Click. Flash. Click. Flash. Click. Flash.
Just as quickly as the flashes and clicks started, they come to an abrupt halt.
I’m so tense I can’t even get oxygen into my lungs. What in the world just happened? Is someone messing with my head? Or is someone on the other side of the fence taking photos of me? Because that’s what the flashes looked like—the flash of a camera going off.
But who and why would someone want to take photos of me?
My heart hammers in my chest as darkness and silence encases me. Since the lights spotted my vision, I can’t see a dang thing. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I grip the handles of the chair and push to my feet. Blinking several times, my vision gradually returns to normal. But without the porch light on, I can’t make out anything except unidentifiable outlines.
“Hello?” I call out in a hushed whisper as I back toward the door.
Thump.
The noise comes from where the gate to the backyard is. I whirl around, ready to run in the house, lock the door, and set the alarm. But I freeze as I hear a recognizable voice.
“What’re you doing out here?” My twin sister Alexis staggers into the backyard through the gate, her thick boots thudding against the grass. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed like a good little girl.”
I internally sigh. While Alexis and I may be twins, we’re completely the opposite. Well, that is if I’m comparing her to the good girl version of me. We’re also not identical twins and dress nothing alike. People who don’t know us, often assume she’s my older sister, because she dresses a lot more maturely. She doesn’t act more mature, though. Ever since my parents died, she’s gotten into a lot of trouble, constantly breaking curfew and staying up into the late hours of the night, even on school nights. Now that she’s eighteen and graduated, she barely comes home anymore. And when she does, she’s usually grumpy.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell her as she trudges up the stairs. “I have too much on my mind.”
She snorts a laugh. “Miss Perfect has too much on her mind? I highly doubt that.” She stops in front of me and grabs hold of the railing. “I mean, how can someone so perfect have anything to worry about?”
I ball my hands into fists, battling to remain calm. “I’m not perfect.”
“Yeah, maybe you should tell that to everyone else.” Mocking laughter rings in her tone. “Because I’m pretty sure people think birds dress you in the morning and your shit don’t stink and all of that.”
I lean back as the bitter stench of her breath hits my nostrils. “Are you drunk?”
“Does it really matter?” She moves to step by me, but I sidestep, blocking her way. She’s so stunned by my move that she nearly smashes into me, but manages to stop at the last second. “What the hell?” She grabs hold of the railing as she teeters to the side. “Get out of my way.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re drunk?” My weak voice doesn’t match my words, but I don’t care. Alexis has never been much of a big drinker so the fact that she smells like that drink Benton gave Taylor has got me concerned. “This isn’t like you.”
Her hollow laugh sends a chill through the air. “Like any of us actually knows each other anymore.” She regains her balance and pushes me out of the way. “We all stopped knowing each other the day mom and dad died and honestly, I have no desire to change that.” With that, she glides the sliding door open and stomps inside, not bothering to be quiet.
The upstairs light clicks on, which means she’s probably woken up Loki. She may be eighteen but he’s going to get pissed off, mostly because Nik, our younger brother, has football camp all summer and has to get up early.
About a minute later, I hear the two of them arguing. I tell myself not to budge, that I’ve had hardly any rest and the last thing I need to do is get involved in their argument. But about five seconds later, my good girl side creeps up in me and with an exhausted sigh, I head inside to do what I do best—play mediator.
But I swear as I’m walking through the door, I catch one more flash of light. But it happens so quickly, I wonder if it’s just a trick of the stars.
Bad Liar
By the time I break up the argument between Alexis and Loki, the stars have gone to sleep and the sun has risen over the shallow hills that encompass the town. I’m so tired that all I want to do is go up to bed and sleep for the rest of the day; my insomnia gone and now replaced with exhaustion. But I can’t go to sleep until I take Nikoli to football practice, even though it’s supposed to be Alexis turn to drive him. But since she’s still drunk and Loki has to open his bookstore, I volunteered.
“Are you sure you’re okay with taking him?” Loki asks as he fills up a coffee pot with water. “I know you didn’t get very much sleep.”
“I’ll be fine.” I fight back a yawn. “I always am.”
He gives me a strange look as if he doubts I’m being truthful.
“I am,” I feel the need to say. But I’m lying. I haven’t been fine in a while. Still, between school, work, and taking care of us, Loki has a lot on his plate. The least I can do is drive my little brother to football practice. So, I plaster on a plastic smile. “All I need is a cup of coffee and I’ll be good to go.”
Wariness floods his eyes as he shuts off the faucet. “Maybe I should have him ask one of his friends if he can get a ride.”
Okay, then. Apparently I’m not a very good liar.
That’s because you’re a good girl, Zhara, and good girls don’t lie.
But as my thoughts float back to Benton kissing me in the bathroom, I have to question how good of a girl I am. Doesn’t letting a guy, who I barely know, kiss me make me the tiniest bit bad?
“Loki, I promise I’m fine,” I try to lie better. “After I drive Nik, I’ll take a little nap, but honestly, all that yelling Alexis was doing has got me wide awake.”
He still doesn’t seem to be buying my lie, but decides to let the subject drop. “All right. But he needs to leave fifteen minutes early so he can stop at the store and buy a new water bottle.”
“What happened to his old one?”
“I ran over it.”
“How?”
He shrugs as he turns the coffeemaker on. “He left it in the driveway. I didn’t see it.” He leans against the counter. “I love that kid to death, but he seriously needs to stop leaving his shit in randomly weird places.”
I nod in agreement. Nik is a good kid, but he forgets to clean up after himself a lot. “He probably should start working on getting his driver’s license. I don’t know why he hasn’t done it yet—he’s almost seventeen years old.”
Loki shifts his weight, loosening the tie around his neck. “I have a theory on why he won’t.”
“What is it?” I ask as I grab a couple of granola bars from the pantry.
“I think he’s afraid.”
“Of what?” I step out of the pantry and peel the wrapper off a granola bar.
He releases a weighted breath. “I think he’s afraid of getting behind the wheel because of how mom and dad died.”
My lips form an o. “I don’t know why I haven’t ever thought about that before, but it does make sense.” I break a chunk of the granola bar off and pop it into my mouth. “The rest of us had already at least taken a drivers ed class, but Nik was so young.”
Loki nods in agreement then opens a cupboard to get two coffee mugs. “We need to find a way to help him get over his fear. Because with you going to college and Alexis… Well, doing whatever she does, it’s going to get harder and harder to find rides for him.” He closes the cupboard, turns to me, then frowns when he notes my expression. “Zhara, I’m glad you’re going to college. Will it be hard without you around? Probably. But the Bakers are tough and you deserve to go.” He sets the mugs down on the counter. “You’ve worked so hard.”
“I’m not worried about that,” I lie, my voice thick.
He arches his brow. “You know, you’ve always been a really bad liar.�
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“I have not.”
“Have too.”
I don’t know why, but I feel offended. “Why? What gives me away?”
He reaches over and taps my temple. “Your eyes and your expression—you have a terrible poker face.”
“That’s not always true,” I tell him, remembering how I manage to trick Tank and Ralpho into believing I was Benton’s girlfriend. Or perhaps they didn’t believe me and were just pretending. Who knows, since I have no clue who Tank and Ralpho are.
Loki crosses his arms, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Oh yeah? What have you been lying about and getting away with?”
“Ummm…” What do I tell him? Not the truth, obviously. But since he pretty much declared I’m the worst liar ever, how am I supposed to lie to him now?
Gah!
The doorbell rings and I latch onto the opportunity to make a beeline out of the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”
Loki’s laughter hits my back. “Saved by the bell.”
I shake my head as I rush for the door. Why, oh why do I have to be terrible at every bad thing? Parties. Lying. Failing a test, which yes I tried once just to see if I could do it. But I couldn’t bring myself to turn in the sheet with all my randomly picked answers, so I ended up telling the teacher I spilled my drink on my exam and asked for another one, which I filled out correctly and got one-hundred percent.
Seriously, I have issues, in the sense that I don’t have issues.
Maybe my mom was right. Maybe I’m supposed to be a good, smart, follow the rules girl.
I grimace as I open the door.
Standing on the front porch is a man, probably in his late twenties, tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair cut short. He’s decked out in all black clothes, but in a sophisticated way—a black button down shirt topped off with a vest and tie, black slacks, and a pair of black dress shoes. The only thing that gives away his crisp, clean look is the tattoos peeking out of the cuffs on his shirt. He’s also sporting a pair of sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes, but I swear it feels like he’s observing me as much as I am him.
I fidget, tugging at the hem of my pajama shorts. “Um… Can I help you?”
His lips pull to a flawless, almost rehearsed smile, then he removes his sunglasses. “Hi, my name is Charles Dotsing.” He offers me his hand to shake. “I just moved into the neighborhood and thought I’d come introduce myself.”
I politely shake his hand, noting how rough his skin feels, as if his palms are covered in scars. His grip is firm and he holds onto my hand a little too long, but I don’t know how to ask him to let me go without coming off as rude. So instead, I stand there awkwardly.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, finally releasing his weirdo grip from my hand.
I lower my arm to my side and open and flex my hand. While he didn’t hurt me or anything, the tension wound up my muscles like a clock. “Um… I’m Zhara.”
“Zhara.” He muses, rubbing his freshly shaven jawline. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”
I laugh nervously, tugging at the bottom of my hoodie. “Thanks.”
He winks at me. “Anytime, sweetheart.”
Insert awkwardness on my part. And to make matters even more uncomfortable, he seems to be getting his kicks and giggles off getting me all squirrely, his grin magnifying every time I shift my weight.
“You know, you look familiar.” He studies me with his head tilted to the side. “Have we met before?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Unless you’ve seen me around the neighborhood… Where did you say you lived again?”
He points over my shoulder. “I just moved into the house behind you.”
I struggle to keep a straight face. The house behind me! The Marellies! The place where I saw all the flashing lights!
Just stay cool, Zhara. It may not mean anything. Maybe he was having a party and you saw the reflection of strobe lights. People use strobe lights sometimes at parties, right?
But then why didn’t I hear any music or yelling or other party noises?
I inhale and exhale to steady my voice. “Really? I didn’t know the Marellies moved. Or that their house was even for sale.”
He positions his sunglasses on top of his head. “It was kind of a last minute decision. I was driving through town on vacation, fell in love with the town, saw the Marellies’ house, and thought that’s where I want to live. So I knocked on the door, made them a very generous offer, and now a week later, here I am.” He spans his hands out to the side and grins, like ta da.
I force a smile, but holy unicorns, this dude is weird. “That’s cool.” I swallow an anxious breath. Something isn’t right here. “Do you know where the Marellies moved to? Or if they’re coming back? I know my brother talked to them every so often, and I’m sure he’ll want to say goodbye.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re sailing to the Bahamas by now,” he tells me. “At least that’s what I overheard them talking about when I was signing them a big, fat check.”
Unsure what else to say, I stand there stupidly. “Oh.”
Like a wolf eyeing a rabbit, a grin carves across his face. “How old are you anyway?”
“Um… Eighteen.”
He appears pleased by the answer. “Do you live here?”
“Yeah, with my brothers and sisters.” I press my lips together, wishing I’d lied.
Usually, when I tell someone that, it’s followed by questions of why I don’t live with my parents, which leads to questions about their deaths. And I hate talking about their deaths. Well, unless I’m really pissed off at hot, bad boys who won’t let me into their parties.
But instead of drilling me with questions, Charles bobs his head up and down, looking not the least bit surprised. “That’s nice. Are they here right now?”
Holy stranger danger alert.
“Yeah, they are,” I say in a guarded tone. “And my older brother is in the kitchen if you want to meet him.”
He raises his hands in front of him. “Sorry, if I upset you. I was just curious. That’s all. That’s all.”
What is he, an echo? If I was braver, I’d ask him. But all I do is stand in the doorway, waiting for him to take a hint and leave.
He doesn’t catch on, though—either that, or he doesn’t care—and leans in closer to me. He smells strangely of burnt toast and cologne, not a very pleasant mixture. “So, I’m having this party this weekend and I was wondering—”
An engine roars, cutting him off. Then the air goes quiet.
My head whips up and then my jaw practically drops. Parked along the curb in front of my house is a 1968 Chevelle, bright red with black racing stripes. The only reason I know what kind of car it is is because my dad used to take me to classic car shows. And the only reason I know who owns the car is because it’s the only one of its kind in all of Honeyton.
Benton.
Sure enough, strolling across my front lawn, looking as casual as can be, is Benton in all his bad boy form. But wait a second, why is he here? And how does he know where I live?
“Um… Hey.” I think that might be the tenth time I’ve said um in the last five minutes.
But I can’t help it. I’ve entered Confusion Land where creepers and sexy bad boys roam free and apparently migrate to my house.
Benton looks extra bad boy-ish today, decked out in black jeans and a T-shirt and boots to match. A chain dangles from his belt loop, piercings glint on his face, and he’s wearing a series of leather bands on his wrists.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he tells me as he hoists himself over the railing and lands on the porch next to Charles. “The coffee place had a huge line.”
I blink at him like a lost baby deer, but when he shoots me the same look he did in the parking lot when he was standing with Ralpho and Tank—you know, right before he pretended I was his girlfriend—I wipe the huuuhh look away.
Benton gives me a wink before turning to Charles. “Hey, man, I don’t think I’ve seen you bef
ore? Did you just move here or something?”
Charles’ smile goes poof as his gaze locks on Benton. “Yeah, I did. In the house behind Zhara’s.” He measures Benton up. “But how did you know that?”
“Like I said, I haven’t seen you around town, so I just assumed.” Benton’s face remains friendly, but his tone carries an underlying warning. Whatever the warning is, though, goes way over my head.
“Seems like a strange thing to assume.” Charles’ tone is equally as cold. “It’s not like you know everyone in town.”
“Actually, I pretty much do,” Benton replies, shoving his hands into his back pockets. “Honeyton’s a pretty small fucking town and everyone is always in everyone else’s business. Something you’ll soon learn.” He turns, his gaze fastening with mine. “You should hurry up and get ready. That thing we’re supposed to go to starts in like an hour.”
I have no clue what thing he’s referring to, since we weren’t supposed to meet up until later tonight, but I take the hint and nod. Besides, I’m desperate to get away from Creeper Charles.
“Let me change first,” I tell Benton then throw Charles a wave as I turn to walk back in the house. “It was nice meeting you, Charles.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Zhara,” Charles says as I hold the door open for Benton. He backs up toward the stairs, a grin forming on his lips. “And I’m sure will be seeing each other very, very soon.” He winks at me before turning around and hiking across the grass toward the sidewalk.
I close the front door and lock the deadbolt, which might be a little silly, but seriously, Creeper Charles is freaking me out.
“That guy was really weird,” I mumble, slumping against the door and letting out a relieved breath. But when my gaze lands on Benton, standing in the foyer, observing the family photos hanging on the wall, my relief is short lived.
Why is he here, in my house, looking at probably the worst photo of me ever taken?
“I was sick that day,” I feel the need to say. “That’s why my hair isn’t done, and I look like a hot mess.”
“Nah, you look cute.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips as he gives a sidelong glance at me.
Bad Boy Rebels Page 6
