The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  “That’s a strike!” Miss Sully called from her position between first and second bases.

  Elliot hollered from the dugout, “That had a lot of spin on it— send her a clean one!” It took me a moment to realize he was talking to Marcie and not me.

  Again the ball left Marcie’s hand, arching through the dismal sky. I swung, a pure miss.

  “Strike two,” Anthony Amowitz said through the catcher’s mask.

  I gave him a hard look.

  Stepping away from the plate, I took a few more practice swings. I almost missed Elliot coming up behind me. He reached his arms around me and positioned his hands on the bat, flush with mine.

  “Let me show you,” he said in my ear. “Like this. Feel that? Relax. Now pivot your hips—it’s all in the hips.”

  I could feel my face heat up with the eyes of the entire class on us. “I think I’ve got it, thanks.”

  “Get a room!” Marcie called to us. The infield laughed.

  “If you’d throw her a decent pitch,” Elliot called back, “she’d hit the ball.”

  “My pitch is on.”

  “Her swing is on.” Elliot dropped his voice, speaking to me alone. “You lose eye contact the minute she lets go of the ball. Her pitches aren’t clean, so you’re going to have to work to get them.”

  “We’re holding up the game here, people!” Miss Sully called out.

  Just then, something in the parking lot beyond the dugout drew my attention. I thought I’d heard my name called. I turned, but even as I did, I knew my name hadn’t been said out loud. It had been spoken quietly to my mind.

  Nora.

  Patch wore a faded blue baseball cap and had his fingers hooked in the chain-link fence, leaning against it. No coat, despite the weather. Just head-to-toe black. His eyes were opaque and inaccessible as he watched me, but I suspected there was a lot going on behind them.

  Another string of words crept into my mind.

  Batting lessons? Nice . . . touch.

  I drew a steadying breath and told myself I’d imagined the words. Because the alternative was considering that Patch held the power to channel thoughts into my mind. Which couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Unless I was delusional. That scared me more than the idea that he’d breached normal communication methods and could, at will, speak to me without ever opening his mouth.

  “Grey! Head in the game!”

  I blinked, jerking to life just in time to see the ball rolling through the air toward me. I started to swing, then heard another trickle of words.

  Not . . . yet.

  I held back, waiting for the ball to come to me. As it descended, I stepped toward the front of the plate. I swung with everything I had.

  A huge crack sounded, and the bat vibrated in my hands. The ball drove at Marcie, who fell flat on her backside. Squeezing between shortstop and second base, the ball bounced in the out-field grass.

  “Run!” my team shouted from the dugout. “Run, Nora!”

  I ran.

  “Drop the bat!” they screamed.

  I flung it aside.

  “Stay on first base!”

  I didn’t.

  Stepping on a corner of first base, I rounded it, sprinting toward second. Left field had the ball now, in position to throw me out. I put my head down, pumped my arms, and tried to remember how the pros on ESPN slid into base. Feetfirst? Headfirst? Stop, drop, and roll?

  The ball sailed toward the second baseman, spinning white somewhere in my peripheral vision. An excited chanting of the word “Slide!” came from the dugout, but I still hadn’t made up my mind which was hitting the dirt first—my shoes or my hands.

  The second baseman snagged the ball out of the air. I dove head-first, arms outstretched. The glove came out of nowhere, swooping down on me. It collided with my face, smelling strongly of leather. My body crumpled on the dirt, leaving me with a mouthful of grit and sand dissolving under my tongue.

  “She’s out!” cried Miss Sully.

  I tumbled sideways, surveying myself for injuries. My thighs burned a strange mix of hot and cold, and when I raised my sweats, to say it looked like two cats had been set free on my thighs would be an understatement. Limping to the dugout, I collapsed on the bench.

  “Cute,” Elliot said.

  “The stunt I pulled or my torn-up leg?” Tucking my knee against my chest, I gently brushed as much of the dirt away as I could.

  Elliot bent sideways and blew on my knee. Several of the larger bits of dirt fell to the ground.

  A moment of awkward silence followed.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  Standing, I demonstrated that while my leg was a mess of scratches and dirt, I still had the use of it.

  “I can take you the nurse’s office if you want. Get you bandaged,” he said.

  “Really, I’m fine.” I glanced at the fence where I’d last seen Patch. He was no longer there.

  “Was that your boyfriend standing by the fence?” Elliot asked.

  I was surprised that Elliot had noticed Patch. He’d had his back to him. “No,” I said. “Just a friend. Actually, not even that. He’s my bio partner.”

  “You’re blushing.”

  “Probably windburn.”

  Patch’s voice still echoed in my head. My heart pumped faster, but if anything, my blood ran colder. Had he talked directly to my thoughts? Was there some inexplicable link between us that allowed it to happen? Or was I losing my mind?

  Elliot didn’t look fully convinced. “You sure nothing’s going on between the two of you? I don’t want to chase after an unavailable girl.”

  “Nothing.” Nothing I was going to allow, anyway.

  Wait. What did Elliot say?

  “Sorry?” I said.

  He smiled. “Delphic Seaport reopens Saturday night, and Jules and I are thinking about driving out. Weather’s not supposed to be too bad. Maybe you and Vee want to come?”

  I took a moment to think over his offer. I was pretty sure that if I turned Elliot down, Vee would kill me. Besides, going out with Elliot seemed like a good way to escape my uncomfortable attraction to Patch.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said.

  CHAPTER

  7

  IT WAS SATURDAY NIGHT, AND DOROTHEA AND I WERE IN the kitchen. She had just popped a casserole into the oven and was sizing up a list of tasks my mom had hanging from a magnet on the fridge.

  “Your mother called. She won’t arrive home until late Sunday night,” Dorothea said as she scrubbed Ajax into our kitchen sink with a vigor that made my own elbow ache. “She left a message on the machine. She wants you to give her a call. You’ve been calling every night before bed?”

  I sat on a stool, eating a buttered bagel. I’d just taken a huge bite, and now Dorothea was looking at me like she wanted an answer. “Mm-hmm,” I said, nodding.

  “A letter from school came today.” She flicked her chin at the stack of mail on the counter. “Maybe you know why?”

  I gave my best innocent shrug and said, “No clue.” But I had a pretty good idea what this was about. Twelve months ago I’d opened the front door to find the police on the doorstep. We have some bad news, they said. My dad’s funeral was a week later. Every Monday afternoon since then, I’d shown up at my scheduled time slot with Dr. Hendrickson, school psychologist. I’d missed the last two sessions, and if I didn’t make amends this week, I was going to get in trouble. Most likely the letter was a warning.

  “You have plans tonight? You and Vee have something up your sleeves? Maybe a movie here at the house?”

  “Maybe. Honestly, Dorth, I can clean the sink later. Come sit and . . . have the other half of my bagel.”

  Dorothea’s gray bun was coming undone as she scrubbed. “I am going to a conference tomorrow,” she said. “In Portland. Dr. Melissa Sanchez will speak. She says you think your way to a sexier you. Hormones are powerful drugs. Unless we tell them what we want, they backfire. They work against us.” Dorothea turned, pointing the Ajax
can at me for emphasis. “Now I wake in the morning and take red lipstick to my mirror. ‘I am sexy,’ I write. ‘Men want me. Sixty-five is the new twenty-five.’“

  “Do you think it’s working?” I asked, trying very hard not to smile.

  “It’s working,” Dorothea said soberly.

  I licked butter off my fingers, stalling for a suitable response. “So you’re going to spend the weekend reinventing your sexy side.”

  “Every woman needs to reinvent her sexy side—I like that. My daughter got implants. She said she did it for herself, but what woman gets boobs for herself? They are a burden. She got the boobs for a man. I hope you do not do stupid things for a boy, Nora.” She shook her finger at me.

  “Trust me, Dorth, there are no boys in my life.” Okay, maybe there were two lurking on the fringe, circling from afar, but since I didn’t know either very well, and one outright frightened me, it felt safer to close my eyes and pretend they weren’t there.

  “This is a good thing, and a bad thing,” Dorothea said scold-ingly. “You find the wrong boy, you ask for trouble. You find the right boy, you find love.” Her voice softened reminiscently. “When I was a little girl in Germany, I had to choose between two boys. One was a very wicked boy. The other was my Henry. We are happily married for forty-one years.”

  It was time to change the subject. “How’s, um, your godson . . . Lionel?”

  Her eyes stretched. “You have a thing for little Lionel?”

  “Noooo.”

  “I can work something out—”

  “No, Dorothea, really. Thank you, but—I’m really concentrating on my grades right now. I want to get into a top-tier college.”

  “If in the future—”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  I finished my bagel to the sounds of Dorothea’s monotone chatter, interjecting a few nods or “uh-huh’s” whenever she stopped talking long enough to wait for my response. I was preoccupied debating whether or not I really wanted to meet Elliot tonight. At first, meeting up had seemed like a great idea. But the more I thought about it, the more doubt crept in. I’d only known Elliot a couple of days, for one. And I wasn’t sure how my mom would feel about the arrangement, for another. It was getting late, and Delphic was at least a half-hour drive. More to the point, on weekends Delphic had a reputation for being wild.

  The phone rang, and Vee’s number showed on the caller ID.

  “Are we doing anything tonight?” she wanted to know.

  I opened my mouth, weighing my answer carefully. Once I told Vee about Elliot’s offer, there was no turning back.

  Vee shrieked. “Oh, man! Oh-man-oh-man-oh-man. I just spilled nail polish on the sofa. Hang on, I’m going to get some paper towels. Is nail polish water-soluble?” A moment later she returned. “I think I ruined the sofa. We have to go out tonight. I don’t want to be here when my latest work of accidental art is discovered.”

  Dorothea had moved down the hall to the powder room. I had no desire to spend the whole night listening to her grunt over the bathroom fixtures as she cleaned, so I made my decision. “How about Delphic Seaport? Elliot and Jules are going. They want to meet up.”

  “You buried the lead! Vital information here, Nora. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.” I was left listening to the dial tone.

  I went upstairs and pulled on a snug white cashmere sweater, dark jeans, and navy blue driving moccasins. I shaped the hair framing my face around my finger, the way I’d learned to manage my natural curls, and . . . voilà! Half-decent spirals. I stepped back from the mirror for a twice-over and called myself a cross between carefree and almost sexy.

  Fifteen minutes later to the dot, Vee bounced the Neon up the driveway and beeped the horn staccato-style. It took me ten minutes to make the drive between our houses, but I usually paid attention to the speed limit. Vee understood the word speed, but limit wasn’t part of her vocabulary.

  “I’m going to Delphic Seaport with Vee,” I called to Dorothea. “If my mom calls, would you mind relaying the message?”

  Dorothea waddled out of the powder room. “All the way to Delphic? This late?”

  “Have fun at your conference!” I said, escaping out the door before she could protest or get my mom on the phone.

  Vee’s blond hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, big fat curls spilling down. Gold hoops dangled from her ears. Cherry red lipstick. Black, lengthening mascara.

  “How do you do it?” I asked. “You had five minutes to get ready.”

  “Always prepared.” Vee shot me a grin. “I’m a Boy Scout’s dream.”

  She gave me a critical once-over.

  “What?” I said.

  “We’re meeting up with boys tonight.”

  “Last I checked, yes.”

  “Boys like girls who look like . . . girls.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “And what do I look like?”

  “Like you stepped out of the shower and decided that alone was enough to pass as presentable. Don’t get me wrong. The clothes are good, the hair is okay, but the rest . . . Here.” She reached inside her purse. “Being the friend that I am, I’ll loan you my lipstick. And my mascara, but only if you swear you don’t have a contagious eye disease.”

  “I do not have an eye disease!”

  “Just covering my bases.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Vee’s mouth dropped, half-playful, half-serious. “You’ll feel naked without it!”

  “Sounds like just the kind of look you’d go for,” I said.

  In all honesty, I had mixed feelings about going makeup free. Not because I did feel a little bit naked, but because Patch had put the no-makeup suggestion in my mind. In an effort to make myself feel better, I told myself my dignity wasn’t at stake. Neither was my pride. I’d been given a suggestion, and I was open-minded enough to try it. What I didn’t want to acknowledge was I’d specifically chosen a night I knew I wouldn’t see Patch to test it out.

  A half hour later Vee drove under the gates to Delphic Seaport. We were forced to park at the farthest end of the lot, due to heavy opening-weekend traffic. Nestled right on the coast, Delphic is not known for its mild weather. A low wind had picked up, sweeping popcorn bags and candy wrappers around our ankles as Vee and I walked toward the ticket counter. The trees had long since lost their leaves, and the branches loomed over us like disjointed fingers. Delphic Seaport boomed all summer long with an amusement park, masquerades, fortune-telling booths, gypsy musicians, and a freak show. I could never be sure if the human deformities were real or an illusion.

  “One adult, please,” I told the woman at the ticket counter. She took my money and slid a wristband under the window. Then she smiled, exposing white plastic vampire teeth, smudged red with lipstick.

  “Have a good time,” she said in a breathless voice. “And don’t forget to try our newly remodeled ride.” She tapped her side of the glass, pointing to a stack of park maps and a flier.

  I grabbed one of each on my way through the revolving gates. The flier read:

  DELPHIC AMUSEMENT PARK’S

  NEWEST SENSATION!

  THE ARCHANGEL

  REMODELED AND RENOVATED!

  FALL FROM GRACE ON THIS

  ONE-HUNDRED-FOOT VERTICAL DROP.

  Vee read the flier over my shoulder. Her nails threatened to puncture the skin on my arm. “We have to do it!” she squealed.

  “Last,” I promised, hoping if we did all the other rides first, she’d forget about this one. I hadn’t been afraid of heights for years, probably because I had conveniently avoided them. I wasn’t sure I was ready just yet to find out if time had faded my fear of them.

  After we hit the Ferris wheel, the bumper cars, the Magic Carpet ride, and a few of the game booths, Vee and I decided it was time to look for Elliot and Jules.

  “Hmm,” said Vee, looking both ways down the path looping the park. We shared a thoughtful silence.

  “The arcade,” I said at last.

  “Good call.”r />
  We had just walked through the doors to the arcade when I saw him. Not Elliot. Not Jules.

  Patch.

  He glanced up from his video game. The same baseball cap he’d worn when I saw him during PE shielded most of his face, but I was certain I saw a flicker of a smile. At first glance it appeared friendly, but then I remembered how he’d entered my thoughts, and I went cold to the bone.

  If I was lucky, Vee hadn’t seen him. I edged her forward through the crowd, letting Patch fall out of sight. The last thing I needed was for her to suggest we go over and strike up a conversation.

  “There they are!” Vee said, waving her arm over her head. “Jules! Elliot! Over here!”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Elliot said, making his way through the crowd. Jules moved in his wake, looking about as enthusiastic as three-day-old meat loaf. “Can I buy you both a Coke?”

  “Sounds good,” said Vee. She was looking right at Jules. “I’ll take a Diet.”

  Jules muttered an excuse about needing to use the restroom and slipped back into the crowd.

  Five minutes later Elliot returned with Cokes. After splitting them between us, he rubbed his hands together and surveyed the floor. “Where should we start?”

  “What about Jules?” Vee asked.

  “He’ll find us.”

  “Air hockey,” I said immediately. Air hockey was on the other side of the arcade. The farther away from Patch, the better. I told myself it was a coincidence he was here, but my instincts disagreed.

  “Ooh, look!” Vee interjected. “Foosball!” She was already zigzagging her way toward an open table. “Jules and me against the two of you. Losers buy pizza.”

  “Fair enough,” said Elliot.

  Foosball would have been fine, had the table not been a short distance from where Patch stood playing his game. I told myself to ignore him. If I kept my back to him, I’d hardly notice he was there. Maybe Vee wouldn’t notice him either.

  “Hey, Nora, isn’t that Patch?” Vee said.

  “Hmm?” I said innocently.

  She pointed. “Over there. That’s him, isn’t it?”

  “I doubt it. Are Elliot and I the white team, then?”