by Alyson Noel
"Are you coming?" I head for the door, but she refuses to answer. So I take a deep breath, and say, "Come on, Riley. You know I can't afford to be late. Please make up your mind."
She closes her eyes and shakes her head and when she looks at me again, her eyes have gone red. "I don't have to be here, you know.
I grip the door handle, needing to leave yet knowing I can't, not after she's said that. "What're you talking about?"
"I mean, here! All of this! You and me. Our little visits. I don't have to do this."
I stare at her, my stomach curling, willing her to stop, not wanting to hear any more. I've gotten so used to her presence I never considered the alternative, that there might be someplace else she'd rather be.
"But-but I thought you liked being here?" I say, my throat tight and sore, my voice betraying my panic.
"I do like being here. But, well, maybe it's not the right thing.
Maybe I should be somewhere else! Did you ever think of that?" She's looking at me, her eyes full of anguish and confusion, and even though I'm now officially late for school, there's no way I can leave.
"Riley-I-what exactly do you mean?" I ask, wishing I could rewind this whole morning and start over again.
"Well, Ava says-"
"Ava?" My eyes practically bug out of my head.
"Yeah, you know, the psychic, from the Halloween party? The one who could see me?"
I shake my head and open the door, looking over my shoulder to say, "I hate to break it to you, but Ava's a quack. A phony. A charlatan. A con artist! You shouldn't listen to a word she says. She's crazy!"
But Riley just shrugs, her eyes on mine. "She said some really interesting things."
And her voice bears so much pain and worry, I'll say anything to make it go away. "Listen." I peer down the hall, even though I know Sabine's no longer here.
"I don't want to hear about Ava. I mean, if you want to visit her, even after everything I just told you, then fine, it's not like I can stop you. Just remember that Ava doesn't know us. And she has absolutely no right to judge us or the fact that we like to hang together. It's none of her business.
It's our business." And when I look at her, I see that her eyes are still wide, her lip still quivering, and my heart sinks right to the floor.
"I really need to leave, so are you coming or not?" I whisper.
"Not." She glares.
Since Miles was smart enough not to hang out and wait, I drive to school alone. And even though the bell already rang, Damen is there, waiting next to his car, in the second best spot next to mine.
"Hey," he says, coming around to my side and leaning in for a kiss.
But I just grab my bag and race for the gate.
"I'm sorry I lost you yesterday. I called your cell but you didn't answer." He trails alongside me.
I grab hold of the cold iron bars and shake them as hard as I can. But when they don't even budge, I close my eyes and press my forehead against them, knowing I'm too late, it's useless.
"Did you get my message?"
I let go of the gate and head for the office, envisioning the awful moment when I'll step inside and get nailed for yesterday's ditching and today's tardy.
"What's wrong?" he asks, grabbing hold of my hand and turning my insides to warm molten liquid. "I thought we had fun. I thought you enjoyed it?"
I lean against the low brick wall and sigh. Feeling rubbery, weak, completely defenseless.
"Or were you just humoring me?" He squeezes my hand, his eyes begging me not to be mad.
And just as I start to fold, just when I've almost swallowed his bait, I drop his hand and move away. Wincing as memories of Haven, our phone call, and his strange disappearance on the freeway rush over me like a tidal wave. "Did you know Drina went to Disneyland too?" I say, and the second I say it, I realize how petty I sound. Yet, now that it's out there, I may as well continue. "Is there something I should know? Something you need to tell me?" I press my lips together and brace for the worst.
But he just looks at me, gazing into my eyes as he says, "I'm not interested in Drina. I'm only interested in you."
I stare at the ground, wanting to believe, wishing it were only that easy. But when he takes my hand again, I realize it is that easy, because all of my doubts just slip right away.
"So now's the part when you tell me you feel the same way," he says, gazing at me.
I hesitate, my heartbeat so severe I'm sure he can hear it. But when I pause for too long, the moment flees, and he slips his arm around my waist and leads me back to the gate.
"That's okay." He smiles. "Take your time. There's no rush, no expiration date." He laughs.
"But for now; let's get you to class."
"But we have to go through the office." I stop in my tracks and squint at him. "The gate's locked, remember?"
He shakes his head. "Ever, the gate's not locked."
"Uh, sorry, but I just tried to open it. It's locked," I remind him.
He smiles. "Will you trust me?"
I look at him.
"What's it going to cost you? A few steps? Some additional tardy minutes?"
I glance between the office and him, then I shake my head and follow, all the way back to the gate that is somehow, inexplicably open.
"But I saw it! And you saw it too!" I face him, not understanding how any of this could have happened. "I even shook them, as hard as I could, and they wouldn't budge an inch."
But he just kisses my cheek and ushers me through, laughing as he says, "Go on. And don't worry, Mr. Robins is incapacitated and the sub's in a daze. You'll be fine."
"You're not coming?" I ask, that needy, panicky feeling building inside me again.
But he just shrugs. "I'm emancipated. I do what I want."
"Yeah, but-" I stop, realizing his phone number's not the only thing missing. I barely even know this guy. And I can't help but wonder how he can possibly make me feel so good, so normal, when everything about him is so abnormal. Though it's not until I've turned away that I realize he's yet to explain what happened on the freeway last night.
But before I can ask he's right there beside me, taking my hand as he says, "My neighbor called. My sprinklers failed and my yard was flooding. I tried to get your attention but you were on the phone, and I didn't want to bother you."
I gaze down at our hands, bronze and pale, strong and frail, such an unlikely pair.
"Now go. I'll see you after school, I promise." He smiles, plucking a Single red tulip from the back of my ear.
Usually, I try not to dwell on my old life. I try not to think about my old house, my old friends, my old family, my old self. And even though I've gotten pretty good at heading off that particular storm, recognizing the signs--'the stinging eyes, the shortness of breath, the overwhelming feeling of hollowness and despair-before they can take hold, sometimes it just hits, without warning, without time to prepare. And all I can do when that happens is curl up in a ball and wait for it to pass..
Which is pretty hard to do in the middle of history class.
So while Mr. Munoz is going on and on about Napoleon, my throat closes, my stomach clenches, and my eyes start to sear so abruptly, I bolt from my seat and race for the door, oblivious to the sound of my teacher calling me back, immune to my classmates' derisive laugh.
I turn the corner, blinded by tears, gasping for air, my insides feeling empty, cleaned out, a hollow shell folding in on itself. And by the time I see Stacia it's way too late, and I knock her with such speed and force she crashes to the ground and rips a hole in her dress.
"What the-" She gapes at her splayed limbs and torn dress, before leveling her gaze right on me. "You fucking ripped it, you freak!" She pokes her fist through the tear, displaying the damage.
And even though I feel bad for what happened, there's no time to help. The grief is about to consume me and I can't let her see.
I start to brush past her just as she grabs hold of my arm and struggles to stand, the touch of he
r skin infusing me with such dark dismal energy it robs me of breath.
"For your information, this dress is designer. Which means you are going to replace it," she says, fingers squeezing so tight, I fear I might faint. "And trust me, it doesn't stop there." She shakes her head and glares. "You are gonna be so fucking sorry you ran into me, you're gonna wish you never came to this school."
"Like Kendra?" I say, my stance suddenly steady, my stomach settling into a much calmer state.
She loosens her grip but doesn't let go.
"You planted those drugs in her locker. You got her expelled, destroyed her credibility so they'd believe you and not her," I say, transcribing the scene in my head.
She drops my arm and takes a step back, the color draining from her face as she says, "Who told you that? You didn't even go here when that happened."
I shrug, knowing that's true, though it's hardly the point.
"Oh, and there's more," I say, advancing on her, my own personal storm having passed, my overwhelming grief miraculously cured by the fear in her eyes. "I know you cheat on tests, steal from your parents, clothing stores, your friends-it's all fair game as far as you're concerned. I know you record Honor's phone calls and keep a file of her e-mails and text messages in case she ever decides to turn on you. I know that you flirt with her stepdad, which, by the way, is totally disgusting, but unfortunately it gets much worse than that. I know all about Mr. Barnes-Barnum?
Whatever, you know who I mean, your ninth grade history teacher? The one you tried to seduce? And when he wouldn't bite you tried to blackmail him instead, threatening to tell the school principal and his poor pregnant wife… " I shake my head in disgust, her behavior so squalid, so self-serving, it hardly seems real.
And yet, there she is, standing before me, eyes wide, lips trembling, stunned to have all of her dirty little secrets revealed. And instead of feeling bad or guilty for exposing her, for using my gift in this way, seeing this despicable person, this awful selfish bully who's taunted me since my very first day, reduced to a shaky, sweaty mess, is more gratifying than I ever would've imagined. And with my nausea and grief now merely a memory, I figure, what the heck, I may as well continue.
"Should I go on?" I ask. "Because believe me, I can. There's plenty more, but you already know that, don't you?"
I go after her, me walking forward, her stumbling backward, eager to put as much distance between us as she possibly can.
"What are you? Some kind of witch?" she whispers, eyes scanning the corridor, looking for help, an exit, anything to get away from me.
I laugh. Not admitting, not denying, just wanting her to think twice before she messes with me again.
But just as quickly she stops, finds her footing, and looks me in the eye when she says, "Then again, it's your word against mine." Her lips curve into a grin. "And who do you think people will believe? Me, the most popular girl in the junior class? Or you, the biggest fucking freak that ever came to this school?"
She has a point.
She fingers the hole in her dress, then shakes her head, and says, "Stay away from me, freak. Because if you don't, I swear to God you'll regret it."
And when she steps forward, she slams into my shoulder so hard, I've no doubt she means it.
When I get to the lunch table I try not to gawk, but Haven's hair is purple and I'm not sure if I should mention it.
"Don't even try to pretend you don't see it. It's awful, I know." She laughs. "Right after I hung up with you last night I tried to dye it red, you know, that gorgeous coppery shade like Drina's?
Only this is what I ended up with." She grabs a chunk of it and scowls. "I look like an eggplant on a stick. But only for a few more hours, 'cuz after school, Drina's taking me to some big celebrity salon up in L.A. You know, one of those A-list hot spots booked a full year in advance? Only she was totally able to sneak me in last minute. I swear, she is so connected, she's amazing."
"Where's Miles?" I ask, cutting her off, not wanting to hear another word about the amazing Drina and her velvet rope crashing abilities.
"Memorizing his lines. Community theater's doing a production of Hairspray, and he's hoping for the lead."
"Isn't the lead a girl?" I open my lunch pack, finding half a sandwich, a cluster of grapes, a bag of chips, and more tulips.
She shrugs. "He tried to convince me to tryout too, but it's so not my thing. So, where's tall, dark, and hot, a.k.a. your boyfriend?" she asks, unfolding her napkin, and using it as a placemat for her strawberry-sprinkle cupcake.
I shrug, remembering how, yet again, I forgot to secure his number, or find out where he lives.
"Enjoying the perks of emancipation I guess," I finally say, unwrapping my sandwich and taking a bite. "Any news on Evangeline?"
She shakes her head. "None. But check this out." She raises her sleeve, showing me the underside of her wrist.
I squint at the beginnings of a small circular tattoo, a rough sketch of a snake eating its tail.
And even though it's far from complete, for the briefest moment, I actually see it slither and move. But as soon as I blink, it's stagnant again.
"What is that?" I whisper, noticing how the energy it emanates fills me with dread, though I can't fathom why.
"It's supposed to be a surprise. I'll show you when it's finished." She smiles. "In fact, I shouldn't have even told you." She adjusts her sleeve and glances around. "I mean, I promised I wouldn't. I guess I'm just too excited, and sometimes I suck at keeping secrets. Especially my own."
I look at her, trying to tune into her energy, find some logical reason for why my stomach should feel as awful as it does, but I come up empty. "Promised who? What's going on?" I ask, noticing how her aura is a dull charcoal gray, its edges loose and frayed all around.
But she just laughs and pretends to zip her lips shut. "Forget it," she says. "You'll just have to wait."
Eighteen
When I get home from school, Damen is waiting on the front steps, smiling in a way that clears the sky of clouds and erases all doubts.
"How'd you get past the gate guard?" I ask, knowing for a fact that I didn't call him in.
"Charm and an expensive car works every time." He laughs, brushing the seat of his dark designer jeans and following me inside. "So, how was your day?"
I shrug, knowing I'm breaking the most fundamental rule of all-never invite a stranger inside even if this stranger is supposedly my boyfriend. "You know; the usual routine," I finally say. "The substitute vowed to never return, Ms. Machado asked me to never return-" I glance at him, tempted to keep making stuff up since it's clear he's not listening. Because even though he nods like he is, his gaze is preoccupied, distant.
I head for the kitchen, poke my head in the fridge, and ask, "What about you? What'd you do?" Then I hold up a bottle of water in offering, but he shakes his head and sips his red drink.
"Went for a drive, surfed, waited for the bell to ring so I could see you again." He smiles.
"You know you could've just gone to school and then you wouldn't have had to wait for anything," I say.
"I'll try to remember that tomorrow." He laughs.
I lean against the counter, twisting the cap on my bottle around and around, nervous about being alone with him in this big empty house, with so many unanswered questions and no idea where to begin.
"You wanna go outside and hang by the pool?" I finally say, thinking the fresh air and open space might calm my nerves.
But he shakes his head and takes my hand. "I'd rather go upstairs, and check out your room."
"How do you know it's upstairs?" I ask, squinting at him.
But he just laughs. "Aren't they always?"
I hesitate, wavering between allowing this to happen and finding a polite way to evict him.
But when he squeezes my hand and says, "Come on, I promise not to bite," his smile is so irresistible, his touch so warm and inviting, that my only hope as I lead him upstairs is that Riley won't be there.
/> The moment we reach the top of the stairs, she runs from the den and calls, "Omigod, I am so sorry! I so don't want to fight with-oops!" She stops short and gapes, her eyes wide as Frisbees, darting between us.
But I just continue toward my room as though I didn't even see her, hoping she'll have the good sense to disappear until later.
Much later.
"Looks like you left your TV on," Damen says, going into the den, while I glare at Riley who's skipping alongside him, looking him up and down, and giving him two very enthusiastic thumbs up.
And even though I beg her with my eyes to leave, she plops right down on the couch and places her feet on his knees.
I storm into the bathroom, furious with her for not taking the hint, for overstaying her visit and refusing to split, knowing it's just a matter of time before she does something crazy, something I can never explain. So I yank off my sweatshirt and race through my routine, brushing my teeth with one hand, rolling deodorant with the other, spitting into the sink just seconds before pulling on a clean white tee. Then I ditch the ponytail, smear on some lip balm, spritz some perfume, and rush out the door, only to find Riley still there, peering into his ears.
"Let me show you the balcony, the view's amazing," I say, anxious to remove him from Riley.
But he just shakes his head and says, "Later." Patting the cushion beside him as Riley jumps up and cheers.
I watch as he sits there, innocent, unaware, trusting he's got the couch to himself, when the truth is, that prick in his ear, that itch on his knee, that chill on his neck, is courtesy of my dead little sister.
"Um, I left my water in the bathroom," I say, looking pointedly at Riley and turning to leave, thinking she'll follow if she knows what's good for her.
But Damen stands up and says, "Allow me."
And I watch as he maneuvers between the couch and table in such a way that clearly avoids Riley's dangling legs.
Then she gapes at me, and I gawk at her, and the next thing I know she's disappeared.
"All set," Damen says, tossing me the bottle and moving freely through the space that, just a moment ago, he navigated so carefully. And when he catches me gawking, he smiles and says, "What?"