Perfect Pitch (The Chameleon Effect Book 2)

by Alex Hayes

  Shri sits forward and rests a cheek against her palm. “And somehow, you didn’t fall into the same trap.” There’s a hint of surprise, almost wonder in her voice.

  “Probably because Gran stepped in. Once Dad was out of the picture, she gained a foothold, but Mom mostly saw her help as interfering.”

  Twisting in my chair, I sit upright and face her. “I can’t take much credit. It was Gran who saved me.”

  “Don’t shortchange yourself,” Shri murmurs.

  I shake my head. “She saved Ty too. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t reach Mom, couldn’t get her to give up the drink.”

  “Addictions are complicated.” Shri speaks with enough authority to make me curious. Maybe she learned about such things through her father’s work.

  “Yeah, well, we were getting by okay, and then Gran died.”

  “And everything came tumbling down,” she adds.

  “Like a house of cards,” I agree. “She left us money. You’d think that was a good thing, but Mom has no clue about finances. She quit her job and went on a spending spree, thinking she was loaded. And her drinking got worse.”

  Shri draws in a sharp breath. “Did she spend everything?”

  I laugh without humor. “Not yet. Gran put money into educational trusts for Ty and me. According to the lawyer, Mom can’t touch them. The rest, who knows. It’s not like Mom tells me anything. And then out of left field, he shows up.”

  “Your dad?”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. I came home yesterday and there he was. After three years, he’s freaking back.” I still can’t believe it. “Mom invited him, and when I called her on it, she said it’s because I’m leaving, like it’s my fault.”

  “How awful.” Shri’s eyes are deep pools of sympathy.

  “Yeah, and I went ballistic, which made things worse. When I got home this afternoon, I found Ty crying.” A chill cuts through me. “Dad had pushed him around and wrecked his guitar.”

  My hands ball. “I can’t leave Ty alone in that madhouse, but I can’t stick around either.” I bury my face in my hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Fingers settle around my wrists, a light touch that pulls my hands from my face. I look up through the darkness into Shri’s features. The only lights I see are the glossy reflections in her eyes.

  “You don’t have to deal with this alone.” Her arms slip under mine as I press my cheek against her shoulder and breathe in her citrus and cardamon scent.

  How did I get so lucky to find a friend like her? I used to think the number of friends I had mattered, like popularity was an accomplishment. But that’s all wrong. None of those people were really friends. Even Jake, way back when. He only made it part way there.

  When you have a true friend, the numbers don’t matter. One’s enough. And I’m so glad I have her.

  I pull away. “Sorry. That was kind of a car crash.” I sigh at the embarrassing damp patch I’ve left on her T-shirt.

  Her head tilts. “Don’t be. We all have our skeletons. One day, I might ask you to return the favor.”

  Shri’s always struck me as being grounded. Like Gran, a protective harbor for lost souls. It’s hard to imagine her needing me.

  By the time we go inside, I mostly have my shit back together. Shri busies herself with something in the kitchen, while I take a slow circuit around the living room, studying Indian sculptures on pedestals. Larger, more intricate versions of the god statues in Shri’s room. Some are made of dark stone with sparkles that glimmer off its polished surfaces. Others look worn, like they could be centuries old.

  I study a particularly scary looking statue of a woman with ten arms and a string of skulls around her neck.

  “That’s the goddess Kali,” Shri says, wandering up beside me. “Destroyer of the ego and savior of the soul.” She hands me a mug.

  I draw in the spicy scent. “This smells amazing. What is it?”

  “Chai. Cinnamon, clove, cardamon and a bunch of other spices mixed into fresh goat milk and honey.”

  “Fresh-from-the-farm goat milk?”

  “And the honey, too. Mrs. Jacobsen gave me a few jars before she left.”

  I take a sip and taste warmth and sweetness. “Nice.”

  She smiles, then her eyes widen and brighten up. “I’ve got something for you. A gift. I meant to give it to you at graduation, but our parents showed up, and…” she scrunches her nose, “the timing was all wrong.” She puts down her drink. “Be right back.”

  I remember the gift I have for her but wait.

  She returns with a white package in hand. “The antithesis of black.” She smiles as she hands it to me. “Guess I chose that color to prove a point.”

  “And there I was, not believing you’d give up the Goth.”

  She smirks. “I’m always happy to prove a boy wrong.”

  I finger the gift. A book, definitely. I tear away the smooth white paper, revealing its title. The Power of I. Brandon Williams’ first book. Smiling, I look up. “So which is it? The Power of I or The Power of One?”

  “Synonymous, I figure. It’s about what’s going on in there.” She pokes me lightly on the chest. “Kind of what Kali’s about. Losing the ego and gaining the soul.”

  “Have you read it?”

  “Uh-huh. Had to know it was good before I gave it to you.”

  My gaze drops back to the book. “It’s perfect, thanks. Think I need all the self-help I can get right now.”

  Her grin tells me she’s pleased and relieved.

  “I have something for you, too. Maybe not as on target as this. As in, it’s majorly geeky.”

  Her lips twist. “I love geeky.”

  “I figured you might. I’ll go get it.”

  Outfitted with blackout curtains, our bedroom lies in complete darkness. The light from the open doorway shows Ty on his back, fast asleep, his face relaxed. Pepper lets out a whiney yawn from his position on the floor beside Ty’s bed.

  “Hey, Pepper. Thanks for looking after him,” I whisper, then grope through my bag for Shri’s gift and head downstairs.

  The black and silver wrapped box twists and turns in her hands, while she weighs and measures it.

  “Any guesses?” I ask.

  “Geeky?” A frown twists her features. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  A quiet chuckle escapes me. “Open it then.”

  Trapping her lower lip between her teeth, she pulls off the wrapping with painstaking slowness.

  I dig my hands into my pockets and shift from one foot to the other.

  Will she like it? Love it? Shake her head and wonder why I chose it?

  “Leatherman, huh?” She glances at me, brow twisted. “For all the black eye shadow and piercings, you’ve got to know I’m not into kinky, right?”

  I can’t help laughing at her expression. “I said geeky.”

  She opens the box.

  Inside is a heavy silver bracelet. Well, stainless steel.

  She snaps the item free of the container, holds it up and studies its hex-pierced rectangular segments.

  Her lips part and her eyes widen as its true purpose dawns on her. “Oh my god!”

  She folds the bracelet in half, transforming it into a screwdriver, then folds it again into a bottle opener. “This is so awesome!” She opens it back into a bracelet, slips it over her wrist and stares at the band. “Damn cool.” A grin stretches across her face. “This is the totally perfect gift. Thank you!”

  And she hugs me.

  Relaxing into her arms, I close my eyes and realize that hugging her is a habit I could easily get into.

  13

  Cadi

  My work shift ends at ten on Tuesday evening and Manny lets me out.

  Excitement swirls in my belly. Shri will have arrived by now—it’s been six months since I’ve seen her—and Dean, thankfully, will be long gone.

  The drive home takes fifteen minutes. In that time, I receive five texts from Idris. None of which I can answer beca
use I’m driving.

  I pull the old Suburban up outside the barn, grab my phone and read his messages.

  How was work?—Did I ever tell you how much I love NYC?—You’re probably heading home, so don’t answer.—Mtg at 9am.—Wanted 2 make sure you made it home ok.

  I answer, Work’s good. You said 1000x. Good luck. I’m home. Love you!! then grab my purse and head for the cabin.

  Another text lights my screen. Sleep well, babe. Love you 2.

  I smile at the message, then notice an unfamiliar, light green Subaru parked a few feet away. My head bounces toward the cabin. The living room lights are still on, like Mama and Papa are entertaining.

  Just Shri, I’m sure. She must’ve got a new car. She was always complaining about her old Jeep. Maybe Dean didn’t give her a ride after all.

  No matter how many times I reassure myself, my steps to the front door get slower and slower. I turn the handle and push. I’m met by brightness and the murmur of voices. Then a “Woof.”

  Huh?

  Jingling approaches, coinciding with the appearance of a dog. A red-haired one. A setter.

  Did Papa get a dog? I reach down and pet the friendly mutt, who sniffs eagerly at my hand and legs.

  “Pepper, come,” a male voice calls.

  Oh my god. Dean!

  “Hey, Pepper, get over here,” comes a second voice. A boy’s voice.

  I frown.

  The dog, Pepper, turns around and heads back the way he came, tail wagging madly.

  I follow.

  Shri spots me first. Her hair’s cut short and she’s lost the Goth makeup and clothes, settling for a tight tee and hip-hugging jeans instead.

  “Hey, stranger.” She launches herself from the love seat and wraps me in a hug.

  I hug her back, remembering the awkwardness of my departure from Vermont. How Dean didn’t come say goodbye, even though he was around. Like he couldn’t face me. Like I’m not sure I can face him now.

  Shri and I pull apart.

  Acting natural is an even bigger challenge with everyone staring at me. I scan the faces around the room, sliding over Dean’s so quickly I only see a flash of golden hair. My eyes land on a skinny boy of eleven or twelve. His hair is blond, not golden, but his blue eyes and high cheekbones match Dean’s exactly, minus a half-dozen years.

  The boy circles his long arms around the Irish setter who welcomed me.

  Shri answers my questioning gaze. “This is Ty, Dean’s brother. And this is Pepper, their dog.” Her eyes stray to the three and an even brighter smile lights her face.

  My frown deepens, questions multiplying at Shri’s obvious warmth toward the boys and their dog, then I relax my expression and turn back to Dean’s brother. “Nice to meet you, Ty… Pepper.” My eyes meet Dean’s as a cyclone plays havoc with the contents of my stomach. “Hi, Dean.”

  He smiles, but a matching weather phenomenon lurks in his eyes. “Hey. Good to see you.”

  I want to run away from that perfect smile. From those sea-blue eyes that seem to measure me up. From the coil of confusion that’s pressing on the back of my skull.

  Instead, I paste on a happy face and stand there, motionless, like an idiot.

  “Cadi, have a seat.” Mama stands and pushes me gently into her place on the couch. She knows what went down between me and Dean. She knows I’ve been dreading this moment, probably figured I tried to avoid it.

  “Guess what, Cadi.” Papa beams at me from the armchair across the room, oblivious to the cyclonic motion in my gut. “We’re going to have more company this summer. Dean and Ty are staying.”

  A wide smile cracks my face, but I think I’m going to die. “Great,” I force out. “A full house.”

  Shri clears her throat, drawing my attention. “Mrs. Jacobsen said you’re working in a bookstore.”

  I blink. “Um, yes. With books.” No duh, Cadi. “I mean, stocking and inventory and… stuff.”

  “You like it?” Shri’s trying to distract me, do me a favor, but I’d rather someone else were in the hot seat.

  “Love it. How’re things with you?”

  Conversation shifts from Shri to the goat farm. Papa has questions, which Dean mostly answers. Every now and again, his eyes drift my way.

  What is he doing here? What is he thinking? And god, what does he want?

  My mind slowly drowns in those questions, until Shri says, “Ty’s a musician.” My focus locks on the boy, who is settled on the bench of the baby grand in the corner of the room.

  “Do you play piano?” I ask. A harmless enough question. I hope.

  Ty drops his hands between his legs. “Nah. Not yet. Guitar.” He looks down at his feet. “But I had to leave mine at home.”

  There’s an undercurrent. Something’s not right. Why would he have to leave the instrument behind?

  Mama leans on the armrest beside me. “Cadi knows a very good musician.”

  Oh, no, Mama, please. Why did you have to mention Idris?

  All eyes are on me again. What do I say? “Um, yes. He plays guitar too.” And that’s all you’re getting out of me.

  “Well,” Dean says, standing. “We should hit the hay.”

  Agony almost over. Thank heavens.

  Ty slides off the piano bench and heads toward the stairs. “What’s your musician friend called?”

  “Um…” Oh, hell. “His name’s… uh, Idris.”

  Dean’s aquamarine eyes flash across my face, reading it. They narrow as a question rises in them.

  Crud.

  14

  Dean

  I throw a questioning look at Cadi and her face pales. Vulnerability shines from her eyes, and an all too familiar desire to help her surfaces, some protective instinct that pulls at my chest.

  Shri catches my eye. Her eyebrow lifts with her own questions.

  I shrug and try to shake the disconcerting feeling away. It’s been months; I should be over Cadi by now. She rejected me, flung my feelings back in my face. For that, I should hate her.

  After taking Pepper outside to relieve himself, I head upstairs to the room Mrs. Jacobsen showed us to earlier, with space enough for Ty and me to share.

  I told them Mom was overwhelmed at home and needed a break. They welcomed Ty with more enthusiasm than I could’ve hoped for and didn’t ask many questions.

  Staying here seemed like the perfect solution an hour ago, but Cadi’s arrival has thrown that idea to the wind. She was anything but pleased to see me.

  Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. Ty and I need a safe place to stay. Away from Dad. Until I can get Mom to see sense.

  Shri catches up to me before I reach the bedroom door. “Well, that was interesting.”

  I stuff my hands into my pockets. “Guess you could call it that.” I keep my voice low.

  Her lips purse like she’s holding back a smile. “So I wonder who this Idris guy is.”

  “A friend, I guess. Good to hear she has one, at least.”

  Shri sucks in her lower lip. “You don’t think she counts us as friends?”

  I rub the knot at the back of my neck. “I’m certain she counts you as a friend. Me? Who the hell knows. But it doesn’t really matter. Cadi’s gonna have to deal with the fact that Ty and I are staying.” I rest my back against the wall and sigh. “She’s got to warm up sooner or later.”

  “Ya think?”

  Yeah, the polar ice cap has to be warmer than the reception she just gave me. “All I can do is try to clear the air,” I murmur, eyes darting down the hall, in case Cadi should appear.

  “Fair enough.” Shri pats my arm. “Go to bed. You look exhausted. I’ll do what I can to pave the way, okay?”

  I bob my head. “Thanks.”

  Ty’s half asleep, in the bed across the room, when I close the door behind me. I lower the light and trudge to the connecting bathroom to get ready for bed.

  As I reach to turn off the bedside light, my phone flashes with a text message. I pick up the device and stare at the
screen.

  Dean, where are you guys? Mom.

  I text back, At a friend’s. Let’s talk in the morning.

  You should have told me. I’ve been worried sick.

  I bite back my doubts. She didn’t exactly miss us last night. Did she even notice we were gone? Sorry. It got late. Last minute decision.

  Okay, Deanie. Take care of your bother for me.

  My body stiffens with anger. Your bother? What a freaking Freudian slip.

  I throw my phone into the pillow and come a hair’s breadth from punching the wall.

  How is it possible she can piss me off so much with so frigging few words?

  15

  Cadi

  Silently, I close my bedroom door and tiptoe down the hall. It’s still dark out, but a nightlight by the stairs makes navigating downward a breeze. Gripping the railing, I avoid the fifth step. That one creaks. Loud enough for a dog to notice, I’m pretty sure.

  My thoughts drift back to last night’s arrival home, of seeing Dean for the first time in months. The first time since I left Vermont and started anew.

  Idris—my Dre—means everything to me, so why does the mere thought of Dean make my heart beat faster? I’m not in love with him. I never was.

  What I feel is this undefinable awkwardness, the need to protect myself from him by concealing every detail of my life. Because I fear that if I don’t hide my happiness from Dean, he’ll destroy it. That’s what he did in Vermont. What’s to stop him wreaking havoc on my life all over again?

  My sneakers touch down on the slate floor. I navigate the passage, avoiding the hall table, pass through the living room, feet pressing into the thick pile of an Indian rug. A glance over my shoulder and I unlatch the back door, pull the slider and exit.

  Jogging down the back slope helps to overcome the predawn nip in the air. Even so, I wish I’d worn sleeves. I rub my arms and narrowly avoid a bush that looms out of the darkness. In a few more steps, I’ll be among the trees and can shift to my Livran form and see more clearly.