Deadly Little Games (19 page)

I
SIT PERCHED ON MY BED
, confused about what just happened. I gaze out the window again, catching my reflection in the glass. My image is a blurry haze, muddied by the tears that drip down the sides of my face. Still, I tell myself that, as bad as this feels, and as much as it stings, I’m doing the right thing by helping Adam.

I just wish Ben thought so, too.

A few moments later, my cell phone rings. I hold myself back from answering right away, wondering if it’s him, if he’s calling to say that he made a giant mistake. I check the caller ID only to discover that it isn’t Ben at all.

It’s Kimmie.

“Hello?” she asks, when I pick up and don’t say anything. “Camelia, are you there?”

“I’m here,” I mumble.

“What’s going on? You barely said two words in sculpture class, and then you didn’t even show up at lunch….”

“I can’t really talk right now.”

“Is it because I didn’t call you last night? I was going to, but I got so wrapped up in Nate’s stupid science project. By the way, did you know that not only do Twinkies double in size when submerged in water but they also turn brown after twenty-four hours?”

“I can’t really talk right now,” I repeat. My voice is as broken as I feel.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I have to go. I’ll call you later?” Without waiting for her answer, I flip the phone shut and turn it off completely. I take the home phone off the hook as well.

Lying back in bed, I pull the covers over me, still able to smell Ben in my sheets.

About twenty minutes later, Mom knocks on my bedroom door.

“I’ve got it from here,” Kimmie says to my mother, opening the door wide. “Camelia, I’m so glad you’re home. I’m having some serious parental problems that only you would understand.”

I sit up in bed, noticing how she looks like the Swiss Miss cocoa girl, with her corseted top and apron skirt. She closes the door behind her, and then joins me on my bed, allowing me to collapse into her arms. She strokes my hair, offers me tissues, and reminds me that everything will be okay.

“Whatever this is, you’ll get through it,” she tells me.

I nod, knowing she’s right, because I trust Kimmie. I trust her with my life. Obviously Ben can’t say the same about me.

I
T’S STILL A LITTLE WHILE
before I’m able to talk to Kimmie about stuff. I tell her about what happened after school with Adam yesterday, as well as about my most recent phone conversation with Ben.

“So, where does this leave you and Ben?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say; the words burn in my throat. I grab a pillow and hug it to my stomach. Meanwhile, Kimmie continues to try and soothe me by running her fingers through my hair and patting my back.

“Well, you have to admit, it was sort of sweet of Adam to drop you off at Ben’s house, especially if he really
is
wigged out about what’s been happening with the notes and stuff.”

“I know,” I say, reminded that I should call him tonight.

“So, any theories as to what Ben might be sensing?”

“Not really, but it’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Well, if it’s supposed to protect your relationship, then it has to be something involving the two of you.”

“I guess,” I say, still unclear as to why that means I should stop helping Adam.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asks, giving me a pointed look—literally. There’s an arrow-shaped barbell ring piercing her eyebrow.

“What else? I’m going to continue trying to help Adam.”

“Good answer.”

“I thought you said I should back off.”

“I did, but that wouldn’t be like you, which is precisely the reason I allow you to be my best friend.”

“So, then, let me
be
a best friend,” I say. “Tell me about your recent bout of parental problems.”

“Huh?” She makes a face. Her black false eyelashes curl up toward the ceiling. “Oh, you mean that stuff I blabbed on my way in here? That was just something I made up to get past your goalie of a mother.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” I say, giving her a hug, knowing that she could undoubtedly talk for hours on end about the issues she has with her parents, but that she wants to be here for me instead.

A
FTER KIMMIE LEAVES
, I click my phone back on and give Adam a call.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says. “I was going to call you last night, but I got busy at work. Anyway, I feel bad about causing problems between you and Ben.”

“Except you’re not the one causing them.”

“Are you sure? Because, just say the word and I’ll make myself extinct,” he says. “I’ll be a pale and distant memory in your otherwise colorful life.”

“We probably shouldn’t be talking about your extinction anytime soon.”

“Then what should we be talking about?” he asks.

“How about getting together tonight? We can pick up where we left off yesterday afternoon.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“Are you busy?” I ask, eager for the distraction.

“It’s just that Piper’s here. We’re making some midnight snacks.”

“Three hours early,” I hear her shout in the background, then she lets out a giggly little laugh.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“No, wait,” he says, before pressing the mute button so I can’t hear him. He comes back on the line a few seconds later, saying he’ll come and pick me up.

“Adam—no. I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“It’s no big deal. Piper’s actually just leaving.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, feeling worse by the minute, especially since Piper sounded so chipper just moments ago, as if leaving were the last thing on her mind.

“Don’t worry, she didn’t go empty-handed. She took a whole bowl of cinnamon pretzels with her. So, I’ll come and get you?”

I reluctantly agree and grab my coat, slip on my shoes, and climb out the window. Adam meets me at the corner of my street, and we drive around for at least a half hour dis- cussing the details of the messages and crossword puzzles.

“How have things been with Tray?” I ask.

Adam shrugs and turns up the heat to stifle the chill. “He reminded me that his apartment was broken into earlier this year. The door locks in our apartment building are sort of a joke. And so is all the drama. But at least he and I are talking again.”

“How about your old roommate? Does he still have a key?”

“No. He gave me his set when he moved out.”

“So, you didn’t change the lock?”

“What for?”

“Do you think he has a copy somewhere? Did you guys end things on good terms?”

“If you call his adding green food coloring to my shampoo, jock itch cream to my aftershave, and ground Ex-Lax to my coffee grinds ‘good terms’…then, yes.”

I shake my head, noticing the bacon-scented air freshener that dangles from his rearview mirror. “More drama, I take it.”

“But not enough drama to wish me dead. It was lame-o girlfriend stuff,” he explains. “Like with Tray. Basically, I couldn’t stand that his girlfriend practically lived at our place but didn’t pay any rent.”

“I just don’t get it with Tray,” I tell him. “I mean, you didn’t even know he was interested in Melissa when you asked her out.”

“I’d like to say I didn’t, but who knows? Maybe part of me did. Maybe part of me likes the idea of hooking up with people who are already spoken for.”

“Like what happened with Julie?” I ask, taking the bait.

“And with you,” he says. “I mean, maybe if you and Ben weren’t together, you wouldn’t be half as appealing to me.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised by his honesty.

“Not really,” he says; his face is completely serious.

He pulls into the parking lot of an all-night diner, puts the car in park, and then turns to me, studying my face, waiting for a reaction.

But I have no idea what to say.

Heat blasts in through the dashboard vents, warming my cheeks.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, nodding toward the entrance.

I shake my head, thinking how it wasn’t so long ago that Ben and I came here on a night like this—on a night when I’d snuck out my bedroom window just to be with him.

“So, I guess we really don’t have any other choice but to wait and see what happens,” he says.

“Unless you want to go to the police.”

“I told you why I don’t.”

“Because you think Ben’s the one doing this?”

“That’s one reason.” He swallows hard. “And I’m not exactly sure it’s true, but I’m not willing to take that chance, either.”

“Meaning?”

“Maybe I was too quick to blame him for Julie’s death. Maybe I’m partially to blame as well.”

“That’s quite a turnaround from trying to take revenge.”

“What can I say? I’ve talked to some people about it.”

“What people?”

“It doesn’t really matter.” His eyes remain locked on mine. “What matters is that I shouldn’t have been seeing his girlfriend in the first place. Maybe if I’d been honest with him he wouldn’t have freaked out on the trail that day when she told him the truth.”

“But hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?”

“I just don’t want to cause him more grief—even if he is the one doing all this.”

“And if he isn’t—which I know is the truth?”

Adam shakes his head and sits back in his seat. “What are the odds that this’ll all blow over?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “I guess I am.”

“You want a little advice?”

“Besides going to the police?”

“Talk to Ben. Tell him what you told me…about Julie.”

Adam turns to me again. The light from the diner sign shines across his face, illuminating his deep brown eyes. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think he’d really want to hear it. I think he really
deserves
to hear it.”

“I know. It’s just—it’s sort of a lot to admit.”

I gaze at his mouth, reminded of its shape—the way his top lip is slightly fuller than the bottom, the way his mouth turns upward at the corners even though he’s no longer smiling—and the scar that runs along his bottom lip.

“Camelia?” he asks, noticing maybe that I can’t stop staring. “We should probably get going, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I say, but I don’t move an inch.

Music plays from his stereo; it’s a singer with a soulful, sultry voice who aches for second chances. And makes me ache, too. Ironically, it’s the same song that played in Adam’s car that night three weeks ago—in front of my house at the end of our date, when I knew he wanted to kiss me.

“Camelia?” he repeats; I can feel his breath on my cheek. He touches the side of my face, perhaps silently asking for my permission.

I tell myself that this is wrong, and that I should back away.

But I don’t.

A few moments later, I feel his lips press against mine. He tastes like peppermint candy, which prompts me to kiss him longer, deeper.

Until the kiss breaks.

And I finally come to my senses.

O
N THE DRIVE HOME
, Adam glances at me several times, clearly wanting to talk about what’s happened.

But I can barely look up from the door latch.

Exactly six pain-filled minutes later, he pulls over at the corner of my street and puts the car in park. “Do you hate me?” he asks.

“More like I hate myself.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Kissing me tends to have that effect on women.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, still trying to make light of the situation. “It’s my fault. It won’t happen again.”

“I
let
it happen.”

“Yes, but only because you couldn’t help yourself. I must admit, I’m far too irresistible for my own good.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” I can’t help but smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says again. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

I manage to look up at him finally, noticing that his eyes are tired and red. “Did
you
mean it?”

Instead of answering, Adam pushes a lock of hair from in front of my face, making my heart stir. “No one besides us has to know about tonight, okay?”

I nod, almost wishing that he weren’t so understanding about things. “I think I’m just feeling really vulnerable tonight,” I say, as though an explanation would make it all better—provide a rational excuse for what felt so instinctive. “I had an argument with Ben, and you were being so open and honest with me about everything. I felt really close to you.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” he says, moving back behind the wheel. “And I’m sorry that it happened at all.”

I feel my chin quiver at his words, wondering if he really believes them. We say our good nights, and I head up the street to my house. I crawl inside my window, tempted to give Kimmie a call to tell her the whole story, but for now I just want to be by myself. So that no one can tell me that what I did was wrong. Because in Adam’s car, with the heat blasting over us, it just felt horribly and inexcusably right.