During lunch Anna sat by herself in the maintenance stairwell behind the girls locker room. She called Doreen and got her voicemail. She texted Craig, sorry I had to leave our chat the other night. experiencing parental difficulties. how was ur wkend?
It was hard to focus later in Algebra II. She kept her phone tucked under her sleeve, checking it constantly until the bell finally rang. One more class to go and she could go back home, peel off her ridiculously tight jeans and wash her face. If Craig didn’t respond she would text him from the privacy of her room and find out why. Plus, she wanted to be there when Jack and Geneva returned; hearing that every last one of the portals had been spritzed into oblivion might help her relax.
On the way to her locker to grab a biology book, she passed by Sydney and two of her cronies in the commons. The orange-skinned one, Lyric Danner (Queen of the Cheap Fake Tanner), pretended to cough while saying something under her breath directed at Anna. Sydney’s throaty laugh rang out, causing heads to turn in their direction.
Anna stopped in her tracks, not turning around but waiting to see if they had the guts to say anything that she could actually hear. It wasn’t fair how they got away with bullying whoever they wanted, and she was sick of being a target. Anna had never done a single thing to Lyric Danner. She hadn’t even laughed when Mackenzie threw a fit in the parking lot last year after Lyric left a body-shaped, orange splotch on her precious car seat. And Sydney—Anna hadn’t wronged her either. She had only tried to help.
When they were in the fifth grade, Anna, Dor and Sydney had accepted a ride home from the swim coach. They rode in the backseat with Danny Pickens, who was a high school senior then, an assistant coach in training and a chaperone for the team during out-of-town meets. Pickens already had a reputation for dating younger girls on the sly—eighth graders when he was a junior, freshmen now that he was a senior—but they didn’t yet know what a dirtbag he was.
Anna and Dor shrank back from Pickens when he asked if one of them could sit on his lap to make more room. But when Pickens pulled Sydney on his lap, she smiled at him, conditioned as she was to be a good girl and not hurt anyone's feelings. The smile remained, even as Anna saw the fear in Sydney’s eyes. Danny Pickens was looking out of the car window, as if fascinated by the passing scenery, but his hands were moving under the towel he’d thrown over Sydney’s lap.
“Syd, come over here!” Anna said, and Sydney scrambled off Pickens’s lap and sat in between Dor and Anna. “We should tell,” Anna said after the three of them were dropped off at Sydney’s house, and they all agreed. They’d gone into the garage where Sydney’s dad was cleaning a leaf blower. Sydney told him what Pickens did to her, and Doreen and Anna had backed her up.
They were sure that Pickens would get in big trouble, but that wasn’t what happened at all. “You sat on his lap?” Sydney’s father said. His baseball cap was on backward and sweat dotted his forehead. “Why’dya go and do a thing like that?” He wiped his brow and a fat drop of sweat splattered on the leaf blower. “I told your mother not to let you wear those little shorts.” He looked at his daughter with hard eyes. “Boys will be boys,” he said, then looked down at Dor and Anna. “Now you girls go on home.”
Sydney had watched them as they left the garage, looking confused, hurt and ashamed all at once. Things changed after that. Sydney changed. She grew distant, hard. Anna and Dor never said a word to anyone about what happened, not even to each other, feeling that they’d somehow failed Sydney, too. But their presence in that garage that day, in that car, seemed to fester in Sydney, and she’d looked at them ever since with cold, accusing eyes. Anna was sick of it.
“Something on your pea brain?” Anna said, turning around in the hallway to face her once-friend, feeling the rage river flowing.
Sydney stalked over to Anna, her beautiful face a mask of snide fury. “Look at Goblin Girl getting gangsta.”
Lyric started cackling, stepping to Sydney’s side. “Yeah, as in Scarface.”
“Want a new nick name?” Sydney asked. “How ‘bout Frankenskank?”
Damn. Anna had spent so much time on her eye makeup that morning that she forgot to cover her scar. Her fists clenched. She was microseconds away from smacking Sydney right in her perfect face. Her palm actually tingled in anticipation of the after-slap burn.
“All dressed up and no place to go,” Lyric sneered, indicating the cleavage exposed by Anna’s scoop neck.
“Except maybe a whorehouse!” Sydney yelled, attracting the attention of everyone in the commons who wasn’t already watching.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Breathe. Anna restrained herself, knowing that in her current state of mind one slap wouldn’t be enough. In fact, while the river raged, she might also decide to go ahead and slam Sydney’s head into one of the metal lockers, perhaps several times. Nausea rolled in Anna’s gut. She was disgusted by the burst of pleasure the violent fantasy brought her. She took her eyes off of Sydney’s smug face and scanned the commons. Was there a portal here, too? There must be, but Bloomtown High wasn’t on Saul’s list.
Anna forced herself to walk away from Sydney and Lyric, ignoring their parting sneers. Was she being paranoid or was everyone in the hallway gawking at her? Anna picked up her pace, her heart dropping into her churning stomach as she passed a blur of scornful faces. Everyone was looking at her, and the worst part—she thought about Craig’s snub that morning—was that she might know why.
Chapter Seventeen
Denton’s Revenge
The bell rang and Anna continued down the hall into Denton’s class, sitting in her usual seat. It was finally last period, but things were getting off to a bad start. Denton was smirking at her from behind his desk, which was odd because he’d avoided eye contact with Anna ever since their tiff.
But when Denton stood to address the class, it was clear that quite a few things were out of the ordinary about him today. He hadn’t shaved and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot, as if he’d been crying for hours or hadn’t slept in days. Along with his loafers, blazer and tie, Denton wore plaid pajama bottoms. The cherry on top of this ensemble was his pot belly peeking out from behind his poorly buttoned shirt. A few muffled snickers were heard over the loud scraping of chairs as kids found their seats.
“Okay, time to settle, butts on wood,” Denton said in his trying-too-hard-to-be-cool voice. “Not clear on why we have so many absentees. But if you speak with your truant peers, tell them to read chapters six through ten for tomorrow. There will be a quiz. But since so many are out today, let’s skip the lecture and watch a video. What do you think, guys?”
The class cheered and Denton basked in the validation he so deeply craved.
“We have a special treat today,” Denton said. “A certain young lady—actually, lady isn’t the appropriate term. Let’s just say a certain female has made quite a splash on the interwebs with her exhibitionism.”
The hushed silence was broken by a spattering of nervous giggles. Anna’s limbs turned to concrete. He couldn’t be talking about her.
“Since this certain female likes to spout off at the mouth, let’s allow her the chance to comment on her video after our little screening. Sound good?”
No one said a word. The classroom held its collective breath. Denton looked right at Anna. “So nice that she came in all tarted up today for her big debut.”
Anna sank into her seat. This wasn’t happening. This couldn't be happening. But it was. A shock wave reverberated through the room. A few kids shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but the general feeling was one of a lurid momentum.
Denton clicked a remote and the flat-screen TV in front of the blackboard came to life, displaying shaky footage of Craig Shine sitting in front of a computer screen. She recognized the dirty green couch and the lewd posters—it was Izzy’s bedroom. And it was Izzy's voice coming from the TV, loud and distinct because he was holding the camera and standing in such a way that he was an invisible participant in the
webcam chat Anna had so naively assumed was private. Izzy zoomed the camera in on the computer screen in front of Craig, and there it was, a live shot of Anna, her hair freshly fluffed, smiling like a goofball.
Anna watched herself do her "sexy" walk toward the webcam, looking thrilled, awkward, and ridiculous.
The classroom tittered with nervous laughter while Anna curled her fingers around the edge of her desk. They wanted her to run out of the room in tears, but she wouldn’t. She’d be strong. Anna turned and stared at Izzy in the back row. He was kicked back on two legs of his chair, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
Their eyes met and the river rage overflowed into thundering rapids. She would kill Izzy for this. The rough outline of a plan unfolded. Anna would play it cool for now and not make any threats. That way, when Izzy’s body was found, she wouldn’t immediately be a suspect. She’d act surprised, never telling anyone what she’d done, not even Dor. When it was over she’d find a way to live with herself.
Izzy paled as if reading her mind and shifted forward in his seat. The front legs of his chair hit the linoleum with a faint thunk.
“She's like a bitch in heat!” Frank's shrill voice erupted from the television. On the screen Izzy pointed the camera at Frank, who was perched like a vulture on the dirty green couch.
“Somebody turn it off!”
The high-pitched voice snapped the class out of its collective, salacious gaze. It was Tanisha Matthews, a designer-clad New Bloomtowner who Anna had never spoken to. She felt a rush of gratitude for Tanisha, but then everyone was pulled back in by Frank’s doofus baritone.
“Tell her you love her and shit!” Frank said. He sniffed his fingers, and his hyena laughter ratcheted through the TV.
Izzy swung the viewfinder back to Craig, who was nodding to music that wasn’t there, pretending to sing but really saying, “Bro, chill. I got this. She’s almost there.”
Bile rose in the back of Anna’s throat. That’s why Craig hadn’t wanted the sound on. She was such an idiot. Izzy zoomed the camera in on the monitor again and there Anna was, lifting her shirt and flashing her black bra. Craig pumped his fists in victory, but down low by his side, so that Anna hadn’t seen it on her webcam. “I told you she wants my jock,” Craig hissed through his teeth. “You just got owned. Fifty bucks.”
“No nipple. No cash,” Izzy said from behind the camera. “That was the deal.”
“You said tits,” Craig said.
“I didn’t see tits. I saw a bra over some tits. You said you could make her do anything.”
“Can you make her kill herself like her mom?” Frank said from the dirty green couch.
There were gasps in the classroom. It was the lowest of all blows.
On the TV in front of the blackboard, Craig laughed through his teeth, and then Anna typed “brb” and left her bedroom. From behind the camera Izzy said, “She better come back.”
But Anna hadn’t come back, thankfully. She’d walked into a different hell when she found Jack in the basement.
Knowing that her television debut was over, Anna allowed herself to breathe again as she watched the shaky footage of Craig snatching the camera from Izzy. Then Izzy's oily face filled the flat-screen.
“What's your beef with Fagan anyway, dude?” Craig asked from behind the camera. “You never got shot down before?”
Izzy stiffened. “I wouldn't touch that skank with Frank's junk.” His eyes darkened. “You ever have a messed-up dream? When I see her…it’s like looking at a nightmare or something.”
“Wus-bag” Craig said, and then Frank’s hyena laughter was cut short when the screen went black. Today’s lesson in suburban film noir was over.
The exorcism. As expected, Izzy couldn’t remember it, but he had retained a fear-response associated with Anna. Good. Let the bastard be scared. Too bad she hadn’t recorded a video of Izzy humping and licking his smutty poster. Now that would go viral. Anna collected her things from her desk and started for the classroom door, walking leisurely past Denton’s desk, keeping her head up. He’d wanted her to crack but no such luck. She’d come up against way worse than him in her life. Denton was small potatoes.
“Nothing to say, Ms. Fagan?” Denton asked, his voice shaking, sweat on his bald head.
Anna ignored him, knowing, as he must have, that soon it would be all over town that he'd shown a video of a student undressing in his classroom. Even the ostrich-like (“boys will be boys!”) Bloomtown High faculty couldn’t keep their heads in the sand for this one. Denton had just lost his job, or worse.
After entering the hallway, Izzy appeared beside her, pale and nervous.
“Don't get hormonal and do anything stupid,” he said. “It was a joke.”
This was curious. Why wasn’t Izzy relishing his victory? Then it clicked. He’d been driving around his mother’s white Camry for at least two years. Izzy was eighteen, a legal adult, and this webcam stunt would surely breach the protective bubble of the student body. In the real world, distributing provocative images of a minor was a giant no-no. A smile bloomed on her face.
“Welcome to the sex offender list, dingleberry—or as your neighbors for the rest of your life will call you, the Creepy Pedo Next Door.”
Izzy glowered at her, his eyes draining into his skull.
A handful of curious kids spilled out of the classroom, trailed by Denton. He yelled at them to get back inside, spittle spraying from his mouth, but he was wholly ignored. Realizing he’d lost any semblance of authority, Denton deflated and slunk back into the classroom.
It seemed like every last kid in the growing crowd around Izzy and Anna had their phone out. No one wanted to miss out on the next Goblin Girl spectacle, but Anna wasn’t about to provide the dramatic material. She turned to walk away and Izzy’s thick fingers dug into her sleeve. Anna struggled to free her arm, but Izzy held tight and her shirt came off her shoulder, exposing her bra strap. Aware of the camera phones aimed at him, Izzy had a new glint in his eye.
“Got the grandma special on today?” He snapped the beige cotton strap with his dry, rough fingers. “Are the black lacy numbers just for Shine?”
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, enveloping her in a cloud of his body odor and sour breath. There was lust in his eyes and hatred, too. For Izzy, they were one and the same. The crowd closed in, as did the walls of Anna’s throat.
“Do anything stupid,” Izzy hissed in her ear, “and this”—he nodded at the growing number of recording cell phones—“will never be over for you.”
Her jaw clenched. Now Izzy was threatening her. Izzy who’d somehow killed Penelope. Peeps, who fit entirely in Anna’s hand when Jack brought her home from the shelter. Whose legs quickly grew so long and gangly that she’d stumble and slide across the kitchen floor racing to her food bowl, sending Jack and Anna into hysterics every time. Peeps, who had saved her puppies before she died, who had suffered at the end.
And then, with Izzy’s rancid breath condensing on her cheek, the mere intention to do away with him wasn’t enough. The scissors in Anna’s makeup bag—touted for the purposes of snipping Doreen’s tags or errant eyebrows—could surely be put to more pressing needs, couldn't they? Like stabbing Izzy in the throat? She scanned the rabid crowd, her adrenaline coursing. Maybe she would give them a show. Life in jail might be worth it.
Suddenly, Izzy rose up as if standing on his toes, and Anna was free of him. His eyes went wide as he was thrown against the wall next to the boy’s bathroom. Craig stood in his wake, flexing his hands as if ready to do more damage.
“Kill him, Shine!” Manny Vasquez, the senior class president, called out from the crowd, his voice wavering, then suddenly booming “Kill him!”
The coppery heat of bloodlust ignited the crowd and Anna was forgotten. A dozen or so kids picked up the chant, “Kill him! Kill him!” Anna recoiled, repelled by the violent hunger of the mob. But hadn’t she, only minutes ago, wanted to smash Sydney’s head into a locker? Wasn't
she just about to stab Izzy in the throat with scissors? Something was wrong with her. Something was wrong with all of them.
The chanting crowd grew larger, and kids pushed each other out of the way to get a better view. They were all sick, all infected, including her. But they couldn’t all be affected by only twelve portals, could they? She had to call Jack. Saul must have lied about the number of portals. For all she knew, the school was swimming in portal spew. What else had Saul lied about?
Izzy scrambled to his feet and tried to run, but Craig grabbed him by his T-shirt, twisting the cotton in his fists and lifting Izzy up until they were eye to eye.
Zoey Edelman, captain of the varsity cheerleading team, was perched atop the shoulders of her burly wrestler boyfriend. “Kill him! Kill him!” Zoey screeched while digging her pink nails into her boyfriend’s thick neck.
More teachers and kids crept out into the hall, staring at the fight with hungry eyes.
“You said the video was just for you,” Craig said slowly, inspecting Izzy's face like he was about to take a bite out of it. “You said you wouldn’t show it to anyone.”
“C’mon man, get off me,” Izzy whimpered. “I thought she’d leave school and I’d be rid of her. She did something to me, put a curse on me or some shit. I barely sleep, and when I do, all I can see is her witch face staring at me, violating me, bro.”
“Shut up,” Craig said, tightening his grip.
Izzy twisted his body in a desperate panic to free himself. He managed to squirm himself loose but left his T-shirt behind in Craig’s fists. Bare-chested, Izzy broke into a run, but Craig lunged after him, throwing a savage punch that landed with a solid thwack on the back of Izzy's head. Izzy fell hard on the trampled carpet, worn down by countless Uggs, and stumbled to his feet in a dizzy, seesawing sprint down the hall. The crowd moved their phones in unison, following his wobbly trajectory into the commons.
The Ghost Hunter's Daughter Page 16
