Chapter Four
In the middle of the night, a brittle crack of thunder woke me up. My digital clock flashed twelve in red, which meant the electricity had flipped off for a while. My phone said two-thirty. I lay on my back, staring into the dark.
I’d kissed Fresh Meat. I claimed I hadn’t liked it, but that wasn’t true. I’d liked it. A lot. I traced my lips with my fingers, reliving the pressure of his mouth on mine. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he awake that very minute thinking about me? Had the thunder awakened him, too?
I frowned. I was acting like a stupid girl. Even worse — a stupid girl in love. I slid off my bed onto the shag rug. The air was chilly, but I hardly noticed. I reached around under my bed, shoving aside loose papers and dirty clothes until I found the vodka. I cradled the bottle against my stomach, and the touch of the cold glass raised goose bumps on my arms. I unscrewed the lid and held the bottle to my mouth. A few good swigs would warm me up. Make me remember who I was.
I took a gulp and waited for the comforting burn, but I didn’t feel much of anything. All I could think about was Fresh Meat. His eyes. His walk. The feel of his muscular chest pressed into mine. The burn came then, but it had nothing to do with the vodka.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I took another swig, then another.
The bathroom door down the hall slammed shut. Denny? I put the lid on the bottle and shoved it back under the bed. I walked to the hallway and saw the light under the crack of the bathroom door.
Maybe the thunder had scared Denny. I tiptoed down the hall and leaned against the doorframe, waiting for him to come out. But it wasn’t Denny. The muffled sobs I heard coming from inside were Courtney’s. I stiffened. She turned the faucet on, and the sound of pouring water mingled with her crying.
I pivoted on my heel and returned to my room.
****
I dreaded art class. Would Fresh Meat sit at my table again? Would he speak to me? And the fact that I was wondering about it at all made me furious. Serena walked with me to art since she had health second period, and the health room was next door.
She brushed her stringy brown hair with a new brush, putting on such a show, you’d have thought she’d invented the thing.
“Isn’t this brush the coolest? And cheap, too.” She showed me for the fifth time in the space of one hallway.
“Who cares, Serena? It’s a brush.”
She yanked on my arm and pulled me to a stop.
I faced her. “What?”
“You’re a snot. What’s going on?”
I jerked my arm from her grasp. “Nothing. I just hate to interrupt the love affair with your brush.”
She stared at me. Kids jostled us on their way to class, but she held her ground.
“I repeat, what’s going on?” Her hands were clenched at her waist.
“Nothing.” I pushed by her and walked into art. She snorted loudly behind me, but I didn’t turn back.
Fresh Meat wasn’t there yet. Some kids milled around their cubbies, gathering supplies. It was a work day again. Tomorrow, we’d probably be back to a boring nasal lecture.
I emptied my cubby and headed back to set up. I spread my materials across the entire table, making sure there was no room for anyone else. Mr. Hansen had already taken attendance even though the bell hadn’t rung, and Fresh Meat was still nowhere to be seen.
So, he’d chickened out and wasn’t going to bother to come. I exhaled with relief, realizing I’d been holding my breath.
“Shut the door, please,” Mr. Hansen asked Charmaine. She got up and started to pull the door shut when it was tugged back open, almost knocking her from her feet. Fresh Meat sauntered in.
“Sorry,” he said, tipping his head in apology.
Mr. Hansen offered his usual grimace of annoyance and then walked back to his computer to change the attendance. Fresh Meat moved to the cubbies. I glanced down, staring at my paper cuttings as if they’d sprouted wings. No way was I going to be caught looking at him.
His arm brushed across my materials, sweeping them aside to clear some space. He dumped his supplies on the table and slid onto the stool beside mine. “What a table hog. Unless, of course, you’re trying to avoid me.”
I bit back the smile from my traitorous mouth and ignored him.
“Ah, pretending I don’t exist. How original.”
I glared at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you are speaking to me.”
I picked up the scissors and went back to my work. He put his face in front of me, forcing my attention. His gray eyes searched mine, and my heart did a flip. I narrowed my eyes and gave him my best brutal scowl.
He flinched slightly, and his grin lost some of its luster.
Even though every cell in my body demanded more of him, I turned away and immersed myself in positioning five cardboard triangles on my art piece. I felt his stare for a long moment before he scooped up his materials and moved to the empty table behind me.
Quick tears burned behind my eyelids, but then I thought, What do I need him for? I blinked a few times and continued working.
At the end of class, I was quick to clean up my area and stash everything in my cubby. I planned to be the first one out the door. When the bell rang, I skirted the tables and fled into the hall, bumping squarely into Serena.
“Not so fast, Phillips.”
“How’d you beat me out of class?” I asked.
She held up her agenda book and waved it in my face. “Bathroom pass, idiot. Your own trick.”
I headed toward civics, although the thought of skipping again nearly drove me to the nearest bathroom stall.
“What gives?” Serena asked, falling into step.
“Nothing.”
“So is this the sad grieving teenager you’re playing?” Her voice was quiet, but her sarcasm rang through my head.
I stopped and faced her. “Yeah, Serena. This is me grieving my dead mother. How do you like it? A nice show, don’t you think? Want to see some more?” My breath suddenly came hard and fast, and the tightness in my stomach shocked me.
Serena’s face blanched. Her mouth dropped open, but no words came.
I needed to get out of there. I needed to get out of there fast. I swiveled on my heel and pushed past a throng of vapid freshman talking about some lame stupidity. I threw my books inside my locker and grabbed my jacket.
I knew the side doors would sound an alarm if opened, so I’d have to leave through the front. Mrs. Pellan would see me go and report me. The old bat took devilish delight in reporting me. She hated me.
Loved Courtney but hated me. Well, I guess that was about right for everybody.
I kept my face forward and shoved through the front doors, pretty sure I caught a glimpse of Pellan peering at me. Surprising she didn’t hurdle her desk to chase me down and tackle me. I smirked. That would be worth an entry fee.
Courtney would kill me for skipping again. I didn’t care. The air was cool and fresh from the latest shower. I tromped right through the mud puddles lining the walk, feeling the wet seep into my tennis shoes. The sun was shining through a smattering of clouds, sending thick rays to the ground like spotlights on a stage. I licked my lips and took a deep breath, feeling the sea air to the bottom of my lungs.
Since Courtney was at the condo, I couldn’t go home. Considering what had happened at The Hang the night before, going there wasn’t too appealing either. I could walk east and trudge through the forest. It’d take me awhile to get there, though, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk that far.
A flock of seagulls swooped overhead, but they were strangely quiet. I shielded my eyes and watched them for a minute, flying like dark shadow-birds against the sky. The boardwalk was always good for skipping. Although if Pellan alerted Courtney, she’d head straight there to look for me. But then maybe Pellan didn’t know Courtney was still in town.
I stomped through the next two puddles, splashing drop
s of muddy water up my jeans. I had reverted to acting like a three-year-old. Well, then… Up ahead at the corner, a huge puddle, the size of a kiddie pool, sat over what must have been a clogged drain. I ran to it and jumped with all my might, spraying cold, dirty water all the way up to my face. I kept jumping in it, over and over and over, like some crazy maniac. I licked the mud from my lip and kept pouncing. I panted, knowing I’d gone completely bonkers.
No one was around, there wasn’t even one car driving down the street. I jumped until my feet hurt and my toes went numb with the soppy cold water. Someone had put batteries in me, and I couldn’t stop. I was covered with filthy water now, and rivulets of mud were running down my face. With a strangled cry, I fell onto the curb, gasping.
I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breath. What a fool. And then I heard it — a car coming down the street. I scrambled to my feet and walked with my head down. I prayed the driver wouldn’t notice my mess. In Ocean Mist, everyone poked their big noses into everyone’s business, and I was in no mood to explain myself to someone. Especially since I couldn’t even explain myself to me.
I held my breath, willing the car to pass. And it did, not even slowing down to gawk. I exhaled loudly and started trembling. I didn’t know if I was shaking from the cold or the ache in my gut. All I knew was my stomach hurt and my head hurt and I wanted to fold myself into a box somewhere and disappear.
The clouds opened, and the shafts of light mingled into a yellow haze shining over everything. I pressed on, and arrived at the downtown area where the tourist shops lined the street. A few people ambled down the sidewalks, gazing into the shop windows and then nudging each other. Tinkling bells could be heard as people sauntered into the stores. No one paid me any mind.
At the end of Main, my feet sank through the layer of wet sand to the dry sand below. The boardwalk was deserted. I could go there.
But I didn’t want to. I headed down the beach in the opposite direction from The Hang. I picked my way through scattered driftwood and clumps of slimy seaweed. Broken shells had been tossed around, and the slow tide picked them up, carried them a few inches, and deposited them again, making tiny pools of water where each one lay.
Three more days until Dad arrived. I hadn’t seen him since I’d fled Chicago a couple years back. Didn’t want to see him again, either. He never knew the whole story of my time there. I didn’t tell him — it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.
What was done was done.
Up a bit from the water, I saw the remains of a huge bonfire. I wandered over to it and kicked at the charred logs. A flurry of ashes billowed up, bringing the smell of burnt wood before settling back into a black pile. Long sticks with marshmallow goo at their tips were stuck deep into the sand like flag poles. I kicked them over, watching sand clump over the sticky white sweetness, erasing all evidence of fun.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket and checked the screen. Courtney.
So Mrs. Pellan had tattled.
“Yeah?”
“Tiffany? Where are you?”
When I was younger and would skip school, I never let on to Courtney where I was or where I’d been. She often found out anyway. But now, at sixteen, what difference would it make? She’d be back to college in a few days, and I wouldn’t have to worry about her censure anymore.
“On the beach.”
“Mrs. Pellan called.”
“I figured.”
“Tiffany, I don’t have time to fetch you. I’m working hard to get everything arranged by the time Dad comes. Can’t you just go back to school on your own?” Her voice wasn’t so much angry as annoyed.
Shocker.
“Can’t really go back, Court.”
“Why not? If you’re not on the bus after school, Denny’s going to panic. I know you won’t do me any favors, but can’t you at least be nice to Denny?”
She had to drag Denny into it.
“He won’t panic. I’ll make sure.”
“I’m not picking him up, Tiffany. I don’t have the time.” She gave a huge sigh.
“Then don’t pick him up. I told you, he won’t panic.”
“But if you’re not on the bus—”
“I said, he won’t panic.” I hung up.
I inhaled deeply and punched the middle school number on my cell.
Miss Smythe answered on the first ring. “Ocean Mist Middle School, how may I help you?”
“It’s Tiffany Phillips. Can I get a message to Dennis Phillips?”
There was a pause. In middle school, I’d given Miss Smythe hell, and she had a vivid memory. “And what is your message?” she finally said, her voice crisp and business-like.
“Please tell him that I won’t be on the bus today.”
Another pause. “Is there anything else?”
“No. I just don’t want him to worry.”
“I’ll see he gets the message.” She hung up.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and kept heading south. Then I realized what Courtney had said to me. Getting everything arranged for Dad?
Did that mean she was switching the bedrooms out? Did she have the nerve to move me out of the master? For that jerk of a man who ran out on his kids?
I did an about-face and started jogging. I was going home. If she thought she’d get away with that, she had another thing coming.
****
Forty-five minutes later, I burst through our condo door. I could hear jazz music blasting from upstairs. I took the stairs two at a time and saw light pouring from my open bedroom door. I barged inside and there she was, standing in my closet with a huge bunch of my clothes in her arms. When she saw me, she dropped them in a heap.
“Tiffany! What are you doing home? And why are you covered with mud?” Her cheeks were flushed and guilt moved across her face.
I glanced down at myself. I looked spooky. “Don’t change the subject! What do you think you’re doing?”
She bent over and grabbed up my clothes. “I told you. Dad’s moving in here, and you’re going back across the hall.”
“No, I’m not!” I screamed and rushed at her. I smacked into her, and she went down with me on top. She screamed and squirmed to get up.
I’m scrawny, so she easily jammed me aside and got to her feet.
“You’re insane!”
I grabbed onto her ankles. She tried to pull loose, but for a skinny girl I’m strong and she couldn’t do it. She struggled to take a step, but I held on. She lost her balance and fell again, this time landing on my legs. They could’ve snapped in half under her weight.
“Get up!” I yelled.
“You’re the one pulling me down!”
We both wiggled free and got up.
“You’re filthy,” she said, brushing her hands over her chest and legs. “Filthy.”
I glared at her. “Get out of my room.”
Fear registered in her eyes, but in a flash, it was gone. “Not this time, Tiffany. Not this time.”
Her voice was cold and set.
Our eyes locked and for the first time in my life, I trembled under her stare. Furious with myself, I fell back against the closet wall.
Her eyes gleamed with victory. “And you can help. Get the rest of the clothes and bring them across the hall.” She swished out of the closet and marched from the room.
I’d waited for years to get the master. The second Courtney had gone to college, I’d moved in, throwing whatever junk she hadn’t taken with her into my old room. I ran my hand over a section of closet wall and felt the peeling paint where I’d once left a wet towel.
She couldn’t do this. Dad didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve a dog house in a back alley. Courtney wasn’t the boss.
She came back for another load. “What are you doing? I told you to help.”
“Do it yourself,” I snapped, stomping out of the room and down the stairs. Let her move my stuff across the hall. Fine by me. I’d move it back the second she left. Like before. Dad could ju
st deal.
When I got to the last step, Courtney’s phone rang. It was lying on the kitchen counter, a white light flashing. I walked over to it, and saw the name Doyle on the screen.
I picked it up. “Dad.”
“Courtney, I’m at the bus station, ready to board. There was—“
“This is Tiffany.”
Silence.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Uh, Tiffany, is your sister there?”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
“Can I talk to her?”
“She’s busy.”
“Oh. Then I’ll call later.”
“What do you want?” I repeated. “Tell me.”
Rustling, then a loud cough. “It’s nothing important. It’s just that, um, I wanted to know about a car.”
“What car?”
“I wanted to know if you have a car there I can use. Uh, I wasn’t sure if your mother left one or not. I don’t have any wheels, and I’ll need some.”
“We have a car. You’ll have to buy your own.”
It had been Mom’s car, but since her fibromyalgia had gotten bad, she never drove. I did. I drove Denny or her or me everywhere. I hated being chauffeur, but it did get me the car whenever I wanted it. Except when Courtney was home.
Courtney = Mom’s princess.
His voice came back over the line. “Could we maybe share it? I’m short of funds right now.”
“Then I guess you have a problem.” I hung up and shuddered. Hearing his voice brought the Chicago nightmare back to my gut where it twisted like a pulsating mass. I set the phone onto the counter and took a slow deliberate breath.
How long would it take me to get rid of him?
I walked into the half-bath off the kitchen and ran a rag under the water till it turned hot. With careful swipes, I washed the mud splatters from my face and neck.
Chapter Five
I was sitting on Serena’s front porch when she drove up in her mom’s PT Cruiser. She got out and came around the car, her poker face firmly in place.
“What are you doing here?” Serena can make her voice sound like a bad-tempered judge with ulcers.
The Return: Death, Runaways, and Romance (Ocean Mist Book 3) Page 5