“Oh there it is!” she exclaimed. She jabbered on, her voice getting closer and closer to our hiding spot. Foster and I both pushed back farther. We heard her hand on the door handle, so I squinted my eyes closed and turned my face into his chest.
We were so busted. And what the hell was that pushing into my backside?
My eyes popped open and I gasped. Foster covered my mouth with his hand. Just then, Ms. Maple said to her phone, “If my head weren’t attached I’d have left it here too. You are not going to believe what I just did. I almost looked in my closet for the coat I’m already wearing.” She laughed, and then her voice got quieter and the office door closed behind her.
The lock clicked and we both let out our breath. We spilled out of the closet and I swung around to confront him.
He flashed me the universal don’t-say-it hand sign. “Not a word.”
“I can’t believe you. You had a…a…a stiffy!”
He blushed furiously, reminding me he really was redheaded. “Look, I’m a guy. Your ass was touching my groin. Of course I’m going to pop a boner. It’s a natural reaction.”
“Yeah, but…” But what? He was right. I just assumed he’d be immune to that sort of reaction when it came to me.
“Can we just finish this secret mission now?” he asked. “Why are we here?”
“We are here because you were spying on me again. I am here because Ms. Maple was acting very suspicious during our meeting today. She is hiding something.” Striding to her desk, I plucked her memo pad from its hiding spot, vindicated that it was still there. “She didn’t want me to see whatever she had written on this pad.”
Foster joined me at the desk with a keychain flashlight, and I pulled a pencil from my pocket. Just like Nancy Drew, I rubbed the lead over the paper to reveal traces of the note left behind.
“B-i-k,” Foster read aloud. “I can’t make it out. What does that say?”
As the words revealed themselves, I dropped the pencil like it was hot. Ms. Maple wasn’t being blackmailed into enforcing the stupid phone rule. She wasn’t hiding the location of a secret treasure or dead body either. She was getting a bikini wax on Wednesday at four.
Personally, I could have gone my whole life without knowing Mrs. Garrett’s evil twin waxes.
“My stiffy is gone.”
I snorted when I laughed. “Do you suppose she gets a landing strip or the Elmer Fudd?”
“Could you never ask me that again?” He rubbed his face. “Are we done now?”
“Yeah. I think I have all the information I need.”
* * *
Since I knew Foster was coming anyway, I accepted his offer of a ride to my date. We did not speak of bikini lines or woodies on the way to Abby’s Diner. Though we did have an interesting conversation about fonts and typefaces. Well, it was interesting to us anyway.
Mr. May revealed himself to be Steven J. Morten—at least that was how he introduced himself to me as we met across the diner table. His handshake was firm, but his skin felt on the clammy side to me.
Other than that, his appearance was unremarkable. Not quite matured yet, he carried himself like a freshman maybe. His face still had that baby-soft look to it, and behind his glasses, his eyes seemed boyish. A nice change from the last date, who thought he was more man than he really was.
Abby’s Diner was a retro 50’s joint and famous for their pies. Steven and I both ordered peach ala mode which gave us a great conversation starter.
I offered, “Peach is my favorite.”
He replied, “I just got it because you did.”
Cue uncomfortable silence.
“Do you have a favorite pie?” I asked.
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
Again, this really wasn’t working. I looked to the surroundings for a kick-start. Nothing about Formica and chrome screamed “good conversation.” The jukebox kicked out “Teenager in Love” and the night wasn’t getting any younger.
“So Steven, what school clubs do you participate in?”
“Just the Spanish Club.” I thought that was all he was going to say, but then he added, “But I’m really into art.”
“Oh?”
He picked up a portfolio on the bench next to him. “I brought a few of my favorites. Would you like to see them?”
I had just taken a big bite of pie, so I nodded and he pushed the portfolio across the table. Upon opening to the first page, the pie in my stomach offered a repeat performance.
“Um. Wow,” I mumbled. He turned the page. “These are really…” Disgusting. “Intense.”
He turned the page again and I tried not to wince.
“They are very…” Vulgar. Vile. I reached for a nonthreatening word. “Vivid?”
Because the mind of Steven J. Morten was apparently a very scary place.
Each drawing was indeed intense and vivid. And the stuff of nightmares. Naked teenage girls that I recognized as cheerleaders sprawled in painful poses while being eviscerated or beheaded by demonic, hulking beasts. Page after page of death, violence, and destruction amid burning urban landscapes. I looked at Steven again, thinking I misjudged his appearance, but no, he still had that guileless young boy vibe despite the fact that his mind vomited up such detailed ugliness.
“So your favorite medium is pencil?” I asked while texting SOS by Braille to a demon sometimes scarier than the ones on the paper in front of me.
He nodded. “But I did do a painted mural on my bedroom wall. Hey, do you want to come to my house and see it?”
Blinking away visions of the chains and torture devices he might have awaiting for me in his bedroom, I declined. “I’m not allowed to take this date out of the restaurant. Sorry.”
Steven shrugged. “Maybe some other time.” His gaze shifted to something behind me. “Hey, what is Jimmy Foster doing here?”
Oh, thank God. Lucifer was going to save me. I was afraid he wasn’t going to take my text seriously.
Foster stopped at our table. “Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh hi, Foster. What a surprise seeing you here.” I smiled brightly at him even though he obviously questioned the distress call. I’m sure that by all appearances, my date with Mr. May seemed pretty tame. “Steven was just showing me his drawings. Can I show them to Foster, Steven?”
Steven pushed his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose. “Sure, I guess.”
I tilted the book so Foster could get the full effect of the carnage. “Whoa.” I seldom got the chance to see Foster discombobulated. If I weren’t ready to retch, it would have been more enjoyable. “That is really….”
I offered, “Vivid?”
“Yeah, vivid. So sorry to cut your date short, guys, but we are having an emergency at the paper and I need Layney right now.”
“An emergency? Oh no.” I pushed myself out of the booth. “I’m so sorry, Steven, but I really have to go.”
Foster patted Steven on the shoulder. “Good luck with your art, man. Stay and finish your pie.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.
I went gladly and without complaint. Sometimes, the devil you know really is safer.
Chapter Seven
Mr. June
A few days later I was dreading the newsroom because it was date night again and I wasn’t sure if I was up to it anymore. The last two had taken their toll. The thought of seven more chilled my marrow.
I like people, kind of. I even like boys, mostly. But I was beginning to feel like that stewardess who smiles at you when you get off the plane. Behind the smile you know she really wishes she could trip someone.
Plus, I’d been having strange dreams. Not the kind where you remember the oddness—more like the kind that leave their dregs of uneasiness behind long after you wake up. Tyler told me to keep a journal next to my bed and write them down as soon as I woke up. Like I didn’t keep a journal under my pillow already. Please, I am a writer. I could start an office supply store out of my car on any g
iven day.
But the dreams vanished as soon as I opened my eyes, never staying long enough for me to catch them with my wily pen and parchment.
It was only the vague disquiet that stayed behind.
I thought about staying home sick, but Tyler was bringing my mug from our date to school. And buying me lunch. I wanted both, so I toughed it out.
As I meandered slowly across campus, I spied Micah rolling toward me. What a beautiful, beautiful boy. Rays of sun backlit him like an angel, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he had two cups of coffee in a to-go tray in his hand.
He smiled and did some fancy footwork to stop rolling once he got to me. “Hey, Layney.”
“Hey, Micah. Nice to see you at school for a change.”
“Does that mean you miss me when I’m not here?” He passed me a coffee. “I have this extra coffee here, and it’s a good thing you happened by or I would have to throw it away or something.”
“This is cheating.”
“No, this is coffee.
“We are supposed to be contact free.”
“I had no idea I would run into you. Harmless, coincidental caffeine.” Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of his tongue piercing when he spoke, and it made my tummy flutter a little. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a mocha.”
I smiled graciously. I’ve never actually had more than a sip of a mocha, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “What girl doesn’t like chocolate?”
I just didn’t like mine with my coffee.
That must have been a good answer, because he looked pleased with himself as he smiled and puffed out his chest. “Are you going to be online after your date tonight?”
Okay. Small confession. I’d been cyberflirting with Micah since he texted me from Toronto. Nothing serious. Just a few minutes here and there and a couple winking smilies from time to time.
“I don’t know. I have a calculus test tomorrow. I might have to be in full-on study mode.” I checked my watch. “Speaking of my date tonight, I better go retrieve my mission from the newsroom. Thanks for the coffee.”
Micah’s grin turned the blood in my veins to a molten hot wax. He could melt me from the inside out, he was that hot. It’s like he wafted in an air of wickedness—just a smidge, but enough to trigger all the right hormonal responses. Too bad he was only a sophomore. If I was going to break my boyfriend fast this year, he’d be my number one candidate.
But I wasn’t going to, was I?
As I pondered the thought across campus and into the newsroom, it occurred to me that this dating nonsense might be poking at the soft, fleshy parts of my heart that I thought I had protected several years ago. My choice to abstain from high school relationships was deliberate and wise. It’s not like my future would include anyone I dated as a teenager, so why go through the messy detour? Better to focus on the road that went directly to my career.
Then again, boys were sometimes cute. And funny. And nice. Like Micah…
“You’re deep in thought,” Foster said, though I hadn’t even been aware of his presence in the room. “Are you brainstorming your future Pulitzer? Let me guess—All Men Are Evil by renowned überfeminist Layney Logan.”
I shucked my bag and jacket. “I’ll be sure to give you credit for the title. Why are there so many folding chairs by the window?”
Foster snatched the coffee out of my hand. “Excellent. I needed a pick-me-up.” He took the lid off while he continued. “The chairs apparently live in the newsroom now because Ms. Maple said they got some nicer ones from the school that closed. Also, I’ve lost control of the staff. They won’t tell me what tonight’s date is, only that I have to be here when you get your assignment.” He took a swig. “What the hell is this?”
As he wiped the back of his hand across his lips, I answered, “It’s a mocha.”
“Since when do you drink that crap?”
Since never. “I just thought I would try something new. I’m all about stretching my comfort zone now, remember?” Grabbing the cup back from his hands, a little lukewarm java sloshed onto my hand. “There isn’t anything wrong with sweet once in a while, right?”
His face screwed up into a look of confusion, but then he shrugged. “I guess not.”
“I mean, I still like regular coffee, but a change from bitterness now and again is okay too, right?” My voice sounded unsure to my own ears.
“You’re absolutely right, Logan. But I know you—you’ll always go back to regular roast because sweet will bore you.” He scrutinized me carefully. “You like a little bite.”
“Sweet doesn’t bore me.”
“Whatever. It’s coffee. It’s not like you have to marry it.”
I dared another sip, determined to give it a chance. I mean, why couldn’t I like it? Just because I wasn’t used to it didn’t mean it wasn’t good. I love chocolate. I’m obsessed with coffee. The color and foam were visually appealing and it smelled really good. On paper, we were a great match, café mochas and I.
Yet Foster laughed at my grimace as the cloying liquid went down the hatch.
I had two choices: persist and make myself miserable or admit that Foster was right. I hated giving him that little bit of satisfaction. What’s worse, the fact that he had a foothold on my psyche appalled me.
I set the cup down and readied for battle.
“Ah. There goes the chin,” Foster remarked. “Save the energy, Logan. We really don’t need to pick this one apart. It’s just coffee. If it makes you feel better, tomorrow I’ll try a hazelnut latte or something.”
Maryanne and Chelsea marched in looking apprehensive. Foster and I exchanged glances. The children were up to something. The silence thickened with tension and the girls nudged each other, hoping one would step up so the other wouldn’t have to.
“Spill.” The word barreled out of Foster, piercing the silence like a bullet.
Chelsea cleared her throat and looked at her shoes. “We are going to change things up a little this time and tell Layney who her date is now, when she gets her assignment.”
“Okay,” I said. That sounded good. Sometimes the not knowing made me edgy. “Who am I interviewing tonight?”
“Miles Bennington.”
“Miles Bennington? The Wondertwin?”
Miles was one-half of a twin-set that refused to be separated. He and his sister, Ariana, were always together. Always. They weren’t conjoined, but they may as well have been. That is why most kids called them “AirMiles.”
“He agreed? I didn’t think he went anywhere without his…”
Everyone looked at Foster. “He doesn’t go anywhere without his sister,” he deduced. “Which is why you guys kept me out of the loop, isn’t it?”
Maryanne whispered, “It’s a double date.”
“No,” Foster and I answered simultaneously.
“It’s a perfect solution,” Chelsea argued. “Jimmy will be there anyway, and after the last couple dates, we figured it might make you feel safer.”
Sure, because double-dating with the devil is safe as houses.
“The whole point of this assignment is for Logan to get to know these guys and report back what girls are looking for when they date. If I’m there, the results would be skewed,” Foster very thoughtfully added.
“Right,” I said. “Wait, skewed how? What are you trying to say?”
He stepped back a little. “I just think my presence might distract you.”
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “Why exactly do you think that?”
“We have a…history.”
“Prehistoric.”
“You might feel awkward.”
“Why?”
“Because of your feelings—”
My hand covered his mouth. “Stop right there, asshat. I do not have feelings for you—at least none that don’t include the desire for pinking shears.” Foster winced, but I didn’t stop. “I am a professional investigative reporter, and I don’t let things like yesterday’s garbage inte
rfere with my ability to get the story.” I turned to Chelsea and Maryanne. “If the only way to get Miles on this date is to take out AirMiles, we’ll do what we have to do. But don’t think we need to make it a double just because I’ve met a few bad apples. I don’t need Foster’s protection. I’m quite capable of handling myself.” I held my hand out for the pink heart, not opening it as I put the cover back on my coffee and collected my things.
“Do you want me to pick you up?” Beelzebub asked.
I answered with an icy glare and formed my fingers into the shape of scissors snipping.
On my way out, I chucked the mocha into the wastebasket.
* * *
Tyler dangled the bag in front of me and I snatched it like a greedy kid from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
“Yay!” I tore into the bag and giggled at the picture on the mug. He’d painted a caricature of himself wearing a rhinestone Elvis jumpsuit holding hands with a caricature of me looking a lot closer to Kristen Bell than I usually do. “It’s made of awesome.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He sat across from me. “So, excited about the double date tonight?”
I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t have texted you about it if I thought you were going to mock me all day.”
“Why do you hate Jimmy so much?” Tyler passed me a burger from the bag.
“Jimmy Foster? Because he’s made it his life’s purpose to annoy me. Why do you like him so much?”
Tyler shrugged. “I’ve had him in a few classes. He’s always been nice.”
“Bleh.”
“So are you going to go out with Micah again?”
I stopped midbite. “Where did that come from?”
“He’s been telling people he’s hot for you.”
“Get out.”
“Whatever. I know you like him.”
“Pass the ketchup. I don’t dislike him. I’m not really in the market for a boyfriend.”
He handed me a couple of packets of condiments. “If anyone should be in the market for a boyfriend, it should be you.”
“You’ve been on one date with Stephanie, and now the whole world should be in love? Besides, I would make a terrible girlfriend.”