“Joel, why didn’t you wake me?”
He gives me a blank look. No guilty or surprised expression, not even a grimace.
“My audition?”
He gapes at the briefcase in his hand and groans. “That’s today,” he says as if reminding himself. “You know that piece backwards and forwards, Piper. You got it down like choking on a turnpike.”
“You know you don’t make any sense, right?”
He grins. “That’s the point.”
I slump against the wall, resting my head like I can’t hold it up anymore. Great. This is just great.
“Pipes, about last night—”
“Yes!” I blurt, not wanting to hear it. “I went into the basement! Todd snuck in and I was trying to get him to go home, but he wouldn’t go so the floor opened up and he fell through, okay? I had to go down there.”
I wait for Joel to yell, or lose it like he did when he caught us. His voice, however, is controlled, and he presses his mouth into a line. “It’s not safe. You should have gotten me.”
“Yeah, to have you be mean to me for waking you up on a work night? Why isn’t it safe, Joel? There’s nothing down there.” Except a feeling in my gut swells as I say the words, and I know they’re not true.
Joel’s mouth parts, like he’s baffled. Maybe he hasn’t been down there after all, and he’s just mad that I went.
“Look, whatever,” I say, pushing past him. “Todd will be here any minute.”
I make my way down the stairs, an imaginary rain cloud hovering over my head. Usually going to school is comparable to having my tongue cut out, but now more than ever I don’t want to go. I wish I could skip the next few hours like that one Adam Sandler movie and go straight to my audition.
To make things worse, Todd finally sends me the text he promised.
Had early practice today. Sorry.
Of course Todd has early practice. I half wonder if he really does, or if he’s just avoiding me, considering how he fell through my floor last night.
Feeling like I’m stepping out into a town I’ve never been in before, I head out. The school is about six blocks from my house, and the cool morning air revives me, in a way. It helps me clear my thoughts.
After seeing that ghost in the library and then the blood in the trap door, I feel like I hardly slept at all. I have to keep squinting, even though it isn’t bright out. Sunlight peeks up over the horizon in the distance, and inwardly I urge it to come faster. Cold tacks its way under my skin.
Vale High’s brown brick comes into view, and the parking lot fills with cars as more zip past me. A whistle blows from the nearby field. I’m earlier than I thought. I could sit in the hallway and read or do homework, but I don’t want to face the hallway yet—not even an empty one.
Car wheels crush against the asphalt, and I trek over the gravel and to the chain-linked fence where Todd and the rest of the team practice. So he didn’t make it up. That’s a relief. Except the sight of him makes me change my mind—I’ll take the empty hallway. Who knows what he thinks of me now, after two weird house incidents, an almost “moment,” and him on my bed.
I stop walking at the thought. Todd. On my bed.
Sierra sits on the bleachers, snuggled in a fuzzy hat and gloves, and watches the guys dance on their tiptoes, hit the grass at the blow of a whistle, then get up and do it all over again. Their breath puffs out in front of them like misty balloons. Todd stumbles and then shoots a grin at me.
It pierces right through, turning my muscles into goo. He doesn’t hate me then. I inhale the cold, clean air, suddenly ready to tell him anything he wants to know—especially out here in the open.
Coach Morris chirps the whistle again, and the guys scatter, herding toward the school. Todd meets me by his red truck. He’s all sweaty. Dirt smears on his cheeks and his white, holey T-shirt.
“Sorry about not picking you up,” he says. “I forgot I had practice until I was getting ready this morning.”
I kick the gravel. “S’okay.”
Wait for it. Any minute now he’ll fire his artillery of questions.
“You ready for this?” he asks, pulling his backpack from the cab of his truck. The door slam makes me jump. I’m stumped for a second—I’m not sure, but I think he means my audition.
Here I am, ready for his pestering questions, ready to confess everything I can about my house to him, and now he’s decided to act ignorant. Makes no sense. I need someone to talk to, and Joel is obviously out.
I try to organize my thoughts. I went into the library after you left and saw a ghost. And blood in the trap door. Oh, and by the way, my house is haunted.
“At least you don’t seem too upset about last night,” he says before I get the chance to spill, heading toward the showers. “See you at lunch.”
My mouth hangs open, unspoken words dangling on my lips. At least I’m not too upset? I feel like I was just about to take a bite of food before someone snatched it away. I don’t get why he’s seemingly blown it off. Two more minutes, that’s all I needed.
Usually I’m like another row of lockers—unnoticed unless someone needs something or has something mean to say. But now I’m a walking car accident—the really bad kind that makes people slow and stare just to see how awful it is. Everyone in the hallway is looking at me. And I mean everyone.
It must be about the party. Maybe something happened that I didn’t know about.
Gazes stick on the back of my neck like sap. I force my eyes straight ahead, even ignoring Sierra’s crowd who are bunched around her locker down the hall from mine. For once they pretend not to notice me. At least Todd isn’t with them.
My locker door opens with a rattle. I stare at its plain content—a few rusted spots, books, notebooks—and then I stiffen. Someone is behind me. His breath hits my neck.
Shane Turcott. He’s about as tall as I am—five seven—with dark skin, dark hair, and shockingly black eyes. Drool-worthy, yes, but the kid might as well walk around wearing a sign that says I Will Make Your Life Suck.
Turcott slams my locker shut, barely missing my hand that I pull away just in time.
“Heard a rumor about you, Payback.”
I peer down at the open jaws of my backpack. “I have a name, you know.”
He ignores me. “You were on the news this morning.”
My forehead cinches. I have no clue why in the world I would be on the news. My audition isn’t until this afternoon. Not that something like that would make the news. I zip the bag shut. “Go away.”
Brilliant. Very original and threatening.
I turn, but Turcott’s lackey, Virgil, is there, and the two of them press me into the lockers. A lock digs into my back.
“Does murder run in the family?” Turcott asks. Virgil chuckles. He has long greasy hair, and more zits than I do. “I know a few people you could hack off for me.”
Spots appear in my vision. He can’t know—he can’t.
“Shut up,” I say, trying to wiggle free. I hold my breath against the smell of weed laced through his, and cringe as he gets closer to me. He rams his phone in my face and taps on what looks like a YouTube video.
I rear back to let my vision focus. It’s a news broadcast. And wouldn’t you know it, the anchor is Sierra’s mom.
The familiar, cheesy news music chimes, and Mrs. Thompson, looking as sleek and poised as her daughter does, starts speaking. “Our top story this morning—”
Up in the corner of the screen lies a picture of my elegant, gray Victorian house with its side tower and pointed dormers, followed by a snapshot of my father’s photo. His professional one from Cedarvale Community College. His glasses hang down over watery eyes, and feathery hair has plastered itself to one side of his head. I try to swallow a bulge in my throat, but my brain seems to have shut down, and I can hardly think.
“Though it’s been months, Nolan’s death is quite mysterious. Sources say Nolan Crenshaw suffered a stroke, but suspicions are raised considering that Cre
nshaw’s wife, Marian, committed murder nine years ago. She brutally stabbed Hunter Morgan and hid his body in a trap door under their kitchen.”
My knees nearly give out. No. They can’t—this is what Dad, Joel, and I ran away from. What we’ve tried to hide for so long. To make things worse, Mom’s mug shot appears on Turcott’s tiny screen. She’s wearing orange, holding up a white sign with some numbers scribbled on it, and a deranged twinkle resides in her eyes. Oh gosh, blue eyes. Like mine.
I close mine tight. Tears threaten the edges with a burning touch, but I fight them back.
“Shut it off,” I plead. “Shut it off!”
Turcott shoves me and presses his phone against my cheek so the voice comes through even louder. I fidget, not daring to move, but hardly able to keep still. It doesn’t make sense how the news possibly found out, or why they’re bringing it up now. I want to morph and become the cinderblock. To slink under the floors and hide.
“Marian Crenshaw is secure in Shady Heights’ Penitentiary. She appears to be unrelated to her husband’s stroke. Stunning new evidence shows that Nolan—”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Todd’s voice comes over Turcott’s shoulder, and before I know it my space is my own again and Turcott gets shoved into Virgil.
I take long, slow breaths and shake my hands, trying to release tension. It doesn’t work. Hurt, frustration, and shame build up inside of me like pressure in an aerosol can. No doubt it’s all over Facebook and Quizper by now. I don’t even want to see how many notifications I have this time.
“You think I want your pizza-faced girlfriend?” Turcott says. Like I need that now, too. I hate acne.
I sink against the lockers. Judging by the glares being slung at me, the whole school knows. My life is over. And my audition—what’s the point?
Todd hands me my backpack, his brow compressed with something like pity. Wet hair twists around his ears, and he smells like soap. “You okay?”
His tender tone stings. I nod, but I won’t look at him. Just at his battered DC’s.
“Hey,” Todd says, drawing me to his side. Oddly enough, his welcome embrace doesn’t comfort me. “Don’t listen to whatever that loser said to you. People don’t know the real you.”
I scuff a trembling hand across my cheek. “They will now.”
“What?” He pulls away so he can see my face.
I press my lids closed. I’ve never said the words to another soul before. Sure, he already knows because his mom asked a lot of questions when we first moved in next door. But we’ve never really talked about it.
“He’s such a jerk,” I say instead.
“Let him be,” Todd says, puffing back up again. “I could kick his butt any day of the week.”
He spools me into a hug, but I push away. It doesn’t fix the fact that the whole school knows my mom killed someone. I swallow a lump in my throat and try to avoid the crowd of cheerleaders whose glowers remain on me as they pass.
“I’m ready to tell you. What you wanted to know,” I say. I take a minute to inhale his scent, mingled with the perfume and BO in the hall. I should have told him about my house—about the ghost, and the bloodstain—sooner. I should have texted him or something right after it happened.
“Your room?” he asks. “And the floor thing? It’s got to be that. I already know you watched Barney as a kid, Pipes.”
I let out a weak chuckle, but the reminder of our long friendship only makes me feel worse.
“Out with it, or I’m gonna be late to Spanish.”
I don’t get why he’s not jumping down my throat about it anymore. “Why aren’t you more upset?”
“I figured Joel was pretty pissed after he caught us,” Todd says with a shrug. “And I’m sure you’re worried about the au-dish today. You said you’d tell me. I’m going with that.”
I sniff, but close up inside as the bell rings. Lockers slam, kids shout and yell over the uproar. Todd bobs his head, an indication that he wants to hear it, but doesn’t want to be late to class either. This isn’t something that can be rushed. I have to figure out how to even say what I need to say.
Todd’s finger tilts my face up to him. My stomach flutters at his fingertips on my cheek. “If it’s about your mom,” he says, lowering his hand. “It doesn’t matter to me. Don’t care what others think.”
I take in a thin breath and my foot kicks the locker behind me. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Todd straightens and clasps the strap of his backpack. “Because it’s true,” he says, as if he’s telling me rain is wet.
“Look, it’s not—”
Sierra Thompson flaunts her shapely assets just by walking. The sight of her cuts me off, because Todd lifts his head toward her. Ugh, I’m ready to disappear.
“—just my mom. Something else happened.”
I stop talking, because it’s pointless. I may as well be talking to myself.
Todd points his finger to his heart, like we do when the other needs a pick-me-up. But it doesn’t have its typical effect, because his eyes are still on Sierra. “Pipes, I gotta go.”
He follows her like he’s a kitten and she’s catnip. I hide my face in my hands, a pang of jealousy jagging through me.
It’s my row’s turn to water our tomato plants in greenhouse, so I head to the heated light tray at the back of the room. When I turn, Sierra and three of her sheep friends block my way, each girl with her arms folded.
“Is it true, Zittles?” Sierra asks, knocking the cup in my hand. Dirt spills on my chest and down my shirt, and the plastic cup falls to the floor. I glance to the teacher’s desk. Coach Morris is so lax, he probably hasn’t noticed I’m being ganged up on.
I think back to Turcott cornering me this morning, back to the endless flak these girls have given me online, back to the coughing and the lunchroom incident the day before. I said nothing for Todd’s sake then. I won’t take it this time.
I level a glare at Sierra and her satin-smooth skin and perfect eyes. For once I’d like her to have pimples covering her cheeks, her chin, her forehead. To wash her face twice a day and not have it do a single thing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not that stupid, are you? I mean your mom.” She holds out a small newspaper clipping. With a gasp I remember her snooping through Joel’s papers last night. Patting something in her pocket.
“You didn’t,” I say, hoping it’s not true, but knowing it is. I have no other explanation for why her mom would do an out-of-the-blue news story about a murder committed nine years ago.
“Funny what you can find when you look through people’s stuff,” Sierra adds.
I snatch the article from her, ignoring the triumphant look on her idiotic face.
Lydia lifts her chin. She has a flower on her headband, and curls tumble to her shoulders. “No wonder you’re so messed up, Payback.”
I step forward, but they do too, caging me in. There’s no point in saying anything. Joel and I couldn’t hide it forever. I knew better than to have them come over last night.
Sierra closes in, narrows her stenciled brows. Her irises jag back and forth. “Wait. You’ve got…oh my lanta, it’s all over your face! Somebody call the nurse!”
They laugh, and for the first time I keep eye contact with her. I don’t know where my nerve comes from. “Too bad your ugliness is all under the skin,” I say. “If people could see how you really are, you’d look like a burn victim.”
Jaws drop, and gasps break from their glossy lips. Pulse thumping, I ignore the gawks I’m getting from people and head toward my seat. My tomato seedling is dead anyway.
They have no clue, no idea what it’s like to have their mother be the murderer. To be the one with the loopy house, the ugly face. I’ll show them. I’m not sure how. But I’m done with this. Done with being the kickee. That was the old Piper. Not anymore.
Amy Nelson turns to face me. Her hair is smooth and perfect, as usual. Freckles do
t her big nose. But she doesn’t ask me a question about terminology. She doesn’t look over my clothes with a sneer.
“So,” she says.
Oh. I am. So. Sick of this.
“Yes. My mom is in prison for murder. I have acne. I don’t cheat on my tests, I didn’t do anything to my dad, and I’m done talking to all you people!” My voice elevates so loud I don’t notice until every eye is on me, including Mr. Morris’s. His mustache twitches.
Amy recoils. “Sorry, Piper. I was just going to say good job for sticking up for yourself. You know, to Sierra. She totally had it coming.”
My scowl deepens. “Oh, and you don’t?”
Instead of taking a breather to figure out where this comes from, I keep going.
“For years I’ve put up with nothing but crap from you. From all of you!” Every eye is on me. Might as well keep going. I huff like a madwoman. “I won’t do it anymore. You can all just piss off.”
I stand and nearly trip when Morris moves to the front of his desk. He analyzes me, then gives me a nod as if to say, Good girl.
“Sorry for interrupting class,” I mumble on my way out.
The hallway stretches before me, and I walk like I’m on stilts. I’ve never acted like this before. Sure, I’ve had all these thoughts for years. Years! But I’ve never once thought I’d ever say them out loud. And here I am chewing everyone out.
Ugh, and Todd. I have no clue what to do about him, or why he’s even my friend. Who knows what he even sees in me that’s cool enough to keep putting up with my drama for all this time.
A different version of myself has surfaced, and I’m not sure where she came from or if I like her. I need to talk to someone, but I don’t know who. My mom is out, obviously. Dad, too. There’s Joel, but he doesn’t care about my petty high school problems. Every time I try to talk to him he’s so closed off. So consumed with schoolwork and his depositions, or being “in charge.”
I stomp past the front office on my way to the bathroom, but our principal, Mr. Connor, steps out, catching me. His belly hangs out like a growth over the top of his pants.
Phobic Page 8
