Playing with Fire (12 page)

A woman who looked like she had been poured into her cream-colored suit ran a measuring tape down each of Tom's arms and around his chest, taking down numbers for his wedding tuxedo. “Is this your son?” she asked Deirdre.

Deirdre giggled and beamed at Tom. “Almost,” she squeaked.

Tom clenched his teeth.
In your dreams
, he thought. His dad might need a new wife, but he did
not
need a new mother. And even if he did, Deirdre could never play that role—she was just another Debbie. He forced a smile as he stepped back down. It was taking all of the self-control he had not to make waves, to play nice and keep his dad from getting angry. Was it worth it? Tom wasn't sure.

And how did he get roped into coming with Deirdre to the bridal boutique in the first place? Zoey had gotten out of it, as usual. Sometimes Tom wished he could operate as slyly as his sister.

With Tom's measurements out of the way, Deirdre stepped onto the little platform to try on veils. “You like this one, Tommy?” She whirled around, her face draped in pink tulle.

“Yeah, sure.” Tom nodded. Something heavier—like a plastic garbage bag—might be better, but at least her face was covered. Tom picked his jacket up off the white velvet couch and put it on. He dug his hands into the pockets, thinking maybe he should wait outside. His thumb jabbed into something sharp, a point of paper. He pulled out a note. It was folded tightly, with the edges tucked in. Just like the last one.

This was not the second note he'd gotten, or even the third. Somebody had been slipping him notes almost every day since the first one. Always tightly folded. Always written in purple block letters. Always cryptic. And definitely for him. He had an admirer. And whoever she was, she knew how to keep a secret.

Unfolding the note slowly, Tom read:
T
—
YOU'RE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE REST. THAT'S WHY WE BELONG TOGETHER. XO
,?

Tom stared at the question mark. Not knowing who was sending him these messages was driving him nuts. And how was she getting them into his pocket without him seeing her? He only took his jacket off in class, or at lunch, and then it was usually hanging over the chair he was sitting in or locked in his locker.

Tom never knew when he was going to find a note. Sometimes, like now, he didn't even notice until after school. The notes had to be from someone he knew—someone he saw all the time.

For a brief moment Tom let himself believe the notes could be from Kelly—that she was wishing she was with him and not Chad. That she was crushing on him like he had been crushing on her for years. Crumpling the note in his fist, he tossed the thought away along with the paper.
Keep dreaming, Ramirez
, he told himself. The whole thing was probably a prank. Maybe it was Chad. Or Zoey. He hadn't been particularly nice to his sister lately. Maybe she was trying to make a fool out of him.

“Actually, Tommy lost his mommy.” Debbie #5's squeaky voice interrupted Tom's thoughts and he jerked his head in her direction. Was she actually talking about his mother? “Lost,” was not exactly the word he would have used to describe the way his mom was stolen from his life. And the assistant at the bridal boutique was not exactly someone he wanted to discuss the details of his mother's death with.

“He was just eleven, weren't you, Tommy?” When Tom did not respond, Deirdre went on telling the story without him while the fitter nodded sympathetically and shoved more veils onto Deirdre's head. “She died in a horrible car accident. Went right off the road and into a lake. And the DA, my fiancé, was away. It must have been so hard with your daddy out of town and everything. You and Zoey were all alone.” Deirdre turned back to Tom and stuck her bottom lip out in a sympathetic “poor baby” pout.

Tom stared at her, horrified. Couldn't she see he did not want to talk about this? Couldn't she
shut up
? Not to mention she had it all wrong. His father was not away the night of his mom's accident. He was just working late. Like he always did.

The sound of Tom's cell phone provided him with an easy exit from the conversation he was
not
having. “S'cuse me,” he mumbled as he headed for the door. The tiny glowing screen read “
CHAD
.” If he weren't so grateful for a way out of Weddings ‘R' Us he might not have taken the call. Like everything else in Tom's life, Chad was really bugging him lately.

“Look, man,
I
haven't even finished tomorrow's homework yet,” he said, flipping the phone open. He hoped he sounded like he was joking. Or maybe he didn't care.

“No. Dude. That's not why I'm calling. It's Dustin.” Chad's voice was tight. He sounded worked over.

“What about him?” Chad's older brother was always in trouble. Tom wasn't sure why the problem of the week warranted a call.

“Dad just kicked him out.”

“Good for him!” Tom laughed and stepped in a puddle on the sidewalk. A worm was squirming in the water, drowning.

Tom thought Chad should be rejoicing. With Dustin gone, maybe the fighting wouldn't be so bad, and maybe Chad could get his schoolwork done…

“Dustin wants me to go with him.”

“What?” Tom heard him, he just couldn't think all of a sudden. The rain was starting again. And across the street he had just spotted a familiar car. The silver Audi TT with the tinted windows and clown-head antenna was sending up steam on the other side of the street. “What?” Tom asked again, staring.

A chill ran down his spine. The TT was turning up in too many places. It was giving him the creeps. School. The mall. His neighborhood. Here. He was at a bridal boutique! This was no mere coincidence. Wherever he went, there it was. Either his dad was having him followed or his admirer was not just an admirer. She was a stalker.

Emily Blake lives on her family's estate in Northern California, and spends her summers in Malibu with her Pomeranian, Kiki. Asked where she gets the ideas for her books, Ms. Blake replied, “From my life, of course.”