Tess.”
“Go on without me. I’ll catch up with you,” I say quickly.
Devon raises an eyebrow. I can tell she’s pissed. But her scarlet-red mouth curves into an indulgent smile, indicating otherwise. Or maybe it’s her way of telling me that she’ll deal with me later.
“Alrighty, then. Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Max, a pleasure as always.”
She blows a kiss and takes off. She disappears down the path, somehow managing to strut like a runway model in her pointy four-inch heels.
Silence.
“Max—”
“So you know, obviously, that Devon and Becca were roommates,” Max cuts in.
I nod meekly.
“Is that why you didn’t mention Devon before?”
“I thought it might be awkward. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or bring back bad memories or anything like that.”
“Bad memories?” he says incredulously. “So is that how you knew about me and Becca? Because Devon told you?”
“Y-yes.”
He laughs bitterly. “Yeah, that’s great.”
“Max, I’m really sorry if I—”
He holds up his hands and starts walking away. “No, don’t be sorry. Enjoy your party. Good-bye, Tess.”
“I’m not—”
But he was already gone.
14.
T HAT NIGHT , I LIE IN BED, TRYING TO RE-CREATE THAT PERFECT minute and a half when Max was touching my face and gazing soulfully into my eyes. For those ninety seconds, he liked me. For those ninety seconds, we were almost more than friends.
Why does something always come between us?
Devon isn’t home yet. She must still be at that party. Outside, a steady rain drums against the window. The room feels damp and smells faintly of perfume, although it’s not the musky one Devon usually wears. It’s sweet, floral, and feminine. It must be her perfume for special occasions.
I like you because you’re not like the other girls here.
Why did Max like Becca? Not just like her, but love her? I wish I could find out more about her so I could understandhim better. Maybe someday, he will trust me enough to tell me about their relationship. If he ever talks to me again, that is.
Better yet, maybe I will come to my senses and fall for a boy who isn’t haunted by the memory of his ex-girlfriend. Why can’t I be attracted to a nice, available boy like, say, Franklin? I could be wrong, but I think he likes me.
Above my head, something taps and scrapes against the other side of the ceiling. I burrow under my comforter.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
The noise gets louder. I poke my head out.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
I hold my breath and listen intently. It’s as though someone—or something—is trying to break through the ceiling.
And then I remember.
There is no fourth floor in Kerrith.
The noise grows louder, then softer, then louder again. It must be the rain on the roof , I tell myself nervously.
My heart racing, I hug my pillow to my chest and burrow under the comforter again. “Monday September second, Monday September ninth, Monday September sixteenth,” I whisper under my breath.
I startle awake in the middle of the night to find Devon beside me, stroking my hair.
“You poor baby,” she whispers.
I try to sit up. But she puts her hand on my chest, just firmly enough so that I can’t move. Her makeup is smeared, and her lips are puffy and bare. Her red minidress is wrinkled and reeks of beer. What in the hell is going on? Is she drunk, or is she having one of her sleep-talking spells again?
She has turned on my yellow smiley-face lamp, and I feel, eerily, as though I am in an interrogation room.
“You poor, poor baby. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?” Devon croons. “Do you know who the De Villierses are?”
I blink. “What?”
“I didn’t think so. They’re one of the richest, most powerful families in New York City.”
“They are?” I rub my eyes, trying to comprehend what she is saying.
“Mm-hm. Mr. De Villiers runs ten different
“Go on without me. I’ll catch up with you,” I say quickly.
Devon raises an eyebrow. I can tell she’s pissed. But her scarlet-red mouth curves into an indulgent smile, indicating otherwise. Or maybe it’s her way of telling me that she’ll deal with me later.
“Alrighty, then. Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Max, a pleasure as always.”
She blows a kiss and takes off. She disappears down the path, somehow managing to strut like a runway model in her pointy four-inch heels.
Silence.
“Max—”
“So you know, obviously, that Devon and Becca were roommates,” Max cuts in.
I nod meekly.
“Is that why you didn’t mention Devon before?”
“I thought it might be awkward. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or bring back bad memories or anything like that.”
“Bad memories?” he says incredulously. “So is that how you knew about me and Becca? Because Devon told you?”
“Y-yes.”
He laughs bitterly. “Yeah, that’s great.”
“Max, I’m really sorry if I—”
He holds up his hands and starts walking away. “No, don’t be sorry. Enjoy your party. Good-bye, Tess.”
“I’m not—”
But he was already gone.
14.
T HAT NIGHT , I LIE IN BED, TRYING TO RE-CREATE THAT PERFECT minute and a half when Max was touching my face and gazing soulfully into my eyes. For those ninety seconds, he liked me. For those ninety seconds, we were almost more than friends.
Why does something always come between us?
Devon isn’t home yet. She must still be at that party. Outside, a steady rain drums against the window. The room feels damp and smells faintly of perfume, although it’s not the musky one Devon usually wears. It’s sweet, floral, and feminine. It must be her perfume for special occasions.
I like you because you’re not like the other girls here.
Why did Max like Becca? Not just like her, but love her? I wish I could find out more about her so I could understandhim better. Maybe someday, he will trust me enough to tell me about their relationship. If he ever talks to me again, that is.
Better yet, maybe I will come to my senses and fall for a boy who isn’t haunted by the memory of his ex-girlfriend. Why can’t I be attracted to a nice, available boy like, say, Franklin? I could be wrong, but I think he likes me.
Above my head, something taps and scrapes against the other side of the ceiling. I burrow under my comforter.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
The noise gets louder. I poke my head out.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
Tap . . . tap tap tap.
I hold my breath and listen intently. It’s as though someone—or something—is trying to break through the ceiling.
And then I remember.
There is no fourth floor in Kerrith.
The noise grows louder, then softer, then louder again. It must be the rain on the roof , I tell myself nervously.
My heart racing, I hug my pillow to my chest and burrow under the comforter again. “Monday September second, Monday September ninth, Monday September sixteenth,” I whisper under my breath.
I startle awake in the middle of the night to find Devon beside me, stroking my hair.
“You poor baby,” she whispers.
I try to sit up. But she puts her hand on my chest, just firmly enough so that I can’t move. Her makeup is smeared, and her lips are puffy and bare. Her red minidress is wrinkled and reeks of beer. What in the hell is going on? Is she drunk, or is she having one of her sleep-talking spells again?
She has turned on my yellow smiley-face lamp, and I feel, eerily, as though I am in an interrogation room.
“You poor, poor baby. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?” Devon croons. “Do you know who the De Villierses are?”
I blink. “What?”
“I didn’t think so. They’re one of the richest, most powerful families in New York City.”
“They are?” I rub my eyes, trying to comprehend what she is saying.
“Mm-hm. Mr. De Villiers runs ten different
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