one
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: SOS
You remember Banana Man, right? That urban legend when we were kids? The reason we always took the long way home? All through middle school, it was either down Bradley, past the hospital and up McClellan, or it was over the hill and through the park. Not you. Lisa and me. I don't know if you ever cut through the woods. Maybe you weren't afraid. Maybe you didn't have anything to fear. After all, it was the girls he wanted. Banana Man. What a stupid name. When I was little, I imagined a monster: stilt legs and long teeth, oily black eyes. God, I had so many nightmares about those woods. Did you know that? How I used to dream of running and running until I found a shack and thought I was safe? But in the end, the shack was always his home, and he was waiting inside, waiting to shred me with his jagged fingernails. It all changed when Lisa told me about flashers: No, silly. You know, he shows girls his banana. Then I pictured some drooling perv in a belted raincoat, with a comb-over and thick, thick glasses. But that's not how he looks. Looked. No. He looked like somebody's dad. I thought he was just something somebody's parents made up to keep us out of the woods. Mom says the story's been around forever. But he's real. And now he's dead. He's dead, Scott. And I killed him.
two
I felt it in the air, a dangerous energy pulsing. I've always been sensitive to other people's moods-Lisa's, especially-and this was going to be monumental, explosive. It was in my bones, my gut, this tingling nervousness that made me wish I'd stayed home or gone somewhere alone with Adam. We were in Trent's bedroom on the third floor, drinking achingly sweet wine coolers, smoking, blasting Trent's expensive speakers. Exactly what we'd done four nights in a row since summer started.
But tonight was different.
There was the kind of stifling attic heat that bakes your brain. Everything reeked of boy: socks and dirty sheets and god-knows-what. The window was open, but there was no breeze to take the edge off. The balance had shifted. It was supposed to be me and Adam, and Lisa and Gabe, and Trent and Rachel. But Gabe had to work. And then Rachel got pissed at Trent-something stupid-and stormed out. Her squealing tires made us laugh.
Was their fight the match that lit the fuse? Or maybe it started long before that night, building and building, gathering strength like a storm. An act of nature. Something none of us had the power to control.
"Where are my keys?" Trent asked, looking at his desk. "Who moved my keys?"
I finished my wine cooler-warm and syrupy-and held it in my mouth. I swear I could feel my teeth corroding. Adam picked at the rubber on his sneaker. Behind the drum set, Lisa spun around and crashed a cymbal.
"If one of you guys is screwing with me-" Trent said, overturning a laundry basket on the bed and digging through his clothes.
Adam fell back on his elbow and reached for the bottle on the windowsill. "Maybe Rachel took them," he said. Trent's jaw tightened and Adam backpedaled. "Not on purpose."
"Yes, on purpose," I said, coaxing the bottle from Adam's grip.
Lisa nodded. "Tracy's right. She wants you to chase after her," she said, twirling a drumstick. "Don't do it. Get 'em tomorrow."
"I have to work in the morning." Trent groaned, raking his wild hair. A bead of sweat traveled down his neck. His T-shirt was wet and limp, like he'd pulled it straight from the washer. He snatched up his phone and tapped the screen. We were all silent, waiting to see if Rachel would answer.
"C'mon," Trent said. "Everybody up. We're going for a walk."
Stupid and wasted, the four of us stumbled through the darkened streets, Trent and Lisa in the lead. It was easily still eighty, but after Trent's bedroom it felt cool. I rubbed my arms, and Adam offered me his white oxford. He had dozens of them, all identical. White oxford, T-shirt, jeans, black Cons. That's what he wore year-round, except for winter when he layered a big black sweater on top.
"Can I keep it?" I asked, lifting the collar to my nose. "It smells like you."
Adam hugged me to his side and slowed his pace, dragging me with him onto someone's front lawn. I hesitated, then sunk into him. His kisses were soft, not rough and hurried like that jerk from Troy High that time that had ...
"Get a room!" Trent shouted, pulling me out of my thoughts. Lisa waved for us to keep up. Walking and kissing was complicated, so finally we just walked, arms around one another. Under the streetlights, we all looked sinisterly beautiful: Lisa's red lips purpled, her tiny pigtails bronzed. Trent's glasses reflecting the lights, making his eyes seem to disappear. And Adam's hair, black as wet asphalt, shadowed his face. A cell phone chimed. Trent's. Rachel apologizing.
"Yes, I want my keys. No, I'm on my way to you. Fine. See ya." Trent kicked a paper cup into the street. A car raced by, horn honking. "She'll meet us at the middle school."
Hillhurst Middle. Our old school-Lisa's and mine. Trent and Adam had gone to Oneida. We were almost there, but Lisa was hungry so we stopped at a gas station. I didn't have any money, so Adam bought me a box of sour balls. Lisa got some cigar-shaped Mexican thing from the heat-lamp island. Marching up Bradley, she waved it like a conductor's baton, waiting for it to cool. At the top of the hill, she took a bite and made a yuck face. "You want it?"
I squinted. "What is it?" It looked like a petrified finger.
"Taquito," Lisa said.
"Beef or chicken?" I asked, poking it.
Lisa shrugged.
"Yeah," I said. "I'll pass."
The taquito landed in the street. A siren whooped. Blue lights flashed. A cop car pulled to the curb with its window down. My heart started pounding. I thought of my mom and Scott, and the time she had to bail him out of jail for resisting arrest at a sit-in. I checked my breath and popped another sour ball.
"What did you toss back there?" The cop was obviously talking to Lisa, but she pointed to herself innocently and looked around. "Me? A taquito?"
"Pick it up," the cop ordered. "Or I'll write you a ticket for littering."
Lisa hesitated. "It's biodegradable."
"Probably not," Trent said.
Lisa shot him a look and then turned to the cop. "Seriously?"
Lisa, please, I thought. Don't start. Adam reached for my hand and squeezed. The radio squawked. The cop checked something on his dashboard. "Pick it up," he said flatly. We all watched as Lisa tromped through the headlights, arms swinging. Huffing, she pinched the taquito between her fingers and held it out in front of her like it was venomous. "Happy?" she said.
The cop smiled and waved. "Have a good night."
After the cruiser made the turn for the hospital, Trent burst out laughing. "He was screwing with you," he said.
"Well, screw him," Lisa shot back, cocking her arm like a pitcher.
"Don't," I said, afraid the cop might circle back. "There's a Dumpster at the school."
"Can you hold it for me?"
Dodging her reach, I sprinted uphill, but Lisa gave chase brandishing the taquito, waggling it obscenely behind me. Giggling, we collided in the shadow of the school, waiting until the guys caught up. The empty playground was eerie. Deeper than it looked during the day when it was filled with screeching kids. The light over the east entrance reached only so far. Everything beyond the basketball hoop dissolved into darkness. The chain-link fence cast a black net over the four of us as we sat on the curb, checking our phones. Eventually, Rachel's hatchback sputtered up the hill. I think she was pissed that Trent wasn't alone, because Lisa waved and Rachel hit the gas, swerving like she meant to hit us. Everyone scrambled back. Trent's keys flew out the window.
"You suck!" he shouted at the black exhaust.
I tugged Lisa's pigtail to get her attention. "I've got to go," I said quietly.
"It's early," Lisa said. "It's not even ten."
Cupping my mouth, I whispered, "To the bathroom."
"Go behind the school," she said.
I looked up at the black windows and looked away.
Lisa heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Just go."
Judging from the smell, I wasn't the first person to go behind Hillhurst. Probably not even the first person that night. I moved deeper into the shadows and prayed the stupid cop didn't patrol the alley. Or worse, that some homeless drunk wouldn't come stumbling around the corner.
"Lisa?" I whisper-shouted. "Watch for weirdoes."
Her voice echoed off the bricks: "I'm watching! Go!"
Unbuttoning my shorts, I thought, Watch for Banana Man, and shivered. I hadn't thought about that lame legend in forever. I'm too old to be afraid of boogeymen, but I tensed anyway as a long shadow oozed across the asphalt. I froze, until I heard laughing and running. Lisa, Trent, and Adam advancing. "We can hear you peeing!" Lisa sang around the corner.
I hiked my shorts and raced for the cone of light where Trent and Adam were smoking. Adam offered me a drag, but Lisa was waving her hand and fake coughing, so I passed. Trent pushed his glasses up his nose. "You guys want to see something creepy?" he asked. An evil grin split his face.
"No," Lisa said, bored. "Why?"
"You guys ever hear a story about some psycho who lives in the woods?" he asked.
My neck tingled at the weirdness of his timing. "You're kidding, right?" I said. "I was just thinking about Banana Man."
"That's what we called him, too," Adam said, flicking his cigarette at the SMOKE-FREE ZONE sign.
"He was a flasher," I said.
Trent moved closer to Lisa. "I heard he did way sicker stuff than showing his junk."
Lisa folded her arms. "He's not real," she said.
"Oh, he's real," Trent insisted. "I found out where he lives. His house or whatever."
I pictured the shack from my nightmares. My heart beat harder. The buzz from drinking was gone. In its place throbbed childish fear.
But there is no Banana Man ...
"C'mon," he said, leading us around front, past the main entrance. At the corner, with the school at our backs, we stared at the woods hesitantly. A siren wailed in the distance. Adam stilled my shaking hand.
"We don't have to do this," Trent said, teetering on the edge of the curb. "I can show you tomorrow when it's light."
"No, let's do it," I said, more confidently than I felt. "But hurry. It's ten after. I've got to be home soon." From the other side of the street, I glanced back at the school. This was as far as I'd ever been and only on a dare. Suddenly, I was nine again: I'm not going! You go! Did you hear something? I think I heard something! Run!
I shivered.
Adam rolled his eyes as Trent turned on his key-chain flashlight. Holding it under his chin, he laughed like a mad scientist, the yellow beam distorting his features.
"If this is some lame joke..." Lisa said.
"No joke," Trent said. "You'll see."
Trent went first, pushing through the wall of brush. Lisa was next and then Adam. I don't know why we followed. I guess we didn't believe him. I waded into the tangle of vines and branches, clearing a path with my arms. I hate the woods. I'm not an outdoorsy kind of girl. I hate getting slapped by twigs, having my legs scratched. And as we trekked deeper into the darkness, I worried less about Banana Man and more about breaking an ankle or losing an eye. The ground felt soft and spongy. Adam told me to watch my step, but I couldn't see my feet. I went down hard.
"Trent!" Adam shouted. "Wait!"
The tiny light quit bouncing. I brushed dirt from my stinging knees and kicked the stupid log.
"Lisa?" I called.
"I'm right here," she said.
I looked back. Her voice seemed to come from behind, but behind me was nothing-just the blackness of closed eyelids. My internal compass was off. I tried to keep myself calm, believing if I walked left, I'd end up in the hospital overflow lot. Right, the park. Panic soured my stomach. The absolute quiet was worse than the darkness. It was a deafening silence. All the familiar static-the noises that remind you of your place in the world, that you aren't alone-had faded. The only sound was our breathing. I bit my lip and followed Trent's light.
"We're almost there," Trent said as Lisa hooked her finger through his belt loop. "This is the tricky part." He aimed the beam at his feet, but there was nothing there. The ground just stopped, slipping away into blackness. We were eye level with the tops of the trees.
"Forget it," I said. "I'm going back."
"No. Wait," Trent said. "Look." He stepped off and didn't plummet to his death. Stairs. In the middle of the woods. A wooden staircase like the one that goes down to the river behind my father's apartment building.
If he still lived there-I hadn't seen him in months.
"They're rotten," Trent said, taking Lisa's hand. "So step where I step."
"Gabe will never speak to you again if you get his girlfriend killed," I said.
Lisa's laugh-high and tight-betrayed her nerves. She slowly lowered one foot and then the other, sighing with relief when the groaning structure didn't collapse. Gripping the splintered rail, the four of us descended silently. The stairs seemed to go on forever. The decaying wood smelled of mushrooms. The sweet, powdery smell of Lisa's deodorant hit my nose. I was damp with sweat. The cold, sickly kind that comes from fear. I wanted to be home. Ineeded to be home. The alarm clock outside my mother's bedroom was set for my curfew. If I was one second late, I'd be grounded. When we reached the bottom, I checked my phone. It didn't seem possible. I asked Adam how long he thought we'd been in the woods.
"I don't know. A while," he said. "Why?"
"My phone says it's still ten after ten."
I looked up. No trees blocked the view straight above, but the sky was flat black. No stars. No moon. Not even the constant orange glow of light pollution. Unless there's a blackout, there's always light. It's never truly dark. You can see it from outer space. It was as if someone had unplugged the universe.
I checked my phone again. No signal. I left it on. It was brighter than Trent's stupid flashlight.
"It's just over there," Trent said. "See?"
"See what?" Adam said.
"I can't see shit," Lisa said.
My vision snapped into focus. A rambling maze of black tarp shelters. More lean-to than tent, but with four sides instead of three. Just like Scott used to put up in our backyard when he was a scout. But bigger. Much, much bigger.
"It's probably some homeless guy," I said.
Trent warned us against the ropes zigzagging between the trees. Anyone not paying attention would get clotheslined. We ducked beneath the webs and followed Trent around a rocky outcrop. A path lined with carpet scraps led to a makeshift porch. Trent pulled back a flap and stuck his head in.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Anybody home?"
Lisa punched his arm. Adam whipped his head around like he'd heard something. "This is stupid," he said. "Really stupid. What if he's got a gun?"
"Nobody's here," Trent said casually. "Trust me."
"Wait," I said, hooking his sleeve. "How is this any different from breaking into a house on Bradley or Parkwood?"
Trent shook me off. "Because it's not an actual house," he said. "And this is public property."
"If I hear a chainsaw..." Lisa whispered, clutching my waist.
In my nightmares, Banana Man lived in an empty shack. But this wasn't a shack. And it wasn't empty. Trent swept the room with his flashlight. A shiver ran up my back. I don't know what I'd expected to find. Maybe some crates and nasty bedding, with hypodermic needles scattered about. Certainly not a fully furnished living room. I spun around, taking it all in: sofa, armchair, coffee table, rocking chair. A bookcase without books. Picture frames without pictures. An upright piano. The fact that everything was so ordinary only made it creepier.
"How did he get all this here?" I whispered.
"People have been using the woods as a dump for years," Trent said. "I swear that's my grandmother's old couch. I remember the stain."
Adam scratched our initials into the piano with a key and then we moved on, following the carpet scraps to a kitchen. The glow from my phone skimmed over something that looked like an ancient washing machine. Lisa tripped over a step stool. We shuffled along in the near-dark, bumping into tables and chairs, the black walls sucking up the light, until Adam found a battery-powered lantern. He flicked the switch, flooding the next room-the bedroom-with harsh brightness. I counted four sleeping bags on a musty mattress. A cardboard dresser sagged in the corner and the carpet squished underfoot-the bedroom leaked.
"Maybe it's a family," I said sadly, thinking of that kid Lisa's sister was friends with, the one who lived in a minivan with his dad and two sisters because the bank took their house.
"Think he's got any booze?" Lisa asked.
"Already checked," came Trent's voice from the next room over, and then the sound of water. Lisa went to investigate.
"Nice, Trent," she said.
"Are you peeing on the floor?" I asked, shining my phone at his backside. Sometimes I hated Trent. I thought of my brother and how different he was from my friends. Scott would've emptied his pockets for this guy, giving what little he had for someone who had less.
"There's no toilet," Trent smirked, zipping his fly.
Adam shook his head and moved on. In the kitchen, Lisa poked through boxes of crackers and oatmeal and pancake mix. "Maybe he's got some cash stashed in one of these," she said, dumping a jar of instant coffee in the dishpan. "Help me look, Trace. See what's in that cooler."
I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching. What if the place was booby-trapped? I wasn't about to get my face blown off for a couple of bucks. I nudged the red chest with my toe and listened. Just water sloshing, so I carefully lifted the lid. My hand flew to my nose as if I'd been punched. A bulging milk jug, rancid hot dogs, a black peach, all floating in a gray slurry. I kicked the cooler and the lid slapped closed.
"Maybe he's dead," I said. "Maybe whoever was living here died."
I still felt uncomfortable, but it wasn't fear. More like pity, a gnawing sadness. I felt like a witness to something tragic. No one lived here, not anymore. It was in the air-the stench of hopelessness, loss. I know it sounds strange, but you can smell sorrow. The year before my parents divorced, scorched dinners and cologne and burning rubber permeated our house. I wanted out before the misery of the place took root, like an infection in my bones.
"Can we please go?" I asked Lisa. "This place is a downer."
"In a minute," she said, shining her phone inside a sugar bowl. "Check the bedroom again."
I could hear Adam in the living room, banging on the piano. I put my phone on the dresser and pulled the top drawer, but the handles came off in my hands. The whole thing was waterlogged, the cardboard disintegrating into a mildewy pulp. I tore the front off and shone the light inside. Nothing. No letters, no photos, no newspaper clippings. I checked under the bed and then checked the bathroom. A bucket for a sink and a bar of white soap. A grimy towel on a crate. There was nothing personal anywhere. I felt suddenly trapped in a creepy diorama of a home. No story, no history, just stuff, junk. Even the homeless have their keepsakes. Who would care that Trent had peed on the floor? Who would care that Lisa had smashed all the plates? Who would care that Adam had carved up the piano?
Just as the knot in my stomach began to loosen, Trent made us all go into the last room, the one jutting off the back like an afterthought. The whole reason he'd brought us there, he said. Gray plastic barrels lined one wall, bald tires lined the other. The guy must've run out of carpet-the floor was pine needles. My light grazed a large rusty toolbox, a stool, and a workbench cluttered with cigar boxes. Adam picked one up and shook it. It sounded like marbles. He lifted the lid.
"What the f-"
Trent started laughing. "Is this guy a freak, or what?"
"It's like that horror movie!" Lisa screeched. "The one with the brother and sister driving home from college. There's that monster that plucks people's eyes out."
"Banana Man wasn't a monster," Adam said. "He was a child molester."
Lisa shrugged. "Same thing."
"They're glass," I said, rolling a blue one between my thumb and forefinger. "My grandfather had a glass eye." I fished out another one. Green, flecked with gold. "Why would he need so many?" I asked. Trent didn't care about the eyes. He wanted to know what was in the barrels. He tried using a screwdriver, but the lids wouldn't budge. While Trent was off searching the other rooms for something resembling a crowbar, Adam found a six-pack hidden beneath some oily rags.
"Look what Trent missed," he said. "Who's thirsty?"
Lisa raised her hand.
Adam grabbed a can, but then dropped it like he'd burned his palm. As he stumbled back into one of the barrels, his face twisted in fear.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" I whispered, frightened.
But Lisa was frozen, too. No one moved. We all just stood there, staring at the rising tarp wall. The pit of my stomach knew. I knew. A moaning shadow ducked beneath the plastic. Its long arms rose higher and higher, clawing the musty air. My knees buckled. Lisa grabbed my arm and cried out for Trent. The shadow lunged sideways, around the workbench, and then doubled over, howling at Lisa's shrieking. Adam clutched his chest. "Goddamn it, Trent!" He hurled a beer can, but Trent, laughing, escaped between tarps.
Running wasn't possible, not in the dark, with the trees and the rocks and the roots. We chased Trent out the back way, toward Parkwood instead of Bradley, avoiding the stairs. My chest was still swollen with panic. I couldn't get enough air. Tripping, gasping, I clawed at Lisa's heaving shoulders. I couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. We were moving fast. Too fast. Trent smacked his head on a tree limb. His glasses went flying. We stopped to find them, and that's when Lisa realized she'd lost her necklace, the one from Gabe for their anniversary. She stumbled in circles, cursing and flailing, until something crashed behind us. A residual scream crawled up my throat, and then my phone rang.
"Go! Go! Go!" Adam shouted, pushing forward.
I glanced at the screen: MOM. I had a signal. A connection to reality. My mother waking me from a stupid nightmare. I was instantly safer. The spell was broken. Through the trees-finally, finally-blazed the lights from the grocery store where we shopped.
I could breathe again.
"Holy hell!" Lisa screamed, slapping at Trent. "I'm never going anywhere with you ever again! Never! Ever!" She stopped slapping when she noticed his forehead. "You're bleeding," she said. And then to her feet: "Ow." She was missing a flip-flop. "I'm so telling Gabe about this," she said, touching the spot on her collarbone where her necklace used to live.
"You should've seen your faces!" Trent howled. "It was just like the movies!"
Pulling a twig from my hair, I said, "Is this the part where we kill you?"
Adam poked Trent in the chest. "I'm gonna kill you."
Trent snorted. He tried lighting a cigarette, but his hands were shaking. Above his eye an impressive bruise was forming. Lisa sacrificed one of her two tank tops to mop the blood streaming down his temple.
While Lisa played nurse, I bummed a smoke off Adam and wandered over to the employee picnic table to call my mother.
"You forgot your key," she said.
I felt my pocket. She was right.
"I'll leave the back door unlocked. Where are you?"
I watched a guy in a Day-Glo vest herd stray shopping carts into a corral, and said, "Trent's."
"Lisa with you?"
Lisa was perched on someone's bumper, examining the sole of her foot.
"Yeah. I'll be home in a few minutes. Don't leave the door unlocked. Put the key where Scott used to hide it."
"Are you okay?"
Lisa jumped on Trent's back. Adam stole her surviving flip-flop and made for the Dumpster. I watched my friends joking, laughing, chasing each other around the parking lot, and said, "Yeah."
But not really. My stomach churned with guilt and fear about what we'd done. You can't just destroy someone's home-even if it's not a real home. There are always consequences. For everything. I was spooked, but nobody else seemed worried. Trent galloped over with Lisa, who stuck her foot in my face. "Kiss my boo-boo," she said.
I flicked her big toe. "C'mon," I said. "We've got to go."
Adam tossed her flip-flop in the air and then fit it on her foot.
"Wait," Lisa said, frowning down at me. "I left my bag at Trent's."
Grunting, Trent hefted her higher. Lisa squealed. "I'd drive you guys, but I'm almost out of gas," Trent said. "I'll loan you some socks, though. To wear home."
Lisa rode Trent back to his house. Adam wanted to give me a ride, too, but I'd had enough excitement for one night. I wanted my feet solidly on the ground. Adam and I waited on the porch while Lisa hobbled upstairs with Trent.
"I'll get to hear about her foot for days," I said.
I smoothed Adam's hair out of his eyes, kissing his forehead.
"How'd we escape unscathed?" I asked, kissing him again.
"Have you seen your knees?" he asked, smiling softly.
I sat on the steps and stuck my legs out straight. Under the porch light-red and raw and streaked with dirt-they looked worse than they felt. Tomorrow, if Lisa and I took Katie swimming, they'd sting like hell. I checked my phone: 10:38. The night seemed endless, like when Lisa and I stayed out until dawn at the diner where her mom waitressed. Getting wasted on candy-flavored drinks, eavesdropping on Trent and Rachel's fight, getting stopped by a cop for the improper disposal of a taquito-it all felt like days ago.
I brought my ugly knees up under my chin. Adam kissed one and then the other. I picked a pine needle from his hair. "You think he's real?" I asked.
"Banana Man?" He shook his head. "I feel like a jerk for what we did back there."
"Me, too."
Then he kissed my cheek and kept going. My eyebrows. My eyes. My nose. I cupped his face and pressed my lips to his until Trent's mom let their cat out, ruining the mood. I compulsively checked my phone. Time was working again. If we hurried, Lisa and I would make it before my mom sent out the search dogs.
"How long does it take to find a pair of socks?" I said.
"In that room?" Adam scoffed. "Days."
"I'll be back." I kissed the top of his head and jogged upstairs. Trent's door was closed. I threw it open. I froze.
Lisa was on Trent's bed.
Under Trent.
In her lacy peach bra.
My face burned. It was that jerk from Troy all over again. Only Lisa wasn't there to save me. Wait ... No ...
I could practically feel him on top of me again, holding me down. My tongue tripped over the words screaming in my head.
Stop ... Please ...
"Spit it out, Trace," Trent laughed as he rolled off the bed and grabbed his shirt. There was a reason why our drama teacher cast him as the devil in our last production. I grabbed Lisa's tank top, holding it out to her, but Lisa crossed her arms and shook her head.
I looked at the tank top in my hand. It was the wrong one anyway, the one she'd used to wipe Trent's face. I rubbed the stained ribbing-stiff and coppery-and thought: the blood in our veins runs blue. Not red, not until it comes in contact with air. How many things are like that, the opposite of what you thought to be true? You spend your whole life thinking things are one way and then something comes along and destroys the illusion. But then you find out that's false, too: the blood in our bodies is red. Sometimes it's hard to know what to believe. Lisa needed saving, but not from Trent. She wanted to be there.
You had, too.
Invisible fingers, his fingers, tightened around my throat.
"I'll call you tomorrow," Lisa said, nodding her head toward the door pointedly.
I tried to say okay, but my voice failed again. Clinging to the banister, I stumbled down the stairs. Outside, Adam was kicking a soccer ball around the yard.
"Lisa's staying," I nearly cried. Adam looked confused. I shook my head. "My knees hurt."
"I'll walk with you," he said, offering his arm for support.
"No. I'm fine. Can you make sure she gets home?"
The second it left my mouth, I was sorry I'd said it. I didn't trust her that night.
"Maybe you could call her a cab," I said, digging through my pocket for cash I didn't have.
"I've got it," he said. He gave me a quick kiss and tapped my nose. "Go, before you're late."
It was stupid, walking alone so late at night, taking the shortest route instead of the safest. I never go that way. It's too dark. But that night I was too busy being angry, angry with Lisa, angry with Trent. After what my father did to my mother, it hurt to think they might be the same. I was wondering whose betrayal would hurt Gabe worse-his girlfriend or his best friend-when I heard it: the whisper of rubber on concrete, a whirring chain spinning. Too close to outrun. A shadow rose up sharply, swallowing mine. Brakes squealed. A hand clutched my shoulder. My body did it again, just like that day in Troy when my arms and legs seized up instead of lashing out. Frozen, I braced for the black pain of a knife in the ribs until a familiar voice asked, "Why so tense?"
My limbs relaxed, softening, and I turned. It wasn't some jerk in a hoodie. It wasn't the monster from my nightmares. Soft brown curls. Warm brown eyes. My heart took on a different rhythm, beating out Foley, Foley, Foley. I never know what to call him-Michael Foley. There needs to be a word for someone who straddles friend and soul mate. He was there for me when my parents split up. Lisa talked to me, but Foley listened. He's one of those rare people who make you feel like you're the most important person in the world. That he cares for no one more than you. And he means it. That's why everyone loves him. And because everyone loves him, I can't. I hate that he makes everyone feel special.
I don't like to share.
"How's it going with Adam?" he said. He hopped off his bike and ran his fingers through his hair. I could remember the way it felt running my own through it. I used to love his hair, especially when he let it get a little too long. Now I loved Adam's.
"Good! Great! Amazing!" I groaned internally-I sounded shrieky and stupid, but I couldn't stop. "We're so good together! I'm really, really happy!"
"Really, really?!" Foley mimicked. I rolled my eyes. But then in that intense voice of his-the one I secretly wished was reserved for me-he said, "If not, I want to know." After what happened with Jerk Face, Foley started keeping tabs on my boyfriends. He's the only one who knows what really happened. Not even Lisa knows.
"I'm a little stressed right now," I said. "It's been a really weird night."
"I'm supposed to meet Jeff Hollenbeck," he said, shifting his weight. "Come with me and we'll talk on the way."
I checked my phone. The only way I'd make it home now was if I sprinted.
"I can't," I said. "Call me, okay? You never call me anymore."
"I will." He smiled and my insides went soft and fluttery. "Hey, it was really good to see you," he said, flicking my collar-Adam's collar. "Really, really."
Watching him bike away, I kicked myself for not going with him. He looked back before he turned the corner and the wind caught his curls and I imagined twisting a soft lock round and round my finger. Foley's never been my boyfriend, but we've fooled around. The last time was a couple of weeks before I started dating Adam. We were in the cemetery. Creepy, I know. But my mother always says it's not the dead you have to fear, it's the living.
Suddenly the street turned darker and quieter. Everything stilled. It was the same feeling I'd had in the woods. Someone was watching. I could feel eyes everywhere at once. Leering, lurking. From the rooftops, the storm drains, the alley. Under my skin, inside my thoughts. My stomach twisted as my heart sped up. I started running, my eyes focused on the stoplight-green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red-not wanting to see what was behind me, above me, beside me.
I spent a lot of the summer running from things I didn't want to see.
Copyright © 2015 by Barbara Stewart
