"I so love the smell of coffee," Amber says. "I'm gonna get one." She leans over the counter and notices Donovan sitting in the corner, sipping an espresso and sketching the cream and sugar station. "Hi, Donovan," Amber sings, peeking at Drea. "Wanna buy me a coffee?" Donovan waves, but quickly returns to his work.
"I guess that's a no," Drea says. "Besides, don't you know that coffee makes your teeth brown?"
Drea eyes the trays of goodies behind the glass counter cinnamon scones, chocolate chip and Macadamia nut cookies, pink frosted gingerbread men with pink nooses tied around the necks.
"Did you guys forget why we're here?" I ask.
"No," Drea says. "Let's get this over with. Veronica Leeman is not exactly my favorite person to talk to."
"Look," I say, "you guys may have something significant in common. You need to at least try to get along with her for the next ten minutes."
"I know exactly what we have in common. She's been after my boyfriend for as long as I've known her."
"Hate to burst your bubble, Dray, but he's not exactly yours anymore." Amber eyes Donna Tillings, stirring up a café mocha with whipped cream. "Yummy. May it go straight to her thighs and plant years of cellulite. Stacey, work your magic."
'Are you kidding?" Drea says. "Donna's thighs are already control-top material."
"So right," Amber says, taking a second look.
"Can you guys just stop?" I say. "We're here to talk to Veronica."
"Snotty Ronnie," Amber corrects.
I glance at Veronica. She's sipping coffee from a cereal bowl, the way they do it in France, according to our French textbook. She looks up at me, mid-sip, and then whispers something in Donna's ear. Donna laughs. She clinks her overflowing mug against Veronica's bowl to toast their joke.
"I can't stomach them," Amber says. "Let's bug."
"We can't," I say. "Not yet."
Veronica whispers something else to Donna before scooting out from the table.
"She's coming over here," Drea says..
"Snot alert." Amber shoots her nose in the air.
"You guys have a problem?" Veronica asks. "You look a little out of place."
"The only thing out of place is youir hair," Amber says. 'Anybody got a match?"
"Ha ha." Veronica nonchalantly pats the hairspray-glued clump piled high on her head.
"Don't listen to her," Drea says, evil-eyeing Amber. "She can be so immature sometimes."
Veronica looks Drea up and down, stopping a moment to raise an eyebrow at the length of her plaid skirt, the way Drea has shortened it by rolling the waist. "It's a shame we haven't been able to chat much this year," Veronica tells her. "Maybe if I spent more time around the boys' dorm we'd bump into each other. But then again, I don't want to get a rep. You know what that can do."
I take a step between them. "Actually, Veronica, we were looking for you."
"Really?" she says.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Amber douses her palm with the cinnamon shaker and licks at the sprinkles.
I elbow her to shut up.
"You know, Stacey" Veronica begins, "you really freaked me out in French class the other day when you fell asleep. It's not every day you hear someone just start screaming that they killed some girl. Let alone in French class."
"I said I didn't kill her."
-Whatever. What's all that about? Everyone's been buzzing."
-First answer my question," I say.
"Why should I?"
"Because I know you cheated on the French exam and I can prove it," I say. -Cheating's against the Honor Code. Grounds for suspension."
Amber pauses mid-lick across her palm and Drea's mouth drops open. I bite down on the skin of my tongue, waiting for Veronica to challenge my bluff.
"Fine," Veronica says, after a pause. -What do you want to know?"
I motion to an empty table against the wall and we sit, me and Drea on one side, Amber and Veronica on the other.
"So?" Veronica says. "What's this all about?"
-We heard you've been getting some pranks lately," I say. "Who told you that?"
"Everyone's been buzzing," Amber mimics.
I kick Amber under the table.
"Do you know who it is?" Drea asks.
Veronica shakes her head and looks away. "It's been three nights in a row now"
"What kind of phone calls?" I ask.
Veronica shrugs. "He tries to talk to me. The first time he called, he was, like, 'guess who this is.--
-Has it only been phone calls?" I ask.
"The first two nights, phone calls." Veronica takes in a deep breath.
"Then?" Drea props her elbows on the table to lean in closer. "You can trust us.-
"Why should I believe that?"
"Because it's been happening to me too," Drea says. "I think it might be the same person."
Veronica looks at Drea, as though seeing her for the first time. 'Are you scared?"
"I've been nothing but scared. I feel like I'm being watched, like I can't even go to the cafeteria or take a shower."
"I know what you mean," Veronica says. "I don't feel safe here.
"I've actually been thinking about leaving for a while." Drea snatches a chocolate shaker from Amber, sprinkles a handful of the powder into her palm, and uses what's left of a nail tip to spoon it onto her tongue.
Veronica settles back into her chair, a bit more at ease talking to us. "So, has it only been prank phone calls for you?"
Drea looks at me, I think, wishing I'd grant her some blessing that it's okay to tell Veronica everything. But I can't. I won't. Because I simply don't know if it is okay.
"No," Drea says. "It started out that way, but then he sent me this gift, along with a note."
Veronica's face blanches; her aura turns a sour green. "He did the same for me. Last night. It was waiting in the hallway outside my room when I got home."
"What was inside?" Drea asks.
I watch the two of them exchange anguish while Amber remains oblivious, concocting some spice recipe in her
hand. It's like what they say about tragedy bringing people closer, even the worst of enemies. It's the first time I've ever seen Veronica Leeman look scared.
"Flowers," Veronica says. She glances down at her hands to check for shaking.
"Lilies?" Drea asks.
"Yeah. How did you know?"
"How many?" Drea clasps her hands over Veronica's. "Three," she says. "Three lilies. For the number of days until he comes for me."
htr)
After our chat with Veronica at the Hangman Café, I come back to the dorm for some sleep. But what I really end up doing is tossing and turning in bed; flipping and flopping, tugging the covers up over my ears to no avail. It's just so weird being alone in the room for more than fifteen minutes. So weird without Drea, tossing and turning right along with me.
After she and Veronica spilled guts over frothy cappuccino and fresh biscotti about the flowers and the notes
and the whole stalker fiasco--Drea declared she needed a night off campus and called her aunt, who lives two towns away, to come and pick her up. I suggested that she just spend the entire weekend there, until her D-day passes, but Drea flat out rejected. Now that she and Veronica have bonded, Drea is committed to helping her out. Talking to Veronica, I think, just made everything seem so real for Drea.
So why do I feel like Veronica's such a fake?
It just doesn't make sense to me. It doesn't make sense that the same person would go after Drea and Veronica. The two of them couldn't be more different. And don't stalkers usually go for the same type of person? Regardless, Drea is staying at her aunt's until sometime tomorrow afternoon, and then we're all supposed to get together to come up with a plan.
I roll over in bed, try squashing a pillow under my knees, and even drag my history book under the covers to see if that will put me to sleep. No luck. There's no way I'm falling asleep, at least not until Drea calls as promised.
"Love is
funny" I say, trying to take my mind off the phone. I repeat the cryptic phrase over and over again, as though repetition of the words will make sense of them somehow. For me, love hasn't exactly been a comedy lately, more like a downright tragedy, but there has to be a clue in there somewhere.
I roll myself out of bed to fetch the thick purple candle I used during Drea's card reading. I light it for inspiration and insight and watch the shallow bowl that surrounds the wick fill up with hot liquid wax.
The phone rings. I jump to answer it. "Hello? Drea?" "This isn't Drea," says the male voice on the other end. 'And I know she isn't home. It's you, Stacey. I want to talk to you.
My hands shake just hearing his voice, just hearing him say my name. Him.
"I know you're alone tonight, Stacey" he continues. "That's why I called. Aren't you gonna ask me how I'm doing?"
"What do you want?"
"I told you already. I want to talk to you."
"I'm not alone," I say, looking down at my amethyst.
He laughs--slow and deliberate. "Why are you lying, Stacey? I know you're alone. All night. Just you and your candles."
I click the phone off, yank both window shades down to the sills, and check and double-check the door to make sure it's locked.
My heart pummels inside my chest, like something's trying to get out. I pluck the baseball bat from behind the door and sit, perched in the middle of my bed, ready and waiting for I have no idea what.
The phone rings again. I don't want to answer it, but I have to. It might be Drea. And I can't run away.
I'm just about to pick it up when it stops. I snatch it up anyway to call Amber. I know she won't mind staying over with me or, better yet, I could go there. I start to press at the numbers, but it isn't dialing. "Hello?" I say into the receiver.
"Why did you hang up on me?" he asks.
5)
It's him. Again. My chin shakes. My heart pounds. My fingers turn bloodless, strengthless, causing me to almost drop the phone.
But then his voice, again, seething in my ear: "I asked you a question," he says.
--Who is this?"
-You'll all know soon enough."
"What do you want from me?" I squeeze the Devic crystal between my fingers, hoping its energy will soak through my pores and grant me the strength I need.
"A little bird told me that you were some freak in a carnival," he says, after a pause.
-What?" I ask.
"I heard that you can see things in your dreams, like some psychic or something."
"What kinds of things?"
"Things about me and Drea," he says. "Stuff that might ruin my surprise for her."
"What surprise?"
"If you were a real witch, you'd know. Are you?"
"Yes." I feel confident saying this, like the very affirmation is power in itself.
"Stay away from her," he says. "This has nothing to do with you or your so-called witchcraft."
-You stay away"
"Don't even try to fuck with me," he says. "Don't forget who's in control here."
"I haven't," I say, challenging him.
"Either you find a way to stay away from her, or I will find one for you."
I feel my face turn red, the blood pumping through my veins, high into my cheeks. "What are you going to do to her in three days?" I blurt.
"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now, would it? Oh, and by the way, I'm returning a little gift I found of yours in the laundry room. Seems you've been having a problem lately. Imagine what everyone would say if they found out, Stacey. What do you think Chad would say?"
"Who is this?" I feel myself stand up.
"You mind your own business and I'll mind mine. Sleep tight, Stacey-There's a click on the other end of the phone when he hangs up. Still, I keep the receiver pressed against my ear, waiting for him to pick up again, waiting for him to tell me how he knows the way I feel about Chad. The phone clicks again, followed by a dial tone.
I drop the receiver and look toward the window. I know what's out there, waiting for me.
I walk over and peek out from behind the shade, toward the lawn. No one. I unlock the pane, pull the window up, and look down.
There it is. The dirty laundry I left in the washroom. The soiled blue sweatpants lay folded on the window ledge under one of the pee-stained sheets. The rest is in a heap on the ground. Still dirty.
Still rude and smelly. Still, I burrow my face into a corner of the sheet and allow myself to cry.
ninetesn
I scrub the soiled sheets in the sink, the bubbles of white cloth sending puddles of foamy water over the porcelain rim. I try to calm myself, to concentrate on the lapping of the water and its ability to cleanse. To focus on what's really important--saving Drea. But I can't help feeling sorry for myself. His phone call just made me feel so defenseless.
It's one thing when people think you're a freak because you practice Wicca, but it's a completely different story when you're sixteen years old and wetting the bed.
The phone rings. My first thought is that it's Drea. Finally Calling from her aunt's. I dive into the heap of covers on my bed to answer it. "Hello? Drea?"
"Not last time I checked," says the male voice on the other end.
Like a reflex, I click the phone off. Why is he doing this to me? Why does he keep calling me? I take a deep breath and wait for the phone to ring again. I know it will. And it does. Only this time I'm more prepared. I pick the receiver up and wait for him to speak.
"Stacey?"
Chad? -Chad?"
"Yeah, it's me. Why did you hang up before?"
"Oh, I thought . .
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What? That I was that wacko who keeps bothering you guys?"
"Oh yeah," I say. "I forgot Amber told you."
"Not just me. Everybody's talking about it."
'Are you serious, everybody?"
"Well, some people."
Note to self: kill Amber. Though maybe it's Veronica who blabbed. It has been a whopping two whole hours since we all said goodbye at the Hangman. A totally doable task for someone with a mouth as big as hers.
"Look," I say, feeling a sudden bout of bitchiness come over me. "Urea isn't here, if that's why you're calling." "What? I can't just call you?"
I jar my mouth, hoping the words will filter down from my brain, but I have no idea what to say, if he's even serious.
"Where is she?" he asks.
-She's staying at her aunt's house tonight.- And as soon as I let these word-crumbs dribble out my mouth, I want to eat them back up. He doesn't need to know where Drea is tonight. No one does.
"How come?"
"Why are you calling now? It's almost one."
"I know," he says. "It's just that I couldn't sleep and I've been up all night thinking about how I'm going to fail the physics exam tomorrow. I was hoping you'd still be up, pulling one of your notorious all-nighters."
Physics exam?
"I'm up," I say, finally, "because some sicko likes to call girls in the middle of the night and freak them out. I think I'll call Amber and force her to be up with me."
"I could come by," he says. "I mean, since we both can't sleep and all. No sense bothering Amber. Besides, maybe you could quiz me for the test."
I smooth a hand over the back of my hair and stand up to look in the mirror. "Do you think that's a good idea? I mean--
"Well, you did say Drea wasn't coming home tonight, right?"
"Yeah?"
'And you're getting all these prank calls. You shouldn't be there by yourself.-
I swipe the bangs out of my eyes and chew at my lip. I have no idea what to say to him. Am I supposed to wait another three years to see if things work out between him and Drea, or is it time to take charge of my own fate? I dull
157
the horns and pointy tail I feel I'm beginning to sprout by reminding myself that Chad is my friend too. Why should I feel guilty every time he walks
into a room?
"Well?" he says. "Say something."
"Okay. But just to study"
"What else?" he asks, a smile in his voice. "I'll be over in a few."
I hang up before either of us has the chance to say goodbye or change our minds. And as much as I remind myself that this isn't a social call but a chance to cram for physics, I decide dark and baggy sweats are probably not a good look. Instead, I slip into a pair of pink and white pajama bottoms, compliments of Drea's dresser, and a white tank top that's mine. I drain the sink, wring out the sheets, and stuff them into a fresh laundry bag.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Chad is knocking at the window I unlock it to let him in, then whisk over to sit on my bed, purposely cluttered with physics notes, lab reports, and old quizzes--zero space for him and therefore zero temptation for me.
"You've been busy" he says, shutting the window back up. He glances around my bed for someplace to sit. But the only vacant spots are on the floor, in between clothing piles, or on Drea's bed.
"So, how long have you been studying?" he asks, opting for Drea's bed.
I pretend to be engrossed in the notes from last week's lecture on velocity and mass. "Not long enough," I say, peeking up at him. I can't help it. He just looks so completely perfect. A baseball cap, like he just crawled out of
bed. A cuddly cotton sweatshirt that I could just wrap myself up in. Tiny black wire-rimmed glasses. He smiles at me and I can't help but stare at his mouth. Those lips. His teeth. The way the bottom teeth overlap in the front when you look just close enough. I shake my stare away and focus down on my notes. "I guess you could say my grades have sort of taken a dive in the dunk tank this quarter."
"Ditto." He pulls a stack of mangled papers from the inside covers of his textbook and adds it to the collection I've got going on my bed. "What chapter is the test on?"
"Seven. I think."
He readjusts his baseball cap, sending a curl of his scent just under my nose. It smells like sticky sweat on skin, like worn-out cologne expired over the day, like pasty musk deodorant mixed with green-apple shampoo. A smell I want to bottle so I can open it up at will and wash it all over me.