“Oh, not this again,” Ruth says drearily, shaking her head as she looks at the screen. Mary laughs, a cruel bite in its sound, like crunching ice.
“Isn’t that Nicole?” I ask, and everyone looks at me. Phillip nods in understanding.
“You were hanging out with her yesterday, that’s right. Look, don’t worry about it.” He reaches out to take his phone back, shielding the screen from me as he stuffs it in his pocket. Irritation flares in my chest and I turn my attention to Ruth.
“Is there something wrong with her?”
Ruth hesitates and then shakes her head. “No, it’s just people being mean. Tasha and her crew are posting nasty comments about her again. I thought that died down over break, but I guess they’re back at it.”
I frown in confusion. “Posting comments? Where?”
“On Facebook. Aren’t you on?” she asks incredulously. I shake my head vehemently. I tried it once; Mom wanted to put up a page for the store and I had to create a personal account to do it. I knew after ten minutes that I could never use it again. The pages were filled with lies, and they were constantly updated, so I never really knew what I was meant to see. I told Mom to manage it herself and closed down my account.
“Oh. Well, pretty much everyone here is. And before break, back in November, people started posting things about her and…um…” she falters, glancing nervously at Phillip.
“Miranda. It’s fine, Ruth. You don’t need to stop mentioning her name,” he says chidingly. Ruth blushes and fidgets with a ring on her thumb.
“Nicole said they were friends.”
“Yeah, best friends. She took it really hard when Miranda died.” Phillip’s voice is quiet and thoughtful. “So did I.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…” I begin, but he waves away my apology.
“No, it’s fine. You’ll hear about it soon enough anyway. Miranda was my girlfriend.” He smiles sadly at me, eyes slightly glassy.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Can I ask what happened?”
Phillip hesitates and then nods. “She killed herself.”
I suck in a breath and look at him with more sympathy. That had to be hard, to lose someone you cared for in that way. I rub my arms absently, getting tired of the electricity under my skin that makes it difficult to be around Phillip. I nearly put my hand out to cover his, but fear of the buzzing holds me back.
The tone sounds and everyone rises from the table. Ruth tells me we should get together and I happily accept, thinking as much as I like Nicole, it would be nice to have more than one friend.
“Can I walk you?” Phillip asks, his mouth close to my ear all of a sudden. The barely detectable scent of a sharp, spicy cologne snakes it way through my sense. He moves very quickly.
“Sure, thanks.” We gather up our bags and throw away our trash in silence. It is only when we are in the thick of the crowded hallway that he speaks again.
“Look, I don’t want to seem pushy or anything, but I was wondering if you’re seeing anyone,” Phillip asks without meeting my eyes. I trip over nothing and nearly pitch forward, but Phillip yanks me back by the arm. My skin burns where he touched me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you,” he says with some amusement. I laugh uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. “So are you?”
“No, no I’m not seeing anybody,” I finally answer, feeling suddenly queasy. It seems in bad taste to be discussing this immediately after finding out about his dead girlfriend.
“Oh. Good. Well, once you get settled in here, would you like to go out with me?” He still isn’t looking at me directly, but his gaze darts back and forth through the crowd restlessly, the way I’ve seen cats do when they’re searching for a mouse or a bug. When his eyes finally land on me, I feel trapped between claws, pinned with the promise of pain to come.
“Okay,” I whisper and then clear my throat. “I mean, that would be nice.” My answer sounds less than enthusiastic, even to me, but Phillip doesn’t seem to notice.
“Great. Maybe this weekend I can show you around.” He pauses at the base of the stairs up to the second floor. “See you later, Derry.” A quick smile flits across his face and then he is gone.
As I climb the stairs, ignoring the hurried press of students surrounding me, I analyze my feelings, trying to figure out why I am so unsettled about Phillip’s apparent interest in me. After all, he’s got a ready-made group of friends for me to join, he’s romance novel hero good-looking, people seem to like him, and he’s been nothing but kind to me.
But the way my skin hums around him has me on edge. I’ve never felt the buzz so strongly before, and it is constant around him. Even now my arms feel like someone has been using them for a pincushion. If I could just understand what is different about Phillip, why my talent goes wonky around him, I think I could be more at ease. And the only thing that will fix that is spending more time with him. So I should be pleased.
I should be pleased.
I pass Miranda’s locker. Her face seems so familiar to me now that I have to repress an urge to go up and touch the picture. Unlike the photo I saw at lunch, this picture shows the redhead smiling with true warmth, as though someone has just told her the funniest joke and she can’t hold back a laugh. Looking at this photo, I wish I had gotten a chance to know her, and I can’t help wondering what happened to drain all that joy from her face.
And wondering why the thought of dating her boyfriend makes every inch of my skin crawl.
Chapter 4
“I cheated on my math quiz,” a booming male voice shouts in greeting as I walk through the door to the computer lab. Shane sits on a rolling chair, spinning back and forth inattentively as he looks up at me with a huge grin.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a milder version of a smile. He jumps up to his feet and drifts over to me, his eyes taking a leisurely survey. I glance down and frown at my outfit. I am wearing tight black leggings tucked into faded leather ankle boots and a form fitting sweater dress circa 1972, rescued from one of mom’s client’s attics.
“You look mighty fine today, Derry. Mighty fine,” Shane says in a fake cowboy accent. I attempt to give him a stern look, but a chuckle escapes me. Subtle he is not.
“I wish I looked like her,” Megan grumbles as she comes through the door. I glance over at her, startled by her unwitting admission. She passes by me without looking, her shoulders set in an aloof stance. Even though she is at least a foot shorter than me and probably only weighs a hundred pounds, she seems to take up the entire room with her presence. Shane’s eyes follow her with unmasked admiration as she goes by, apparently an equal opportunist when it comes to ogling.
“Stick your eyeballs back in their sockets, Shane. It’s never gonna happen,” Megan declares, but I can see the pleased tilt of her lips as she turns away. Shane clasps a hand to his chest and moans.
“Crushed again. I guess I’ll just have to find comfort with Derry. Perhaps she will mend my broken heart.” He mock-staggers over to me and collapses in the chair next to mine. I laugh at him and pat his shoulder. I can’t believe that my first impression of Shane was so negative; granted, he’s an outrageous flirt, but at least he’s good-humored about it. There is something very open and guileless about him that appeals to me.
“My girlfriend found my porn stash,” Shockey says as he joins us in the lab. My shoulders jerk involuntarily. His eyes drift over the room and land on me, once again reminding me of the cagey movements of a rodent. I have downgraded him from mouse to rat now that I know his proclivities.
“How’s it going, Derry? Any story ideas yet?” he asks, his voice holding just the right amount of interest for a teacher, but he leans toward me slightly, a little too close for comfort. I can smell the slightly astringent note of his deodorant.
“Not yet, but I’m supposed to meet with the contact for the local paper tomorrow after school. I’m hoping to get some ideas then. I did see an article on a health inspection for a school in Shenandoah County
that found asbestos in the gym. Maybe I could look into the latest inspection results here and see what comes up,” I say, reminding myself that outwardly, this man has done nothing wrong.
Shockey nods thoughtfully. “That might be interesting. Let me know what you turn up. We’ll have to run it by the principal before it’s printed. He’s a bit of a stickler when it comes to how this school is portrayed,” he warns me.
I smile perfunctorily and return my attention to starting up my computer. He lingers for a moment and then moves on to talk to the other students. Cathy and Jake walk in together, deep in muttered conversation that breaks up when they spot me. Cathy gives me a cautious smile, but Jake’s gaze is as hostile as yesterday. I wonder what I will hear him say today.
By the time the tone sounds, Shane and Megan are both out tracking down stories, and I am continuing my research on the local happenings in Harpers Ferry. Cathy and Jake whisper together, but are so quiet that I can’t make anything out. About a half hour into the period, Cathy rises and puts her backpack on, collecting a camera from the shelf in the corner.
“My parents are getting a divorce,” she says and gives me a quick wave. I feel a stab of sympathy as I watch her hunched form slip out the door. It takes me a moment to realize that I am alone with Jake in this small, isolated room. There are no windows to the main classroom, only the wooden door which is now swinging shut with an ominous click.
The silence expands into something almost tangible. The sound of my foot tapping against the desk leg is deafening. I force myself still, practically holding my breath in anticipation of the storm I sense brewing across the room. After a few moments I hear a defeated sigh and the squeal of the chair as it rolls over toward me. I stiffen my arms so my fists don’t clench in response to my pounding pulse, so loud it drowns out the muffled lecture from the other room.
“I have a dangerous temper,” Jake says quietly next to me. I shift warily to face him, braced for the hatred in his eyes, but he only looks tired.
“Sorry?” I say, leaning away from him imperceptibly. He sighs again and looks at me with more focus.
“I said I’m sorry I was rude yesterday. I’m sure you didn’t know you were stealing my beat,” he repeats, though he doesn’t sound convinced. I chew on the inside of my lip and watch him. His hand twitches, and I have a mental image of him wrapping that hand around my throat.
“Oh. Um. It’s okay,” I roll my chair back just a bit. Jake notices and scowls.
“I’m not going to attack you. Just calm down,” he growls.
Easy for him to say.
“Right. I know,” I say, laughing awkwardly, like the idea of him throttling me and dumping me in the river never crossed my mind. He bares his teeth in what he fondly believes is a smile and then he rolls back over to his station. My breath releases in a soundless sigh. We work quietly, if uneasily, for the next hour. It helps that he is on the phone with advertisers most of the time, and we carefully ignore one another, even though I track every move he makes.
After a while, I accept that he’s not going to kill me in the near future and I become engrossed in my research.
Without making a conscious decision to do so, I click on an article dated October 20th about Miranda’s unexpected death. I hold my gaze steady so that I can read the truth before it fades away.
Local Girl Possibly Murdered or Committed Suicide
I couldn’t get a real answer out of anyone, but from what the cops on the scene said, it looks like the girl hit her head and drowned. The back of her head is cut so deep her skull is visible. They said it looks like a rock did it, but all they’ll let me print is that it was a drowning. I’m pretty sure there was foul play, but I doubt they’ll find any evidence. Looks like everything washed away. No one is saying much, but it seems like the girl was emotionally disturbed. Her friend is convinced she wouldn’t kill herself. She thinks Miranda was murdered.
I blink and the words bleed into a new article, one that cleverly hides all the author’s suspicions. A picture of Miranda, the same one pasted on her locker, is juxtaposed next to a blurry shot of people in uniforms wading in the water around a big stone tower of some sort, the rusty old train bridge hovering over them like an iron cloud.
Local High School Student Found Drowned
Authorities report that Miranda Oglesby, a popular student at John Brown High School, was found dead yesterday morning at the base of the old bridge supports above the fork of the rivers. Cause is yet undetermined, but sources at the coroner’s office claim that accidental drowning is likely. Ms. Oglesby was an only child, beloved of her parents and friends, and was an honor roll student at the high school. Her parents were unavailable for comment, but close friend Nicole Sharp was on the scene shortly after the body was found and said “Miranda didn’t do this. She would never do this on purpose.”
My chair is wrenched away from the computer and spun around so violently I nearly fall off. Jake’s face is so close to mine I can smell the peppermint on his breath and feel the malice vibrating from him like heat from a furnace. I shrink into my chair to try to escape, but he plants both hands behind me on the desk, trapping me between his arms. His eyes scorch me with barely contained rage as he moves forward slightly, his knees pressing against mine. Terror floods through me and I stop breathing. For a second I am reminded of the mind-numbing panic I felt in my nightmare, and my entire body freezes up, immobile until he releases me.
“I want to strangle you.”
Jake’s voice is unrecognizable in this low growl, like some primal beast warning its prey it is about to be eaten. Whatever he is really saying is lost in the chilling knowledge that deep down, my pain is on his mind.
“You understand? This is none of your business. She’s dead. She killed herself. End of story.”
I try to nod, to say something, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and my arms just tremble.
His face descends a touch, and his mouth is nearly brushing mine. Electricity flashes through me and my lips part slightly as I draw an unsteady breath. His eyes flicker and become uncertain before he pushes away, stumbling a little as he shoves the chair back with his foot. The back of the chair bumps against the desk, stirring me from my petrified state.
He is lying.
Jake runs a hand over his face and turns away, gripping his own chair with white knuckles. I have an odd impulse to put my arms around him and ease the rigid tension in his shoulders, but feeling rushes back into my limbs and along with my ability to think, a sudden blast of anger follows. I’m not a combative person by nature, but if you corner any animal, even one so harmless as a hamster, it will bite. Leaping to my feet, I grab a notebook from the desk and launch it at him with as much force as I can muster. It strikes the back of his head with a satisfying thwack, and he spins around, hand to his head, a comical expression of surprise replacing his earlier fury.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” I shout, fighting my own urge to choke the breath from him. He blinks at me and takes a step forward.
“Stop right there. You take one more step toward me and I’m going to scream and tell everyone how you think it’s fine to threaten a girl you’ve just met.”
Jake’s face flushes red and he balls his fists at his side. “I didn’t threaten you,” he says, affronted.
“You physically intimidated me while telling me something wasn’t my business. I could press assault charges,” I inform him, working hard to keep my bravado going.
“I didn’t touch you!” he protests, anger replacing confusion.
“Your knees did. And it counts anyway, because you pinned me to the chair and practically put your mouth on mine…you know what? It doesn’t matter. You can go right ahead and try to explain how what you just did wasn’t assault to the principal. I don’t see any reason to cut you a break,” I spit out, angrier than I’ve ever been with a relative stranger. Fear is driving most of my outburst, but I hate being pushed. Hit me hard enough and I’ll hit back.
/> I stomp toward the door, fully intending to go out and tell my pervert teacher what just happened, but Jake grabs my elbow and yanks me back so hard my arm feels like it’s ripping from the socket. I gasp in pain and he releases me almost instantly, but I can feel that I will bruise. Tears sting my eyes and I glare up at him, ignoring the softening in his expression as he sees how upset I am.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” I growl, holding onto my pride with grasping fingers. I am humiliated he can see how much he has frightened me. “You probably killed Miranda. That’s why you don’t want anyone looking into her death. What’d she do? Threaten to tell someone you’re an abusive asshole?”
Jake stumbles away from me drunkenly, the livid red draining from his face until he is so pallid I worry for a second he might pass out. With the distance between us, I begin to feel the immediate threat dissipate and strengthen my grip on my emotions. He stares at me unseeing for a moment and then sinks to his chair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I just get so angry sometimes…”
The violence of the moment before has faded, but I still keep a safe distance between us. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. You just really freaked me out, you know?” I am not sure why I am apologizing to this boy who a moment ago radiated brutality by just breathing, but the stricken look he wears makes me feel awkward and somehow at fault.
“No, you’re right. I may as well have killed her.” Jake sighs wearily and rubs his forehead as though he has a headache.
I glance around the room, totally unprepared to deal with this abrupt transformation. “I don’t understand,” I say warily. He laughs bitterly and looks up at me.
Instinct Page 6