Phobic (8 page)

“We’re still out here, you know.”

“I’m coming,” I say, not looking back at the creepy article. It doesn’t make sense why Joel would have something like this. A case this old can’t possibly be connected with anything he’s working on now, over a hundred years later.

I walk past the library and peer through the divided panes of glass. Joel and I never go in anymore, not for months, not since Dad died. My gaze travels past the leather chairs, past Dad’s desk, to the door in the corner below a bridge on the upper balcony.

That’s Dad’s rule number two: Never open the door behind his desk.

“It was an accident!” Tabitha says as I step outside. She points her beer bottle in horror to the drape of ruffles dangling long down the side of Sierra’s yellow silk top. It looks like she ripped it.

Sierra glares darts at Tabitha and holds the loose fabric. “Do you have any idea how much this shirt cost?”

“I’m sorry!” Tabitha pleads, being the sheep friend that she is. Then she staggers, nearly dropping the bottle in her hand. And as if her own clumsiness is the funniest thing in the world, she sniggers.

Todd takes Sierra by the shoulders. He’s at least a foot taller than she is, so the act makes her seem like a child. Sierra stands there, grabbing her brown hair, and then Jordan shoves Todd off and puts his arms around his girlfriend. Sierra is visibly shaking.

Seriously? It’s just a shirt
.

She glares at me.

Holy crap, I just said that out loud.

“Thanks for making me look like even more of an idiot,” she says. Her full lips bunch into a pout, and sleek brown hair hangs in a perfect sheet to her shoulders. “Keep your mouth shut next time.”

My teeth snap. She made fun of me when I hurt my knee, and now she’s crying over that?

“Come on, baby,” Jordan says under his breath. Their steps make
clunk clunk
sounds off my porch.

I’m stunned at how suddenly this is my fault. I want to shove it in Todd’s face.
See, Todd? That’s twice in one night. I put myself out there, and they still shot me down.

“It’s about time they all left,” Joel says, getting his steamy Lean Cuisine from the microwave. “Don’t do that again, Piper. It’s not a good idea to have people over.”

I ignore him, especially after our argument when he told me I should have more friends.

“What’s the big deal, go sew the shirt,” I rant, disregarding the eyebrow raise Todd gives me and ripping open the packaging on my own Lean Cuisine. I poke fork holes in the plastic lining with a vengeance, then shove it in the microwave and slam the door closed.

“She acted like somebody died—and if anyone she knew or loved really died, she’d probably not take her stupid clothes quite so seriously.”

“You know how Sierra is,” Todd says, probably feeling the need to defend his superficial, selfish love goddess.

“Honestly, what does it matter? At least her parents are still there to buy her a new one.”

Joel and Todd both stare straight at me at this remark, and I bite my lip. Whoops.

It’s been ten months since Dad died. Ten months since Joel went in to hand the phone to him, only to find Dad’s head heavy against the leather padding on top of his desk.

A stroke, the police said.

Since then neither of us goes into the library unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’d probably avoid the kitchen, too, if we could. My gaze slides to the TV, and the black screen stares back. I remember Dad’s stuttering voice. It had to have been my imagination this morning.

Todd sits beside me, but I stare at the creases in my turquoise, peep-toe ballet flats and at the chips in my orange toenail polish. Joel sits at the table with us, a can of Pepsi in his hand.

“What was Jordan doing here?” Joel asks as the microwave beeps. The black tray is hot, so I pull it to the counter by the edges and remove the plastic. A puff of steam shoots up, heating my cheeks.

This again. “We had a party, remember?” Although now I’m not sure how party-like it ended up being. None of them stuck around once Jordan and Sierra left, which was fine with me.

“I know, but what was he doing
here
? No one ever comes over.”

I’ve got a better question. What was Sierra doing in the dining room? If Joel is this upset about me having people over, I’m not about to tell him she was snooping around. Or that she’s Jordan’s girlfriend.

“It’s not like he’s going to rat stuff about you to his dad, Joel. What’s the problem? What do you have to hide?”

Joel groans, making a long “kahhh” sound, and rubs his temples. “This is the last thing I need to deal with right now.”

“I didn’t want them here at all!” After how this evening has gone, I don’t need crap from my brother tonight, either. It’s not my fault if he’s had a horrible day. He opens the Pepsi. It resounds like a whip crack in the silent kitchen.

“I better get home,” Todd says as if he can sense an upcoming argument. “See you later.” He taps a finger to his heart—what we always do when the other needs a pick-me-up—and looks at me. I want to ask him so much, but he heads out the back door.

I wonder if he’s still hurting from earlier. Or if he’s going to tell anyone—ahem,
Jordan
—that he thinks my room tipped upside down. Or worse—if he’s going to tell them about my mother. The thought detaches my brain, until another one takes its place.

The bathroom earlier, with Todd. The heat from his glance. It must’ve all been in my head.

I pull out my phone to say what I couldn’t say to his face. For a minute I worry there will be more notifications on Facebook or Quizper, but so far so good.

Sorry about tonight,
I text
. I know I messed things up
. Even though none of this whole ridiculous night would have happened if he hadn’t invited them over.

No you didn’t
, he responds a few seconds later.
Are you ok?

I guess I should give Todd a break. He’s just trying to help me. And Joel, too. I know he doesn’t want me doing anything that Jordan will blab to his dad about. Joel could lose his internship.

I’m fine.
I add a smiley for good measure.
Thanks for making me get out. It really was helpful.

And that last line isn’t a lie. Regardless of what happened, at least the rest of the night went by without anything else screwy happening. That would raise some flags for sure. I’m not sure what to tell Todd, though he deserves an honest answer. I wish he would just let it go, though I don’t see how he can. Not something like that.

I perch at the edge of my bed. Darkness cloaks everywhere—the windows, the hallway. I try to peer through it to the landing outside my open door, the direction of my parents’ bedroom. Longing so strong I can hardly stand it swells in my chest. If only I could talk to them tonight. Either of them, really, but mostly my mother.

I remember nights when Dad would be working late in his library downstairs, and Mom would come in before bedtime and linger in my doorway, smiling as if she knew something I didn’t. Watching me, asking questions about my day, about boys, about school. My longing shifts to frustration. If she was here she could help me know what to tell Todd. What to do about Sierra.

But she isn’t here.

Exhaling, I sink into my blankets, ready to let sleep help me forget things for a while, when a shuffling noise comes from the hallway. Everything in me stiffens. I knew I should have shut my door.

I hear an “ouch,” and I nearly scream as a man’s towering build sneaks through my door, shutting it behind him. For a split second I wonder if it’s my father—if I’ve somehow conjured him here just by thinking of him. He flicks the light on.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Todd, my heart pounding a billion miles a minute. I sink back to my pillow and blink a few times, willing my pulse to slow. Wind slashes at my window outside, and I glance at the clock on my phone. 11:27.

“You guys need to lock your back door at night,” Todd says. He’s wearing a tight-fitting Hurley shirt and navy blue sweats. He slinks over to settle near my legs on the bed. I squirm slightly at his tousled curls and comfy look. It’s not often I catch him in his PJs anymore.

It’s probably not a good idea to tell him that we never lock the doors. The house keeps people out well enough. Though I wonder why it let him in now when it clearly wasn’t happy with him earlier.

“Seriously,” I ask, stifling a yawn. “What’s up?”

I’m not sure what he could possibly want that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, or to at least text me about.

“Just thinking about you,” he says, scooting back to rest against the wall. “You okay after all those guys being here?”

I haven’t thought much about that, actually. Not since they all left. I’ve been a little preoccupied with everything else. “I guess so. Jordan was semi-nice to me. Never saw that one coming.”

“Huh,” Todd says. He sounds so fake. I punch his arm.

“You knew he would be, didn’t you?”

Something creaks in the silence of Todd’s smile, and I ram him, hard. “Get off, get off!” I whisper. Joel will flip if he comes in and finds Todd on my bed in the middle of the night.

Todd laughs and instead of ducking under the bed like I want him to, or leaping out the window, he lies down beside me. He jerks me down alongside him and wiggles his eyebrows. “What does he think we’re doing in here?” he whispers.

“Shut up,” I mutter, fighting a grin and the heat pooling in my legs and my cheeks. “You couldn’t sleep so you had to come pester me?” I get the urge to snuggle in closer, to feel his arm around me, and have to force myself to stay still.

I expect more banter, maybe some wrestling or something while I keep trying to force him to be quiet, but Todd blinks a few times and shifts to his back, staring up at my bedposts. “Something like that.”

Uh oh. I should have known he’s here to ask about my house. I peer around the wallpaper, peeling my ears for some sound. I’m not sure what the house will do if I come right out and tell him what I know of what goes on here. If I’m going to tell him the truth, probably not a good idea to do it while
in
my house.

For some reason I get a flash of a long-gone conversation. Joel, arguing with my mom.

“I saw it,” Joel said, “why won’t you believe me?”

“
Just because you think you saw something—”

“Why are you covering for him? You’re always changing the subject; you can’t ever give me a straight answer…”

“I can’t right now, okay?” I say with a shudder, hoping he reads the insistence in my voice. I rub my eyes. “It’s late, and I’ve got my audition tomorrow, and I just have too much on my mind.”
Please let it go.

“You can’t keep blowing me off about this.”

“You won’t believe me anyway.” This isn’t something he can Google. And even if he would believe me, I can’t blab the truth about my house while
in
my house. It’d be like gossiping about someone right in front of their face, and I’m not about to stoop to Sierra and Tabitha’s level.

“How do you know?”

Todd’s voice, even in whisper, is too loud that time. I sit up and rake my hands through my hair. Mom kept deflecting Joel’s questions, and he got so pissed. I don’t want to do that to Todd. I wonder if Mom even loved us at all. She wouldn’t give Joel what he wanted. Wouldn’t bother sticking around for me…

“Pipes,” Todd reprimands.

“Because you only believe what you can see.” The house gives a faint lurch, like it’s rickety and someone nudged it. I put a hand on his leg and peer around again, prickles creeping down my neck.

“Please go home,” I say. I pull out my cell phone. He reaches for it, but I smack his hand away and text:
I promise I’ll tell you. But right now, I CAN’T.

Get the hint. Take it.

“Why?” Todd asks, too loud. “Joel’s asleep by now. And he really wouldn’t care that I’m here anyway.”

“Todd,” I whine, standing up. He stands too.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. Are you like, in danger here?”

The lurching sounds double, roaring around us, a condemned building ready to collapse any second. He’s got to leave. He has to get out of here. I push him to the door, but he plants his feet and holds my arms to my side.