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Authors: Barbara Stewart
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I stopped, cringing inside, hating my body for overreacting. I hated the way it cropped up like that—the fear. My radar was broken. He’d broken it—that stupid jerk from Troy.
But Trent hadn’t noticed.
I tucked my hand under my leg and explained how Lisa had found a second blue eye, in her room, on her nightstand, next to the one she’d stolen.
“I’m pretty twisted,” Trent said, flicking his lighter. “But that’s some sick shit.” Two orange tongues reflected off his glasses as he bent to the flame and inhaled. “Who do you think’s messing with her?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But she’s losing it. She really thinks he’s stalking her.” I thought of the sensor light. There are no monsters. Only creepy stepmoms. “The crazy thing is,” I said, “she almost had me believing it, too.”
I was about to tell Trent about our midnight raid—I’m sure we’d scared the crap out of that poor homeless guy, bombing his shelter with rocks—but a boy with a lip ring knocked on the roof and leaned in. “Bar still open?” he asked.
Trent shuttled the bottles through the window. “Be discreet,” he warned, nodding his head toward the Nisky girls, posing beneath the streetlight, finger-combing their hair. But beer ended up out back anyway and so did Linda—to stay, circling the yard like a shark until everyone decided it was time to head over to Eric Stanley’s. He was having a party that night, too. His parents were on a cruise, I think. It didn’t matter. They had a pool. Foley probably just went straight there. Or he was with Jeanine. Or maybe he was out talking some girl off a ledge. You never knew with Foley. He was like a one-man crisis prevention hotline. Rachel offered me a ride, but I stayed to help Adam throw away cups and cans and cheese curls. It was my penance for being a jerk all night.
While Adam and Chris cleaned up the garage, I went around front and sat on the steps. Why was everything always so complicated? And what did my mom know anyway? When did she become an expert on love? She hadn’t even known my dad was having an affair until she found that charge on a credit card. Or that her son was gay until … well, I hadn’t known Scott was gay, either. Not until he told us. But it didn’t matter. She’d ruined my night. It wasn’t the first time I’d made myself miserable waiting for Foley, but that was before I had a good boyfriend, before I had Adam. A small voice in me blistered: You shouldn’t be feeling what you’re feeling.
“Don’t be sad,” Chris said, startling me. “I’ll be back at Christmas.” Gripping my head, he climbed around me to the next step up and gave my shoulders a squeeze.
I was so distracted all night I’d forgotten he was leaving Sunday. I’d almost gone home without giving him a real good-bye. The porch light winked out and a toad jumped from the shadows. I crouched down and scooped him up. Bumpy and cold, his tiny throat pulsed beneath my fingers.
“I’ll call him Chris,” I said. And then to Adam, as he came slouching across the lawn: “Doesn’t he look like a Chris?”
Adam sat on his heels and chewed a cuticle, considering. “Mammalian Chris is browner than amphibian Chris,” he said. I agreed. Chris poked my ribs and then rested his chin on my shoulder and stroked the toad’s head through my cage of fingers.
“He’s a night creature,” Chris said, laughing. “I think ‘Adam’ is more appropriate—”
A car raced up the street, drowning him out. Brake lights flared. Someone jumped out of the passenger side and waved. “Hey, sorry I missed your party,” Foley called, jogging up the walk. He clapped Adam on the back and shook his hand, and then rushed toward me, stooped on the step with my heart in my throat. My muscles went weak. Foley opened his arms for a hug and I lost my grip. The toad wiggled from his cage and hopped away, vanishing in the grass.
seven
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But Trent hadn’t noticed.
I tucked my hand under my leg and explained how Lisa had found a second blue eye, in her room, on her nightstand, next to the one she’d stolen.
“I’m pretty twisted,” Trent said, flicking his lighter. “But that’s some sick shit.” Two orange tongues reflected off his glasses as he bent to the flame and inhaled. “Who do you think’s messing with her?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But she’s losing it. She really thinks he’s stalking her.” I thought of the sensor light. There are no monsters. Only creepy stepmoms. “The crazy thing is,” I said, “she almost had me believing it, too.”
I was about to tell Trent about our midnight raid—I’m sure we’d scared the crap out of that poor homeless guy, bombing his shelter with rocks—but a boy with a lip ring knocked on the roof and leaned in. “Bar still open?” he asked.
Trent shuttled the bottles through the window. “Be discreet,” he warned, nodding his head toward the Nisky girls, posing beneath the streetlight, finger-combing their hair. But beer ended up out back anyway and so did Linda—to stay, circling the yard like a shark until everyone decided it was time to head over to Eric Stanley’s. He was having a party that night, too. His parents were on a cruise, I think. It didn’t matter. They had a pool. Foley probably just went straight there. Or he was with Jeanine. Or maybe he was out talking some girl off a ledge. You never knew with Foley. He was like a one-man crisis prevention hotline. Rachel offered me a ride, but I stayed to help Adam throw away cups and cans and cheese curls. It was my penance for being a jerk all night.
While Adam and Chris cleaned up the garage, I went around front and sat on the steps. Why was everything always so complicated? And what did my mom know anyway? When did she become an expert on love? She hadn’t even known my dad was having an affair until she found that charge on a credit card. Or that her son was gay until … well, I hadn’t known Scott was gay, either. Not until he told us. But it didn’t matter. She’d ruined my night. It wasn’t the first time I’d made myself miserable waiting for Foley, but that was before I had a good boyfriend, before I had Adam. A small voice in me blistered: You shouldn’t be feeling what you’re feeling.
“Don’t be sad,” Chris said, startling me. “I’ll be back at Christmas.” Gripping my head, he climbed around me to the next step up and gave my shoulders a squeeze.
I was so distracted all night I’d forgotten he was leaving Sunday. I’d almost gone home without giving him a real good-bye. The porch light winked out and a toad jumped from the shadows. I crouched down and scooped him up. Bumpy and cold, his tiny throat pulsed beneath my fingers.
“I’ll call him Chris,” I said. And then to Adam, as he came slouching across the lawn: “Doesn’t he look like a Chris?”
Adam sat on his heels and chewed a cuticle, considering. “Mammalian Chris is browner than amphibian Chris,” he said. I agreed. Chris poked my ribs and then rested his chin on my shoulder and stroked the toad’s head through my cage of fingers.
“He’s a night creature,” Chris said, laughing. “I think ‘Adam’ is more appropriate—”
A car raced up the street, drowning him out. Brake lights flared. Someone jumped out of the passenger side and waved. “Hey, sorry I missed your party,” Foley called, jogging up the walk. He clapped Adam on the back and shook his hand, and then rushed toward me, stooped on the step with my heart in my throat. My muscles went weak. Foley opened his arms for a hug and I lost my grip. The toad wiggled from his cage and hopped away, vanishing in the grass.
seven
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From:
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