Whisper (Novella) (2 page)

I shook my head along with Diana, then he grinned at us and left.

“Clearly,” I said, “he was totally into me.”

“I told you, that's how he operates. Secret admirers like him love the game. Of course he wasn't going to end it so soon.”

I took Micah's place against the wall, expecting to feel his heat seeping into me. Instead, it felt like he'd only left a cool patch behind, and my heart sank.

Something wasn't jiving, and I couldn't put my finger on it. Sure Micah Wyatt was hotter than hell. Sure I was willing to be secretly—and not so secretly—admired. So why did I feel more isolated than ever as I watched everyone around me laughing and drinking?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement on the other side of the room. The guy I'd almost run into earlier when Diana had been yanking me along.

Then again, I wasn't one-hundred-percent certain it was the same person, because all I saw was dark hair flopping over his eyes before he faded into the crowd.

Will she ever really see me?

Another TellTale message came through the next morning, the words pasted over the same picture of the shadowed face as before.

My secret admirer again, be still my beating heart.

I didn't know if I wanted to tell Diana about this one because she might take me to a steel cage fighting match or a lion pit if she thought Micah would be there, and neither one was really my scene. As it was, the party last night had been a spectacular bust, with Micah leaving early and Diana getting bored and pulling me out to go to the movies. Still, it was completely obvious that she hadn't given up on the SA hunt when my phone rang and her name flashed across my screen.

I'd just finished drying my hair, and I pushed it away from my face as I answered. “Hello?”

“Look out your window!”

I was in my lacy bra and panties, so I grabbed a towel to wrap around myself and wandered over. When I saw someone waving madly from the other side of the wall that separated my stepdad's oversized brick ultra-house from Diana's, I opened the window.

The outside had that after-rain smell that freshened the March air, and the sun was peeking down. Diana's voice cut right through it all as she looked up at me and modeled a funky sundress accessorized by chunky jewelry and light blue cowboy boots.

“Smokin', right?” she said into her phone, twirling around. “I got this yesterday for my date tonight.”

She'd met some guy on Instagram and was going on a blindy—as blind as those kind of dates were, at least. “You look very Echo Park.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's an LA thing.” Hipster, trendy. I meant it as a compliment. Basically. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks. So hey, when we got home last night, I scoured the Net for anything about Micah Wyatt. He doesn't leave a lot of online footprints, though. But, don't worry, I'll find some.”

I'd looked into him online, too, and I'd wondered if he was just good at covering up his cyber tracks. But why would he do that? Maybe he was a super private person except for his anonymous TellTales.

Diana stepped onto one of the cinder blocks near her wall, leaning on the stones as she kept talking on the phone and looking up at me. “I
did
find something out through the grapevine about Micah. When he left the party, he wasn't planning on going anyplace else to scope out girls.”

“Oh?”

“Well, aren't you just the coolest about that? It means he wasn't interested in anyone else last night.”

My pulse should've been jumping, but it seemed to be playing it just as laid back as Micah had been, leaning against that wall. I'd even started to wonder if I was more taken by his gamesmanship—and the way he said things on TellTale—than by the reality of him.

“Where did you hear this gossip?” I asked Diana.

“On Facebook. I was scrolling through my friends who were there, too, and . . .” She shrugged. “That's how I know.”

She paused, and I realized that Diana didn't know all those “friends” very well. It was almost like these sites we went on were windows that allowed us to look into them, fogging up the panes as we watched everyone else laughing and talking with one another. Had Diana always been on the fringes like I was these days?

I felt a little sorry for her and smiled in unity as I leaned on the sill. And I was just about to let her in on the newest TellTale post when the sound of heavy boots pounded on the concrete, coming around the corner of my stepdad's house.

Both Diana and I clamped our lips as the kid who did yard jobs for my dad brushed by the yucca plant that shielded a hose and then reached for the coil. He kept his head down, a black knit cap pulled low over his brow. All I knew was that his name was Bret, and I'd seen him once before in the backyard a few days ago when it'd been drizzling and my stepdad had been hurling directions at him about reopening the pool area when the weather got better. The guy's back had been turned to me then, and he'd been all knit cap, bulky army jacket, jeans, and work boots.

He looked about the same today, but this time, as he noticed that he wasn't alone, he glanced from Diana to me, revealing dark eyes and high cheekbones.

With the phone still to my ear, I darted back from the window so he wouldn't catch me in my towel and bra, but I was pretty sure I was too late—especially as Diana giggled over the line.

Then I heard my stepdad's voice from somewhere outside. “How long does it take to drag a hose over here?”

I heard a rustle, the hiss of a hose slipping over the pavement, the retreat of those boots, then Diana's voice on the phone.

“Coast is clear, you slut.”

I dropped the towel and grabbed a long T-shirt, pulling it over me before I went back to the window. I checked to see that the yard guy really was gone.

Diana was still amused. “You should've seen your face! Panic at its finest!”

“It was instinct,” I said, lowering my voice into the speaker. “He startled me.”

“Well, don't you worry yourself about him getting an eyeful. He's not exactly into girls, if you know what I'm talking about. And he sure did scoot on out of here at the sight of you. It was like you insulted him with your bra straps.” She sighed, leaning on the stone wall again like she was trying to catch another glimpse of him. “What a waste, huh?”

My heartbeat was slamming, and I was out of breath. Surprise can do that to a person.

“They say he's also kinda . . .” She tapped the side of her head. “Know what I mean?”

“No.”

“Slow. As in front row of the special-ed class?”

I frowned. “You went to high school with him?”

“Nah, he lives in the next county. At least I
think
he's the same guy I'm thinking about.”

Before I could ask her if it was a good idea to be spreading shit about some guy she didn't even know, my stepdad came around the corner. With his thick dark hair and business suit, he made for a picture perfect small-town lawyer who would easily catch the eye of any woman on a dating site—like he had with Mom.

“Carley, your mother's already gone into the art studio to start work and she wanted me to make sure you were up before I left. You filling out those applications today?”

“Yes, Toby.”

He hated when I used his first name, but what else was I supposed to do? Call him Tobs? Or Dad? Not a chance when my real one was alive and well in California.

He flicked a glance over to Diana and just as easily ignored her. “Get to it, Carley. Don't waste your life away on the phone.”

And with that gem of advice, he was out of there, off to do his lawyerly things.

Diana wasn't impressed. “He's such a mean girl.” But she clearly wasn't any more bothered than that, because she turned off her phone and hopped away from the wall to the ground, twirling in her dress as she raised her hand in good-bye. “Wish me luck tonight? And you know what kind of luck I'm talking about.”

“Make your date work for it,” I said, grinning and disconnecting from my phone, too.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

As she went into her massive house, I shut the window—it was still too cold to air out my room—and plopped on my bed, waking up my laptop. I tossed my phone on the mattress and it stared at me, daring me to take another gander at the latest TellTale.

Will she ever really see me?

For some reason, I thought that Micah Wyatt liked being seen, liked controlling
when
he'd be seen, too, dropping in on parties, remaining slightly cryptic.

I started tapping on my laptop keyboard, thinking I'd answer a few e-mails from friends I'd left behind at UCLA, but as I read about all the fun they were having at frat parties, I fell into bummerville. Or maybe a better name for it would be the Black Hole of Embarrassment. I hated dancing around the truth with them—none of them knew just how bad my grades had been and how disinterested I'd been in classes. When my mom had told my stepdad about my academic failures, he'd announced that no money of his would go to supporting me in something I obviously didn't appreciate, and since Mom's funds had been short, that was that. My real dad sure couldn't afford college on his own.

I'd tried to tell them that I'd never gotten the feel for college, that I'd rather sit at home and make the kind of wearable bracelet cardholders I'd been sporting last night at the party. I'd had dreams of selling them online since senior year, and I hadn't seen how college was going to help me with my goals—not unless quoting Homer and
The Odyssey
and using algebra on my leather materials would magically make them come together, ready to be sold. Even the business classes I'd taken hadn't seemed rooted in anything that'd applied to what I wanted to get done.

I grabbed the bracelet I'd had on last night from my nightstand and, just for comfort, slipped it over my wrist.
See, Tobs? I'm not as useless as you think
.

When my phone made a swishing sound, I focused on the screen instead.

Someone within ten miles of you has just TellTaled . . .

My stomach knotted up, and even before I accessed the app, I knew what I would find. No, actually, I hoped I would find it.

The black-and-white picture of my secret admirer, his face in shadow again, another confession covering his image.

Invisible. Breathless. The ghost of hope twisting inside of me for her.

I leaned back on my fluffed pillows, staring at the confession. Was he talking about me again? He'd hinted at feeling invisible before in his posts, and the way he said it now made me press my hand over my chest. I felt a twist there, too, wishing I could hear someone say something like this to me in person. Wishing I could hear him whisper in my ear and send shivers down my skin.

I closed my eyes, trying to picture Micah's face, matching it to the poetry of these words. A tightness burned in my throat because I couldn't see the bad boy I'd met last night saying this to me.

So I tried again. Micah's gorgeous face, the devilish glint in his eyes, his come-to-me smile.
The ghost of hope twisting inside of me . . .

Slowly, I eased my hand between my breasts, then curved my fingers beneath one, cupping myself. I circled my thumb around my nipple, but all I felt was lace separating me from skin. So I brushed my fingers down farther, over my belly, where my muscles gave a tiny jump.

I'd do anything to have Carley . . .

I slipped my hand between my legs, touching myself, lace and dampness. My eyes were still closed as I pictured Micah . . .

But all I heard were the TellTale whispers.

Invisible . . . Breathless . . .

I was aching now, knotted up in my most sensitive place, needing to massage the tight pain away. Truthfully, I didn't just want games; I wanted someone in this new place to want me even if I was a loser and didn't deserve it. Yeah, that was wrong and needy, but it
was
, and I couldn't stop it.

God, maybe I didn't know
what
I wanted.

Biting my lip, I stroked into my panties, rubbing, my breath coming shorter and shorter, the sharp, lovely pain growing and growing . . .

Invisible . . . Breathless . . .

Micah?

I was thinking too much, and I stopped, knowing this was going nowhere. I caved in to my pillows, thwarted, then rolled off the bed, getting myself back together again in my bathroom. When I returned, I glanced at my phone on the bed.

Something rash overtook me, a greedy impulse that had me rushing to it and going into TellTale, accessing one of my photo-rolled pictures of a dark LA street and writing a post over it.

I want you to come out of the shadows.

Out of breath, I posted my confession and tossed the phone to the mattress. I stared at it like it might jump up and bite me.

I had to admit it—I wanted to come out of the shadows, too, stepping into a new after-college-failure life, and I was doing it with Micah Wyatt, knowing that he only wanted games. What if he didn't mean all this romantic stuff? What if—?

The phone swished, and I held my breath.
To look or not to look?

Shit.

I looked, and there on the screen was a notification from TellTale.

Someone wants to chat with you
.

ThereInTheCorner:

NewGirl:
Hi.

NewGirl:
So . . . I'm not sure what TellTale people say to each other. Just hi? Or do we talk like we're making confessions?

ThereInTheCorner:
Hi is good.

NewGirl:
Then . . . hi again.

NewGirl:
Interesting posts, especially the last one you sent. It was beautiful actually.

ThereInTheCorner:
I don't usually say those kinds of things.

NewGirl:
Except in cyberspace?

ThereInTheCorner:
Pretty much. I hope I didn't come off too strong.

NewGirl:
Strong's not a bad thing. You're only flirting.

ThereInTheCorner:
Only flirting. Sure.

. . .

NewGirl:
Well that was a bit of a pause, LOL.

ThereInTheCorner:
That's ok.

NewGirl:
It's just that I'm new at this.

ThereInTheCorner:
At flirting?

NewGirl:
No. At saying things so . . . I don't know . . . Directly? Or maybe it's like we're talking in code instead.

ThereInTheCorner:
I've never done this before either. I don't say a lot in real life. It's much easier this way.

NewGirl:
Are you telling me you're shy? No way.

ThereInTheCorner:
Not shy. I just don't say things unless I mean them. And when I mean them I mean them forever.

NewGirl:
Wow.

NewGirl:
I guess I'm not used to that kind of directness.

ThereInTheCorner:
Am I scaring you off?

NewGirl:
No.

NewGirl:
Not at all.

. . .

NewGirl:
So . . . have we met?

ThereInTheCorner:
Carley, I've done some confessing but I'm not about to go that far.

NewGirl:
Oh. Ok.

NewGirl:
How far then?

. . .

ThereInTheCorner:
Just how far do you want me to go? Because if I'm honest, I've gone pretty far already, at least in my mind.

. . .

NewGirl:
**How far** is that?

. . .

ThereInTheCorner:
You won't shy away if I say it?

NewGirl:
No. I'm tired of shying away. Seriously tired.

ThereInTheCorner:
All right . . . I've touched you. Kissed you. Undone a button on your shirt then another and more than that until I see what you look like underneath it all. I've breathed against your skin, getting dizzy, getting hard.

. . .

ThereInTheCorner:
Too far, right?

NewGirl:
Not as . . . gentle as usual. But you can go on.

ThereInTheCorner:
Ok. I've felt every inch of your body, and it's perfect. You're perfect.

NewGirl:
How would you know?

ThereInTheCorner:
Because I can't imagine you being anything but perfect.

. . .

ThereInTheCorner:
Are you there?

NewGirl:
Can't you tell me who you are?

ThereInTheCorner:
Someone who's more comfortable chatting over an app.

NewGirl:
Why?

ThereInTheCorner:
You ask too many questions.

NewGirl:
Isn't that what you wanted? For me to be interested?

ThereInTheCorner:
Are you? How interested, Carley?

. . .

NewGirl:
Very.

. . .

NewGirl:
You still there?

ThereInTheCorner has signed off.