A Whisper To A Scream

by S. B. Addison Books

  “What position?”

  He throws his hands up pretending to barrel a game winning pass to the wide receiver. “Quarterback.”

  That makes sense. If he can play the piano like Tchaikovsky and paint like Van Gogh, there’s no doubt in my mind he can throw a football like Jerry Rice. I’ve come to the conclusion that there isn’t one thing that Adam can’t do perfectly.

  Hanging a left, Adam speeds up my driveway. “So are you going to come watch me play?”

  I smirk. “Do you really want me to?”

  He parks the car. “Of course.” He glides two of his fingers across my chin. “I have to have my number one girl there.”

  A loud throaty laugh rasps from my esophagus. Not because what he said was funny, but because it’s the first time I’ve heard him sound cheesy. With Adam almost everything he says sounds so strategic—so planned out. It’s like he has to think about what he says before the words leave his lips.

  “I’m having another party on Friday,” he announces as we turn our bodies to face each other.

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Are your parents ever home?”

  “Hardly ever on weekends.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “How did you know about her?”

  “I saw her bedroom at your last party, remember? It was right before you tried to kick me out of yours.”

  He leans in, tracing my jawline with his fingertip. “Right.” He’s so close I can feel the heat from his lips on mine. A burning desire starts in my core and before I can rectify what I’m doing, I fling my body across the seat and straddle him. His hands are in my hair, tugging gently. Soft lips trail along my neck and I’m not physically present anymore. I’m floating above my body so high from his touch that I don’t want to ever come down. He crushes his mouth to mine and presses me closer. I can’t think of anything else except for how I never want to pull my lips away from his. Adam’s free hand trails up my shirt along my spine and I shiver.

  I lose my grip with reality. Adam is an illusion. Not real. But his mouth hovering over mine in a passionate frenzy feels so real. Too amazing and spine tingling to be a fantasy. I come crashing back into my body and as much as it hurts to pull away from him I do.

  He tucks loose pieces of hair behind my ears. “Is something wrong?”

  I feel foolish—awkward. He oozes sex appeal. And I know he’s overly experienced when it comes to girls. So how do I tell him? How do I tell him I’ve never been with a boy in that way?

  Blake pops into my head, accompanied by the distasteful look he wore when I told him he wasn’t allowed below the pants. “I’ve just…” I struggle to get the words out.

  “Ellory,” Adam urges. “You can tell me anything.”

  Heat radiates through my cheeks and I stare at my hands. “I’ve just never done that with a boy before,” I stammer.

  His fingers are on my chin and he tips my head up. “Look at me,” he commands. I keep my eyes down. “I’m serious. Look at me.” Hesitantly, I lift my eyes and look at him. There’s an understanding look on his face. “You mean so much more to me than that.”

  “Really?”

  He cups the back of my neck and I rest my forehead against. “Yes. And besides, I’d never pressure you into doing something you weren’t ready for.”

  “I just know some guys have certain expectations…”

  “Some guys do. But, fortunately for you, I’m not one of those guys.” He places a gentle peck on my lips.

  I’m seriously the luckiest girl on the planet.

  In my living room, I watch Adam from the window as he turns the car around, the tires spitting up gravel and dust. I place my hand on the window longingly, wishing that he could stay with me forever. I smash my lips together and still feel his mouth on mine. I close my eyes and visualize his hands caressing every inch of my body. By the time I open my eyes he’s gone. And I feel a part of me die.

  For the first time in a long time I decide to do homework. Mom’s going to shit a brick of happiness if she gets home while I’m doing it. Wren usually lets me copy hers on the way to school or in study hall.

  Rummaging through the junk-drawer, I search frantically for a pen. There has to be one in one of the three drawers. I give up on the first drawer that consists only of rubber bands, coupons, and a few household tools. I open the second drawer and center on a black ball-point pen. But before I close the drawer, a crème envelope catches my attention. I swipe the envelope from the drawer and carry it over to the kitchen table.

  I pull out a chair and take seat, once again examining how it’s addressed. The writing reminds me of the way wedding invitations are penned. I dip my finger in the hole I’d previously made and slide it all the way across. The thick envelope crinkles and rustles through the quiet and a sharp piece cuts into the top of my finger. “Ouch! Damn it!”

  I drop the envelope on the floor and sucks on my finger. The tiny cut throbs and my whole finger burns. Paper cuts are the worst.

  Bending down, I reach for the envelope, my thumb and forefinger grip a loose corner and the a small card, like a thank you note slides out and flips open on the tile floor.

  Choking on my breath, I read the card. Eyes wide. A nauseous feeling of fear rotates through my stomach. Seven words. Seven terrifying words.

  He’s not who you think he is.

  Chapter 18: The Letter

  I’ve been staring at the red, block-lettered note for the last twenty minutes. I haven’t even bothered to pick it up off the floor. The muscles in my spine tighten. He’s not who you think he is.

  I know immediately they are referring to Adam. There’s no other ‘he’ in my life.

  The red letters fade in and out of my vision and I try to think of who might have sent me this. Katie or Megan maybe? No. They’re both bitches, but neither of them would think of something like this. Neither one of them has the mental capacity to toy with a person.

  Then I think of Wren for a second and instantly check her off in my head. Wren would never. Molly? Again another no. Someone from Adam’s past maybe? But I don’t know anyone from his past. And obviously, they don’t know me.

  Squeaks, jingling, and a turning crank rings out from the garage, cutting into my thoughts. Shit! Mom’s home. The engine to her car dies down and I hear the garage door again as she hits the button outside the kitchen door. Scrambling I snatch the letter from the floor and slide it into the middle of my book.

  Flipping through my book, I find the page I’m supposed to be on and whip out my notebook as soon as she walks through the door. I look up at her briefly, and then resume pretending to do my homework.

  Mom gasps and clutches her chest. The whole time she reacts I’m telling myself to play this off cool. So she doesn’t suspect that something is wrong with me.

  She hangs up her coat and purse on a rack next to the door. “I think I have just died and gone to parental heaven,” she utters as she steps next to me hovering over my book. She kisses the top of my head and stares down at my textbook. “Are you actually doing homework?”

  I’m panicking. Mom is looking at me and I’m looking at my trembling fingers. I exhale lightly and swallow hard. I smile at her. “Yep.” I shoo her away. “Now back off. You’re invading my space.”

  Mom raises her hands backing away. I relax the second she exits.

  Lying in my bed that night, I’m so torn and I’ve never felt so alone. I can’t go to anyone. I can’t tell Mom because she’ll freak out and maybe get the cops involved. I can’t go to Adam because what if this just all something stupid? What if someone is playing some kind of prank? Wren. She always looks at things logically. Wren will know what to do and I know that I can trust her.

  The next day at school, I wait for her by the bathroom door. Shrouded by the neutral wall, I remain hidden. I don’t anyone to notice anything off when I’m talking to her. I watch her intensely as she steps away from her locker and closes the gap between us. Like a burglar in a dark alley, I reach out
and yank her into the girls’ bathroom, my hand over her mouth.

  Wren shakes and pushes me off her once we’re through the door, “Ellory! What’s wrong with you? You scared the crap out of me!” she yells hostily.

  “Shh!” I place my finger against my lips. “I’ve got to tell you something, but you’ve got to swear you won’t say anything to anyone.”

  “Did you have to pretend you were kidnapping me to tell me?” she snaps.

  “Yes.”

  Rushing water echoes against the rose colored tile walls. My eyes widen and I shake my head at Wren, telling her to keep quiet. We both turn our attention to the last stall. Miss Miller steps out of the stall, walking to the sink. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “Good morning, Miss Miller,” we say in unison.

  Miss Miller tucks her auburn hair behind her ears and washes her hands. Wren’s arms tense around the books she’s holding. Me, I can’t move at all. I’m frozen. There’s something frightening about Miss Miller. So frightening that I’d almost prefer to have Ms. Winkle back. And I’m not a fan of Ms. Winkle. At all.

  An empty haunting stare is in Miss Miller’s eyes as her gaze shifts between me and Wren. “I’ll see you ladies in English.”

  We nod. Then Miss Miller exits.

  I shudder. “That woman gives me the creeps,” I comment.

  “Tell me about it,” Wren adds. “I’d rather have Miss Winkle.”

  “I was thinking the same exact thing.”

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?” Wren peeks at her watch. “The bell is going to ring in three minutes.” I reach into my back pocket and shove the note in her face. Wren looks clueless. “Well what is it?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” I harrumph. “Someone sent me this in the mail. No return address. I have no idea who it’s from or what to do about it.”

  Wren squints and studies the lettering. “Do you think they’re talking about Adam?”

  “Of course. It says ‘he’. Aside from my Dad, whom I haven’t seen in years. What other ‘he’ could this person be talking about?”

  She draws her eyebrows together and places a knuckle on her lips. “I don’t know, Ells. You can try googling Adam. See if you can find anything on him.”

  “You think there would be stuff on him on the internet?”

  Wren opens the heavy, wooden bathroom door and I follow her out. “Duh. Where have you been? They put almost everything on the internet anymore.”

  I nod. But I don’t own a computer. Mom doesn’t believe in them. She has this old-fashioned attitude about modern technology.

  During my fourth period study-hall I get a pass and go to the library. There’s a row of computers in the back that students can use amidst the stacks of dusty, out of date books. I enter, engulfed by quiet and smile at Mrs. Snell, the librarian before weaving through the metal racks of books. I sit down at the computer in farthest corner and open up the internet search engine. I type in Adam’s full name, Chicago Illinois, and his age. Naturally, five thousand different Adam Jacobs come up.

  I move the mouse down and scroll through the results until I come to an image. Adam is shaking some man’s hand. The man opposite Adam is dressed in a suit, and clean-cut. He seems like he might be important. Then I see another picture of Adam with his arm back, preparing to barrel a football eighty yards or so. I click on a few articles that accompany the images. One talks about him doing charity work at a local soup-kitchen. Then I abandon my search. What am I doing? The letter is nothing. It’s a stupid prank. It has to be.

  Hushed voices and footsteps pound in my ears. “How many times to I have to tell you! Stop!” A guy’s voice. Adam’s voice.

  “I’m sorry okay!” Katie.

  I appear at the end of the aisle to see Katie, with her back against the bookshelf and Adam across from her his arm on a metal bar above her head. I sneer, folding my arms across my chest. “What’s going on?” I ask my voice at a normal level.

  Adam’s eyes snap toward me. “Nothing,” he says shortly. “Katie was just leaving.”

  Katie doesn’t even look at me. She scoffs, slides away from the rack, and walks away.

  Adam strolls over to me and places his arm around my shoulder. I look up at him. “What was that about?”

  “You know Katie,” he tells me. “That girl just doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no.”

  I flashback to the bold red words on the note. He’s not who you think is. I stare at him—hard as we walk out of the library. But he is who I think he is. The guy I love. The caring, sweet, beautiful, and funny guy I love. I’ve got to start trusting him. I’ve got to realize that him liking me isn’t too good to be true. All I know for sure is if I don’t swallow all of the uncertainty inside of me, eventually I’m going to lose my mind over it.

  Wren meets me at my locker at the end of the day. “How’d the search go?”

  I shrug. “Good.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Her eyes bulge. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing but good stuff. He’s like a saint or something. There was stuff on him winning awards. Doing charity work.”

  We walk down the hall. “I guess you can forget about that note and that hunch of yours.”

  “Yep.”

  I know she’s right.

  I meet Adam at his car. In the rearview mirror the dark silhouette of a person appears in a window on the top floor of the school. I twist around in a panic and look out the back window. There’s no one there. Adam notices that I’m tense and hesitates before getting in. “Are you okay?” He stifles a look around the parking lot then hops into the car. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I’m panting. I think I just did. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Let’s just get out of here. I don’t feel good.”

  Adam starts the car and peels out of the parking lot and my eyes are still glued to the empty spot in the window.

  Chapter 19: Gridiron God

  During last the period of the day on Friday, there’s a pep-rally. I sit amongst the student body on the wooden pull-out bleachers in the gym, trying to make it through the cheerleaders’ routine without blanching. I don’t make it.

  The football players are introduced and I tune out Principal Anderson’s voice when Adam walks out and instantly finds my eyes in the crowd. I try to keep myself from appearing too giddy, but I can’t help it. Adam lights me up, inside and out. My eyes shift to the number on his jersey. He’s number one. Number one player. Number one in my heart. I know that’s a cheesy analogy, but I know that’s how I’ll always feel and no other number can trump number one or follow it. Number one always comes first.

  I wait for Adam at the gym doors after the assembly. He laces his fingers through mine and brushes his lips against my cheek. He strikes a pose. “How do I look in my uniform?”

  I laugh. “Like an athlete.”

  He laughs and kisses my forehead. We walk through the back exit to his car. “There something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Oh yeah? What is it?”

  “You know homecoming is next weekend. I just wanted to see if maybe you wanted to go.”

  I’d never been to a school dance, but I never missed an after party. “I don’t know, Adam. Dances aren’t really my thing.”

  “Come on.” He looks at me playfully. “Have you ever been to one?”

  “No.”

  He stops at his car and opens the door for me. I slide into the passenger seat and he hovers over me. “I don’t dance. And I don’t wear dresses. That’s how I know.” I picture my closet, piled with ripped jeans, army pants, and t-shirts. There’s one dress in the very back, hidden amongst the tomboy apparel. A short, plain black dress I wore to my great aunt’s funeral when I was twelve.

  Adam closes my door and jogs around to his side of the car. He gets in in a flash and revs up the engine. “This is your senior year.” I come to the realization that he’s not going to give
up until I say yes. “Don’t you want to be able to look back on high school and know that you enjoyed yourself at one high school dance?”

  “Not really.”

  “Can’t you humor me and go for my sake then.” I scrunch my nose and make a face. Adam laughs then pouts, “Please. Do you want me to beg?”

  “Fine.” I give in. “Just this one. But you have to promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “You have to promise me that if I go to this dance with you, you won’t pull this crap when prom comes around.”

  A devilish grin materializes on his lips. “I can’t make that kind of promise.”

  “Adam,” I say sternly. “Promise me.”

  He exhales. “Fine. I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  After Adam drops me off, I go to my room and change into some comfy clothes. Mom told me on Wednesday that I could go to his game and the party after, but until seven, when the game starts, I’ve got some time to kill. I watch some TV, a crime show that always has reruns. Then go to the kitchen and make myself a turkey sandwich. I’ve inhaled half of it before I’ve walked back into the living room and I see something on the counter.

  I freeze, as the crème envelope sticking out amongst the other mail catches my eye. I exhale slowly, telling myself that it could be anything. I turn and inch my fingers toward it, plucking the rectangular letter from the pile of mail. I almost choke on the turkey in my throat and the rest of my sandwich falls to the floor.

  The same handwriting. The same kind of envelope. No return address. I shred the envelope and remove the card. No… Not again. The red block letters stab my eyes.

  Stay away from him. He’s mine.

  Now I’m not frightened. I’m angry. This has to be Katie’s handiwork, especially after what I witnessed in the library. I crunch the letter in my hand and throw it in the trash. This is going to stop. Tonight at Adam’s party, I’m going to take care of this once and for all.

  ****

  Mom is folding a basket of laundry when I walk into her room. “Mom?”