“Who cares,” Owen called back and shoved the bag of Skittles into my hand. I stress-ate a handful.
The two teams held even for a whole quarter and a half, nobody budging. The trouble was that while Adam was the best man on the field by a long shot, the other team had at least five guys half as good as Adam, which made them twice as good as all the other Oilers players. He was outnumbered. I couldn’t watch. I had to watch. I was witnessing a losing battle. Custer’s last stand.
Two minutes left on the clock. I found myself literally biting my fingernails. Owen quirked an eyebrow. “What?” I glanced away. “It’s your darn sweatshirt. I think it might be contagious.” I made a show of shuffling away.
Oilers’ ball. The seconds ticked by with excruciating regularity. The ball was hiked. I bobbed on the balls of my feet. The whole stadium held its breath.
Until Billy Ray’s face ate Astroturf. Adam shook his helmet and punched his fists together. Second down.
This time, despite being outmanned four to one, Adam managed to block the onslaught long enough for Billy Ray to progress several feet. But it wasn’t enough. The clock no longer had a number in the minutes’ column. The seconds counted down lower and lower.
I dug my teeth into my fist. Third down.
The ball was hiked. Rather than block, Adam backpedaled toward Billy Ray. When he emerged around the other side, the ball was tucked underneath his arm. I could see Billy Ray screaming at him, face turning maroon as he waved at Adam to run. Run, Adam, run, I saw him shout.
I would deny this with my dying breath, but I screeched. Like girl-at-a-boy-band-concert screeched. Because Adam—my Adam—Adam, who had been dead and brought back to life by yours truly, was sprinting down the field. I was a science goddess. A genius. Fifty-yard line. Forty-yard line. Thirty.
A skinny kid with ninja-quick legs chased him from the side. When he got close, he leaped onto Adam, but Adam caught him in the neck with the side of his arm. His head whipped backward and he flipped onto the ground, where the red jersey rolled before lying in the grass, his knees curling up.
Twenty yards. The roar of the crowd was deafening. A thicker player, built like Einstein, had cut across the field and was now closing the gap between him and Adam. As Adam reached the ten-yard line, the player hooked his arms around Adam’s waist and twisted. Adam stumbled. Now the rest of the crowd had joined the chant, “Run, Adam, run!” He dug his cleats into the ground. But he didn’t fall.
The other player’s legs splayed out from under him, and he was dragged across the field, clinging to Adam’s waist. Slow, but still standing, Adam inched toward the one-yard line with two entire teams in pursuit.
My eyes stayed glued to the field. Come on, Adam, come on. They were going to catch him. But as the numbers on the game clock slipped down to two seconds left, Adam lunged across the line, landing with a thud on his shoulder.
“He did it!” I screamed. “He did it!” A shotgun blast marked the end of the game. The drum line erupted into rolls of percussion. “Oh my God, he won!” I said. I flattened my palms together and put them up to my mouth, and I just stood there, staring down at the field like a proud parent.
Pretty soon, the stadium had turned to pandemonium. This was the first Homecoming game Hollow Pines had won in ten years. Fans stormed the field, and I rode the rush until the soles of my shoes hit plush green and I was searching for Adam in the crowd, reading the numbers on grass-stained jerseys, peering past the grates of face masks. My insides bubbled. It was so uncomplicated, this sports thing. And it was all Adam. My Adam, I repeated this. A mantra. I did this.
So flushed with the glow from Adam’s win, I didn’t mind the sweaty arms brushing by me or the stink of hard-worked boys. I pushed through to the center of the crowd. Never had I felt a pride so pure as the one throbbing through my heart for Adam. My Adam. When I spotted him only a few yards away, I thought it may burst through my chest. This contrivance of my own device, of my own sweat, of my own tedious work, late night, and bloodshot eyes.
I squeezed through a pair of local reporters interviewing a pair of Billys, and I was about to shout for Adam when there was a blur of orange sequins and skin. Cassidy straddled Adam, wrapping her arms around his neck. He twirled her, and when he did, I could clearly make out the smile plastered across his face, and I knew then that I’d succeeded. Adam felt something. But it was all Cassidy’s.
She returned gracefully to the ground, her hand clutching his shoulder.
“There you are!” She caught me looking on. “Did you see our man?”
Something sour brewed in my stomach. Who did Cassidy Hyde think she was? Our? I swallowed down the piping hot mixture of jealousy and righteous indignation that had risen to the top of my throat.
Adam peeled off his helmet, and my intestines untangled themselves. I couldn’t help but smile. Hair stuck to his temples, masking the incisions I knew were there. Beads of perspiration dripped from the tip of his nose. He shook his head like a puppy, and sweat flew in all directions.
When Adam’s eyes landed on me, the effect was undeniable. His grin lit up the whole of his face. From there, it reached into my chest and gave my heart a gentle tug. Okay, so it wasn’t the same way that he looked at Cassidy. Instead, it was as if I were the sun and he were one of my planets. He looked at me with such awe that I both simultaneously shrank and expanded beneath it.
“Victoria, I did it,” he said.
“You did it. Congratulations,” I said, keeping a healthy distance.
“I saw you clapping.”
“I’ll deny it with my last breath.”
Billy Ray barged into the conversation. He lifted up Adam by his thighs and hoisted him up into the air three times before dropping him. “Thatta boy!” He slapped Adam’s back. “Party at Knox’s house. One hour.”
I looked down at my watch. “What about curfew?” The ten o’clock quarantine was still in effect, and the third body lingered like an invisible presence at the same time every night. Better get home or you’ll wind up dead, it whispered to us silently. Only tonight, nobody was listening.
“Best not to get caught, then.” Billy Ray pointed at Cassidy and then Adam and then turned to me. “Don’t flake out now. Winners don’t flake.”
“Oh, well then, I feel personally entitled to continue to flake,” I said.
Cassidy did that thing where she tucked her hands under her chin and shot out her lower lip. “Come on, Tor. You guys have to be there. Knox’s parents own part of the Texans.”
“The who?”
She laughed. “The pro football team. They’re on the road this weekend. Nobody will ever know.”
I sighed. “I don’t know.” The truth was I had already been dreaming of plaid pajama bottoms and bunny slippers and, oh yeah, the idea of not being murdered. “I mean, I got up real early and I wear, like, a retainer at night.” I frowned. I didn’t think it looked nearly as convincing as Cassidy’s princess pout. “Really just, like, a whole headgear situation. It’s not pretty. And, I mean, it’s probably best just to skip altogether.” I looked at Adam for help. After all, he needed to be recharged by morning, but he was searching me with pleading eyes.
“Shut up, Victoria.” Cassidy grabbed both of my hands and held them in hers. “You two have to come. Promise me you’ll come.”
The merriment surged around us, and the pesky memory of the third body seemed to float farther and farther away. I looked up to the cloudless sky and decided what the hell. “Okay, okay, I promise. For one hour. That’s it.”
Cassidy narrowed her eyes and held out her pinkie to me. “Cross your heart and hope to die?”
I rolled my eyes but locked my finger into the crook of hers. “And hope to die,” I said.
THIRTY
Subject’s Stats:
Height: 6′3″
Weight: 196 lbs
Blood pressure: 142/96
Eyesight—good; hearing—normal
* * *
An hour later my
teeth were rattling from the bass pumping through Knox Hoyle’s home, a massive ranch-style house that reeked of oil money from the stone facade to the shrubs that were manicured into evenly spaced orbs and planted along the circle drive. I peered up at the vaulted ceilings, feeling instantly underdressed. I wondered how anyone could live in a place where they felt awkward wearing sweatpants.
Cassidy, on the other hand, surveyed the place like this was her natural domain. “Hang on. I’ll get us all a round of drinks,” she said, then took off toward a back door.
Adam and I stood a couple of feet inside the entryway, staring at our shoes and looking conspicuous. “So, uh, this is what it’s like to have money.” I stared up at the dangling chandelier. Crystals quivered from the beat of the music.
“I don’t like dead things hanging from walls,” Adam said matter-of-factly.
A deer head stared out at the party from its place over the mantel. Near a set of towering bookcases, Mr. Hoyle had hung the shaggy head of a buffalo, and across the room, another antlered animal—maybe an antelope—had reached its final destination nailed to a mahogany plaque. Each had hard marble eyes that reflected the flashing blades of the ceiling fans.
“I don’t like white furniture,” I said, noting an entire living room upholstered in cream. “I get the urge to throw drinks on it. Seriously, don’t let me near that stuff.”
Adam dipped a hand into a bowl in the foyer and pulled out a red chip. He took a bite and then spat it back out into the bowl. “I don’t like that stuff.”
“I think that’s potpourri. You’re not supposed to like it. You’re supposed to smell it.”
Adam picked up the glass bowl and held it up to his face, where he scrunched his nose. “Oh, nice.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Look at us. A couple of party animals. Watch out, next we’ll be sampling the room spray.”
Knox swaggered down a white marble corridor toward us, clutching a bottle of vodka by the neck. “You know, at a party, you’re supposed to actually venture into the party. That place where the other people congregate?” Knox had changed into a pair of rumpled khakis and a collared shirt that poked out from underneath a gray sweater. His freshly showered hair was darker than its standard wheat hue.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rocked back onto my heels. “Beautiful home. Adam and I were just saying.”
Adam still clutched the glass bowl like he was about to take a long drink of dried flowers. “I thought you hated the furniture.”
Knox narrowed his eyes, took a swig from the bottle, and then shook off the burn. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste,” he said, casting a look from me to Adam and then back to me. “Obviously.”
“Right. Anyway, great party. Really top-notch.” I gave him an awkward thumbs-up. Not even a minute in and I was already wishing that Owen had decided to party-crash. Screw the no-invite rule. Besides, Knox gave me the creepy crawlies.
His eyes flashed, snakelike. “Better with a little of this.” He shook the bottle of vodka. “Strong enough to ward off serial killers, I hear.”
“That doesn’t sound scientific at all. And thanks, but Cassidy’s on drink duty, anyway. There she is.” I pointed at no one in particular and grabbed Adam by the arm.
“I’ll come find you later, Tor,” Knox called after me, and for some reason, it sounded like a threat.
Deeper into the Hoyles’ house, the music grew more earsplitting. I found a spot where I could move in a two-foot radius without bumping elbows with someone spilling beer on me. I pressed my fingers into my temples, trying to drown out the music that was pounding around in my skull. I pulled Adam down to my eye level, speaking close to make sure he could hear me. “Listen, I don’t think alcohol’s a good idea tonight. We don’t know how it’ll affect you, and I don’t think the time to experiment is now.” I dropped my voice low. “Right after a game. If you know what I mean. We’re going to be here for one hour. Tops.”
I glanced back toward the door where more people were pouring in. Red cups had been set up on the dining room table, and guys were tossing Ping-Pongs into them before downing the contents of each cup. I felt the worried pull of my forehead. “Can you promise me you won’t drink?”
He put his hand on my shoulder. Half his mouth swooped into a smile. Leftover black paint smudged his cheeks. Adam Smith, whoever he was, really was kind of adorable. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“You’re learning,” I said, and felt the gleam in my eye.
“Ahem.” Cassidy appeared, balancing three drinks. She looked to Adam, then to me, and then back to Adam. I stood up straight and took a step back from Adam. “Am I interrupting something?” She had to yell over the music, and I wasn’t sure if she’d meant for the question to come out quite so angry.
“Nope.” I stood up straighter and backed farther away from Adam. She handed me a drink, which looked like Coke. “Yours is just soda,” she said when I bent down to sniff it. “I made an educated guess. Hope that’s all right. We can switch if you want.” She swirled a straw in her drink of clear liquid.
I took a sip. Just Coke. “No, this is perfect, actually,” I said. At least I knew the random party attendance hadn’t ruined my nerd cred.
Cassidy’s cheeks pursed when she sipped from her drink. She hadn’t changed since the game. A fringed leather vest hung open over an orange sports bra, which showcased her toned torso, and her silky brown hair cascaded in loose barrel curls over her shoulders.
“Adam, I want to show you the pool,” she said like she was the Hoyles’ Realtor. “It has one of those infinity edges and a waterfall Jacuzzi. You can come, too, Victoria, if you want.” I understood from her tone that I wasn’t supposed to want to come. I didn’t, anyway. I’d seen pools before, and I’d seen Adam and Cassidy make out, so I assumed there was nothing much more for me that I hadn’t already experienced a time too many.
I raised my glass in salute. “No, thanks. I’m going to forage for food, I think.” That was what lame people did at parties, right?
Cassidy gave a tight smile in thanks, and I wandered off in the opposite direction. I pushed my way through the middle of an Oilerette talking to the president of the junior class.
“Uh, how about excuse me?” said the Oilerette with the blond ponytail, jumping back.
“You’re excused,” I mumbled, and knocked back a gulp of soda. The ice clinked together in my glass.
The house was filled with faces that were familiar but that I couldn’t quite place. I wandered through the living room, filled with its dead animal heads, where exposed bra straps seemed to be the fashion. That, and drunken staggering that I gathered through my finely tuned powers of observation was supposed to double as dancing. Booze seeped from people’s pores, and I caught sour whiffs like bad breath whenever I passed too close.
By now I’d gotten used to the bass and the way it punched at my organs. My whole body buzzed with the music amid curls of smoke that reflected in the dim lights. The air was fresher in the kitchen, where I was pleased to find a bowl filled with tortilla chips and an open jar of salsa that had vomited tomato chunks onto the marble countertop. I cracked a chip in two and popped one half into my mouth.
New stainless steel appliances gleamed from every corner of the room. I ran my hand over the stovetop to a block of wood that displayed a dozen shiny butcher’s knives. I wrapped my fingers around one and pulled out the blade, examining the sharp edge. Probably one of those infomercial ones that could cut through a penny.
I fished around in my pocket to see if I had one to try.
“Are you allergic to parties or something?” I whipped around to see Knox open the freezer, realizing too late that I was wielding the point of a knife in his direction. He held up his hands in surrender. “No need for violence, Frankenstein. I’ll go willingly wherever you want to take me.” He winked.
“You’re going to make me gag.” I replaced the knife in its slot.
“I bet you’re into that kinky stuff,
aren’t you?” The fluorescent light of the freezer lit his face as he stooped to dig for another bottle of vodka to replace the empty one he’d deposited on the island. From the looks of it, he had an endless supply to choose from.
“Hate to ruin your fantasy, but not all geeky girls are closeted sex freaks waiting to be unleashed.”
He chose a bottle and kicked the door closed. “Well, now you’re just being mean.” He glanced at my watered-down glass of Coke. “Looks like you could use a refill.”
“It’s just Coke,” I said when he took the cup.
He waggled his eyebrows. “How very responsible of you. Okay, just Coke then.”
I waited while he opened the refrigerator and poured me another glass.
“There you are.” Paisley stomped into the kitchen dressed in an identical uniform to Cassidy’s. “What’s taking so long? The natives are getting restless without their refreshments. And nobody knows where Ashley went. Caroline is freaking the hell out. Thinks she wandered off and—” Her eyes fell on me and then narrowed. “Oh. You’ve got company.”
Knox reappeared from behind the refrigerator door and handed me a refilled cup. I sniffed it and couldn’t detect any alcohol. “I’m being a host, Paize. Chill out.”
“Can you please hurry? Ashley’s been gone for, like, twenty minutes, and Caroline is convinced she’s been abducted by the serial killer or whatever.” Paisley looped her arm through Knox’s, but shot me a hard stare as she dragged him off.
Bored, I wandered out, drink in hand, of my safe hiding spot in the kitchen. A team of guys was holding Billy Ray upside down. He held the keg spigot between his lips and the audience was chanting. “Three … four … five…”
I twisted my head for a better view of a red-faced Billy Ray. Did it taste better from that angle? I watched as the counting grew more and more energetic. Was he able to swallow or was it just sitting there in his mouth about to explode. It was as if we were all spending New Year’s Eve in Times Square waiting for the ball to drop instead of watching a sweat-stained white tee creep ever closer to the nipples of an even whiter hairy chest.
Teen Frankenstein Page 23
