HUSH part 2
My mom and I live in a drafty eighteenth century farmhouse on the outskirts of Coldwater. It's the only house on Hawthorne Lane, and the nearest neighbors are almost a mile away. I sometimes wonder if the original builder realized that out of all the plots of land available, he chose to construct the house in the eye of a mysterious atmospheric inversion that seems to suck all the fog off Maine's coast and transplant in into our yard. The house was at this moment veiled by gloom that resembled escaped and wandering spirits.
I spent the evening planted on a stool in the kitchen in the company of algebra homework and Dorothea, our housekeeper. My mom works for the Hugo Renaldi Auction Company, coordinating estate and antique auctions all along the East Coast. This week she was in upstate New York. Her job required a lot of travel, and she paid Dorothea to cook and clean, but I was pretty sure the fine print on Dorothea's job description included keeping a watchful, parental eye on me.
"How was school?" Dorothea asked with a slight German accent. She stood at the sink, scrubbing overbaked lasagna off a casserole dish.
"I have a new biology partner."
"This a good thing, or a bad thing?"
"Kitty was my old partner."
"Humph." More vigorous scrubbing, and the flesh on Dorothea's upper arm jiggled. "A bad thing, then."
I sighed in agreement.
"Tell me about the new partner. This girl, what is she like?"
"He's tall, dark, and annoying." And eerily closed off. Gerard's eyes were hazel-green orbs. Taking in everything and giving away nothing. Not that I wanted to know more about him. Since I hadn't liked what I'd seen on the surface, I doubted I'd like what was lurking deep inside.
Only, this wasn't exactly true. I'd liked a lot if what I'd seen. Long, lean muscles down his arms, broad but relaxed shoulders, and a smile that was part playful, part seductive. I was in an uneasy alliance with myself, trying to ignore what had started to feel irresistible.
At nine pm Dorothea finished for the evening and locked up on her way out. I flashed the porch lights twice to say good bye; they must have penetrated the fog, because she answered with a honk. I was alone.
I took inventory of the feelings playing out inside me. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't tired. I wasn't lonely either. But I was a little bit restless about my biology assignment. I'd told Gerard I wouldn't call, and six hours ago I'd meant it. All I could think about now was that I didn't want to fail. Biology was my toughest class. My grade was always between A and B. In my mind, that was the difference between a full and half scholarship in my future.
I went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. I looked at what was left of the seven numbers on my hand. Secretly I hoped Gerard didn't answer. If he was unavailable or uncooperative on assignments, it was evidence I could use against him to convince Gabe to undo the seating chart. Feeling hopeful, I keyed in his number.
Gerard answered on the third ring. "What's up?"
"I'm calling to see if we can meet tonight. I know you said you're busy, but -"
"Linds." Gerard said my name like it was the punch line to a joke. "Thought you weren't going to call. Ever."
I hated that I was eating my words. I hated Gerard for rubbing it in. I hated Coach Gabe and his deranged assignments. I opened my mouth, hoping something smart would come out. "Well? Can we meet or not?"
"I can't."
"Can't, or won't?"
"I'm in the middle of a pool game." I heard the smile in his voice. "An important pool game."
From the background noise I heard, I believed him. Whether it was more important than my assignment was up for debate.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"Bob's Arcade. It's not your kind of hangout."
"Then let's do the interview over the phone. I've got a list of questions-"
He hung up on me.
I stared at the phone in disbelief, then ripped a clean sheet of paper from my notebook. I scribbled Jerk on the first line. On the line beneath it I added, Smokes cigars. Will die of lung cancer. Hopefully soon. Excellent physical shape. I immediately scribbled over the last observation until it was illegible.
The microwave clock blinked to 9:05. As I saw it, I had two choices. Either I faked my interview with Gerard, or I drove to Bob's Arcade. The first option might have been tempting, if I could just block out Saporta's voice warning that he'd check all answers. I didn't know enough about Gerard to bluff my way through a whole interview. And the second option? Not even remotely tempting.
I delayed making a decision long enough to call my mom. Part of our agreement for her working and traveling so much was that I stay out of trouble. I liked my freedom, and I didn't want to do anything to give my mom a reason to take a pay cut and get a local job to keep an eye on me.
On the fourth ring her voicemail picked up. "It's me," I said. "Just checking in. I've got some bio homework to finish up, then I'm going to bed. Call me at lunch tomorrow, if you want. Love you."
After I hung up, I found a quarter in the kitchen drawer. Best to leave complicated decisions to fate.
"Heads I go," I told George Washington's profile, "tails I stay." I flipped the quarter in the air, flattened it to the back of my palm, and dared a peek. My heart squeezed out an extra beat, and I told myself I wasn't sure what it meant.
"It's out of my hands now."
Determined to get this over with as quickly as possible, I grabbed a map off the fridge, snagged my keys, and backed my Fiat Spider down the driveway. The car had probably been cute in 1979, but I wasn't wild about the chocolate brown paint, the rust spreading unchecked across the back fender, or the white leather seats.
Bob's Arcade turned out to be farther away than I would have liked, nestled close to the coast, a thirty minute drive. With the map flattened to the steering wheel, I pulled into a parking lot behind a large cinder-block building with an electric sign flashing only certain letters. Graffiti splashed the walls, and cigarette butts dotted the foundation. Clearly Bob's would be filled with future Ivy Leaguers and model citizens. I tried to keep my thoughts lofty and nonchalant, but my stomach felt a little uneasy. Double-checking that I'd locked all the doors, I headed inside.
I stood in line, waiting to get past the ropes. As the group ahead of me paid, I squeezed past, walking toward the maze of blaring sirens and blinking lights.
"Think you deserve a free ride?" hollered a smoke-roughened voice.
I swung around and blinked at the cashier. "I'm not here to play. I'm looking for someone."
He grunted. "You want past me, you pay." He put his palms on the counter, where a price chart had been duct-taped, showing I owed fifteen dollars. Cash only.
I didn't have any money. And if I had, I wouldn't have wasted it to spend a few minutes interrogating Gerard about his personal life. I felt a flush of anger at the chart and at having to be here in the first place. I only needed to find Gerard, then we could hold the interview outside. I wasn't going to drive here and leave empty-handed.
"If I'm not back in two minutes, I'll pay the fifteen dollars." Before I could exercise better judgement or muster up a tad more patience, I ducked under the ropes. I didn't stop there. I hurried through the arcade, keeping my eyes open for Gerard. I told myself to just keep going, gain speed and momentum. At this point I just wanted to find Gerard and get out.
The cashier followed after me, shouting, "Hey!"
Certain Gerard wasn't on the main level, I jogged downstairs, following signs to Ozz's Pool Hall. At the bottom of the stairs, dim track lighting illuminated several poker tables, all in use. Cigar smoke almost as thick as the fog enveloping my house clouded the low ceiling. Between the poker tables and the bar was a row of pool tables. Gerard was across the farthest from me, attempting a difficult bank shot.
"Gerard!" I called out.
Just as I spoke, he shot his pool stick, driving it into the table. His head whipped up. He stared at me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
The cashier clomped down the steps behind me, vising my shoulder with his hand. "Upstairs. Now."
Gerard's mouth moved into a barely there smile. Hard to say if it was mocking or friendly. "She's with me."
This seemed to hold some sway with the cashier, who loosened his grip. Before he could change his mind, I shook off his hand and weaves through the tables toward Gerard. I took the first several steps in stride, but found my confidence slipping the closer I got to him.
I was immediately aware of something different about him. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I could feel it like electricity. More animosity?
More confidence.
More freedom to be himself. And those black eyes were getting to me. They were like magnets clinging to my every move. I swallowed discreetly and tried to ignore the queasy tap dance in my stomach. Something about Gerard wasn't right. Something about Gerard wasn't normal. Wasn't safe.
"Sorry about the hang-up," Gerard said, coming beside me. "The reception's not great down here."
With a tilt of his bead, Gerard motioned the others to leave. There was an uneasy silence before anybody moved. The first guy to leave bumped into my shoulder as he walked past. I took a step back to balance myself and looked up just in time to receive cold eyes from the other two players as they departed.
"Eight ball?" I asked him, raising my eyebrows and trying to sound completely sure of myself. Maybe he was right and Bob's wasn't my kind of place. That didn't mean I was going to bolt for the doors. "How high are the stakes?"
His smile widened. This time I was pretty sure he was mocking me. "We don't play for money."
I set my purse on the edge of the table. "Too bad. I was going to bet everything I have against you." I held up my assignment, two lines already filled. "A few questions and I'm out of here."
"Jerk?" Gerard read aloud, leaning on his pool stick. "Lung cancer? Is that supposed to be prophetic?"
I fanned the assignment through the air. "I'm assuming you contribute to the atmosphere. How many cigars a night? One? Two?"
"I don't smoke." He sounded sincere, but I didn't buy it.
"Mm-hmm." I said, setting the paper down between the eight ball and the solid purple. I accidentally nudged the solid purple while writing Definitely cigars on line three.
"You're messing up the game." Gerard said, still smiling.
I caught his and couldn't help but match his smile briefly. "Hopefully not in your favor. Biggest dream?" I was proud of this one because I knee it would stump him. It required forethought.
"Kiss you."
"That's not funny." I said, holding his eyes, grateful I didn't stutter.
"No, but it made you blush."
I boosted myself onto the side of the table, trying to look impassive. I crossed my legs, using my knee as a writing board. "Do you work?"
"I bus tables at the Borderline. Best Mexican in town."
"Religion?"
He didn't seem surprised by the question, but he didn't seem overjoyed by it either. "I thought you said a few questions. You're already at number four."
"Religion?" I asked more firmly.
Gerard dragged a hand thoughtfully along the line of his jaw. "Not religion...cult."
"You belong to a cult?" I realized too late that while I sounded surprised, I shouldn't have.
"As it turns out, I'm in need of a healthy female sacrifice. I'd planned on luring her into trusting me first, but if you're ready now..."
Any smile left on my face slid away. "You're not impressing me."
"I haven't started yet."
I edged off the table and stood up. He was a little over two inches taller than me. "Kitty said you're a senior. How many times have you failed biology? Once? Twice?"
"Kitty isn't my spokesperson."
"Are you denying failure?"
"I'm telling you I didn't go to school last year." His eyes taunted me. It only made me more determined.
"You were home-schooled?"
Gerard laid his pool stick across the tabletop and crooked a finger for me to come closer. I didn't. "A secret?" he said in confidential tones. "I've never gone to school before. Another secret? It's not as dull as I expected."
He was lying. Everyone went to school. He was getting a rise out of me.
"You think I'm lying." he said around a smile.
"You've never been to school? If that's true, and you're right, what made you decide to come this year?"
"You."
The impulse to feel scared pounded through me, but I told myself that was exactly what Gerard wanted. Standing my ground, I tried to act annoyed instead. Still, it took me a moment to find my voice. "That's not a real answer."
He must have taken a step closer, because suddenly our bodies were separated by nothing but a shallow margin of air. "Your eyes, Lindsay. Those cold brown eyes are surprisingly irresistible." He tipped his head sideways, as if to study me from a new angle. "And that killer mouth."
Startled not so much by his comment, but that part of me responded to it, I stepped back. "That's it. I'm leaving."
But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they weren't true. I felt the urge to say something more. Picking through the thoughts tangled in my head, I tried to find what it was I felt I had to say. Why was he so derisive, and why did he act like I'd done something to deserve it?
"You seem to know a lot about me," I said, making the understatement of the year. "More than you should. You seem to know exactly what to say to make me uncomfortable."
"You make it easy."
A spark of anger fired through me. "You admit you're doing this on purpose?"
"This?"
"Provoking me."
"Say 'provoking' again. Your mouth looks provocative when you do."
"We're done. Finish your pool game." I grabbed his pool stick off the table and pushed at him. He didn't take it.
"I don't like sitting next to you," I said. "I don't like being your partner. I don't like your condescending smile." My jaw twitched, something that typically happened only when I lied. I wondered if I was lying now. If I was, I wanted to kick myself. "I don't like you." I said as convincingly as I could, and thrust the stick against his chest.
"I'm glad Coach put us together." he said. I detected the slightest irony on the word "Coach," but I couldn't figure out any hidden meaning. This time he took the pool stick.
"I'm working to change that."
Gerard thought this was so funny, his teeth showed through his smile. He reached for me, and before I could move away, he untangled something from my hair.
"Piece of paper." he explained, flicking it to the ground. As he reached out, I noticed a marking on the inside of his wrist. At first I assumed it was a tattoo, but a second look revealed a ruddy brown, slightly raised birthmark. It was the shape of a splattered paint drop.
"That's an unfortunate place for a birthmark." I said, more than a little unnerved that it was so similarly positioned to my own.
Gerard casually slid his sleeve down over his wrist. "You'd prefer it someplace more private?"
"I wouldn't prefer it anywhere." I wasn't sure how this sounded and tried again. "I wouldn't care at all. Period."
"Any more questions?" he asked. "Comments?"
"No."
"Then I'll see you in bio."
I thought about telling him he'd never see me again. But I wasn't going to eat my words twice in one day.
***
Later that night a loud crack pulled me out of sleep. With my face mashed into my pillow, I held still, all of my senses on high alert. My mom was out of town at least once a month for work, so I was used to sleeping alone, and it had been months since I'd imagined the sound of footsteps creeping down the hall toward my room. The truth was, I never felt completely alone. Right after my dad was shot to death in Portland while buying my mom's birthday gift, a strange presence entered my life. Like someone was orbiting my world, watching from a distance. At first the phantom presence had creeped me out, but when nothing bad came of it, my anxiety lost it's edge. I started wondering if my dad's spirit was close by. The thought was usually comforting, but tonight was different. The presence felt like ice on skin.
Turning my head a fraction, I saw a shadow stretching across my floor. I flipped around to face the window, but nothing was there. I squeezed my pillow against me and told myself it was nothing. Still, I spent the next several minutes waiting for my pulse to calm down.
By the time I found the courage to get out of bed, the yard below my window was silent and still. The only noise came from tree branches scraping against the house, and my own heart thrumming under my skin.
***
Coach Saporta stood at the chalkboard droning on about something, but my mind was far from the complexities of science.
I was busy formulating reasons why Gerard and I should no longer be partners, making a list of them on the back of an old quiz. As soon as class was over, I would present my argument to Coach.
But it was the things that I hadn't written on the list that bothered. Things that had nothing to do with our working together. I found the location of Gerard's birthmark eerie, and I was scared by the incident at my window last night. I didn't outright suspect Gerard of spying on me, but I couldn't ignore the coincidence that I was almost positive I'd seen someone looking in my window just hours after I'd met him.
At the thought of Gerard spying on me, I reached inside the front compartment of my backpack and shook two iron pills from a bottle, swallowing them whole. They caught in my throat a moment, then found their way down.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Gerard's raised eyebrows.
I considered explaining that I was anemic and had to take iron a few times a day, especially when I was under stress, but I thought better. The anemia wasn't life threatening as long as I took regular doses of iron. I wasn't paranoid to the point that I thought Gerard would tell, but somehow my medical condition was a vulnerability that I felt better kept secret.
"Lindsey?"
Coach Gabe stood at the front of the room, his hand outstretched in a gesture that showed he was waiting for one thing-my answer. A slow burn made it's way up my cheeks.
"Could you repeat the question?" I asked.
The class snickered and Coach said, with slight irritation, "What qualities are you attracted to in a potential mate?"
"Potential mate?"
"Come on now, we haven't got all day."
I could hear Kitty laughing behind me. I ignored her and tried to speak. "You, uhm. Want me to list characteristics of a...?"
"Potential mate, yes, that would be helpful."
Without meaning to, I looked sideways at Gerard. He was eased back in his seat, one notch above a slouch, studying me with satisfaction. He flashed his pirate smile and mouthed, we're waiting.
I stacked my hands on the table, hoping I looked more composed than I felt. "I've never thought about it before."
"Well, like a snake in hunting mode-think fast."
"Could you call on someone else first?"
Saporta gestured impatiently to my left. "You're up, Gerard."
Unlike me, Gerard spoke with confidence. He had himself positioned so his body was angled slightly toward mine, our knees only inches apart.
"Smart, attractive, and vulnerable."
Coach Gabe was busy listing the adjectives on the board. "Vulnerable?" he asked. "How so?"
Kitty spoke up. "Does this have anything to do with the unit we're studying? Because I can't find anything about desired characteristics of a mate anywhere in our book."
Saporta stopped writing long enough to look over his shoulder. "Every animal on the planet attracts mates with the goal of reproduction. Frogs swell their bodies. Male gorillas beat their chests. Have you ever watched a male lobster rise up on the tips of his legs and snap his claws, demanding female attention? Attraction is the first element of all animal reproduction, humans included. Why don't you give us your list?"
Kitty held up five fingers. "Gorgeous, wealthy, indulgent, fiercely protective, and just a little bit dangerous." A finger went down with each description.
Gerard laughed under his breath. "The problem with human attraction is not knowing if it will be returned."
"Excellent point." Coach said.
"Humans are vulnerable," Gerard continued, "because they're capable of being hurt." At this, Gerard's knee knocked against mine. I scooted away, not daring to let myself wonder what he meant by the gesture.
Coach nodded. "The complexity of human attraction-and reproduction-is one of the features that set us apart from other species."
I thought I heard Gerard snort at this, but it was a very soft sound, and I couldn't be sure.
Coach continued, "Since the dawn of time, women have been attracted to mates with strong survival skills-like intelligence and physical prowess-because men with these qualities are more likely to bring home dinner at the end of the day." He stuck his thumbs in the air and grinned. "Dinner equals survival."
"Likewise," he continued, "men are attracted to beauty because it indicates health and youth-no point mating with a sickly woman who won't be around to raise the children." Gabe pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and chuckled.
"That is so sexist," Kitty protested. "Tell me something that relates to a woman in the twenty-first century."
"If you approach reproduction with an eye to science, you'll see that children are the key to the survival of our species. And the more children you have, the greater your contribution to the gene pool."
I practically heard Kitty's eyes rolling. "I think we're finally getting close to today's topic. Sex."
"Almost," said Coach, holding up a finger. "Before sex comes attraction, but after attraction comes body language. You have to communicate 'I'm interested' to a potential mate, only not in so many words."
Saporta pointed beside me. "All right, Gerard. Let's say you're at a party. The room is full of girls of all different shapes and sizes. You see blondes, brunettes, redheads, a few girls with black hair. Some are talkative, while others appear shy. You've found one girl who fits your profile-attractive, intelligent, and vulnerable. How do you let her know you're interested?"
"Single her out. Talk to her."
"Good. Now for the big question-how do you know if she's game or not?"
"I study her," Gerard said. "I figure out what she's thinking and feeling. She's not going to come right out and tell me, which is why I have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she hold eye contact, then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Lindsey is right now?"
Laughter rose in the room, I dropped my hands to my lap.
"She's game." said Gerard, bumping my leg again. Of all things, I blushed.
"Very good!" Coach said, his voice charged, smiling broadly.
"The blood vessels in Lindsey's face are widening and her skin is warming," Gerard said. "She knows she's being evaluated. She likes the attention, but she's not sure how to handle it."
"I am not blushing."
"She's nervous," Gerard said. "She's stroking her arm to draw attention away from her face and down to her figure, or maybe her skin. Both are strong selling points."
I nearly choked. He must be joking, or insane. I had no experience dealing with lunatics, and it showed. I felt like I spent most of our time together staring at Gerard, mouth agape. If I had any illusions about keeping up with him, I was going to have to figure out a new approach.
I placed my hands flat against the table, held my chin high, and tried to look as if I still possessed some dignity. "This is ridiculous."
Stretching his arm out to his side with exaggerated slyness, Gerard hung it on the back of my chair. I had the strange feeling that this was a threat aimed entirely at me, and that he was unaware and uncaring of how the class received it. They laughed, but he didn't seem to hear it, holding my eyes so singly with his own that I almost believed he'd carved a small, private world for us that no one else could reach.
Vulnerable, he mouthed.
I locked my ankles around the legs of my chair and jerked forward, feeling the weight of his arm drop off the back of the seat. I was not vulnerable.
"And there you have it!" Coach said, "Biology in motion."
"Can we please talk about sex now?" asked Kitty.
"Tomorrow. Read chapter seven and be ready for a discussion first thing."
The bell rang, and Gerard scraped his chair back. "That was fun. Let's do it again sometime." Before I could come up with something in reply, he edged behind me and disappeared out the door.
"I'm starting a petition to have Coach Gabe fired." Kitty said, coming to my table. "What was up with class today? It was watered-down porn. He practically had you and Gerard on top of the lab table, horizontal-"
I only gave her a look.
"Geez," Kitty said, stepping back.
"I need to talk to Saporta. I'll meet you at your locker in ten."
"Sure thing."
I made my way up to Gabe's desk, where he sat hunched over a book of basketball plays, small snake designs littering the desk, and what looked like a game of tic tac toe.
"Hi, Lindsey," he said without looking up. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to tell you the new seating chart and lesson plan is making me uncomfortable."
Coach kicked back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "I like the seating chart."
I set a copy of the school code of conduct and student rights down on top of it. "By law, no student should feel threatened on school property."
"You feel threatened?"
"I feel uncomfortable. And I'd like to propose a solution." When Coach didn't cut me off, I drew a confident breath. "I will tutor any student from any of your biology classes-if I can sit with Kitty again."
"Gerard could use a tutor."
I resisted gritting my teeth. "That defeats the point."
"But did you see him today? He was involved in the discussion. I haven't heard him say one word all year, but I put him next to you and-bingo. His grade in here is going to improve."
"And Kitty's is going to drop."
"That happens when you can't look sideways to get the right answer." he said dryly.
"Kitty's problem is lack if dedication. I'll tutor her."
"No can do." Glancing at his watch, he said, "I'm late for a meeting. Are we done here?"
I squeezed my brain for another argument, but it appeared I was out of inspiration.
"Let's give the seating chart a few more weeks. Oh, and I was serious about tutoring Gerard. I'll count you in." Coach didn't wait for my answer; he only whistled and ducked out the door.
***
By seven o'clock the sky had glowered into an inky blue, and I zipped up my coat for warmth. Kitty and I were on our way from the movie theater to the parking lot, having just watched The Sacrifice. It was my job to review movies for the eZine, and since I'd already seen every other movie showing at the theater, we'd resigned ourselves to the latest chiller movie.
"That," Kitty said, "was the freakiest movie I've ever seen. As a rule, we are no longer allowed to see anything suggestive of horror."
Fine by me. Take into consideration that someone had been lurking outside my bedroom window last night and compound it with watching a fully developed stalker movie tonight, and I was starting to feel a little paranoid.
"Can you imagine?" Kitty said. "Living your whole life never having a clue that the only reason you're being kept alive is to be used as a sacrifice?"
We both shuddered.
"And what was up with that altar?" she continued, annoyingly unaware that I would have rather talked about the life cycle of fungi than about the movie. "Why did the bad guy light the stone on fire before tying her down? When I heard her flesh sizzle-"
"Okay!" I shouted. "Where to next?"
"And can I just say if a guy ever kisses me like that, I will start dry heaving. Repulsive doesn't begin to describe what was going on with his mouth. That was makeup, right? I mean, nobody actually has a mouth like that in real life-"
"My review is due by midnight." I said, cutting across her.
"Oh. Right. To the library, then?" Kitty unlocked the doors to her 1995 purple Dodge Neon. "You're being awfully touchy, you know."
I slid into the passenger seat. "Blame the movie." Blame the peeping Tom at my window last night.
"I'm not talking about just tonight. I've noticed," she said with a mischievous curve of her mouth, "that you've been unusually crabby for a good half hour at the end of bio the past two days."
"Also easy. Blame Gerard."
Kitty's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. She adjusted it for a better look at her teeth. She licked them, giving a practiced smile. "I have to admit, his dark side calls to me."
I had no desire to admit it, but Kitty wasn't alone. I felt drawn to Gerard in a way I'd never felt drawn to anyone. There was a dark magnetism between us. Around him, I felt lured to the edge of danger. At any moment, it felt like he could push me over the edge.
"Hearing you say that makes me want to-" I paused, trying to think of exactly what our attraction to Gerard did make me want to do. Something unpleasant.
"Tell me you don't think he's good looking," Kitty said, "and I promise I'll never bring up his name again."
I reached to turn on the radio. Of all things, there had to be something better to do than ruin our evening by inviting Gerard, albeit abstractly, into it. Sitting beside him for one hour everyday, five days a week, was more than I could take.
"Well?" Kitty pressed.
"He could be good-looking. But I'd be the last to know. I'm a tainted juror on this one, sorry."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I can't get beyond his personality. No amount of beauty could make up for it."
"Not beauty. He's hard-edged."
I rolled my eyes.
Kitty honked and tapped her brake as a car pulled in front of her. "What? You disagree? Or tortured-artistic-rock-star-wannabe isn't your type?"
"I don't have a type," I said. "I'm not that narrow."
Kitty laughed. "You, babe, are more than narrow-you're confined. Cramped. There are very few, if any, boys at school you would fall for."
"That's not true." I said the words automatically. It wasn't until I'd spoken them that I wondered how accurate they were. I had never been seriously interested in anyone. How weird was I? "It isn't about the boys, it's about...love? I don't know, but I haven't found it yet."
"It isn't about love," Kitty said. "It's about fun."
I lifted my eyebrows, doubtful. "Kissing a guy I don't know-I don't care about-is fun?"
"Haven't you been paying attention in bio? It's about more than just kissing."
I shook my head, feeling slightly uncomfortable and really embarrassed.
"Want to know who I think would be really good?"
"Good?"
"Good," she repeated with an indecent smile.
"Not really."
"Your partner."
"Don't call him that," I said. " 'Partner' has a positive connotation."
Kitty squeezed into a parking space near the library doors and killed the engine, without fail, and gave me another smirk.
Inside the library we took a table on the main level, near adult fiction. I opened my laptop to begin typing my movie review. But I had a lot on my mind and wasn't feeling particularly equitable.
Kitty opened a bag of dried apple chips. "Want some?"
"I'm good, thanks."
She peered into the bag. "If you're not going to eat them, I'll have to. And I really don't want to.
Kitty was on the color-wheel fruit diet. Three red fruits a day, two blue, a handful of green...
She held up an apple chip, examining it front to back.
"What color?" I asked.
"Make-me-gag-Granny-Smith-green. I think."
Just then Eliza, the only sophomore to make varsity cheerleading in the history of Coldwater High, took a seat on the edge of our table. Her short brown hair was combed into a weird bowl shape, and like always, her skin was concealed under half a bottle of foundation. I was fairly certain I'd guessed the right amount, since there wasn't a trace of her freckles in sight. I hadn't seen any of Eliza's freckles since seventh grade, the same year she discovered Mary Kay. There was three-quarters of an inch between the hem of her skirt and her underwear...if she was even wearing any.
"Hi, Supersize." Eliza said to Kitty.
"Hi, Freakshow." Kitty said back.
"My mom is looking for models this weekend. The pay is nine dollars an hour. I thought you'd be interested."
Eliza's mom manages the local JCPenney, and on weekends she has Eliza and the rest of the cheerleaders model bikinis in the store's display windows.
"She's having a really hard time finding plus-size lingerie models," said Eliza.
"You've got food stuck in your teeth," Kitty told Eliza. "In the crack between your two front teeth. Looks like chocolate Ex-Lax..."
Eliza licked her teeth and slid off the table. As she sashayed off, Kitty stuck her finger in her mouth and pretended to gag. "She's lucky we didn't cross paths in a dark alley. Last chance-any chips?"
"Pass."
Kitty wandered off to discard the chips. A few minutes later she returned with a romance novel. She sat next to me, displaying the book's cover, saying, "Someday this is going to be us. Ravished by half-dressed cowboys. I wonder what it's like to kiss a pair of sunbaked, mud-crusted lips?"
"Dirty." I said, typing away.
"Speaking of dirty." There was an unexpected rise in her voice. "There's our guy."
I stopped typing long enough to peer over my laptop, and my heart skipped a beat. Gerard stood across the room in the checkout line. As if he sensed me watching, he turned. Our eyes locked until I broke away first, but not before receiving a slow grin.
My heartbeat turned erratic, and I told myself to pull it together. I wasn't going to go down this path. Not with Gerard. Not unless I was out of my mind.
"Let's go." I told Kitty. Shutting my laptop, I zipped it inside it's carrying case. I pushed my books inside my backpack, dropping a few on the floor as I did.
Kitty said, "I'm trying to read the title he's holding...hang on...How to be a Stalker."
"He's not really checking that out, right?" But I wasn't sure.
"It's either that or How to Radiate Sexy Without Trying."
"Shh!" I hissed.
"Calm down, he can't hear. He's talking to the librarian. He's checking out."
Confirming this with a quick glance over, I realized that if we left now, we'd probably meet him at the exit doors. And then I would be expected to say something to him. I ordered myself back into my chair and searched diligently through my pockets for absolutely nothing while he finished checking out.
"Do you think it's creepy he's here at the same time we are?" Kitty asked.
"Do you?"
"I think he's following you."
"I think it's a coincidence." This wasn't entirely true. If I had to make a list of the top ten places I would expect to find Gerard on any given night, the public library wouldn't make it. So what was he doing here?
The question was particularly disturbing after what had happened last night. I hadn't mentioned it to Kitty because I was hoping it would shrink away in my memory until it ceased to have happened. Period.
"Gerard!" Kitty stage-whispered. "Are you stalking Lindsey?"
I clamped a hand over her mouth. "Stop it. I mean it." Putting on a severe face.
"I bet he's following you," said Kitty, prying my hand away. "I bet he has a history of it too. I bet he has restraining orders. We should sneak into the front office. It would all be in his student file."
"We are not doing that."
"I'd create a diversion. I'm good at those. No one would see you. We could be spies."
"We're not spies."
"Do you know his last name?"
"No. And I'd like to keep it that way."
"Oh, come on. You love a good mystery, and it doesn't get better than this."
"The best mysteries involve a dead body. We don't have a dead body."
"Not yet!"
Shaking two iron pills from the bottle in my backpack, I swallowed them together.
***
Kitty bounced the neon into her driveway just after nine thirty. She killed the engine and dangled the keys in front of me.
"You're not going to drive me home?" I asked. A waste of breath, since I already knew her answer.
"There's fog and it always gets worse near your house," Kitty stated. "It freaks me out."
I grabbed the keys. "Thanks a lot."
"Don't blame me. Tell your mom to move closer. Tell her there's this new club called civilization and you guys should join."
"I guess you expect me to pick you up for school tomorrow?"
"Yeah that'd be nice. Breakfast is on me."
"It better be good."
"Be nice to my baby." She patted the Neon's dashboard. "But not too nice. Can't have her thinking there's better out there."
On the drive home I let my thoughts go towards Gerard. Kitty was right-something about him was incredibly alluring. And incredibly creepy. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced something about him was...off. The fact that he liked to annoy me wasn't exactly a news flash, but there was a difference between getting under my skin in class and possibly going as far as following me to the library to accomplish it. Not that many people would go to that much trouble...unless they had a very good reason.
Halfway home a pattering rain flushed out the wispy clouds of fog hovering above the road. Dividing my attention between the road and the controls on the steering wheel, I tried to locate the windshield wipers.
The streetlights flickered overhead, and I wondered if a heavier storm was blowing in. This close to the ocean the weather changed constantly, and a rainstorm could quickly escalate into a flash flood. I fed the Neon more glass.
The outside lights flickered again. A cold feeling prickles up the back of my neck, and the hairs on my arms tingled. I asked myself if I thought I was being followed. There were no headlights in the rearview mirror. No cars ahead, either. I was all alone. It wasn't a very comforting thought, I pushed the car to go faster.
I found the wipers, but even at top speed they couldn't keep up with the heavy rain. The stoplight ahead turned yellow. I rolled to a stop, checking to see that traffic was clear, then pulled into the intersection.
I heard the impact before I registered the dark silhouette skidding across the hood of the car.
I screamed and stomped on the brake. The silhouette thumped into the windshield with a splintering crack.
On impulse, I jerked the steering wheel a hard right. The back end of the Neon fishtailed, sending me spinning across the intersection. The figure rolled and disappeared over the edge of the hood.
I was holding my breath, squeezing the steering wheel between my hands. I lifted my feet off the pedals. The car bucked and stalled out.
He was crouched a few feet away, watching me. He didn't look injured.
He was dressed in all black and blended with the night, making it hard to tell what he looked like. At first I couldn't distinguish any facial features, and then I realized he was wearing a ski mask.
He rose to his feet, closing the distance between us. He flattened his palms to the driver's window. Our eyes connected through the holes of his mask. A lethal smile seemed to rise in his.
He gave another pound, the glass vibrating between us.
I tried starting the car. The engine revved, but the car bucked and died. I turned the engine over once more, but was distracted by an off key metallic groan. I watched with horror as the door began to bow. He was tearing it off.
His fist came through the window in an explosion of glass. His hand fumbled over my shoulder, clamping around my arm. I gave a hoarse cry, and made the Neon screech into motion. He hung on, gripping my arm, running beside the car several feet before dropping away.
I sped forward with the force of adrenaline. I checked the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't chasing me, then shoved the mirror to face away. I had to press my lips together to stop from screaming.