by Rachel Kiss
A little after seven, I get a text from Blake. She’s obviously at the study group. “The witchy girls here said they invited you to this.”
I text back: “Yeah, but I’m not going.”
Blake: “Come on, really? You’d rather flunk than be in the same room with me for an hour?”
I bite my lip, then roll my eyes. She has to get this—right? That I don’t want to be a substitute-girl. I mean, that’s just offensive. So, I don’t bother to explain it to her, she’s not stupid. Instead I just text: “That about sums it up.”
Her reply: “Ouch.”
Yeah, my sentiments exactly.
CHAPTER 24
“Thanks a lot for not showing last night, Renee,” Olivia says all bitter-like as she passes my desk in chemistry. She huffs, “Blake bailed on us as soon as she found out you weren’t coming.”
I glance back at Blake. She raises her eyebrows at my stare, like: ‘Oh, you won’t be in the same room as me, but you’ll sure stare your eyes off.’
I quickly dart my gaze away from her, and glance back at angry Olivia. I draw out a breath, “Look, Carly is really mean to me.”
Her eyes soften a little. “I know,” she grumbles.
Then she adds, “But the rest of us needed Blake’s help too.”
“Well, the ‘rest’ of you aren’t that nice to me either.” I don’t tell her this out loud though. I know it’s Carly’s fault they usually ice me out. But geez, it would be nice if some stood up for me sometimes.
… like Blake did.
CHAPTER 25
***Renee***
I’m almost positive I bombed my chemistry test. Or anyway, did really, really bad. (Like, got a ‘C.’)
As I’m wallowing about it (okay, listening to sad music—which I do a lot these days anyway, ever since I was tricked into going to a surprise party for the girl I crave, only to have the girl I crave want me to be the substitute for the girl she craves; but that girl is blond and dead, so … yeah. Sad music.)—anyway, while I’m wallowing about that stuff, I get a frantic phone call from my little brother.
He sounds all scared, telling me he is at the duplex we rent out—and the tenant has him ‘captive.’ (??!!)
My stomach drops.
Jason sounds close to tears as he says, “He’s going to call the cops on me, unless we can pay for the damage we did to his sound equipment.”
“Who is ‘we’ Jason? And what did you do to his equipment?”
“Me and my friends. We were just messing around with his awesome music equipment. But you know my friend Ethan. He was trying to be funny—I guess. He shook up a can of soda from the guy’s house and—and the soda exploded EVERYWHERE. It got all over the guy’s electrical equipment—and ruined it.”
I smack a hand over my forehead taking a deep breath, trying to understand. “Jason, how did you get in the duplex?”
This is all baffling. The whole thing. I don’t even know who we rent the duplex out to, or anything about the duplex, actually. Even while Mom was around we’d had a realtor lady that is in charge of renting out the place. She receives the rent, takes her share, and deposits the rest into our bank account. I have nothing to do with the tenants. Never have.
Jason explains nervously. “Me and my friends found the spare key in the desk in our den. We just wanted to see what the place looked like inside. But the guy and his friend caught us as we were running away. Ethan and Gil got away. But the guy says he’s going to call the police if you don’t pay him for the damage—right now.”
Then he texts as he’s telling me this, “He’s big and scary Renee.”
My stomach drops. “Put him on the phone.”
When the guy gruffly says, “Hello—the damage is at least six thousand dollars, and I should call the cops anyway, just to teach the kid a lesson: Not to break into other people’s homes.”
My mouth feels like it’s full of sandpaper. “No—please. He knows that.”
“Really? Well, that’s what he did.”
“I realize that, but I think he must have maybe thought it was okay, since we own the house.”
“But I’m renting it,” the guy growls. “It’s called breaking and entering—it’s a felony.”
I get why he’s mad, of course. Teenagers breaking into your house and ruining your things—yes, anyone would be mad.
I swallow. “Sir, I’ll pay for the damages. I will,” I promise him, although I don’t have even close to six thousand dollars. I have maybe two hundred. Maybe. Still, I go on desperately, “I’ll be right there. Please don’t call the police.”
If the guy calls the police, Jason will be taken away from me. They’ll deem me unfit to be his guardian.
When I get to the duplex, I’m astonished when I see who opens the door.
When the angry guy sees me, his mad expression instantly changes from anger to complete bewilderment. “Blake-bait?”
Griffin opens the door further, and there’s Blake. She shoves the hair out of her eyes as she stares at me, looking confused.
For a moment, it’s like she’s trying to piece the perplexing puzzle together—why am I here?
She tilts her head. “This is your brother?”
She gestures at Jason, who Griffin has a firm grip on.
My heart in my throat, I nod … because the ‘big, scary’ guy Jason was talking about is Griffin Piper. Blake’s best friend.
Blake tilts her head further. “I pay you rent?”
I blink, trying to get this all straight in my stunned brain. “I guess,” I tell her slowly.
Now it’s my turn to tilt my head. “How long have you been renting the duplex?”
“Just a few months—from a lady named Shannon.”
I nod slowly. “That’s our realtor.”
My eyes go to Jason, who doesn’t look so frightened anymore. His curious gaze flicks between Blake, Griffin and me. “You all know each other?”
I glare at him. “Yes.”
Griffin instantly lets go of the tight grip he had on Jason’s collar. He gazes from me to Blake, then grins. “I guess you can handle it from here, Casanova,” he says to Blake almost merrily.
Then he leaves.
“I’m sorry Jason broke into your house,” I squeak to Blake, beyond embarrassed. “He’s not a troublemaker—really. He’s usually very mature and responsible.”
Blake grunts, giving Jason another dirty look. Which I can’t blame her for, at all.
“It’s his friends,” I say quickly (and weakly) “—they’re a bad influence.”
“Well, then he should get better friends.” Blake’s voice is scary dark, her eyes telling Jason if he doesn’t get new friends—immediately—Blake is going to have her friends knock his block off.
I bite my lip, torn. On the one hand, I’d love for Jason to stay clear of his troublemaking friends. On the other hand, Blake looks mad enough to strangle him.
I clear my throat. “Here’s two hundred dollars. I know you demanded a little more than that, but—”
Blake raises an eyebrow, “A little more?”
“Okay, a lot more than that. But I don’t have any more money right now. I was wondering if I could take it out of your future rent money? Like, you won’t owe me any rent for the next few months until we’ve covered the damage.”
I really can’t afford this option—at all. But I don’t really see another choice. I can’t let her call the police, no matter how much she wants to teach Jason a lesson. I guess I’ll just have to get another job on top of the one I already have—and, of course, make Jason get a job too. But the thing is—I really don’t have any time for another job. I just don’t. I can barely keep up with my schoolwork as it is. Also, though it would be spectacular to make Jason get a job, he’s only thirteen. (Almost fourteen, but still.) There aren’t that many places that will hire him.
I squeak out hopefully, “Or can I pay with a credit card?”
Blake raises her eyebrows. “No.”
Then she ad
ds, “—but you can pay it off another way.”
Heat flows over my skin.
The way her gorgeous eyes glisten at me makes me squirm nervously, though at the same time, go up in flames, as I wonder what the “way” is that she’s insinuating. Her lingering gaze on my lips makes me pretty sure it’s not going to be taking out her garbage … however that ends up being what she wants from Jason (apart from wringing his neck).
Blake glances between Jason and me, then her eyes study me with an unsettling intensity as she informs me, “You can both work it off,” a half-smile forms on one side of her mouth, “—different ways.”
Her eyes stay on me, watching my reaction.
The muscles in her jaw flicker as my lips part. Her eyes drink it in. Slowly, slowly she drags her gaze from me, as though reluctant to do it.
Her eyes narrow at Jason. “Delinquent kid, you’re going to take out my garbage and mow my lawn—for a month.”
Blake’s eyes cut back to me. “Renee, you’re going to come to my house—every day. You’re going to wear your blond wig from the play, and your red dress from it—and you’re going to come to my house every day. Wearing them both—the wig and the sexy dress.” Her ravenous eyes stare into mine, “Every. Day.”
I make a choking noise to hide a gasp of sheer agony as pain crashes through me.
I swallow. “And do what?”
Her lips curl up. “Whatever I want.”
Okay, I have to admit, a tiny bit of excitement races through my body. A thrill, that I’m rather embarrassed about. I mean, she wants me to be Julia—so whatever she has in mind … well, okay, I’m excited to do it—but not as Julia.
Blake’s eyes spark, as though she can read my mind. Her jaw muscles flicker as she stares into my eyes. “We’ll discuss it more thoroughly tomorrow. When your brother isn’t around.”
Blake’s eyes linger on me. A long time. Slowly, hesitantly she drags them back to Jason, though they keep taking little peeks at me. “Delinquent boy, besides doing chores at my house—lots of chores—you’re also going to work Saturdays in the auto garage my stepfather owns. You’re going to work insanely hard—and he’s going to teach you about cars.”
Blake turns back to me, her eyes looking hungry. “I’m going to see you tomorrow. In your blond wig.”
The way she’s looking at me—it’s like she can’t wait.
She’s going to get her fake Julia after all.
CHAPTER 26
The day after hearing Blake’s demands, I shakily show up after school at the duplex wearing the wig and red dress, feeling like my heart is being shredded in a blender.
When I knock on her door, Blake answers it immediately.
She eyes me up and down, her eyes heated and ravenous. (Pain!)
Hastily, she opens the door for me, “Come in—”
I hold my breath, trying to brace myself for the word “Julia.” But she doesn’t say a name.
Instead, she just gestures for me to come inside, her eyes glued to me, like she is in love with what she sees, and wants to pounce.
Her eyes still intently on me, she has me sit on her couch.
“I have a list for you,” she murmurs softly, her eyes drinking me in. She tells me it’s a list of chores that she wants me to do.
Huskily, she reads the list aloud, giving me tiny peeks as she states each chore. “The dishes,” a glance, “Make me dinner—Shepherd’s Pie,” another glance, “Serve me water,” a meaningful glance.
It’s like she wants me to do all the things I did in the play—when I was an in love character … in the wig.
Agonizing pain shoots through me.
This is her twisted fantasy?—the thing that has her eyes so eager?
I swallow and wince, “You want me to do all this while you watch?—me wearing the wig?”
A tiny grin creeps on her lips. “I don’t know Renee. Isn’t that what you think I want?” She raises her eyebrows, giving me this ‘get real’ look. “But deep down is that what you really want me to want?”
I shudder my eyelids. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I want. My brother destroyed your stuff and you’re making us pay. Fine. I’m going to do what you want. You want me to be your fake Julia?—fine. Go ahead, pretend I’m her while I do your dishes.”
I say this all huffy and defiantly. Well, try. But my voice trembles at the end, and my lip starts to quiver, because this is so not “fine.” This is horrible, and painful, and it’s making me sick.
Blake swallows when my voice quivers, her eyes looking tormented. “Renee, I don’t want you to be Julia.”
Her voice is soft. “I want you to be you.”
I huff incredulously. “Then why the wig and dress?”
“Because you wouldn’t come to the study group—or talk to me voluntarily. You were right—what you just said—I was making you pay. But I was only messing around, Renee. I don’t want you to be Julia. In case you’re not aware of this, I like you.”
Her phone starts playing the song “Groovy,” indicating a phone call. She mutters unhappily under her breath, “I’ve got to take this call, Renee. But I’ll be right back.”
Not looking pleased to have to leave me, she hurries into the other room.
I put on my own music, listening to it with my ear-buds, as I get busy on Shepherd’s Pie. I selected the music carefully before I came—music that would get me through this torture: Blake, who I lust deeply, wanting me to be another girl.
My music selection was my intent to survive it, though now I’m not so sure what’s going on. Was anything Blake told me true? Does she actually really like me and want me to just be me? Is that really possible? After this whole agonizing year, she’s finally over her disgust that I lied about us having a fling? Somehow now she miraculously likes me back? I want to believe it so bad. The thought gives me butterflies in my stomach, and a wisp of desperate (though probably delusional) hope.
I jump with surprise when I notice Blake watching me. She has a small curious grin on her face.
The grin unnerves me as much as her twinkling, staring eyes. I quickly explain why I jumped. “I didn’t know you were off the phone—and—and back,” I stammer out, red-faced and melting under her gaze.
“I know,” she says. Then she adds, raising her eyebrows, “You were smiling—huge.”
“Well, it wasn’t because I was forced to come here and do your chores.”
One side of her lips quirk up, “Then why were you smiling?”
“My music,” I tell her defensively. “—it’s only my music—that’s all. I always put on this song when I need to feel better—and believe me, having to be dressed like this … I needed to feel better.”
She gazes at my dangling ear-buds curiously, as I’d taken them off when I discovered her staring at me—smiling. She seems to be itching to know the song.
Her eyes flicker up from the ear-buds to stare into my eyes. “You looked like you were in heaven.”
“It’s the song,” I tell her again.
She nods, like she got that. But she doesn’t say anything.
After a long pause, she murmurs, “Where were we?” she asks huskily, her eyes not leaving mine.
“Oh that’s right,” she says softly as I go up in flames. “You were asking about the wig.”
I huff. “I don’t need to ask about the wig—I know about the wig.”
She juts her chin. “Okay, tell me about the wig.”
“You want me to wear it because it makes you fantasize I’m Julia. Apparently, I smell like her, and in the wig and dress, I look like her. You miss her—and you’re trying to make me be her substitute.”
Slowly Blake shakes her head. “You have this so wrong, Renee.”
I close my eyes, wishing it were true. I mutter, “Julia had long blond hair—now you’re trying to make me have long blond hair.”
Her eyes fixed on me she shakes her head again. “You have this so messed up. I told you—I was being a wad with the wig. When I fir
st started dating Julia again she had beautiful auburn hair—just like you. When she bleached it, I could have cried. I even considered dumping her because she didn’t remind me so much of you anymore. I swear. But then I thought, ‘Man, you’re seriously losing it.’ I told myself it was better this way—her no longer looking so much like you. However, if she would have changed her perfume … well, I made sure she didn’t. I kept her in supply—gave it to her for every occasion, birthday, Leap year, Valentines—” She leans in close to me, “That stuff is not cheap.”
I nod. “I know.”
Her lips curve up. “I know you do.”
She draws closer to me.
For a moment it looks as though she’s lost in some dreamy haze as she drinks in my scent. She quickly snaps out of it and smiles self-mocking-like.
She murmurs around a sheepish grin, “Sorry, smelling you sends me off to La-la Land.”
I stare at her incredulously. Well, try to be incredulous. Try so hard as I soak in all the information she just tried shoving down my throat. “You’re saying you like me?”
“Renee, I adore you.”
I scoff. Well, attempt to scoff, but it’s hard, since my heart is adoring her words and stare and earnest tone. Still, I try to scoff, “You can’t actually like me. We haven’t even had an actual conversation in over a year. You don’t even know me.”
“More than you think,” she says softly. “I’ve been watching you ever since we had English class together freshman year. I’ve been watching … and liking. Yearning, actually.”
My lips part. “You’ve been stalking me?!”
“Pretty much.”
Fireworks sizzle through my body. Still, I need to keep up my wall against her. I have to. She could do such damage to my fragile heart. I can’t let myself be any more vulnerable to her than I already am. I just can’t. She could annihilate me—in fact she has in the past … from her avoiding me.
I stammer out, “Well, don’t.”
I attempt to steady my voice, and try again, “Stop stalking me,” I tell her, though I can’t bring myself to mean it—and might shrivel and die if she actually does. Still, I go on, “I’ve had enough stalkers—my ex-boyfriend stalked me after he cheated on me—and called me boring.”
