“Make them sorry? What are you talking about?” Suddenly I’m terrified. He wouldn’t hurt himself. Would he? I peer at him, but he just stares past me, over my shoulder, his face grim.
I clutch my hands together in my lap to keep them from shaking. How could he even imply it in front of me? It’s too cruel. But that sounds like what he’s saying. Or maybe he’s talking about hurting his parents. Or damaging their house.
In a moment, though, my hands relax. Because I know: that’s not Cody. None of it is, not really. He’s always talking about his big plans for his life, about moving to L.A. to live in a house full of artists or a Wiccan coven and start an underground music ’zine.
He’s not going to hurt anyone. I don’t even think he’d run away to L.A. He just wants his parents to think he will.
He’s planning to manipulate them. Scare them into doing what he wants.
No matter how tough his parents are, I’m not sure they deserve that.
I must look shocked. “It’s okay,” Cody says, his voice softening. “I know what I need to do now.”
“You’re not going to do anything dumb, are you?” I try to sound casual, but inside I’m reeling. Cody, his parents—both of them desperate, both of them stubborn. What’s going to happen now?
“Like I said, I’ll do what I have to do to get them to listen. Even if it means … scaring them a little.” Cody sees me start and puts his hand on my hand again; warm, gentle. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t freak. Listen, I really appreciated this. You were … incredible. I couldn’t have done this without you. Obviously.”
And then he leans toward me, quickly, too quickly for me to react, and kisses me hard on the mouth. I can’t help moving toward him, almost reflexively. I feel the tip of his tongue glide lightly against the inside of my upper lip, and I shiver.
The first thing I think is, Oh. Wow.
The second thing I think, as his other hand comes up to stroke the back of my neck, is This feels wrong. Oh, it feels good, but it’s wrong. The timing … my mind’s not exactly working clearly. I’m still reeling from his mother’s thoughts, from what Cody might do. I shouldn’t be kissing anyone right now.
And I shouldn’t be kissing Cody, of all people. No matter how much I might want to. God, what if Mikaela finds out? She doesn’t even think this is a possibility. But I’m still kissing him, aren’t I? No. I pull away, my face hot.
Before I can say anything, he leans back and says, “I mean it. I won’t forget this.”
“Okay.” My mind spins, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me again. I want him to and I don’t at the same time. But he’s already opening the door and getting out of the car.
At school the following Monday, I manage to act like everything’s normal. Cody acts like his old self. Mikaela doesn’t seem to think anything’s weird.
I’m not about to tell her that Cody kissed me, even though it’s not like I did anything wrong, because he kissed me. And it hasn’t happened again.
Still, I didn’t stop him. I kissed him back. And I can’t help thinking about it.
A lot.
From Shiri Langford’s journal, August 29th
Such a relief to be back at school, away from THAT. Except of course THAT follows me wherever I go. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do. So I stopped taking those stupid antidepressants. I’m not convinced they help me anyway.
(Later)
I did something terrible.
I tried to tell Brendan about the things I hear. What a mistake. What a disaster. I’m such a pointless waste of space so stupid. The other times it’s happened while we were together, I passed it off as side effects from my medication. Now he knows I’m not taking my medication any more. He asked what was wrong. I started to lie, and then I just couldn’t stand keeping it inside anymore and I told him.
He didn’t say anything at all, just clenched his hands around the edge of the table. He turned kind of red, his eyes cold, and he got up and walked out of my apartment.
I don’t know why he was so angry.
I haven’t been able to get hold of him for the past two hours. I keep calling and calling.
twenty-three
The early February air is crisp and dry. A breeze cuts under the open zipper of my jacket as I rush out of my last-period class and into the bathroom along with about eight million other girls.
I retie my ponytail, craning my neck to see around a girl who’s hogging the mirror as she applies lipstick. Then I duck into a stall. The swirl of noise and voices echoes around the room for a minute, and then dwindles as the restroom empties out.
I flush the toilet, unlatch the door, and as I’m washing my hands at the sink I hear the clop-clop of high-heeled boots. And who walks in but Cassie, tottering a little on her fancy designer shoes, and Elisa.
Great.
I knew I should have avoided the bathrooms in the social science block.
I don’t meet their eyes. I just nod noncommittally and try to dry my hands as quickly as possible.
The electric dryer seems to be operating excruciatingly slowly. I’m about to wipe my hands on my cargo pants and leave when I notice that Elisa is crying.
Against my better judgment, I go up to the two of them where they’re standing over in the far corner. I mean, Elisa was my friend. And it’s not like she did anything to me directly. She just kind of followed along. Like I used to. When I see her crying it’s like we’re all struggling through freshman year again, and I can’t just leave.
“Lise, are you okay?” My voice is tentative. “What’s wrong?” Cassie is murmuring comfortingly in Elisa’s ear, but when she hears my voice, her head whips up and she glares at me.
“It’s none of your business,” Cassie says. “Like you care about us anymore anyway. Go back to your new friends.”
“I’m fine,” Elisa says, her voice hoarse. “It’s—don’t worry about it.” She turns away from me, toward Cassie.
“Okay,” I say, hurt. “I’m not going to pretend I have any idea what’s going on, but here.” I fish a tissue out of my purse and hold it out to her.
“Oh, come on,” Cassie says. She rips the tissue out of my hand almost violently and throws it in the trash can. “You have to know. Everyone does. You’re on there, too.” She stares at me challengingly, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“On what?” I sneak a sideways glance at the defaced bathroom wall, half-expecting to see our names and phone numbers listed along with “for a good time, call.”
“On the blog, stupid.”
“I’m not on any blog,” I protest. “I haven’t even been on- line in a week.”
“I’m talking about that Voice of the Underground thing. It got emailed to everyone on the school list. You seriously don’t know?” Cassie rolls her eyes and flips her hair over one shoulder. She’s looking at me like I’m beyond idiotic.
“I seriously don’t know,” I tell her, bewildered. I shift my gaze to Elisa, but she’s not looking at me. She’s still dabbing at tears with her sleeve.
“Yeah, right,” Cassie says. “Just check your email.”
I stand there for a minute, wondering what the hell is going on, wondering if I should offer Elisa another tissue, but they ignore me. The atmosphere feels brittle, like a dead leaf. So I go. Obviously they don’t want me around. I should never have stopped to talk to them in the first place. I shove aside my worry about Elisa and leave.
I have better things to do. I have better friends to see.
First, though, I call home, slowly walking across campus as I hit the speed-dial button and wait for our old answering machine to pick up.
“Auntie Mina? Are you home? This is Sunny.” I wait a minute, and she answers.
“Yes, Sunny? How are you? How was school?” She sounds tired.
“Fine,” I say. “I wanted to let you know, I was invited to my friend Cody’s house after school. I should still be home before Mom and Dad. Will you be okay until I get there?” It’s like I�
�m the adult and Auntie Mina is the child. But I’m worried. Uncle Randall hasn’t come over since that last time, but he’s been calling a lot ever since they started talking again. Sometimes two or three times a day. That’s why we told her not to pick up until whoever it was talked into the machine. She doesn’t have to talk to him all the time.
There’s been a lot of hang-up messages. Click, and then a dial tone.
“Oh, sweetie, I’ll be fine,” she says, but her voice sounds artificially cheerful. “You deserve some time with your friends.”
I feel a stab of guilt. “Well, call me if you need me.”
“Pshht. Go enjoy yourself,” she says, and hangs up. But I don’t feel any better. Especially since there’s absolutely nothing I can do.
Mikaela and Cody are already waiting for me by the gate to the back parking lot, and they fall into step on either side of me as I head for my car. As we walk, I can’t help feeling extra-conscious of Cody on my right, of the warmth of his skin as his bare arm brushes mine for a second.
“So why do girls take so long in the bathroom?” Cody asks, with fake earnestness.
“It wasn’t me,” I start to explain; but Mikaela pats me on the head.
“It’s okay; we won’t tell anyone about your secret girly makeup obsession. Your hidden collection of Cover Girl stuff. The perfume bottles stashed in your locker. The eyebrow pencils in your pencil case.”
I start laughing, letting myself be distracted. “Okay, seriously, who carries a pencil case? Name one person.”
“Billy Dorf,” she says solemnly. Her dark eyes twinkle.
“Fine. Okay. Name two.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Cody says, “but …
here.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a battered black plastic pencil case with a Transformers logo on the front and an “Anarchy in the UK” sticker plastered on the back. We all crack up. During the car ride, Cody plugs his iPod into the adapter and cranks the volume and we speed along with the windows open, an old Rob Zombie album streaming out into the breeze. By the time we pull into Cody’s neighborhood I’m a little happier.
I’m nervous, though, stepping into Cody’s house.
“Are you sure your parents aren’t going to be pissed? You’re supposed to start work later tonight.” I look down at the marble-tiled entryway as I walk in. It’s spotless and mirror-shiny, as if it’s been recently buffed. A planter box full of fake flowers lines one side of the foyer, which extends out into an open-plan living room and kitchen. Everything looks clean, modern, and strangely empty.
“They’re not even going to know,” he says. “They won’t be home for a few hours. By the time they get back, I’ll already be at the theater.” He smiles enigmatically. “Want anything from the kitchen? I can fix a mean whiskey and Coke.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” I say. “It’s a little early.”
“I’ll take one,” Mikaela says, grinning at me mischievously. “Sunny can be a party pooper, but somebody’s gotta have some fun around here.”
“Fine, whatever,” I say, but I’m not really in the mood. I feel like his parents could show up any second. I take a doctored Coke, though, and help carry enough chips and snacks to feed a small army. It’s supposed to be an “anti-retirement” party, just the three of us, before he leaves for his first evening on the job.
I’ve tried—and failed—repeatedly to imagine him in that stupid red vest they make all the movie concessions workers wear. I don’t think I’ve seen him wear anything but black or gray.
So much for that Thumbscrew job he kept talking about.
We plop down in the sunken living room and spread everything out on the glass coffee table. The hardwood floor is almost completely covered in a fancy white shag rug. I make sure my drink is on a coaster and far away from the edge of the table before I grab a handful of cheese puffs and start crunching away.
Mikaela rips open a bag of pretzels. Cody turns on the entertainment center and switches to a music video channel. We sit there for a few minutes, yelling and laughing over the music and cramming our faces with junk food. It’s nice, not having to think.
After a while, Cody clicks a button on the remote and mutes the sound. The silence is almost painful after the crunching and wailing of guitars.
He pulls a fancy laptop from the bottom shelf of the coffee table.
“I have to show you guys something,” he says with barely suppressed glee.
“Is it that band you were telling me about? The one with the girl drummer? You better not like her,” Mikaela says teasingly. I flinch inwardly.
“Nope.” Cody is fidgety, waiting for the computer to boot up. “You’ll see.”
“C’mon, tell us,” she says, scooting a little closer to him on the couch. I’m sitting on his other side, and I lean toward him for a better view as he opens up the web browser.
This close to him, I can’t help thinking about what happened the last time we sat so close to each other. It’s been over two weeks, but I can’t get it out of my head.
“You can call this the last gasp of freedom before my corporate enslavement,” Cody says.
“When are you going to learn? We’re all already slaves to The Man.” Mikaela pokes him in the arm.
“I’m going to have to agree with Mikaela on this one,” I say.
“Fine,” Cody says, “but The Man had nothing to do with this.” He quickly enters a URL into the browser, too fast for me to read it before the page pops up.
When I see what the graphic at the top of the page says, I feel like I’m going to spew cheese balls all over the table.
“Voice of the Underground,” Cody says. “AKA me.”
“Oh, hilarious.” Mikaela reaches out to scroll down the page, stroking one black-painted fingernail along the touch screen.
“Hang on a sec—let me see that,” I say, finally finding my voice. I’m thinking of Elisa crying in the bathroom earlier and what Cassie said, and I have a nasty feeling of dread. I lean closer and read the top blog post.
DESPERATE FUTURE HOUSEWIVES AT C.V.H.S.! screams the headline. Who’s in bed with who? It’s not who you think it is. Did C.P. get with D.W. at a secret party? Is E.N.’s boy toy going to be suicidally depressed when he finds out she’s been snogging somebody else? Or is he going to kick some ass?
GOTHS GONE WILD. C.J.D. last seen at Palmwood Park with his shirt off, blinding thousands of innocent bystanders. It goes on for a while, making fun of some kids I barely know who apparently did something to get on Cody’s bad side, but I’m hung up on the first paragraph.
C.P. Cassie Parker. E.N. Elisa Nguyen.
This is horrible. It’s really, really mean and petty.
And there’s only one way Cody could have been able to write this stuff. He wouldn’t even have known any of it if it hadn’t been for me. Me and my stupid underhearing.
I’m a terrible person.
So much for trying to use underhearing to do good. Instead, I’ve just ruined people’s lives.
Correction: Cody has ruined people’s lives.
But I helped.
twenty-four
Cody is sitting there beaming like he’s a little kid who just drew a picture for his mommy. My stomach churns, and it’s not from the whiskey and Coke I barely touched.
“Cody … ” I swallow, hard. “This is kind of mean.”
“This is need-to-know information,” Cody says, still grinning. “Anyway, I thought you hated them. Why do you care?”
“Elisa was crying,” I tell him. I lean away from him, my back rigid. “That’s why I took so long in the bathroom earlier.”
“So? It’s just payback for all those times they were bitchy to you.”
“You know, you’re allowed to be angry at them,” Mikaela says. “You can’t just hold it in forever. Let it out. Let it go.” She sweeps one arm out, a little drunkenly. I glare at both of them.
“I thought you’d be grateful.” Cody isn’t smiling anymore. He’s
starting to look annoyed.
“Grateful? You are really … ” Clueless? Missing the point? Nothing seems adequate to describe what I’m feeling right now. I remember what Cassie said and I start wondering if I’m on the blog somewhere, revealed as some kind of magical psychic know-it-all. My face gets hot and I dig my fingers into my palms.
And he has the nerve to look pissed.
I force myself to calm down enough to talk.
“I don’t need revenge, okay? I just don’t want to talk to them anymore.” Actually, if I’m honest with myself, the only person I don’t want to see anymore is Cassie. Nobody else did anything all that bad. That’s what makes this so wrong. That, and the fact that Cody went behind my back again, used my underhearing for his own personal gain.
“Not only that, it was a private conversation. I told you what I’d heard in confidence. It wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge.” My voice trembles, but I’m too upset to care. “I don’t care if they’re not my friends. It’s a matter of ethics.”
Mikaela snorts. “Ethics? It’s a blog. And what about free speech? Plus, it’s just people’s initials. It could be anyone.”
“Come on, like people can’t guess,” I tell her. “And the URL was sent out to the whole school.”
Cody looks surprised for a second, then starts laughing. “I didn’t do that. But hey, I guess somebody thinks it’s of interest to the general public.”
Mikaela looks a little worried. “So the whole school knows now?” She smacks Cody on the top of the head.
“Ow! Fuck, what was that for?”
“Dumbass,” Mikaela says. “For putting me on there, that’s what it’s for. I don’t need two thousand people calling me ‘a valued member of the Psychic Friends Network.’” But she’s smiling a little, too. It’s hard to know whether she’s really even mad.
“You didn’t talk about me, did you?” I look at him coldly.
“I didn’t mention you by name, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says. “Not even by initials. I said … let’s see … ‘Former JV swim hottie seen cavorting with men in black.’ And I didn’t say a thing about your power. I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone. I think it’s awesome, what you can do.”
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