by Adam Kunz
“Does this bring back any memories?” he asks.
“Plenty.”
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. I’ve thought—hell, I’ve dreamed of it ever since the day I left,” he says softly.
“Well, then don’t ruin it.”
I lean down to kiss him again, but I’m interrupted by a sudden banging at the door. Faster than I can say the four-letter word that comes to mind, I shove off the desk and land on my feet. My eyes never leave the office door as I anticipate someone bursting in on us at any moment.
“What the hell was that?” Parker asks, sitting up.
I shrug. “Hello?”
When there’s no reply, Parker pulls me close to him again, clearly wanting to continue where we left off. Unfortunately for him, the mood is wrecked for me now.
“I know this feels right, but we can’t risk getting caught in here,” I say, pumping the brakes on this little fondle session. “I mean, what if a janitor walks in—or worse, Mr. Whitman?”
“We’ll be quiet,” he replies, trying to nibble at my neck, clearly not getting my point.
“Can you please think with your head for a second and forget you have testosterone,” I quip, pulling his face in front of mine.
“I thought that’s what I was doing?” he replies, going in for my neck again. If I had a squirt bottle filled with water right now, I’d spray him in the face and say, “No.”
“Parker, it’s getting late. I need to finish up here and head home.” When he begins to protest, I say, “Do I need to remind you of my dad’s revolver? You know, the one he’s nicknamed ‘Dani’s Chastity Belt’? Yeah, that’s the barrel you’ll be staring down if I don’t get home soon.”
He groans. “Fair enough. I see your point.”
“Thought you would,” I giggle before placing a kiss on his cheek.
Chapter Eleven
So, last night’s unexpected make-out session has only succeeded in doing one thing: make me more confused about where I stand on one Parker Reed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do have crazy-strong feelings for him, but is it worth tearing down all the walls I’ve built up over the years, only to get hurt again?
Rolling out of bed, trying to push out the Parker thoughts, I look over at Janice’s window. Sadness fills me when I realize it’s officially been seventy-two hours since she was reported missing, and there’s still been no sign of her anywhere. If anything can put a damper on my confused, fuzzy feelings for Parker, it’s knowing I’m possibly responsible for someone’s disappearance. Not just anybody, but a really good friend.
“Dad?” I call out through the cracked open bedroom door, but there’s no response. “Dad?”
Opening the door the rest of the way, I make my way to the stairs and peer over the banister that looks out over the foyer. There’s no movement or sounds coming from the first floor. The house is completely silent.
“Dad?” I ask once more, and when there’s still no response, I head down the stairs.
When I enter the kitchen, I notice a piece of paper on the table and assume it’s a note from my father. Picking it up, I peruse the message. In a nutshell, it tells me to drive straight to school. See you soon is written at the bottom, and I wonder what that means.
As I pull into the senior section of the parking lot at school, I see Mr. Whitman in the teacher’s lot across the way. It dawns on me that I forgot to work on the admissions essay last night, and I proceed to let out a groan of frustration. Throwing the car into park, I step out of the vehicle and make my way over to him, all the while hoping he doesn’t ask me about the essay.
I stop dead in my tracks when I see Janice’s missing persons flyer taped to a light post, flapping in the brisk morning wind. Her solemn eyes meet mine as I gaze at the flyer, which only makes me feel worse about the whole thing.
Shaking out of my slump, I hear Mr. Whitman call out to me. He sends me a wave after I do, causing him to fumble with his briefcase. His smile greets me as I come to stand in front of him.
“Dani, you’re here a little early, aren’t you? Are you that excited for me to read your admissions essay?”
I swear, right of out the gate with the dreaded question. I didn’t even have a chance to bring up another topic for discussion.
“Uh…” I begin, but then pause, mulling over what excuse I’m going to give.
“You didn’t work on it did you?”
“No, sir,” I murmur.
“This is so unlike you.”
“I know. Things have been a little off lately,” I reply in a defeated tone while trying to dodge his disappointed-teacher stare.
“Well, I know what you’ll be doing instead of sipping a latte and chatting with me during your independent study.”
“Computer lab?” I ask, knowing the answer.
“Computer lab,” he responds, gesturing for me to move ahead of him toward the school. He laughs. “Go on, get going. That paper isn’t going to write itself, young lady.”
“Yes, sir,” I sigh, and trudge my way up the sidewalk.
The lab is freezing and smells of electronics. It’s also located in one of the oldest parts of the school. I’m pretty sure the room is this cold in order to keep away the musty stench of the horribly offensive carpet that covers the floor. Even after our school was granted brand-spankin’-new computers, they still did nothing with the space around them. You’d think they’d want to put them somewhere a little less…shitty.
Plopping down in one of the many chairs, I turn on the monitor in front of me and wait for it to boot up. I type in my student ID number and password before hitting the enter key to access the home screen. After opening up a new Word document, I brace my elbows on the table and stare at the blank white page. The flashing little text indicator is oddly hypnotic. Then I realize that it’s actually just mocking me.
“All right, Dani. You can do this,” I say, trying to pep myself up.
Cracking my fingers, I set them to the keys and prepare to type, but nothing happens. And I mean absolutely nothing. My hands just remain stuck in that position. It’s as if my brain and hands aren’t even connected. I don’t know why this essay is giving me such a hard time. I’m usually awesome at bullshitting—aka essay writing—but this one is stumping me. Maybe it’s everything that’s been going on lately that’s clouding my head and effing with my focus.
I release a frustrated whine and pull my hands away from the keyboard to rest on my lap. Gripping the sides of the computer chair, I groan and look around the room for a visual distraction…or creative inspiration, whichever comes first.
A screen pops up on the monitor, bringing my attention back to it. It’s the media player for the computer, but there’s just a black background with a play button slowly pulsing light blue at the center of it. My curiosity gets the better of me and I move the mouse across the desk until the little white arrow is hovering over the word play. When I click the mouse, the video goes full screen.
Right there for everyone to see is me mounted on top of Parker, feeling him up. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize it’s me, since it isn’t in focus at first and looks like it was shot through the office door window. Once the video clears up, though, I shut off the screen.
Shock registers on my face. My stomach drops as I wonder who the hell caught this on tape. Then I remember the knock at the door that interrupted our little session and realize the person who hit the door was taping us the whole time.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text message has come through from an unknown number. The text reads:
I know a secret…
My first reaction is to reply with “Who is this?” or “What do you want?” but instead my fingers type:
Fuck You!
This is probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but it feels good to tell off the bastard on the other end who’s feeling the need to exploit me. I’m sure I’ll get a quick response, but nothing comes through, ev
en after a few minutes. Maybe I scared the person off.
The computer screen next to me turns on and automatically logs into the home screen. I watch in horror as the same video that played on my computer starts on that monitor, as well.
“What the…?” I mutter under my breath.
I quickly turn off the screen, but once I do, I notice several other computers turn on and log in by themselves. Again, the video begins to play on all of them. I frantically rush over and press the power buttons on every computer that’s turned on, putting an end to the streaming video.
I’m thankful that I’m the only one in the lab and no one else saw this. How in the hell is this person doing this, anyway…and why?
My phone vibrates again. Checking it, I see there’s another message glaring back at me:
I’d be careful what you say to me J
I can almost hear the grin on the other end of the phone. It’s smug and condescending, but at the same time, very serious.
My reply of, What do you want from me? is met with nothing at first. Then a cryptic text comes through.
Such a loaded question…careful it doesn’t backfire.
Feeling like I’m getting nowhere fast, I decide to do the one thing I told myself I wouldn’t—and that’s call Parker. He’s the only one I can turn to right now, and since he’s involved in this, I feel I should tell him.
I dial his number. My finger trembles as I think about what and how I’m going to explain this. Will he believe me? I mean, it does sound crazy that some person is using a video of us making out for reasons unknown.
The phone rings and rings on the other end. It occurs to me that he might still be in class, since he told me he did have an early lab today. The call goes to his voicemail and I smile when I hear his deep voice telling me to leave a message. Shaking off the fuzzies, I hang up and groan to myself, feeling like I’m all alone in this.
I reach over and hesitantly turn on the screen in front of me again. Thankfully, the video is gone. I proceed to do the same thing with the other monitors and have the same result.
When the phone vibrates in my hand, I look down at it and see Parker’s smiling Facebook photo.
The moment I say, “Hey,” Parker replies, “So, couldn’t stop thinking about me, huh?” He laughs into the receiver and I can’t deny the grin he’s brought forth.
I gain my composure and slap on a serious face. “Someone videotaped our little session last night.”
“What?”
“You, me, sucking face last night. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember. I was just confused about the whole recording thing. That’s kind of hot, though. Do you think you can forward me that video?”
“Parker, I’m not fooling around here. Someone recorded us, and is now trying to use it against me. Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask, frustrated with his guy humor.
“Are you sure this person is trying to use it against you, and isn’t just one of your friends playing a joke?”
“I’m positive. I’ve been getting texts from this unknown person ever since the night of the party—and the night my friend went missing…” I trail off, thinking about Janice.
“Wait, your friend went missing? The one you were with that night?”
“Yeah, she’s officially missing today, even though I’ve known since Sunday.”
“Do you think this person who’s texting you has anything to do with your friend?” he asks, and I can hear the concern setting in. I think he believes me now.
“I have no idea. I’m getting really worried about all of this,” I reply. I hear his heavy sigh on the other end, as if he’s contemplating what to say next. I wish he was right here so I could be in his arms.
The bell rings, cutting off Parker before he has a chance to finish consoling me. The damn bell had to go and ruin it. I groan, realizing my independent study is over and I still haven’t written a single word on my essay. Not even my name.
“I have to get to my next class, but we need to talk ASAP. Will you be at the paper meeting today?” I ask, my voice shaking as I retrieve my messenger bag from under the table.
“I agree we need to talk, but I won’t be at the meeting today. Family stuff,” he replies, sounding distracted.
“Guess we’ll just have to talk somewhere else, then. That might be hard, though, since I’ve been grounded for life.” I release a hollow laugh.
“Are you going to be okay until then?” he asks, and I can tell that his full attention is resting on my answer. He really does have his moments of unconditional caring.
“Yeah, I think so. Just a little freaked out by this whole thing. That’s all.”
“And rightfully so. We’ll talk soon, okay?”
“Okay. Promise?”
“Promise,” he answers, making me feel a little more secure than I was before we talked.
Chapter Twelve
As I’m leaving the computer lab I hear the crackle of the school’s intercom. There seems to be some kind of discussion going on in the background of the principal’s office where the microphone is. Then it quiets and the principal’s voice comes through loud and clear.
“Will Danielle Marks please report to the principal’s office? I repeat, will Danielle Marks please report to the principal’s office? Thank you.”
“What the hell? Oh my god, the video! Please tell me this is not about the video,” I murmur to myself, feeling nauseous.
I can’t even begin to describe the sensations that course through me as I make my way to the front office. Dread is pretty much the first thing that enters my mind. Then I think about Parker and what it would do to him if that video gets out. My dad would kill him, Mr. Whitman would kill him, and the principal would kill him—after killing me first, of course.
Rory and Alex come up next to me, flanking me on either side. Just like moths to a flame, the two of them flock to gossip.
“What did you do?” they both ask.
“I don’t know,” I lie, and when I get the stares, I realize they’re not buying it.
“Seriously?” Rory’s eyes pin mine as we come to a halt. I see Alex hovering next to him, sending me the same look.
“Yeah, seriously.” I try to sound convincing, but apparently that fails.
“Uhhh, just a tip, Dani. You might want to work on the whole lying bit before you go into that office,” Rory says with a pinch of sass, which is odd because he’s usually so manly. Alex bobs her head right next to his agreeing with the statement.
“Should we work out an escape plan if things get heated in there?” Alex jokes.
“I’m not even sure this is a bad thing, guys. I don’t know why I was called in…seriously.”
“There you go. You’ve already gotten better at lying. Let’s go with that,” Rory chuckles. I just roll my eyes and reach for the office door handle. They both begin to hum the Funeral March as I enter the office, and I can’t help but laugh a little. Those two always keep me so entertained.
The moment I come to stand in the front office, my serious face returns. I’m met with the head receptionist pointing to the principal’s office door down the hall. The look she sends my way leaves me frightened. She’s like the judge before the executioner, and her face tells me I’m about to be guillotined.
My feet feel like they’re encased in concrete as I slog toward the big red door at the end of the hallway. Well, technically it’s brown, but in my head right now it’s a deep, dark red—for obvious bad reasons. The video of Parker and me streams in my head, and I can’t shake it. The thought of having to talk about it with someone other than Parker just makes me want to vomit nervousness all over this hall. That was such a private moment, and it could turn into the death of us.
My hand shakes as I reach for the handle of the red (actually brown) door. As I begin to turn it, my hand stops, and for some reason, won’t finish what it started. The door flies open and I let out a gasp. I should have let out more, because the sight behind the door is enough to make me k
eel over. Not only is Mr. Clarkson sitting behind his desk with arms crossed and everything, but standing next to him is my father, also with his arms crossed.
This is it. This is how I’m going to die—right here standing in front of me. I’m so distracted by the intimidating presences before me that I don’t even notice that Deputy Samson was the one who opened the door. I really don’t like that guy, and something tells me by the look on his face that the feeling’s mutual.
“Dani, please take a seat,” Mr. Clarkson says as I enter the room.
“Where to?” I ask, trying to make a poor pass at humor. Sometimes stupid jokes just pour out of me when I’m nervous. I shudder when not even the slightest bit of a smile appears on any of their faces. I’m totally and utterly dead.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mr. Clarkson states to my dad as he stands up, sends me an eyebrow raise, and passes by me out of the office.
I hear me father let out a low grumble as he hikes up his utility belt and takes a seat in front of me. He doesn’t say anything to me—not even a “How are you?” Nothing. Actually, he’s having a hard time even looking me in the eyes right now, and this causes my nerves to jump into overdrive.
Deputy Samson directs me to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He tries to touch me, but I pull away from his grimy hands. Like I said, I really don’t like him. I drop down into the chair and scoot it closer to the desk, waiting for my dad to say anything, but instead he just lets out another growl as he digs into his pants pocket.
He tosses a little plastic bag on to the desk right in front of me. It appears to have something in it. A folded piece of paper slides behind it quickly after.
“Read it,” are his first words since I entered the room.
My hand brushes past the little plastic bag in order to grab the piece of paper. Through the writing on the bag, I see what seems to be a small piece of pink jewelry inside that eerily reminds me of my skull-and-crossbones earrings.
“Is that my earring?” I ask, but the question is ignored and I’m directed once more to read the piece of paper.
