubled way.”
Chills went through me. “Right,” I whispered. “I know.”
“So I need you to stay away from him, Bethany,” my aunt said. She sighed wearily. “I know you, Bethany. You’ll want to help him. But you can’t. You need to stay away from him. For your own welfare.”
I promised her that I would.
… and I did.
I stayed away from him. I had the whole time anyway. I never said a word to him.
But I thought about him. A lot.
CHAPTER 7
I couldn’t stop thinking about the brooding boy I had once tried to banish from my wounded brain: Shane Shade. All my deflated ego and hurt pride about him was over now—(his laughing at me, and using me to rile up Blake). I was over it. Now all I could think about was his tortured angst and heartbreak.
I started to write a book about him. But in the book he was different. He fell in love with a sweet cheerleader (okay, me) who cha
nged his tortured, angst life and gave him hope and love.
To my astonishment, the book sold well. Really well. I got a lot of fan-mail from pre-teen girls telling me that Remington Drake (aka: book Shane) was their new book-boyfriend. They begged me to write more books about Remington/Shane and the sweet cheerleader (aka: me). What could I do? I wrote more books. I needed the money, and it was way easier than flipping burgers, and I didn’t even need a car. Plus, stories about Shane just floated around in my head all the time anyway. So, it was really a win-win. I got paid to write out my fantasies about saving tortured Shane.
The only down-side (and, okay, it was a HUGE one) was that writing the books made me feel guilty. Guilty about the fact I was writing about my boyfriend’s enemy rather than my boyfriend.
Many times I felt I should stop. (Many, many times.) Only, I needed the money. And like I said—it was way easier than anything else I could do. Plus, the transportation situation really was a true issue. A big one, actually. Since I was forced to drive my dad’s old pick-up truck when I needed to go places. It broke down on my way everywhere more often than not. It was frustrating—and embarrassing!! So, it was nice not having to rely on it to have some actual money in my pocket.
Plus, writing—it was my dream job!
So:
Though I felt guilty, I kept writing my Remington Drake series.
… Until, you know, Shane pinned me against my locker—and totally called me out on the books.
Busted!!
(Eeek!)
CHAPTER 8
Call-out Fall-out
After the book call-out
“Be right back,” Blake tells me in the cafeteria once we’re at our lunch table. “I just need to talk to Mr. Webber really quick,” he says giving me a quick peck on my cheek/mouth before he hurries over to his chemistry teacher.
As soon as he was gone, Shane slid into Blake’s seat across from me. His gorgeous dark eyes peered into mine, making me practically have a heart attack. Not just because his eyes were on me so fervently, but that he actually voluntarily sat next to me. He never would have done that before today. Now he was doing it silently and mischievously.
Probably knowing he was giving me a heart attack, he asked sardonically, “How does your boyfriend feel about you writing romance books about me?”
A tortured groan escaped my lips. “He doesn’t know,” I admitted.
I swallowed, nervous to ask a favor from him of all people. I was terrified, actually. I mean, he didn’t know me, not even slightly. I was just his enemy’s girlfriend. In his eyes, that’s all I was. So a favor?—unlikely. He’d probably laugh at me—hard and bitter. The thought made me sweaty and squirm. I gulped. “Could you possibly not say anything to him about it?”
A slow grin quirked on Shane’s lips. “What fun would that be?”
Right then Blake came back, glaring at Shane. “Why are you talking to my girlfriend?” he growled with narrowed eyes.
Shane’s dark grin grew. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?”
Blake looked to me. He grunted, “Why’s he talking to you?”
“I, um, owe him money.” I stressed the words ridiculously, hoping Shane would get what I was trying to convey to him—that I was willing to pay for him to keep my secret. Pay him hush-money.
I quickly pushed on with my grueling lie, “It’s money for a class project. We all chipped in money for it—but I forgot mine, so Shane chipped in for me.” I peeked to Shane, trembling slightly. “I’ll pay you though—lots.”
Shane seemed to enjoy this—me offering him hush money.
His eyes twinkling, he slowly shook his head. “No way. I wouldn’t dream of taking your money, cheerleader,” he said softly. Then his eyes slid to Blake sardonically. “But I bet your boyfriend here has money. Want to pay off your girlfriend’s debt to me, Blake?”
Blake scoffed at Shane. “Let me get this straight. You had money—and you paid for someone else?”
Shane grinned like he wouldn’t believe it either. “That’s what your girlfriend’s story is.”
Blake looked skeptical, but after a thought-filled, deliberated moment he said, “Fine. How much does she owe you? I’ll pay for her.”
“No, don’t!” I protested—loudly.
“No, I want to,” Blake said. “I don’t want you owing Shane.”
Shane grinned, raising his eyebrows at me, and said with a laugh, “He doesn’t want you to owe me—let the guy pay.”
“NO!” I growled.
“Calm down, Bethany,” Blake said. “I don’t mind paying for you. I want to pay. I have money—lots of money.” He sneered the scornful words towards impoverished Shane, then went on bitterly, “I don’t mind paying this scum off. I’d rather do that than have my girlfriend owing him.”
I know all that was supposed to be a slam at Shane—since Shane is dirt poor and Blake likes to rub that in every chance he gets. But right this second it felt like a slam on me—since Blake said all those cruel words even though he was under the impression Shane had to pay for me. (Face it: I’m not exactly made of money these days either. Since my mom’s death, my family is drowning in medical bills. So taking swipes at poor people was callous, to say the least.)
“I’ll pay him, Blake,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Aw, come on—let him pay,” Shane said around a thoroughly entertained smile. “After all, as he says: he wants to pay. And he has lots of money.” Shane raised his eyebrows, “—his words.”
Blake ignored me and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. He handed it to Shane and growled, “Keep the change and stay away from my girlfriend.”
“Well, I’ll keep the change,” Shane said.
As he walked away he looked back at me. He didn’t look smug.
CHAPTER 9
After lunch when I opened my locker the hundred-dollar bill fell out of it. There was a messy note scribbled with it. It said: “You should keep this, though I know you won’t. But the dude has LOTS of money—he said so. Buy yourself something pretty, on me. —The Monster.” Then he added on the other side, “—or Remington Drake?”
Face-palm.
I quickly marched over to Shane’s locker and stuffed the hundred through the slats with a note of my own: “I don’t want to owe you, Monster.”
After class, the hundred fell out of my locker once again, with another note attached to it. “What you owe me is an explanation, Stalker.”
Ugh! I’d rather give him the hundred dollars.
Because face it, I wrote friggin’ books about him … and gave him gifts. I am a stalker.
As I’m still at my locker, hands come on either side of it. I’m caged from behind.
The air whooshes out of me as I whip around, because I discover it’s—Shane.
Shane!
He’s pinned me again! The second time in one day.
Is he going to put his face against my neck again?
The thought ignites my body. So does the way his dark eyes are on me.
He says huskily, “You knew what I said—word for word.” He asks softly, “How is that possible?”
I swallow. “Trisha was my friend—sort of. She was in a theater group with me. She was going to be our play’s star.”
His eyes go kind of glassy. “She would have been a good star.”
My heart twists.
“She was shallow and stuck up,” I ground out, kind of tortured that he looks so ravenous over her—just the stupid thought of her. I spit out, “I don’t understand why you loved her. Why’d you do that?”
“Look, I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It was just my demented way of telling her I love her. My proof how much. I didn’t figure I’d die. She’d call 9-1-1, they’d pump my stomach, she’d realize how much I loved her, and she’d see she loved me back. But you know all of that—since you wrote about it in your book.”
“But you thought she wrote it … right?”
“Well, no one else was there. No on
e else knew. You used my exact words and everything.”
“H—how’d you find out it was me?”
“Trisha called me. She said you were the only one from our school that she told. Plus, you wrote about my abused puppy-dog poem.” He grunts. “You totally put me into your book.” He raises his eyebrows sardonically, “—and had me in love with a cheerleader.”
I go up in flames.
Shane’s hypnotic eyes stay on me as I do it.
Seductive and silent he just stares at me. Stares and stares. He’s so close I can feel his warm breath heating up my lips.
But then—whoa!
CHAPTER 10
As I was under Shane’s hypnotic spell, suddenly Blake yanked Shane abruptly away from me, knocking me out of my trance.
Blake growled at Shane, “I told you to leave my girlfriend alone.” He spat out, “I gave you money to do it.”
“Yeah, well maybe it will take more than a hundred bucks,” Shane said, just to make Blake mad. Well, more mad, since Blake was already livid.
Shane grinned, “Maybe it will take a car.”
Blake literally growled. He went to take a swing at Shane, but I quickly waved the hundred at Blake. “He’s only saying that to make you mad Blake. Here’s your hundred. He gave it back to me—that’s what he was doing here, just giving me back the money.”
I held out the bill to Blake. He squinted his eyes as he took it, then dramatically he wadded it up. He threw it at Shane’s face. “Take the money and stay away from my girlfriend,” he growled through clenched teeth.
Shane caught the hundred as Blake slammed it at him. He casually slipped the waded bill into his front pocket. He said sardonically as he did so, “I’m still holding out for a car.”
Blake growled and lurched for him, but I caught his arm and ground out, “He’s just trying to get you mad, Blake. Let it go.”
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