Uninvited

by kindle@abovethetreeline. com

  “Thanks.”

  Silence hangs between us for a moment. It’s strange seeing him outside the Cage. His hair seems darker against the bright light of day. His eyes glint behind the frames of his glasses. They’re not just brown but amber.

  “You okay?” he finally asks. “You flew out of there so fast.”

  “I’m fine. Just can’t stand being in there a moment longer than I need to be.”

  He nods but looks unconvinced.

  My gaze drifts. Across the parking lot, Sean moves toward his truck, his strides unhurried. He doesn’t glance at us. Simply stares straight ahead as if nothing in the world can touch him.

  “Davy?” I jerk at the sound of my name, almost forgetting Gil still stood next to my window.

  Gil’s head cocks and he looks over at Sean. His shrewd eyes widen behind his lenses. “Are you and he—”

  “No!” My voice comes out harder than I intend.

  “Sorry. He went after you when Brockman followed you . . . and he hardly talks to anyone inside the Cage. Even me. And I try talking to him all the time. All I get is monosyllables out of him. Guy’s like a wall. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve been treated like a deviant all your life. Can you imagine? When you’re just a kid? A toddler?”

  I watch Sean back his truck out, thinking about this. Thinking how Sean had known he was a carrier practically forever. As a foster kid, he had to have been one of the first groups tested.

  I slide my gaze back to Gil. “How long have you known you’re a carrier?”

  He pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Since last summer. I applied for a position as a camp counselor. Everyone had to get tested.” He shrugs as if it should have been nothing. A formality. Only for him it had been the end of everything. I understood that too well.

  “You’re a nice guy, Gil,” I say suddenly. I have Mitchell to tell me that, but I don’t know if Gil has anyone to tell him. I hope he does.

  He grins and then sighs. “Yeah? Well, tell that to the rest of the world.”

  I smile, and the curve of my lips feels brittle and every bit forced. “Are you headed home?”

  “No, work.”

  “Need a lift?” I offer before I have time to consider whether I should. He’s a carrier, but it makes no sense how this boy could be dangerous. I’m not dangerous, and I don’t want others to judge me without proof. They do, of course, but I don’t have to be like them.

  He nods to the street bordering the parking lot. “It’s not a long walk.”

  I shrug. “I don’t mind. Get in.”

  He grins widely and walks around the front, sliding into the passenger seat.

  He directs me out of the driving lot, and he’s right. It’s not far. We travel maybe five blocks before I turn left into a gas station.

  I pull up front. “You work here?”

  He nods. “Stocking and cleaning. Can’t be trusted for much more.” He rolls his eyes. “I used to get paid well for tutoring but no one will hire me now.”

  “What did you tutor?”

  “Math, computer science . . . your geek subjects.” He grins again. “I used to dream of going to MIT. Maybe work for the CIA someday.” He snorts and waves around him. “Funny, right? It’s a long way from this.”

  “No. Not funny,” I murmur, shaking my head. “I had dreams, too.” I flex my hands on the steering wheel and look forward again, oddly in no hurry to leave.

  “You want to come in and get an ICEE? I don’t start for another half hour.”

  I smile at him. It suddenly feels right to be here with him. Better him than an empty house. “Sure.”

  Turning off the car, I follow him inside.

  He waves to the woman behind the counter. “Just getting some drinks.”

  She smiles, eyeing me curiously.

  We take our drinks outside and sit on the curb away from the door. The cold cup sticks to my palms.

  I swirl the straw around the frozen red ice. “I don’t think I’ve had one of these since I was twelve.”

  “You’re kidding!” He looks at me in horror. “That’s criminal. I can’t get through a week without one.”

  “You might have a problem.”

  He shrugs as if he’s known this for a long time and it doesn’t faze him. He slurps long and deep from his straw. “You could come here anytime. After school. You shouldn’t wait another five years until your next ICEE.”

  “Yeah. I shouldn’t let that happen again,” I agree, feeling oddly content beside this boy that I hadn’t even known existed a month ago. He smiles as he stares out into the parking lot, and I’m suddenly glad to have made at least one friend in the Cage. My thoughts drift back to Sean. Maybe I’d made more than one.

  The party is in full swing when we arrive. Zac holds my hand, and I cling to his just a little bit too hard. Like I’m afraid he’ll let go of me this first time around all our friends again. Or maybe I just need to feel his hand around mine, holding me after the day I’ve had.

  Our friends? They are more Zac’s friends than mine or they would still be calling and coming around. Zac’s the only one. I shoot him a glance, my heart aching and swelling at the same time. I’m beyond glad he’s proven himself loyal, but what does it say that none of my other friends have? I attended Everton Academy since kindergarten. Many of these people have been my friends for that long.

  We climb the porch steps of Carlton’s house. His parents are at their lake house. They practically live there full-time now, leaving Carlton to finish out senior year. His mom is scared to be this close to San Antonio. And she’s not totally off base. Our little suburb is hardly crime-free. Just like the rest of the country, crime is on the rise.

  As I step over the threshold, I wonder what Carlton’s mom would think if she knew a carrier was inside her house. I almost smile as I imagine her swooning in a dramatic faint.

  The living room is crowded. Bodies press close together in tight groups. Conversation is loud, but the music louder. No one stops and points at me. There’s no outright gawking, but the awareness of my arrival is palpable. Sly glances turn my way. Heads shift subtly to examine me. It’s impossible to understand anything in the deafening mash of words, but I’m sure I’ve become the topic.

  A few of the guys approach Zac, their hands slapping one another in that guy way. These are boys I’ve known for years. They’re strong, good-looking. Confident in themselves and where they’re going even in this uncertain world. They’re at the top of the social hierarchy. Just like Zac. If I wasn’t dating him, I’m sure I’d be dating one of them. Carlton with his blue eyes and lashes so long any girl would kill for. Josh with his matching dimples.

  They always hug me. Tease and flirt with me in a way that would make Zac get all huffy.

  “Hey, Davy.” They greet, smiling down at me almost with embarrassment. It’s mutual. My cheeks burn. The whole situation is awkward. I’m sure if I said boo they would jump. Ironic, considering they both top me by almost six inches.

  None of the girls approach. They hang back, pretending not to watch. Except Tori. She doesn’t hide her stare. I stare back at my best friend. I start to move toward her but Zac stops me. A deliberate move, I know. His gaze flits uneasily between us.

  “C’mon. Let’s get a drink.” He laces his fingers with mine and leads me to the keg. Away from Tori.

  Carlton follows us. The two guys talk about rugby as I pretend to drink from the Solo cup. I hate beer. Zac knows it, but it’s never stopped him from handing me a cup. It’s, like, the thing you do at these parties. Everyone drinks in order to make it okay to act dumb and do things you’ll regret later. I know the game, but I don’t feel like playing it tonight. Not after the day I had. I just wish Zac and I could be alone together. I wish we could talk. I wish I could hug him and share all the horrible things that have been happening to me.

  I spot Tori pushing through the crowd to reach the keg. But I know it’s really not the keg she’s after. Her gaze is bright and glit
tery, fixed on me. A quick glance at Zac, and I see he hasn’t noticed her advance. He’s too busy chatting with Carlton.

  She stops in front of me. “Why are you here?”

  “Am I not supposed to be?” I ask carefully, still hoping somewhere deep inside, maybe in that part of me that’s delusional and still believes in the tooth fairy, that Tori and I can still be friends.

  Zac tenses beside me. “Tori?” His voice is full of warning . . . and something else: an easiness and familiarity that I’ve never heard in his voice when talking to her. They hardly ever talk. She annoys him. He calls her clingy. I’m the one always mediating between the two of them. This reversal of our roles . . . that Zac is now the mediator between us . . . is just weird.

  She holds up a hand as if to stop him from saying anything. “No, Zac. I told you not to bring her here.”

  She told him? Like they somehow have a relationship now? A friendship? As though Zac listens to her? Since when?

  Since you got labeled a carrier. I ignore the voice, refusing to give it validity, refusing to admit that I’m any different than I was last week. These are my friends. I’m still me. Not a monster. They should see that.

  “She needs to go.”

  “Who are you to decide where I can and can’t go?” I demand, the emotion I held in check seeping out.

  Her gaze is back on me, withering and sharp, and I can’t help wondering where my friend went. Tori couldn’t pick out lip gloss without getting my opinion first. At that moment, I realize how much I had enjoyed being in control of our friendship—how gratified it felt knowing my best friend couldn’t win over my boyfriend. And yes, I knew she had wanted him. Like so many other girls, she had stared longingly after him. But winning Zac was something I alone had the power to do. Secretly, that had pleased me. Petty, but there it is. I swallow my suddenly constricted throat, not liking this insight into myself.

  “You don’t go to our school anymore.” Tori flips her hair over her shoulder.

  “This isn’t school. It’s a party.”

  “You’re not one of us anymore.” For a moment, I hear the hurt in her voice. The accusation. As though getting identified as a carrier was somehow a betrayal of her. Like I failed her. I see it in her eyes, too. For a moment they glimmer wetly like she might cry. Then she blinks and the hint of tears vanishes.

  Gradually, I become aware of the lack of conversation around us. It’s just the pump of music from the speakers. I glance at the faces of my old friends. There’s no comfort, no reassurance in their eyes. Carlton stares down into his cup as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

  Zac looks pissed. He shakes his head at Tori. “I told you not to do this tonight.”

  And that’s when I fully understand that they have been together . . . discussing this. Discussing me. At length. Tori knew I would be here tonight. Zac told her he was bringing me and she had objected. My best friend, who couldn’t even bring herself to call me, didn’t want me here. She didn’t want me around at all. And Zac had never mentioned any of this to me. Not even when I asked him about Tori.

  “I told you not to bring her,” Tori returns, tapping her head. “Not smart. Try using your brain.” Her gaze scours him and there’s no missing her meaning. She thinks he’s using another part of his anatomy.

  A slow hiss escapes me. “How can you treat me like this?”

  She crosses her arms. “I’m only glad that we found out. Before you hurt one of us.”

  I tremble from the shock of her words. She actually thinks I’m dangerous?

  “Leave Zac alone. I know you think you would never harm him, but all carriers think that at first. And then they snap. It’s always family and friends that get hurt. It’s just a matter of time. . . .”

  Before you snap. She didn’t finish the sentence, but the words were there as if she had uttered them aloud.

  I’m tempted to throw my drink in her face, but instead I tighten my fingers around the cup. That would only prove her point. That I’m some volatile person about to go off the deep end. Instead, I laugh. It’s a brittle sound and Zac looks at me uneasily. “Since when did you become any expert on . . . anything, Tori?”

  It’s mean, but I’m feeling mean. And angry.

  Her eyes narrow to bright little slits and I start to suspect that she is going to throw her drink on me.

  “Come on.” Zac pulls me after him. At first, I think we’re leaving, but he steers us up the stairs, his strides determined, his steps resounding thuds on the limestone.

  I glance quickly behind me. Tori’s face is flushed, splotchy like it gets when she works out.

  “Where are we going?” I ask when we clear the top.

  “Carlton’s room. We can have some privacy there.”

  A relieved breath rushes out of me. We can finally talk about everything and figure stuff out. We need to come up with a plan if we’re going to make this work. I catch myself. Something pinches sharply in the center of my chest. I’ve never thought in terms of if before when it came to us.

  Obviously, we’ve hit a hurdle. We no longer attend the same school. Our friends aren’t our friends anymore. That will make being together a struggle—but not impossible. Not as long as it’s what we want. And Zac must want us to work out. He’s here. I’m here. We’re together now. He came back after the shock of learning that I’m a carrier.

  I step inside Carlton’s room. It’s full of rich browns. A mahogany dresser and bed. A desk with a built-in case behind it that overflows with rugby and diving trophies. On the paneled wall hangs a photograph of our entire senior class at our fall retreat. I’m on Zac’s shoulders, waving for the camera. That day seems very long ago.

  I turn around to face him, to explain to him how much it means to me that he’s standing beside me when none of our friends are. But he’s there. In front of me, sliding his cool palms along my cheeks, delving his fingers into my hair, pressing his mouth over mine and drowning out any chance for words.

  For now, this is enough.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  * * *

  Seventy percent of all violent crimes are committed by offenders known to the victim. This figure jumps dramatically—to 90 percent when the perpetrator is female, with the most common target being significant others and family members. . . .

  —Lecture from Dr. Wainwright to the National Center for Analysis of Violent Crime at Quantico

  TEN

  FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE FOREVER, ZAC KISSES ME long and deep, nearly smothering me. I hold his wrists, loving that this is the first thing he does. Almost like he has to do it. Like he can’t wait. After the ugliness of downstairs, it’s a stamp of affirmation. I’m the only thing that matters to him. Not the opinions of others. Not my carrier status. Just me.

  He nudges me back and we fall on the bed, bodies tangling together. I laugh lightly against the insistent press of his mouth, but even that sound is quickly swallowed up in his anxious lips.

  The heavy weight of his right leg curls over my hip, pinning me. He’s heavy. Solid. I press a palm against his firm chest, reveling in the feel of his heartbeat, strong and swift.

  I break from his lips to speak, to get out the words I want to say, need to say, but he quickly captures my mouth again. His hand flows along the slope of my thigh, pulling me in closer to his body.

  “Zac,” I gasp.

  “Davy,” he returns, still kissing me. Not stopping.

  I push both hands against his shoulders and force him up. “Zac, can we take a minute?”

  “For what? We’re finally alone.” He brushes a strand of hair back from my face and tucks it behind my ear. His brilliant green eyes pin me. “I’ve missed you, Davy.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, but I thought we should talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything, Zac. Everything is changed. I’m not eve
n welcome here.”

  “Carlton doesn’t care—”

  “I’m not talking about Carlton. I’m talking about everyone. Tori—”

  “Please.” He rolls his eyes. “I can handle Tori.”

  And this irks me. She’s my best friend—was. He shouldn’t be the buffer between us. Talking to her. Talking to me. Being pulled in two directions. And maybe there’s the fact that I know she’s always wanted him for herself. And if not her, there are others. Other pretty girls at Everton, waiting in the wings who are a better fit for a guy with everything going for him.

  His head dips to kiss me again, but I press a hand to his mouth, stopping him. His eyes gleam with frustration.

  “Okay. What about our plans? Or future? I can’t go to Juilliard anymore.” A heaviness sinks inside me as I acknowledge this out loud. “That’s not going to happen for me.” I slide my fingers from his lips. “How can we make this work? You’ll be at NYU in the fall. I’ll be . . . here. . . .” That’s a safe guess. I can probably go to the local community college. Get a job at Dad’s bank.

  I wait, eager to hear the words that will make me feel better.

  Make me believe in him . . . in us. I need something to hang on to. Something to believe in. Something that won’t go away, vanish down the drain in a whirl with everything else.

  “Do we really have to talk about this now, Davy? Can’t we just enjoy being together?”

  His coaxing voice, his melting gaze. All of it gets to me. This time I don’t stop his head from lowering. We kiss. His hands roam and mold to me. Our breathing grows harsh, air passing from his mouth to mine.

  His fingers trail down. Lifting my shirt, he grazes the sensitive skin underneath. He seizes the snap on my jeans and pops it free with an easy flick of his hand. The zipper is loud on the air, a discordant rip over the crash of our breaths.

  My hand flies to his, closing over him. It’s an instinctive move. One I’ve been executing for months now.

  He stills. Looks down at me with slightly dazed eyes. “C’mon, Davy,” he pleads, kissing my jaw. I feel the tip of his tongue there and shiver. “You said we would. . . .”