Phobic (7 page)

I consider taking the bottle from him when Todd’s tall form steps out from behind an archway near the rosebushes.

“Finally,” I say, trudging down the few porch steps, past Jordan, to catch up with Todd.

Until Sierra steps out from the same archway.

I stop in place. What were they doing back there? Jordan clings to her hip any time I’ve seen them. I would have thought she’d be off macking on him somewhere, but here she is. With. Todd.

Her glossy pink mouth gapes open, and she spins, looking every way she can. “It’s like a fairy tale,” she says. “I’ve driven past, but never realized how—”

“I know, admit it,” says Todd, cutting her off, folding his arms across his chest and leaning an elbow on her shoulder. I’m amazed he can act so casual after what happened in my room. I gasp with realization—he isn’t avoiding me because of that, is he? Sierra smirks at him like it’s his house she’s impressed with instead of mine.

Somebody shoot me. I want him to be happy, but come on, he can do better than Sierra.

“You were right,” she whines, sticking her head forward like a turkey. “It’s amazing. There, happy?”

She glances down her nose as if I’m something she’s stepped in, and then they keep walking, heading toward the group of dancers.

The sun sets completely, taking its light from the sky. Travis Munns dangles from the archways like a monkey. Laughter ricochets from the trees, and more silhouettes suck face in the gazebo. Despite the semi-depression I’ve been feeling this whole time, my cheeks crack into a smile.
They’re at my house. And they like it.
Pieces of stone chip away inside, letting warmth settle in. Maybe Todd was right. Maybe his wild idea might actually work.

I think again of Jordan’s advice. Of Joel’s. Put myself out there. I can do this.

Music pulses softly near the fountain where people continue jamming. A few chase each other around, while squeals and giggles break out over the tepid air. I could go dance—just hang on the outskirts of the group and boogie. Maybe gradually make some conversation about the song or something. But all I can think about is how they’re only here because Todd invited them.

That’s what it all comes down to. Even after the newfound attention—which didn’t last long—and their apparent enjoyment, among all of these people there’s only one person I really want to be around.

I break in the direction I saw him go. Only when I turn, I smack right into Cassie like she’s the linebacker instead of Todd, lose my balance, and hit the concrete, hard. My knee shoots up into my thigh, and I cry out at the pain.

“Sorry, Piper,” Cassie says, bending to help me up. She offers me a caramel-skinned hand dripping with rings. Beer laces her breath too. “Didn’t see you.”

A few glances veer in our direction. I blink several times, wishing I could disappear.

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice scratchy. I block the tears stinging hot and threatening to make me look like an even bigger baby. What is my problem?

Sierra and her crony Tabitha stalk over from behind one of the trees. “Oh, Piper’s crying.” Sierra’s tone is simpering and she puffs out her bottom lip.

My teeth grind. I am not. Crying. Then she mumbles so low I can barely hear, “Maybe tears can wash all that crap off your face.”

Tabitha laughs. Shame spills hot from my chest and makes its way over the rest of me.

If they only knew what having acne was like; to have skin-infesting conquerors that no amount of scrubbing can get rid of blotching up your face. I force my eyes wider, drying them out. My knee blares in pain, and I look to the house.
If you’re going to step in on my behalf, now might be a good time.
Then again, it’s probably staying silent because I shouted that I wanted this. That I wanted them all here. Tormenting me.

“Your yard is really pretty,” Cassie says. I jerk, meeting her obsidian eyes and gobs of jewelry and makeup. Her voice sounds apologetic, like she’s trying to brush off Sierra’s comment. So much for a party here being a good idea. I glare at Todd, who laughs at something Chance says.

I try to put pressure onto my hurt leg. Pain sails up to my knee, and I wince just as the song stops.

Todd stops smiling and pulls out his phone as if scanning for something. “Guess I’m the DJ next—Pipes, what happened?”

“I’ll just go die now,” I tell him, putting more pressure on my leg. I blink again and look up to the moon. He must not have heard the love of his life humiliate me. Or have seen me fall.

“We’ll be right back, guys!” he says, pushing through the back door that leads into the kitchen. The wood floor creaks, and Todd guides me past the antique china sitting in its wooden hutch across from the sink.

I tense up. I don’t want to be back in here, not after seeing what the house did to Todd earlier. But I definitely don’t want to stay outside, either.

“I feel like a total tard,” I say.

“You’re overthinking it. They’re all having a good time. Just be yourself around these guys.” He leads me toward the bathroom behind the stairs, just off from the kitchen and across from the basement door.

The bathroom fixtures are all porcelain, including the claw-footed tub like the one in my parents’ bedroom. Intricate floral patterns dress the carpet, and roses scatter along the cream background of the wall paper.

“I don’t know how,” I say, thinking of that dumb non-conversation with Jordan and my earlier chat with Cassie. “I never know what to say. They all probably think I’m—”

“Stop caring about what they think,” he says, lowering me onto the toilet seat lid.

“You care about what they think.” I smile. Being around Todd is like sitting down after standing on my feet for ten straight hours. Around him, I can do exactly what he’s talking about. Be myself. “It’s why you put those blow-up arms on every day. One wrong move and those puppies will puncture.”

He’s beefed up since a summer of weightlifting and football practice. Todd hikes up his sleeve, and I get a view of his toned arm. “I’ll have you know, these guns are the real deal.”

I give a weak chuckle but can’t help thinking of Sierra’s comments once I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. If only I could get Proactiv or something, but according to Joel, we can’t afford it. And all that other junk at Walmart works about as well as doing nothing would.

Laughter filters in from outside. I close my eyes and sigh.

“What do you even see in Sierra?” Anything I can do to delay going back out there, I will. And I also want to avoid the question I know he’ll ask—about what happened earlier with my room. I have to think it through. I can’t just come out and tell him.

“The girl has hot legs,” Todd says with a shrug.

Jealousy swirls in my ribs, sour and unsettling. He didn’t just spend a summer getting to know Jordan and Kody and the others; he spent oodles of time with
Sierra
. Looking at Sierra. Laughing with her. Wanting to touch her, to be her boyfriend instead of Jordan.

I know he can’t help liking her. Anyone with testosterone gets suckered in, like a nerd to thick glasses. He crouches in front of me as I lift my jeans leg past my knee.

“You mean my legs aren’t hot enough for you?” I flinch at the blood dripping down my shin. Todd gets a washcloth from the drawer, wets it, and wipes the long gash. He digs through the cabinet for Band-Aids. I’m glad I shaved—I don’t always.

“What happened to you?” Joel asks, peeking into the bathroom and lingering in the doorjamb. His usually sleek, gelled hair is disheveled—probably from his momentary bout of gardening. He seems more composed than before, or maybe it’s because he’s changed from his dress shirt and slacks into a gray tee and jeans.

“Piper decided to kick the sidewalk,” Todd says, applying a couple Band-Aids to my leg.

“I tripped,” I say, correcting Todd.

“You never told me you were having Jordan Warren over here. Walter’s son.” Not only is Jordan’s dad an attorney, he’s also Joel’s boss.

“Some friends are here from school,” Todd says, answering for me again. I cringe at the word
friends.
They’re not my friends. They’re Todd’s.

“Are they going to be here much longer? I’ll need to concentrate, but I can’t with all that noise.”

Concentrate on what? “You doing more depositions tonight?”

“Something like that,” Joel says, leaving Todd and me alone.

I rumple a hand through Todd’s black curls. For a split second I get the urge to leave my hand there, or maybe to brush it along his cheek. “Maybe it’s time to tell them all to leave.”

Todd’s already shaking his head. “No way, Pipes, this could be my chance. You club Jordan, drag him into the trap door in your kitchen and tell him you’ll let him out when he agrees to date you. Then Sierra is all mine.”

Leave it to Todd to joke about this. “Like I want to date Jordan.” I stand and my knee throbs.

Todd leans a hand against the sink. His
eyes clamp on mine. They’re a deep brown, like liquid cinnamon, and gold swirls along his irises. Something kinks behind my belly button, fastening me to that look, to the line of his jaw and the swooping shape of his mouth. Todd doesn’t blink, and the longer we look, heat gathers in my cheeks.

I break from his open glance, noticing the air again. Holy moly, I’m not sure, but I think we just had a
moment.
I take a slow breath.

“Are you sure nothing happened earlier?” he asks. “In your room?”

Outside, more noise erupts, followed by shattering glass and peals of laughter. Oh no.

“Time to get back out there. Can we talk about this later?” I wipe my hands on my jeans, desperately needing time to think.

He rises and his hand lingers in front of me. Our hands have touched countless times, but for some reason the prospect of slipping my fingers into his right now makes my bones hum.
Don’t look at him. Don’t. Look. At him.
His skin is warm, and I prop myself on him as I stand.

I allow myself a glimpse of his face, but his attention is on the hallway. A pocket of shame wells in my chest.
It was a friendly touch, nothing more
.

He helps me limp back into the main hallway where one end leads to the circular table and front door, and the other end goes into the kitchen. I try to ignore his heat, or the way his body feels so close to mine.

A flash of movement steals my attention, and I peer through the archway into my dining room. Her silky sheen of hair hides her face, but I’d know who it is anywhere. Sierra. In my house.

Annoyance flares in an instant. Todd heads toward her, but I grip his hand, shaking my head. I want to see what she’s up to.

Sierra peers behind her shoulder and then opens the long, floor-to-ceiling cupboard door where we keep our non-perishables like cans, cereal and chips. She makes her way past the iron fireplace, and then her snooping shifts to Joel’s stack of papers on our dining room table.

That does it.

“What are you doing in here?” I say, letting go of Todd’s hand.
And why did my house let her in?

She jumps like she’s been caught stealing a candy bar. “Just looking around,” she says, her face paler than usual. Her hand goes to her pocket, and then she folds her arms. “Your house has like, this charming, freaky quality to it.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

She steps toward me. I’m disgusted at how pretty she is up close. “It’s cool, Piper. Really.”

She sounds sincere enough, but Sierra has been anything but kind. She gives Todd a dazzling smile and a little shrug. Her heels clack on the floor, and she takes his arm and leads him outside, giving me a whiff of her gaggy perfume.

I turn in time to see her slip her hand into the same pocket she patted seconds before.

A
n old newspaper sits on top of the pile Sierra meddled with. The yellowing paper feels thin, like it will crumble if I rub it between my fingers. Wow, September 1875. The huge headline spearing across the top of the paper reads,
Recent Disappearances Pegged to Spare-Tooth Bandit
.

I chuckle. Spare-Tooth Bandit. Who pins the names for these guys?

Out of curiosity I skim over the article. It’s sweet that we have something so old, but I’m not surprised, considering the antiques littering my house. The black print is faded in several spots, and I have to squint to make out the first few words.

At the Gala Ball Charity Event in Colebridge Friday evening two men disappeared. Only one has returned alive, though not entirely whole. Richard Williamson’s feet were both severed above the ankles and left as bloody stumps.

Shivers dust across my arms. Yikes, this Bandit guy was wacko. Morbid curiosity keeps me reading, though I know I should head back outside.

Williamson has no memory of his attacker, simply the laboratory he was tortured in. He sustained heavy blood loss and has been taken to Capital Hospital where Dr. Alvin Gregory resides. Williamson isn’t the first person to disappear and be found days later devoid of some extremity in such a ghastly manner, although not all of the Spare-Tooth Bandit’s victims have been found alive.

I shudder and set the article down.
Not all of the victims have been found alive.
So not a murderer, but a butcher. Bleh, that’s the last thing I want to read about right now. Todd pokes his head back in, giving me a little jolt.