“I said it was no big deal. Just messing around with the guys.” He shrugged. “Dad was laying into me, but then you showed up in even worse trouble. I was punished with no dinner, but he never said anything about breakfast.”
I pointed to his bowl. “Any cereal left?”
Crunching noisily, he gestured toward a box on the counter beside a gallon of milk.
“Where are the bowls?”
“Where they always are.” He shook his head like he thought I was nuts as he pointed to a cupboard above the microwave.
Stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and hanging brass pots gleamed throughout the kitchen. I tried three drawers before finding a spoon. Then I couldn’t find any chairs. Those must be in the dining room, which could be miles away in such a humongous house.
My stomach growled approvingly as I poured cereal. I scooted down to the floor across from Hunter. Without his gangsta clothes and knife he seemed like a normal kid. We sat like that, chewing and swallowing. I started to talk, but then caught his hostile look and remembered that he hated me … well, Leah. I wasn’t that crazy about him, either.
I downed two bowls of cereal and still felt hungry. So I opened the fridge and rummaged around for something else to eat. There were unrecognizable leftovers in plastic containers. I eyed them suspiciously. Ultimately I settled on an apple and packaged string cheese.
Sitting back down on the floor, I started to unwrap the string cheese when Hunter lunged for me. “No! Leah!” he shouted.
He snatched the cheese stick out of my hand, his bowl clattering to the floor and splashing milk and cereal everywhere.
“What the hell?” I plucked cereal from my hair. “Are you insane?”
“Not me. You are!” He waved the cheese stick at me.
“You’re the one stealing my food like a crazy person,” I said with a tight hold on my apple, afraid he’d grab it next. “Why’d you do that? If you’d wanted cheese, you could have gotten your own.”
“I didn’t want the stupid cheese. I just didn’t want to watch you die.”
“Die? You’re delusional.”
“And you’re allergic to cheese.”
“I am?” I sank against a cabinet, shaking.
Cradling the apple in my lap, I stared at Leah’s hands. I’d almost killed myself, again. Amber was already gone. I couldn’t change that, and I had to take better care of the only body I had left. Despite everything, I wanted to live.
“I’m sorry, Hunter,” I finally said. “Thank you.”
“Whatever,” he said roughly. “Clean up the mess.”
Then he left the room.
I should probably have left, too. But I was still hungry.
After finishing the apple, then finding a bag of Oreos in the pantry and scarfing down half the bag, I cleaned up Hunter’s spilled cereal and washed our dishes. Doing ordinary chores made me feel almost normal. If I blocked out the luxurious surroundings, I could even pretend I was back home.
My stomach was full but I still felt empty; there was a hole inside that only my family and friends could fill. So why didn’t I just call them? I had the house to myself; no one except Hunter knew I was awake.
So what was stopping me?
Fear and love, I realized, as I glanced up at a wall phone with illuminated buttons. My family and friends had suffered enough. Eventually I’d talk to them, but now was just too soon. It would only confuse and upset everyone more. I considered calling Eli—only I didn’t know his number.
I had no one to turn to and no place to go.
So I returned to Leah’s room.
And crawled back into the dark oblivion of sleep.
Sunlight stuck me in the face like a brutal assault.
“Rise and shine!” Angie said with cheerful venom as she opened blinds on each window. “I didn’t bother bringing your breakfast because you won’t bother eating it. I’m only here to pass on a message.”
I hid my face in my pillow.
“Your father is waiting for you in the dining room.”
I shut my eyes tight.
“You can’t hide in here forever.” Angie clicked her tongue. “But that’s your problem. I’ve done my job.”
Footsteps, and the door slammed. I listened for the sound of the lock, but there was none. Tugging my covers over my head, I disappeared into a dreamy void.
But my peace didn’t last long.
Heavy footsteps thudded. Then the door burst open with such force that I jumped up in bed, clutching the covers to my chest.
Mr. Montgomery loomed in the doorway, his expression furious.
“Your tantrum ends now.” He spoke with icy control. “Leah, we are going to talk. Privately.”
Angie smirked behind him in the hall before he shut the door and stepped inside the room. I wanted to hide, but that wasn’t an option. Trembling, I met Mr. Montgomery’s narrowed gaze.
“Leah, was there any reason why you ignored my breakfast invitation?”
I tried to look away, but his compelling voice snared me.
“You missed a delicious breakfast. No one makes omelets like Luis.” He actually smiled—way creepy. There was no hint of emotion or anger in his tone. He pulled a chair uncomfortably close to my bed. “So, what do you have to say for your childish behavior?”
I shook my head, not daring to utter a word.
“Leah, Leah,” he said with a shake of his head. “You disappoint me.”
Get used to it, I wanted to say. I avoided looking directly into his eyes. He was angry, so why didn’t he act like it? His faux-friendly smile scared me.
For good reason, I soon discovered.
“Now you’re going to tell me the truth.” He leaned closer. “Don’t lie. I want to know how you escaped from the pool yard. Did someone help you?”
I reached for my pillow to hide my face, but his steel-like arm snaked out and grabbed the pillow. He tossed it to the floor. “No more hiding in bed,” he said firmly. “I want to know exactly what happened yesterday.”
“It’s not important,” I murmured, relieved that he didn’t seem to know about Eli. We must have been out of range of the surveillance cameras.
“You will tell me—or else.” Mr. Montgomery glared at me with a controlled rage.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
His head tilted, as if confused by my behavior. I doubted many people dared to stand up to him, especially his own daughter. But threats meant nothing to me. Drained of hope or emotion, I just didn’t care. I’d already lost everything that mattered. I only wanted to numb myself back to sleep.
“If that’s how you want to play, that’s your choice. A very unwise choice,” he added ominously. “I’ve brought some light reading for you.”
I lifted my brows, only a little curious when he withdrew a paper from his pocket and shoved it into my hand.
The pamphlet showed a sprawling, rustic collection of buildings on spacious green grounds ringed with majestic oaks. A caption read:
DeHaven Resort: A restful place for healing body, mind and spirit.
A description of mental health treatments, in poetic language, masked the harsh reality of the “resort.” There were medical terms like “somatic therapies,” “electric shock,” and “psychosurgery.” I understood too well what this was all about, and why Mr. Montgomery was showing me the brochure. DeHaven was the punishment place for misbehaving teens, with prison walls more formidable than those surrounding the Montgomery estate.
“They have a room available for your immediate occupancy,” Mr. Montgomery added as I read the brochure.
“But I’m not sick.”
“Mental illness manifests in subtle forms. I’ve spoken with the director, and she’s quite sympathetic to our situation—especially when I described your depression.”
“I am not depressed!”
“How else can you explain your despondent behavior? Relentless crying, sleeping all day, not eating, inability to function normally.” He pr
essed his fingers together: smooth, pale fingers with shiny nails as if he regularly had manicures. “An extreme case of clinical depression.”
I tossed the pamphlet at him. “I won’t go.”
“That is not your decision to make. You’re a minor until your eighteenth birthday and as your concerned father, I decide whether you go back to school or are committed to the DeHaven Resort. It will be a difficult decision, but I’ll do what is necessary.” He smiled. “But I’m willing to discuss alternatives.”
I dug my fingers into the covers, struggling not to break down. The threat of being locked in a place for crazies was terrifying. I had no doubt Mr. Montgomery would do it.
“What do you want?” I asked, defeated.
His smile widened, chilling me. “First of all, you will eat your meals.”
I hesitated, then nodded.
“You will resume your exercise regime.”
Exercise? Every day? Horrors! But exercise was better than a straitjacket and electric shock treatment.
Reluctantly, I nodded.
“Also, you will accompany me to the banquet on Saturday evening.”
Another nod.
“Then, on Monday morning, you will return to school.”
“School? But I can’t!” Not when I looked like Leah. It would never work. Her friends would have expectations of me that I wouldn’t live up to. My friends would ignore me. And Chad would want to kiss me when I’d rather kiss his brother. Awkward!
“You will attend school,” Mr. Montgomery insisted. “I’m sure you miss your friends and, to show you what a nice guy I am, I’ll bend my rules and allow you to see one of your friends today. Jessica Bradley is a delightful girl and you know how much I respect her father. I’ve spoken to Jessica and she’s been collecting your homework assignments. She’ll be here with them, soon.”
He glanced down at the DeHaven pamphlet, waiting for me to respond.
I gulped, eyes glued to the pamphlet, weighing my options:
a) Refuse, and risk shock therapy at DeHaven
b) Agree, and live a privileged life as Leah
This should be an easy decision, yet it wasn’t. Giving up my real identity and hiding the truth was like selling my soul to the devil.
But the devil in front of me held all the power.
One day I will have power, I thought.
But not today.
“Leah!” Jessica squealed as she entered the room and dumped a backpack on the floor. Her shiny black hair shone with silver-blonde weaves, and she wore a mid-length silky skirt and a sheer, plunging V-necked blouse.
She hugged me. Prompted by thoughts of DeHaven, I hugged her back.
“You’re so pale!” Jessica stood back to survey me. “Oh my poor Leah, have you been miserable?”
“It hasn’t exactly been a night at a prom,” I said wryly.
“Of course not—the prom isn’t for another month.” Her tone was all serious. Didn’t she have a sense of humor? “But by then you’ll be back to your usual self.”
“I’m not my usual self.”
“I know what you mean—just look at your hair.” She grimaced. “But I’m here now, and you know how fabulous I am at giving makeovers. I’m considering a major in cosmetology and opening my own day spa. Sit back and relax while I work my magic. I remember where you keep your makeup case.”
Before I could reply, she rushed into the bathroom and came out carrying a blow dryer, brushes, and a black leather case.
“I really don’t need any—” I started to say.
“Leah, let me do my thing, okay? You can thank me afterwards when you see how gorgeous you look. Now sit up straight and lift up your face.”
Who had the energy to argue? Not me.
I used to think getting a makeover would be an insightful “new experience” for an aspiring entertainment agent … not that those ambitions mattered anymore.
Did Leah have any ambitions? I wondered about this as Jessica smeared goop on my face. Leah could go to any college she wanted or even start her own business. But what sort of business would interest her? There weren’t any clues in her room. No knickknacks, bookshelves, or a hobby like Eli’s puzzles. There weren’t personal photos displayed, either. It was as if her room came ready-made from a home magazine.
Jessica rubbed lotions into my skin with circular movements, plucked hairs, swept on blush and eye shadow, and painted my lips with cherry-flavored gloss.
“Now, for your hair,” Jessica said with a mad-scientist’s delight as she tugged and yanked and raked a brush through Leah’s long hair. I’d always longed for straight hair, but when Jessica twirled a curling brush and blasted my hair with the blow dryer, I missed my untamable brown curls.
I swallowed my complaints. This was supposed to be fun, after all.
“Now, don’t you look beautiful?” Jessica shoved a mirror into my hands.
Holding the mirror, I looked into Leah’s face: soft blush highlights, curved cheekbones, creamy unblemished skin, bow-shaped lips, and wide blue eyes with only a shadow of the hidden person inside. Blonde hair spiked up in a crown, then cascaded down in flowing waves—a wicked blend of beauty and attitude.
“Uh … thanks,” I said, since it was expected.
“You’re welcome.” She grabbed some makeup-smeared tissues and bent over to toss them in the garbage, then gave a little gasp. “Hey, I recognize Chad’s writing—what’s his letter doing in the garbage?”
“Um … I guess I dropped it there by accident.”
“Lucky I noticed!” She scooped out the letter.
I grimaced at the red envelope. “It’s nothing.”
“‘Nothing’ looks an awful lot like a love letter—and you didn’t even open it,” she said with reproach. “If it were mine, I would have read it a zillion times. Then I’d frame it and put it on my wall. You’re so lucky to have such a cool boyfriend.”
I didn’t feel lucky. I didn’t feel much of anything.
“Mind if I read it?” Jessica asked.
“Whatever.”
She took this as a “yes” and slit the letter open with her long purple fingernail. Her lips pursed as she read a single sheet of white paper. She murmured, “Oooh.” Then she folded the letter back up and plopped down beside me on the bed.
“I repeat,” she said with a dreamy sigh, “you are so lucky to have Chad. I wish I had such a hot romantic guy. Are you sure you don’t want to read his letter?”
“Maybe later.”
Jessica reached out to touch my hand sympathetically. “What’s wrong, Leah? You sound kind of down. How are you feeling?”
“I’m better … I guess … just tired.”
“So lean back and rest. Can I get you anything?”
I shook my head, wishing she’d leave so I could go back to sleep.
“I’ve been freaking since I heard you were in the hospital. I begged to visit you, but they said you might be contagious. Your father said it was some kind of brain flu. I never even heard of anything like that. Did your doctor explain about how you got it?”
My head hurt trying to keep up with her conversation. “The doctor didn’t tell me anything.” Except that I was delusional. “I’m definitely not contagious. But I don’t remember much about being … uh … sick. I’ve been sleeping a lot.”
“Your father said you’re going to school on Monday.”
“Yeah.” Against my will.
“Cool! School has been dull without you—except for the tragedy about poor Amber.”
“Amber Borden?”
“You know her?” Jessica wrinkled her forehead.
“Um … I heard about her accident.”
“Who hasn’t? It’s been all over the news—‘Mail Truck Goes Postal, Runs Down Local Girl.’ Did you know Amber came to my party? Oh … I guess you wouldn’t, since that’s when you got sick. Anyway, I was sure you’d think I was a dope for inviting her, but she begged to help with the food-drive fundraiser and I couldn’t refuse. Big mistak
e! She didn’t fit in and it was all kinds of awful. If I’d just asked her to stay longer, not let her go off so angry, she wouldn’t have gotten into that accident. I feel so guilty.”
You should! I thought. For all the vicious things you and your friends said about me at the party.
“Oh, well.” Jessica let out a deep breath, then brightened. “Here’s your homework. I went around to all your classes and got everything.” Opening the backpack she’d brought, she handed me a folder with “Leah Montgomery” printed on a small label.
I groaned, dreading the prospect of returning to school. I wouldn’t even be able to attend my own classes, and had no clue about Leah’s schedule.
“Here. It’s all taken care of.” Jessica winked as she handed me the papers.
“What is?” I flipped open the folder and saw typed pages with Leah’s name printed across the top. Essays written and math problems calculated. “You did all my work?”
“Not me.” She giggled. “You know the arrangement.”
“I do?”
“Rebecka did a great job. Check out the history essay—she got your handwriting down so well it would fool me.”
“Rebecka Zefron? That short girl with the—” I stopped myself. Rebecka had a slight problem with facial hair. “The girl who sits at your table?”
“Sits at our table,” Jessica corrected. “A small price to pay for good grades. And I’ve given her the name of a good electrologist to get rid of her mustache.”
It started adding up. Leah might sweat while exercising, but not over ordinary responsibilities like homework. Why do the hard work if you could pay someone else to do it for you? I was disgusted—and impressed. Leah was taking advantage of her opportunities, and delegating duties just like my book Leaders on Board advised. Still, cheating was dishonest, and didn’t feel right.
The math homework wasn’t right, either.
“Look.” I pointed. “Problems two and five are wrong.”
She squinted as if she needed glasses. “They look fine to me.”
“The results are completely off. Doesn’t Rebecka know anything about math?”
“As if you do?” she scoffed.
“The errors are so obvious.”
“Not to me.” She tilted her head, studying me. “Leah, you’re acting … odd.”
Dead Girl Walking Page 15
