Sleeper

by MacKenzie Cadenhead

  “Huh,” a guy’s voice says above us. “Didn’t see that coming.” Wes slides into the booth beside me and attacks me with a passionate, territory-marking kiss. When he’s done deep-throating me, he turns to Tessa and holds out his hand. “Hi. We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Wes Nolan.”

  “Okay,” Tessa says evenly, choosing not to comment on the over-the-top PDA. They shake.

  Wes digs into our cheese fries while I sit shell-shocked from the kiss, and not in a good way. “What are you girls gabbing about? Must be good for Sarah to ignore my texts.” He doesn’t look at me as he puts his arm around my shoulder. His muscles are tense, his grip awkward. Between this and the cattle-branding kiss, he’s doing me no favors in disproving Tessa’s concerns.

  My face heats up. I’m mad. Wes is mad. Tessa’s mad. Amber’s adamantium. In a matter of minutes, my world has been proven flat, and I’m teetering on the edge of oblivion.

  “Sorry, it was my fault,” Tessa says suddenly. Her voice is friendly but contrite. “I’ve got some family drama going on, and Sarah was being a pal, talking me through it. We must have lost track. Glad you showed up to join us though. Should we get another order of fries?”

  I smile at Tessa, shamefaced. Despite her reservations about Wes and her frustration with me, she always has my back.

  “Sure,” he says and waves down a waitress. After ordering, he returns his attention to Tessa. “So you’re supposed to be the girl in the know. What’s going on over there? Didn’t that chick make a porno or something?”

  While I tense, Tessa relaxes. There’s nothing like good gossip to perk up my bestie. “She sure did. I mean, it was all over-the-clothes stuff, but yeah, pretty much. Hooked up with her creepola stepbrother while her webcam was on last night.”

  “No way.” Wes’s grip softens. If Tessa loves gossip, Wes loves reliving our exploits. I try not to glare at him.

  “Truth. I saw it. Total yuck.” She sips her Coke. “The thing that’s crazy though, Amber doesn’t care a bit. The number of times her page has been viewed has increased, like, a billionfold.”

  “Any publicity is good publicity,” Wes says.

  “That’s what I keep telling Sarah,” she agrees, and for a moment, all feels right in the land of best friends and boyfriends. I pick at the cheese fries.

  “It started out kind of funny, like a spoof of a Skinemax movie, and then it cut out. When the feed came back a minute or so later, they were going at it hot and heavy. Like, totally into it for realz.” Tessa giggles. “I’m so embarrassed even talking about it, but I just couldn’t turn it off.”

  “No judgment here.” Wes laughs. “I bet it was hot.”

  I drop the french fry. Wes doesn’t look at me, but there’s no way he missed my boiling stare scalding his cheek. Though it’s definitely nice to have Tessa and Wes getting along, I’m not sure how much longer I can sit on my rage that he turned the webcam back on when I thought it was just us. Processed cheese bubbles in my stomach, and I resolve to let him have it as soon as Tessa goes for a bathroom break.

  “Didn’t something new happen with that Gigi girl too?” Wes asks, changing the subject.

  Tessa stops laughing, and her mouth contorts into a grimace. “Yeah, but I don’t think we need to…”

  “Wait, wait. I know I heard something,” Wes says, tapping his chin with his index finger as if trying to recall a random bit of information. His nonchalance is as fake as his forgetfulness. Whatever Wes knows, he’s dying for me to hear it almost as much as Tessa wants to avoid me finding out.

  As my partner in crime predicted, Gigi’s been giving me a wide berth. On the morning of Kiara’s fall from grace, she came to school with a new pixie cut, courtesy of some brilliant hairdresser who worked his magic on the mangled mess I’d left, and a decent combination of infinity scarf and foundation to cover up her black eye and stress hives. Though she was doing an admirable job playing off her new look as trendsetting change, when our eyes met across the library stacks during study hall, her fearful expression told me that when Gigi MacDonald looked in the mirror, a cute ’do was not what she saw.

  At first, I’d told myself that she was merely getting what she deserved. But as I sit here, watching Amber benefit from our intervention and waiting to hear the latest bit of unsettling Gigi news, my resolve falters. So much has changed in the past week. Not just supernaturally, but in my own way of being. I want to drop my head on the table and lose myself in cheese fries. But first, I need to know what happened to Gigi, only not for the reasons Wes thinks I should.

  “Tessa, tell me,” I say.

  She sighs. “Okay, but I don’t want you thinking this is your fault. Gigi’s got her own stuff to deal with, and you didn’t make her—”

  “Tell me,” I repeat.

  She glares briefly at Wes, who pretends not to notice. “Well, it seems like Gigi’s new hairstyle wasn’t as much a fashion choice as it was a fashion emergency. For whatever reason,” she says, her tonal emphasis meant to absolve me of guilt, “Gigi had a bit of a psychotic break and hacked off all her hair in the middle of the night. That was Wednesday. She swears she didn’t do it, that she was possessed or something cray like that. I guess she stopped sleeping then, became terrified of the dark and her own bedroom. So her parents checked her into rehab for exhaustion.”

  “Exhaustion.” Wes snorts. “Isn’t that what celebs say when they don’t want to admit they’ve got a coke habit?”

  Tessa cocks her head to the side, not bothering to hide her distaste for Wes’s response. “Listen. I don’t know why you have it in for Gigi, but she’s our friend.”

  “She’s not Sarah’s friend,” he shoots back, all lightness gone.

  “Yes, she is,” Tessa replies slowly, to be sure he has understood her. “No matter what’s going on between her and Gigi right now, at the end of the day, I know Sarah would never wish this on anyone. Would you?”

  I don’t respond.

  Tessa turns her attention from Wes to look at me. “Would you, Sarah?” she asks again, this time with a little less conviction.

  What can I say? Yes, I’m appalled that Gigi’s sanity had been pushed so far. I feel genuine concern for her as well as crashing waves of nauseous regret over how she’s come to this state. But no matter how much I want to agree with Tessa’s assessment of me, there’s the irrefutable fact that I am actually the one who did this to her. I try to find words, to say something that will reconcile these two competing parts of me, but I can’t. Tessa stares at me until I can do nothing but look away.

  It isn’t long before she makes an excuse and leaves us for the night.

  Once she’s gone, I turn to Wes and snap, “What the hell was that?”

  He slides to the booth bench opposite me. “What the hell was what?” he asks as he crams some fries into his mouth. He grabs the glass-bottled ketchup and hits the 57 until red goop starts pouring out. I glare, stunned, as he eats.

  “Antagonizing Tessa? Making me find out about Gigi’s hospitalization like that? Recording our hookup without telling me? Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

  Wes puts down the Heinz. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Gigi’s gone the way of the dodo, and Kiara is not only off your back but a cautionary tale. We weren’t selling the hookup like we needed to, so I motivated you and took some artistic license. Relax.”

  “Motivated me? Artistic license?” I bristle. “On what planet is any of this okay?”

  Before he can respond, the front door to the Alp jingles again, and Amber’s stepbrother Matt storms in, dragging a flush-faced goth girl behind him. He marches up to Amber’s table.

  “Tell her, Amber,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s equal parts pain and fury. “Tell her it wasn’t what it looked like.”

  For a second, Amber looks stunned—as confused and haunted as Matt. But she quickly pulls it
together and begins her performance. “Oh, honey,” she says in a kewpie-doll voice. “Give yourself some credit.” Amber’s friends laugh, and the girl who I now understand to be Matt’s girlfriend begins to cry. Matt slams his fist on the table, and the laughing stops. Forks clang against plates, and soon, the entire Alp is silent. Amber looks scared, and I realize the truth that Matt’s demanding is way more terrifying to her than the lie she’s embraced.

  And why wouldn’t it be? Wes and I have accomplished exactly what we set out to do—haunt Amber and cram the proof down her throat until she chokes on it. Only Amber doesn’t have a gag reflex. As always, she’s swallowed down what she doesn’t understand, because to think about it is paralyzing. Her rationalization is that she wanted the hookup to happen.

  But Matt isn’t at the rationalization part yet. He’s too desperate to save his relationship. All he wants is Amber to tell the truth. But how can she if she’s denying it to herself?

  She looks around the Alp, taking in the fact that all eyes are on her. She has a choice. Risk seeming nuts by coming clean that she has no recollection of their hookup, admitting that something crazy is going on, and sparing Matt and his girlfriend the obvious pain she—we—have unintentionally inflicted. Or lie.

  For a split second, I wonder if it will be Amber, of all people, to lead us out of the valley of scandal, gossip, misunderstanding, and pettiness that defines our high school existence.

  Of course, it’s not.

  Choosing popular home-wrecker over possessed lunatic, she straightens herself and smooths her hair. Then she leans forward and says, “We hooked up. Too bad we got caught.”

  Matt stares at her, his rage momentarily subsiding. “But I…I don’t remember,” he says, his voice small. A crown of sweat erupts on his forehead. His skin pales, and his cheeks sink in on themselves. He looks like he might faint. Until a blubbering sob breaks the spell.

  I watch Matt’s girlfriend run from the diner, bawling. I watch Matt stare at Amber until she looks away from him. I watch as he turns and walks out of the Alp, hunched and defeated. And I watch as all my classmates turn into vultures, laughing as they reenact the scene they’ve just observed, tweeting their eyewitness accounts, and snapping selfies to prove they were present when it all went down. Is this really no more than theater to them? A passing diversion for their entertainment?

  “Looks like someone needs another lesson,” Wes says. “Looks like they all do.” As he pops another french fry into his mouth, I throw ten bucks on the table, grab my bag, and walk out.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Matt? Matt’s…girlfriend?” I call lamely into the dark parking lot beside the diner. I have no idea what I’ll say if I actually catch up to either one of them, but I know I can’t stay in the Alp watching everyone else not give a crap. Especially when the whole thing is my fault. Amber deserves what she’s getting, or at least that’s the party line I’ve chosen. But seeing her stepbrother—a guy I barely know, a guy I have nothing personal against, who I’ve thrown into this mess without a thought—is tough. And his girlfriend? I try to shake off the image of her splotchy red face streaked with tears, but I can’t. I’m no better than Amber with Jenny and Pete. Maybe I’m worse.

  The diner door swings open, and a tall figure marches out. Though there’s no sign of Matt or his girlfriend, I walk deeper into the parking lot.

  Wes catches up to me in less than thirty seconds. He grabs my wrist and spins me to face him. “What was that?” he demands.

  I try to pull my arm free, but his hold tightens.

  “Let go of my wrist.” I spit, yanking my arm to no avail. “You’re hurting me!”

  Backlit by the Alp’s neon sign, the raised, tense shoulders of Wes’s silhouette, coupled with the aching in my wrist, tells me he’s pretty pissed. Maybe more than pissed. I’m trying to recall the turn and twist move that we learned on self-defense day in health class when his grip loosens enough so I can pull my wrist free. I shelter it against my chest and rub at the pain.

  “Sarah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” His voice is shaky, unsure. I don’t care.

  “What the hell, Wes?” I snap.

  He abandons his apology and crosses his arms, his imposing figure still towering over me. “What the hell yourself?”

  I gape at him. “Me? Me?” I’m so enraged that I can’t form a sentence.

  “Yes, you,” he says. “What was that in there? You left. You left me.”

  I blink, and for a moment, I see a ten-year-old boy who’s only ever been passed around or discarded by the people in his life. Is this why Wes is mad? Does he think I’m one of them? “I didn’t leave you,” I say a bit more soberly. “I came to find Matt and his girlfriend.”

  “What for?”

  “To see if they’re okay.”

  We stare at each other in silence. Then Wes laughs. His shoulders relax, and he uncrosses his arms. Just like that, I’m forgiven, and angry Wes is gone. “Oh,” he says. “Well, that’s nice of you, but what were you going to do after they said, Nope, we’re a mess?” He adopts a high-pitched voice that I realize is meant to be me and says, “Sorry for the confusion, but Matt was actually possessed by my boyfriend when he kissed Amber, who was possessed by me, so don’t sweat it. You two are ace.”

  “Forget it,” I say and walk off. I make it two car lengths before he catches up.

  “Oh, come on. Lighten up,” he says, matching my stride. I turn to ditch him between two parked cars, but he stays right on me. “No one got hurt.”

  I stop dead in my tracks. “No one got hurt? Did you not see that poor girl in there? Or that Amber is turning into a queen bitch? What about Gigi being admitted to a hospital because of what we did to her? Things are happening that we never intended.”

  “Technically, you were the one who chopped off Gigi’s hair,” he says as he traces the lapel of my jacket. I smack his hand away. “Joke, joke,” he says, mock-frightened. Then he opens his arms to me. “Come here.”

  I step back until I’m definitely out of his reach, straitjacket my arms across my chest, and turn my face away from him. He exhales loudly.

  “Sarah,” he says. His voice is sweet and soft. “Sarah, I’m sorry. Come here. Please?”

  I don’t move.

  “I’m sorry I said that. It was stupid.”

  “Yes, it was,” I grumble between clenched teeth.

  He takes a step toward me. “And I’m sorry I was mad before. I just don’t like seeing you upset. You are not to blame for Gigi’s inability to handle the consequences of her bad behavior.” Another step. “She needed to be taught a lesson.” And another. “And she was. But it is not your fault that she didn’t like being told no.”

  I don’t move away when his hands find my arms, and I don’t flee as he pulls me closer. I feel terrible about Matt and his girlfriend, but are they acceptable collateral damage? Gigi needed to be knocked down a peg or two; of that I’m pretty sure. But did we go too far? Could we make our little world a better place with something subtler than body snatching? Or is this really what it takes to get results? Everything from scripture to Spider-Man tells me that I’m responsible for my actions, but Wes’s words, his touch, the way he speaks, makes me question the very definition of the word responsibility. And it’s so much easier to believe what he’s saying.

  I bang my head against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me. “I’m freaked,” I say into his jacket. “And you’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “I am on your side,” he says.

  “It didn’t feel like it last night. I thought the webcam was off, and you…”

  “I know, I know.” He pets the top of my head. “And I’m sorry. I won’t do anything like that again. I shouldn’t have tricked you.”

  “No,” I say. “You shouldn’t have.” I relax a little in his embrace. It’s good to feel protected, if not exactly saf
e.

  “But to be honest,” he continues, “I sort of couldn’t stop myself. I was wired last night. Really buzzing. Every impulse felt like the right thing to do. So I did it without considering anything at all.”

  I look up at him. “I know exactly what you mean.” I think of the throbbing desire I had to escape Amber’s itching body and shudder at the memory of the paperweight. Relief spreads over me. It wasn’t Wes who betrayed me but a drug-fueled version of him that isn’t who he really is. Just like I haven’t really been myself either.

  “It’s the Dexid.” I say. “We took too much, and it’s making us do bad things. And not just last night. But every night. It’s gone too far.”

  “Shhhh,” he says. “No matter how far you go, don’t you know that I’ll go further just to be with you? I’ll stay with you, always. I’ll never abandon you. Ever. We’re linked in a cosmic way that we’re only beginning to understand. And whatever needs to be done, we’ll do together. We’ll make it right.”

  “But how?” I ask. “We can’t take it back. I thought we’d be finished after Amber, but that didn’t exactly work out how we wanted. She’s more of a monster now than ever.”

  “Yeah, we’ll need to do something about that,” he says thoughtfully. “Maybe humiliation isn’t the way to go.” He kisses the top of my head. Then, as blasé as if he’s throwing out dinner suggestions, he says, “Disfigurement?”

  I laugh, but when his matter-of-fact expression remains unchanged, I choke on my own amusement. My eyes widen as if by seeing more of him, I might be able to comprehend what he’s just said. I can’t. I shove his chest hard, pushing myself backward and out of his embrace. I turn and stalk off.

  The front of the parking lot is well lit, but that does nothing to stop Wes once he catches up to me. He grabs my shoulders and spins me to face him. I swing my free arm and manage to make contact with his right bicep, but he absorbs the hit with only a tiny grunt. Then, in a frighteningly focused move that comes way too easily, he pushes my arms down into an X and pins them to my own chest. I kick, but he spins me again so my back is against him, and he spreads his legs, making it harder for me to make contact. My heart thrums in my chest.