Bully (Angel & Demons Trilogy Book 1)

by Ashley Love

  "Spill anything on me and I'll dislocate your knee," Abby says sweetly, giving a sugary smile and turning, her blonde hair bouncing as she walks away. "See ya later, Ariel!" she calls back over her shoulder before turning the corner and disappearing.

  Mason whistles high to low. "Maybe I'll have better luck in college," he muses.

  I chuckle and glance back at Charlie once more. She's still deep in conversation with Olivia, and we watch as she smoothly takes Olivia's arm, leading her away back into the school.

  Mason shakes his head. "Girl's got mad game," he mutters. "Let's get outta here."

  I shift my backpack higher on my shoulder and turn, walking with Mason out of the theater. The rear doors lead outside to the back of the school, conveniently right towards the woods, and when we push through, cold air hits us like a slap in the face.

  "No one ever told me it was this cold on the East Coast," I say, hugging myself. "I would have bought a jacket or something."

  "You've never lived on the East Coast before?" Mason asks, tucking his hands into his armpits.

  I shake my head. "Not for a long time anyway. I lived in Maine for about three months when I was five, so I don't really remember."

  We begin to walk towards the woods together.

  "How many places have you lived?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  I huff a little laugh. "You really wanna know?"

  "Do you know the exact number?"

  I nod. "I have this scrapbook of sorts that I keep. Each page has a picture of every house I've ever lived in, with the name of the city and the dates I lived there."

  "So you've kept count," Mason surmises.

  I look at him with a little smile. "Yeah."

  "So?" he asks. "How many then? What, ten? Fifteen?"

  I chuckle a little, looking down at the ground. I smell cigarette smoke in the air from The Docks as we head towards the forest. "I've lived in twenty-one different places. Windsor Falls is the twenty-second."

  Mason's brown eyes bug out of his head. "What?!" he sputters. "How is that even possible!"

  I shrug. "My parents like change, I guess."

  "I mean, wow, that's actually insane," he breathes, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

  A loud laugh from the distance across the parking lot has us both glancing up. The Cancers are sitting with their cigarettes and flasks at The Docks, chattering amongst themselves. Zane's back is to us, and Slate is sitting next to him, pressed from hip to shoulder. I watch as Zane subtly scoots a few inches away while Slate is distracted, taking a swig from Noah's flask.

  Mason chuckles a little. "Man, that Slate kid is a fucking creep," he snorts. "Look how close he's sitting to Peterson."

  My eyebrows press together. "What do you mean?"

  Mason waves his hand a little, dismissively. "Slate is just always hanging all over him. It's downright stalkerish if you ask me."

  I hum a bit, looking over at the Cancers again.

  Mason elbows me in the side. "Come on, let's get out of here before they see us. I'd rather not spend my afternoon cleaning up your face."

  I snort and shake my head, shoving Mason towards the forest. He laughs and saunters ahead, and when I glance back at The Docks one last time before disappearing into the trees, Zane has stood up and finally stepped away from Slate, only to have turned around, now looking right at me.

  I hold his stare for a moment, swallowing hard and slipping into the trees out of sight.

  11

  "Mason told me our house is haunted," Sophia says, sauntering into the living room the next afternoon and plopping down on the floor in front of where I'm sitting on the couch, trying to fold an intricate origami rose.

  I raise my eyebrow. "Did he?"

  "Yeah," she replies "By that lady Elsa that died in the woods."

  I roll my eyes. "You know you can't believe a word Mason says, right? He's just trying to scare you."

  "But Ethan said the same thing at school," Sophia protests. "I mean, I know he's eight, but he's been living here longer so he probably knows, right?"

  I sigh and set my origami rose to the side, giving up after the third paper cut. "Okay, so maybe Elsa Hartley died in the woods. Why would she haunt our house? Why not just stick to the woods?"

  "Well maybe she gets cold," Sophia says, picking at her socked toes. "I mean, it's October in Vermont."

  I snort a little. "And you think she'd come here to get warm? The heat keeps breaking. Kira has to come over and look at it again."

  Sophia purses her lips, biting the inside of her cheek. Her eyes scan the room like she's going to see some ghost pop out any minute.

  I sigh and scratch my eyebrow. "You wanna go to Hartley's Bend?"

  Her eyebrows press together. "Why would I want to go there? Elsa's ghost is probably there."

  "I thought you said Elsa's ghost was here," I counter.

  She pauses, and then grumbles, "Fine, let's go."

  I chuckle, standing to leave. "Don't sound so excited. You're getting me all anxious."

  She rolls her eyes. "If I get eaten by a ghost, you're not getting any of my stuff."

  "Okay, one, ghosts aren't real," I tell her. "And two, if they were real, I have significant doubts that they would actually go to the trouble of eating people. Especially you. You're nothing but skin and bones."

  She slaps my arm as she follows me outside. "This is serious."

  I laugh. "You know, if Elsa were hungry, why wouldn't she just go to Bonnie's? That woman has enough casseroles and bread to feed every hungry child in the world."

  I don't bother locking the door behind us since we'll only be gone for a half hour or so in this cold autumn weather. Sophia tucks her hands into her pockets until she has to hold onto the handlebars of the bike so she doesn't fall off.

  We make it to Hartley's Bend in just under five minutes; it's only a couple blocks away. When we get there, it's empty, like it always is. None of the other kids in town really come here that much, but Sophia says the old rusted playground equipment is growing on her and reminds her of one of our old houses in Arizona where she had a swing in the backyard. She claims it's her favorite house of ours to date.

  I don't have a favorite. I don't have a place I've ever grown attached enough to to call my favorite. I don't have a place I've ever really called home. I suppose that Sophia is my home. And that means protecting her. So when Zane Peterson shows up at Hartley's Bend not fifteen minutes after we get there, while Sophia is busy trying to swing at an angle that doesn't cause the hinges of the contraption to squeal like a dying bird, my brain reverts to caution-mode.

  Zane is walking slowly, one hand tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket, the other holding his cigarette up to his mouth as he inhales in that way that makes every sharp angle of his face catch the light in the most delicious way possible. I watch him walk as I stand behind Sophia, ready to push her as soon as she finds a better angle. She's distracted, scraping bits of rust off the chain with her fingernail, as if that will help the God-awful noise the thing makes when it moves.

  I know for a fact that Zane comes to Hartley's Bend at least several times a week because I've seen him sitting here smoking while I ride by on my way to work. So it's not exactly weird to see him here now. Sometimes he'll bring his little brother with him, who I met the first time I'd been here, but Zane is alone today. I wonder what prompts a teenager to come to this park alone on a constant basis. I wonder where he lives.

  But right now, despite my infatuation with the guy, I have to think about someone else. I have to think about Sophia. As much as I'd like to convince myself that Zane Peterson is harmless...he's not. Zane is dangerous, and everyone knows it. The fading bruises on my face know it. True, the bruises aren't all from him, but he is part of the reason they're there. Some of them match the shape of his knuckles.

  I'll protect my little sister with my life. I don't honestly think that Zane would do anything to ha
rm Sophia. He may be dangerous, but beating up a little eleven-year-old girl seems a tad bit extreme, even for him. However, if he decides he wants to mess with me today, right here at Hartley's Bend where we first "met", I have no way of protecting Sophia. She'll watch it happen, and if I'm distracted, she could disappear.

  No. I can't stay here when Zane Peterson is here too.

  Right as I decide this, he raises his eyes and sees us. He pulls his cigarette out from between his lips, licking them unconsciously, making them all shiny with spit, and that alone would have been enough to distract me in math class or something, but not here. Not right now. I can't stay here.

  Now would be a good time to put Charlie's advice to work—pretending I don't care when Zane and his friends mess with me. But not with Sophia here.

  "What are you doing?" Sophia asks as I take her arm and pull her off the swing, glancing once at Zane, who is staring at me. He's stopped walking, and is just standing there on the sidewalk watching curiously with those big green eyes. I can see the green from here.

  "Come on, we should get home," I say to her, pulling her towards my bike.

  "What? Why? We just got here."

  "I have homework and stuff to do," I reply, making up the excuse.

  I look over my shoulder at Zane, who is still standing there. He looks like he wants to say something, and I watch as he actually takes a half step forward like he's about to follow me. But then he stops himself, and his lips press into a thin line, and that confused expression on his face melts into a glare that looks a little forced. And God even that glare is attractive.

  I force myself to tear my eyes away and I lift Sophia onto the handlebars again, mounting my bike and pushing off from the tree it's leaning against in the same motion. As I start off down the street, I take one last glance over my shoulder. Zane is running his hand roughly through his hair, tugging the strands, and he looks frustrated as he takes another drag from his cigarette and walks towards the swings where I see him sitting sometimes when I ride by.

  Breathing out a slow breath, knowing I'm overreacting a bit but not caring, I quickly bike home. I'm almost as relieved as I am confused to see a car in our driveway when we arrive. It takes me a moment to realize that it's my father's car.

  "Daddy!" Sophia exclaims, jumping off the handlebars before I've even slowed the bike to a complete stop and sprinting towards the front door. I'm relieved that I won't have to sit through Sophia yelling at me about leaving Hartley's Bend only minutes after we got there. But...

  What the hell is he doing here? I park my bike and eye my father's car in the driveway.

  When I walk through the front door that Sophia left wide open, I hear her talking excitedly from the kitchen. I wander back there and find my dad standing at the fridge, looking inside while at the same time nodding along to what Sophia is jabbering about. One of his hands is resting on Sophia's shoulder like they've just pulled apart from a hug.

  It's weird seeing my father in the kitchen. He's like a guest that walked into my house without knocking. But I have to remind himself that this is my father's house, not mine, and technically he still lives here, even if he hasn't actually ever spent a full night here in the month or so that we've owned it.

  "God, why is it so cold in here?" he asks, closing the fridge and blowing into his hands, rubbing them together.

  "The heater's broken," I reply simply, standing at the doorway of the kitchen, not quite inside yet. My dad turns around and smiles when he sees me.

  "Hey Ariel, how have you been?"

  I blink in response, unsure what to say. I just shrug. "The heater's broken."

  He just stares at me for a moment, and then quirks a little smile. "I can call a repair guy to come by tomorrow."

  My head cocks to the side. "Are you staying?"

  "Oh no, I was just passing through Stowe on business and though I'd swing by for the evening," he replies like it's no big deal. "I have to head out later tonight."

  Shocking, I think to myself.

  My dad has great posture. That's one thing I can say I got from him. It's probably the only thing I've ever gotten from him, apart from my collection of shirts and other little knick-knacks from duty free and convenience stores across America. I purposely walk with a bit of a slouch for the hell of it.

  "What's with all the casseroles in the fridge?" he asks. "Did you learn how to cook?"

  I bite my lip. "I've known how to cook for six years, Dad."

  "Oh?" he asks, surprised. "Well did you make all these? I think you did it wrong, one of them looks like it has oyster crackers in it."

  "I didn't make them," I say, nodding towards the front door. "Bonnie Baker did. She lives next door."

  He hums in acknowledgment. "Why did she make you food?"

  Sophia hops up onto the counter, swinging her legs. "She felt bad that people don't cook for us, so she started making them. Plus she makes too many," Sophia supplies.

  "Hm," is all he says. "Well, can I meet her?"

  I cock my head to the side again. "Now?"

  "Sure, why not? I'll be leaving later anyway. Might as well meet the neighbors."

  I hesitate, licking my lips. "Um, alright, I suppose."

  My father smiles, and it's like a dentist smiling. He's a salesman after all—he's got that perfect white smile, like something out of an advertisement.

  "Good, let's go," he says, walking towards the entrance of the kitchen. He pats me on the back as we walk towards the front door. "I like the way you hung the pictures in the front hall. It looks nice. Good job."

  I want to bask in the praise. I really do. But instead I just nod and open the front door, leading the way out of the house.

  My dad and Bonnie Baker could not be more opposite. Bonnie answers her front door and ushers the three of us inside to keep out the cold, and he looks so incredibly out of place in her house it's almost laughable. He seems quite surprised when he notices that me and Sophia seem right at home here at Bonnie's. Almost like we belong.

  "So Ariel here tells me you sell insurance?" Bonnie asks conversationally in that breathy voice of hers, like a comfortable cotton blanket. She's carrying a tray of tea that she likely made herself out of all the herbs hanging in the little kitchen.

  "Yes, that's right," he replies, smiling that trademark smile of his as he accepts a cup of tea with a nod.

  Bonnie hands me my tea next, and she gives me a strange look, like she's communicating something to me that I'm not quite getting.

  "So you're kept away working for lengthy periods, I see?" she asks.

  My dad nods around his cup of tea, humming as he swallows. "Yes, sometimes months. Insurance is a lucrative but time consuming business, I'm afraid."

  I glance at Sophia as she cups her hands around her tea to warm them, and then sneak a look at Bonnie. The woman seems strangely subdued in the presence of my dad. Not intimidated but...politely detached. Her questions are neutral and cliché. She's like a mother who caught her child with his hand in the cookie jar. She's treating my dad like he did something wrong, but she's so subtle about it that he likely doesn't notice. However, I know how warm and soothing Bonnie's presence is on a normal basis, and right now she's not conveying that.

  Bonnie Baker does not like my father. That much is clear to me, though I can't think of a reason why.

  Our visit with Bonnie is brief. We sit in her living room fairly awkwardly beneath her rabbit foot collection and beside her shelves of crystals, on her floral patterned clawfoot couches and chairs, and we stay just long enough to finish one cup of homemade tea each before we say our farewells.

  Bonnie gives me a hug. It's the first time she's ever given me a hug, and honestly it's been so long since I've even had a hug, that I just stand there awkwardly for a second before remembering that I'm supposed to wrap my arms around her as well. The hug is warm, and Bonnie is heavyset enough to where she's soft and comforting. I want to bury my face in her shoulder, be
cause that seems like the right thing to do, and I want that. But I don't do it, because my father is standing right there on the porch watching us.

  When Bonnie finally pulls away, she eyes the bandage on my forehead that Dad hasn't even bothered to ask about, and she smooths down a frayed edge of the tape before patting my shoulder and giving Sophia a hug as well, sending us on our way.

  For the rest of the night, me, Sophia, and my dad sit in our kitchen, eating and making small talk about how school is going and how the insurance sales are coming along. We eat some of Bonnie's casseroles in the fridge, and Dad insists on trying them all, humming and complimenting each one, even the one with oyster crackers. Sophia does most of the talking, to my relief, and she chatters on about school and the new friends she's made. Our father glances at me a few times, eyeing the little bandage on my forehead, but never asks why it's there.

  We watch TV on the couch together after dinner, and somewhere during a commercial break, he makes a quick phone call to get a repair man out tomorrow for the heater, complaining that his fingertips are numb.

  It's well past Sophia's bed time when he finally leaves, letting us know he hopes he'll be home in time for Thanksgiving in a month. We stand at the front door and watch his car drive away, and then I usher my sister to bed, swaddling her in blankets and her coat so she's not too cold.

  It takes me hours to fall asleep, and I'm actually almost glad that my dad came to visit tonight, because it didn't give me a chance to daydream about Zane Peterson. However, now, alone in my room in the middle of the night with no surprise visits from absent fathers to distract me, I can think of nothing but Zane, and all those little emotions that flitted across his face earlier at Hartley's Bend. I wonder about him. I wonder where he lives, why he spends so much time at Hartley's Bend, why he feels like he has to bully me and all those other students he and the Cancers pick on, when I can tell that he doesn't seem to want to.

  Maybe I'm reading too much into it. People aren't accidentally bullies. Zane chooses to be a bully. Just like his friends choose to be bullies.