PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “He was. I just wish I’d trusted my gift enough to not have been sucked in to that side of him.”

  “We all were.” He pressed his lips to my forehead, and I let my eyes drift closed, relaxing into the feel of his arms.

  I woke an hour later, when Nathan shifted under me. I looked up at him and he had a decidedly guilty look on his face, and was staring over my head. I twisted around and found my dad gazing at us with an eyebrow raised. I shot to my feet, heat flooding my checks. I rarely blushed for anyone but Nathan, but having Dad catch me sleeping on top of my boyfriend was definitely a blush worthy moment.

  “Hey, Dad. I...we-”

  “Nathan, I think it’s time for you to be heading home. It’s a school night, and it’s getting late.”

  Nathan stood and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes, sir.”

  I grabbed Nathan’s hand and dragged him toward the stairs. Once Dad was no longer visible, I gave a giggle, which got me a dirty look from Nathan.

  “Phoebs, it’s not funny! You’re dad is going to kill me.”

  I gave a full blown laugh this time. We stepped onto the porch and I turned to wrap my arms around him. “He won’t kill you. Now if we’d been naked...”

  “Hmm... I think I might be willing to take that risk.” He wriggled his eyebrows and leaned down to kiss me. I met him halfway and pressed closer to him.

  “That’s good,” I whispered when we pulled apart, “because Chloe said...”

  “She said what?” No missing the hope in his voice.

  “She said...” I paused and gave him a sweet smile. “She said, we’ll be waiting a long time.”

  He groaned while I snickered at his frustration. I finally ended his wordless complaint with my lips. After a brief kiss, he moved back.

  “I suppose I’ll just have to get by on my dreams of you and your hot pink panties,” he said and dodged my hand when I tried to playfully pinch him. “I’ll see you in my dreams.”

  He took off for his car, and threw me a wave when he climbed in. I waited for him to drive away before I went back inside, making it to the top of the basement stairs before my dad’s voice stopped me.

  “Phoebe, I’d like to have a talk with you.”

  I turned back and went into the living room where Dad sat in his recliner.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  I barely held in my groan. This was not going to be a conversation I liked.

  “Nathan is a good kid, and I know you like him a lot, but you’ve only been dating a short time.”

  Oh, dear God. He was going to give me ‘The Talk’. This was going to be worse than I’d ever imagined.

  Chapter 16

  I swiveled my desk chair around, letting my eyes blur for a moment, the English essay I’d been writing forgotten on my computer screen.

  School without Tonya was weird. She’d begged her gran to let her stay home until all of the bruising was gone, but news about what had happened had spread pretty quickly. It died just as swiftly, mainly since no one had really known Trevor, and Tonya wasn’t the most popular girl in school. Only our group of friends and my sisters knew what really happened.

  With Tonya gone and Nathan and I back together, I’d almost expected Vivian to attack, but she hadn’t. For the first few days, I’d been on edge, waiting for her to strike. But nothing. I was really hoping she’d finally given up on the idea of Nathan dumping me and going back to her. I think Tonya was holding out hope that Vivian would bring back a little of the drama, although she didn’t mention fighting again.

  I’d gone with her to a couple of support groups in the two weeks since she’d asked me to go with her, and I was glad I’d stuck to my word about going. It was really hard to listen to the things the people there described. I’d sat silent, simply listening and thinking about how difficult it must be to tell another person the things they were sharing, yet they did. Tonya hadn’t spoken at any of the meetings other than to introduce herself, and I was almost relieved. I didn’t really want to know everything Trevor had done, and I think me being there was one of the reasons she didn’t talk. Dad said she might be embarrassed about me knowing and that sometimes it’s easier to share those things with people who know nothing else about you.

  She mentioned she’d been to another meeting on her own, and I was glad, because as much as I wanted to support her, she had to take the steps by herself. All she needed to know was that I’d be there to catch her if she needed. And I would be.

  Going with her had helped me understand the cycle she’d fallen into, how she could have stayed with Trevor, and then gone back to him, even after what he’d done. And it made me appreciate Nathan’s imperfections all the more. He was late, a lot, and he didn’t call that often, and there was his obsession with chocolate, but he respected me and I thought he might actually love me.

  So many times those three little words had hovered on the tip of my tongue, usually after he kissed me. But I always kept them in. I wasn’t really the touchy-feely kind of person, but Nathan always managed to make me go all gooey inside, almost to the point that I wanted to say them.

  The very idea of love had me squirming with nerves. I sprung from my chair, paced the room a few times, and then headed down to Lily’s room. I pushed her door open and flopped, stomach down, onto her bed.

  “Hey?” she said, staring at me from her computer desk, clearly confused by my abrupt presence.

  “Hey.” I grabbed a magazine from her nightstand and began turning pages. It was some boring thing on art news. How did they even make a magazine about art news? At least it had some pretty pictures.

  “Did you need something?” she asked.

  I tossed aside the magazine and grabbed another from the overly organized magazine basket on the bottom of her nightstand. “No. Just thought I’d spend some quality time with my favorite sister.”

  “Um, okay.” She turned back around and resumed her typing. She must have been working on her English paper. Even though I had English at a different time than her and Chloe, we all had Ms. Garcia, so we had pretty much the exact same assignments. Although, Lily usually didn’t leave things to the last minute and with the paper due in the morning, she was probably doing some extra credit work.

  I glanced at the rapidly flipping pages before me. This one was slightly better with hot guys every few pages. My eye caught the word love, and I stopped. A love quiz. It was so stupid. Love. How do you put everything you feel for a person into one little four letter word?

  It wasn’t a word I’d really thought of before Nathan. At least not in connection with me. I read the questions on the page. Favorite color? What are his dreams? Does he open the door for you? Is that really how I was supposed to define my feelings for Nathan? Did I even have to? He hadn’t said he loved me. Shouldn’t he go first? If I said it first, would he just do a pity return? Then again, what did it matter who said what first? Or even if we said it at all? It’s not like I was Lily. She was one of those emotions people, always wanting peace and love and understanding.

  “Nathan asked me to junior prom,” I said. “I’m going to try and get Tonya to go shopping with me. She always finds the best stuff. It’s totally unfair.”

  I looked up at her nodding head. She’d stopped typing and was gazing at a picture, which from my viewpoint looked to be of her and Dylan. I wish I could figure out what she saw in him.

  “I think we’ll try and go into the city. The stuff they have in town is horrible. I saw Vivian trying on some of them, and she completely skank-tified them.” I turned a few more pages, leaving the stupid love quiz behind. “We’re probably going to go next weekend. I think it’s still too early to buy something. I mean, junior prom is over a month away, but Tonya is refusing to do last minute shopping with me. Hey, why don’t you come with us?”

  At her lack of response, I sat up and scooted over to the edge of the bed. I waved my hand in front of the photo. “Yo, Lily? You still with me?”

  “Are you and Natha
n in love?” she asked, still staring at the picture.

  Sometimes it was scary how the twin, or I guess the triplet, thing worked. Then again, maybe she’d been reading my emotions or something and decided to make me think about it all over again.

  “Yeah, I mean, I guess we are. We’ve never said it, but it’s there, you know?” I gave her one of my half smiles. I wondered if my answer seemed as lame as it sounded. Maybe I was some kind of freak for not having told him yet. “Do you think that’s strange? Should I tell him?”

  “No, not unless you really want to.” She glanced at me and tried to smile back. I rolled back onto my stomach, scrunching one of her pillows under my chest, while mussing up the comforter with my legs. I could practically see her calculating how many seconds it would take her to fix the bed once I left.

  I considered what she’d said. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell him that I loved him, it was just that it didn’t seem that important to say the words. But maybe it was. Maybe he was waiting for me to say them first. But how?

  “How did you tell Dylan?” I asked.

  She looked back at the photo, probably reliving the glorious moment. She would have made it sweet and all roses and puppy dog tails. As she took her time answering, I decided right then that I would tell Nathan when I really wanted to. Anything Lily had done would just be too... well, too not me. I would tell him. Soon.

  I glanced at Lily. She still hadn’t answered my question and she had a freaky look on her face, like she was about to tear herself apart. She’d been acting so strange lately.

  “Lils? Come on, how did you tell him?”

  She put down the picture.

  “I didn’t.”

  “What?” I nearly fell over in shock. She’d been dating Dylan forever. How could she never have said I love you? I’d only been with Nathan a few months and I was pretty sure I loved him. No, I knew I did. So how messed up was Lily?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Born in Northern Canada, Angela grew up on the Canadian prairies amid dreams of becoming the next Dian Fossey or a world famous flight attendant. Those, however, were never meant to be. Instead, she moved to the United States where she divides her time between her family, writing, and her day job as an instructional coach.

  Angela was the winner and double finalist in the Romance category of The Strongest Start 2010 Contest hosted by TheNextBigWriter.com.

  angelafristoe.com

  Other Books

  Songbird

  Heal Me (A Touched Trilogy, #2)

  Waken (The Woods of Everod, #1) Coming September 2014!

  Four In the Morning

  by

  Christi Goddard

  1: Misguided Desperation Comes A-Knocking

  My mom’s a liar.

  What parents aren’t, right? They tell their kids lies about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Even the Boogeyman who crouches in the shadows beneath beds has his legend whispered into the ears of young green bean-haters.

  I wished my mom would use her power of deception for good. For one, I wouldn’t have to chase down people in the dark, braving the muggers and would-be rapists who lurk in the bushes on my street.

  If she’d told the boy who came knocking I was upstairs in my room, then we could have had a quick—though unlikely civil—conversation on the front porch. Instead, she told him I was out with another boy.

  And she didn’t just tell this to anyone. No, of course not. She told this to Josh Colby.

  It was the equivalent of having some celebrity knock on your door after their car broke down. Except, as far as celebrities go, Josh’s status didn’t reach beyond the doors of our high school. We’d known each other for the many years of our educational careers, and mostly succeeded with our mutual effort to avoid speaking to one another.

  Mocking doesn’t count.

  “Josh!”

  I was too lazy to run for more than a block. To scream seemed an easier solution. When a male voice called back, I smiled at my small victory of intelligence over physical prowess.

  “Yeah?”

  He sounded close, within a block or so, but I couldn’t see him. The sliver of moon lacked radiance as it was smothered by dark clouds, but the streetlights were enough to confirm there was no silhouette of him on the sidewalk. He must have cut through a neighbor’s yard to head back to his house on the next street over.

  “What did you want?” I winced at the sudden, sharp brilliance of lightning. Spots did flip-flops against the stretched shadows on the grass as my vision tried to recover. The scent of ozone carried on the cool breeze blended with that of a fresh cut lawn.

  “That you, Elchubba?”

  Elchubba is not my name. Not even close. Not that many of the kids at my school cared, and several might even be shocked to discover my real name was Kathleen. Not Kathy. Definitely not Elchubba. To my eternal frustration, I won that clever little nickname in junior high. Mostly because Ryan Dixon is a jerk, but also because I was horizontally challenged and usually clad in black from hair strand-to-toenail polish. It’s to do with Elvira. Lame, I know.

  I just hoped Josh hadn’t asked my mother if Elchubba was home. I wouldn’t put it past him. Instead of correcting him, I turned on my heel and headed home. I didn’t answer him on principle.

  My house was still a sadistic distance from me when I heard Josh stumble through some bushes near the sidewalk behind me. Oh, heavy black boots, how you’ve failed me again.

  “Wait!”

  He mumbled a curse behind me after the distinct sound of his rubber soles tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. I didn’t slow down. Maybe he would follow me all the way back to my front door so I could slam it in his face.

  He outpaced me to step into my path. I considered knocking him on his boney ass. I had the weight and momentum to do it. A whiff of whatever cheap, man-scent product he used to attract girls assaulted my nose. It reminded me of dish soap and burnt popcorn.

  “Please, would you just stop?” Josh said.

  “Fine. What do you want?”

  A car horn blared a few blocks away, followed by the squeal of tires. Josh glanced around like a super secret spy.

  My response was an eye roll and crossed arms. If he didn’t want to be seen talking to me, then he shouldn’t have answered me. For that matter, he shouldn’t have come over.

  Josh said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

  The laugh that escaped me sounded more maniacal than I expected. “You’re high.”

  Great. I wound up chasing a boy I hated down the street to do a favor for him. It was not the pinnacle of my existence. At least I hope not.

  “No, I’m serious.” Josh leaned closer and dropped his voice. “I’ll pay you.”

  “Then it’s not a favor. It’s a business proposition,” I said. “If you’re going to pay me for services—of the non-prostitutional variety—then it’s a business arrangement, not a favor. A favor I’d do for free.”

  The hopeful look that passed his face prompted me to add, “For friends, not for you.”

  “Okay, whatever.” Josh fished in a pocket of his too-baggy jeans and pulled out a folded bill. It was too dark for me to see which president. He smiled, his teeth a perfect picket fence of glaring white. “I want you to write a letter for me.”

  My eyebrows lifted without my permission. “A letter? To who?” I didn’t ask why me. I was editor for the school paper and wrote for the quarterly lit magazine.

  “I’m not telling you unless you agree to do it.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to be suckered into writing a bomb threat or some stalker letter to a model you masturbate to.”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that.” Josh slouched and lowered the hand which held the bill to his side. “I was watching some old movie on TV tonight, and it got me thinking—”

  I snorted.

  “I’m serious, stop it. Well, this guy writes letters for a girl, but they’re from another guy who likes her.”
<
br />   “You watched Cyrano de Bergerac?”

  “Who? No, it was Roxy or Roseanne or something.”

  “Roxanne?” I shook my head. “You were inspired by Steve Martin. Of course. You noticed that didn’t end well for the one guy, right?”

  “Well, yeah. But that’s because the guy writing the letters steals her away. That won’t happen with us because you’re a girl. I mean, unless you’re a lezbo.”

  My frown was so deep, my brows nearly touched. “How politically correct of you.”

  “Oh . . . you mean you are?” He stepped away as if he’d just realized I was Typhoid Mary.

  I was offended on behalf of sexual libertines everywhere. “Yes, and we’re highly contagious. You better leave before you start wanting love letters for Ryan instead of whichever girl gets your mangina tingling.”

  For the record, I’m not a lesbian, but I didn’t care what he thought.

  “Well, she’s not,” Josh said. “So it wouldn’t matter if you liked her or not.” He lifted up the bill again. “I’ll give you twenty dollars to write a letter that a girl would like, and make it sound like me.”

  I chuckled. “Those two concepts don’t mesh.”

  “Just take it, all right?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure my morals exclude this . . . escapade of falsehood.”

  “What? Jesus, why can’t you talk like other people?”

  “My intellect prevents it, sadly.” My wry smile belied any regret.

  “No, you just like being freaky little Elchubba,” he shot back. “Only not so little.” He glared at me as he stuffed the money back in his pocket, and then strode away in a huff.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t like being Elchubba at all. I didn’t like being called that, I didn’t like being overweight, and I didn’t like that I had to go back into my house and explain to Darth Mother who Josh was and why I chased him down the street.