Just about to travel off to sleep, I hear a knock at the corner window "Stacey,- calls a voice through the glass.
Chad.
"Come on, Stace," he says. -Let me in.-
I get up from the bed, tighten the belt on my robe, and head over to the window. That's when I'm reminded-- when my annoyance at his incredible knack for dropping by at the most awkward times dissolves. He looks amazing. While he looks off into the night, waiting for me to let him in, I study the way his black leather jacket hugs around his shoulders, the way his hair is messed up to perfection. How he's wearing wire-rimmed glasses instead of his usual contacts.
I, on the other hand, can feel a glob of talcum powder caked in my hair, a smidgen of honey against my neck. But I'm still on a makeover high from last night, and after the sponge bath, I'm feeling surprisingly sexy.
He looks up at me when he hears the lock unlatch, and I watch a smile grow on his cheek. It's a knowing smile, a confident one. A smile that tells me he knows what I'm thinking, and he feels the same.
I tug up on the window and pull a stool over to sit, so we can talk at eye-level.
"Hi." He lifts the window even wider and leans his elbows onto the sill. He's chewing gum, a skinny, mint-colored piece that flips back and forth over his tongue.
"Hi." I swallow hard and watch his eyes notice the movement in my throat.
"Did I disturb you?"
"No," I say. "I just took a sponge bath."
"Really?" he says. "Maybe I should have come sooner."
A nervous giggle spatters out my mouth, making a weird gurgling sound. But Chad's expression remains serious, as though he really means it.
"So, are you alone?"
I squeeze my legs together, feeling the urge to pee. "For a little while."
"Good. I wanted to talk to you." He leans his body closer, and I can smell the mint of his gum.
"About what?"
'About us." His eyes linger at my neck, the way I've allowed the vee of my robe to open up.
I shift to sit on the heel of my foot in an effort to stop the tugging urge to pee. "What about us?" I clench my teeth and swallow down the pain.
He plucks a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. It has my name, written in red block lettering across the front, the same lettering as in the other notes. "This one is for you."
'Are you the one who's been sending these?"
"Would that bother you?"
"What do you mean? Are you--"
"I mean, would you still like me if I were the one?" Chad moves his face so close that I can feel the heat of his mouth, moistening mine. This is so wrong. I can't like him.
"Yes, you can," he says, as though reading my mind.
My mouth twitches, anticipating the minty flavor of his kiss. I try to distract myself by looking everywhere else-- his forehead, his nose, his right earlobe--but my eyes can't help but land back on those lips--slim, pale pink, sculptured to fit my mouth. I hold my eyes closed in a prolonged blink, waiting for him to touch me with those lips.
"Open the note first," he breathes.
The area below my stomach stings with pressure. "Chad," I say. "I have to go to the bathr--"
"Just open it," he says. "It's what you've been waiting for."
I take a deep breath and unfold the note, the message printed across the middle: LOVE IS
FUNNY.
Love is funny?" I question.
"I guess if you think about it," he says. "Everything is funny for some people." He touches my face with a brush of his hand, sending electrifying tingles straight down to my watermelon-pink toenails. "Wait," he says, as if just remembering, "I have something else." He pulls three lilies from behind his back and hands them to me. "Be sure to give these to Drea."
"I don't understand," I say
"You will." He leans forward and places his mouth on mine, his kiss exploding across my lips and at the tip of my tongue.
Behind us, I hear keys jingling against the door. There are voices too--mingling together, whispering. Someone's coming, but I can't move myself away.
Nor do I want to.
The door squeaks open and Chad is still kissing me. A set of shoes clunks their way across the wooden floor, stopping just behind me.
"Stacey?" says Drea's voice.
But I can't steal myself away. I won't.
"Stacey!" she repeats. "Wake up. Wake up!"
I feel my body being shaken, and when I finally do wake up, Drea and Amber are hovering over my bed.
"Did you have another nightmare?" Drea asks.
"Urn... My head is spinning; it just felt so real. "I don't know. Give me a minute."
"You were breathing all weird," she says. "Practically hyperventilating."
I shift in bed and feel a slight dampness in my pants. Lovely. "I have to go to the bathroom." I pull the comforter over the sheet and do my best to walk backwards, as nonchalantly as can be possible, out the door and down the hallway.
Lucky for me, the shower room is empty. I pull at the back of my robe to check for leakage. It's only a little wet and you can't really tell that much through the dark ter - rycloth fabric. I squirt some dispenser soap into my palm, peel the robe off, and jump into the shower, doing my best not to get my hair too wet so Drea and Amber won't notice. All the while I'm scrubbing, I'm trying to focus on the dream and what it means, but I can't stop thinking about the kiss. That kiss! I place my fingers over my lips and can feel them tingle, like he's still lingering there. "Love is funny" I whisper into the water. I want to figure out the meaning of love, of each word he said, of mint-flavored chewing gum. Anything to keep my mind distracted from the biggest question of all--why my dreams brought Chad to the window I step out of the shower, slip back into my robe, and join Drea and Amber back in the room.
-Bad nacho dip," I say, patting my stomach. But they're not even listening. Amber is checking out Drea's CD collection and Drea is on the phone with her mom. I sit on the edge of my bed, peel my robe off, and fish a fresh T-shirt and pair of boxers from the recyclable clothing pile on the floor.
"Drea's music is so out," Amber says. 'And what's with this nature crap?" Her voice is followed by a knocking against the window
It's PJ. I know because his knock is always the same, a series of thumps that he claims raps out to the tune of I Dream of Jeannie.
"Oops. I guess we forgot about him," Amber says. "Wanna let him in, Stace?"
I pull up on the window shade and look down. PJ's circular patch of highlighter-yellow hair stares up at me in the moonlight. -You dyed your hair again,- I say, letting him in.
"Blondes have more fun," he says.
"Looks more like booger-yellow to me," Amber says. "Don't even talk to me. I could have popsicled out there. I think parts of me probably already did."
"Thanks for that visual," Amber says.
PJ moves to the once-broken window and starts examining the borders. "I see you got the window fixed." He flips the lock back and forth. "You gals must have an in with maintenance. It took them two weeks before they came to fix our toilet."
"That's because you're full of shit," Amber says. "Speaking of," PJ says. "What are you cooking up in here, Stace? Eau de excrement?"
"Very funny" I say, and as soon as I say it, I think about the note in my dream and what it said, how Chad said some people think everything is funny.
Drea hangs up the phone and scoots toward the edge of her bed. "So," she begins, "going to campus police was a complete waste of time."
"How so?" I kick my robe under the bed and drag an extra blanket over the pee spot.
"You can probably guess. They made a report, told us we were probably overreacting, but to be on the safe side, they'll have an extra cruiser around our room at night."
"Looks like we'll miss your midnight visits, PJ," I say.
"Won't stop me," he says. "Somebody's gotta protect you gals at night."
"Oh yeah. I feel safe." Amber makes the sign of the cross.
"Security said they real
ly can't do anything until something significant happens," Drea says.
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like someone croaks," Amber says. "Then they'll take us seriously."
I look at PJ, whose expression doesn't show one iota of confusion. "Pr I say, "do you have any idea what we're talking about?"
"I guess we kind of filled him in on stuff," Amber says. "Just PJ?"
"Well, Chad too," she says. "But that's it."
"Great," I say. -Now everyone's gonna know. What happened to our pact?"
"I'm thinking about going home," Drea says. -Just for a semester. I sort of brought it up with my mother just now. I told her I'm not doing well this term and don't want to ruin my GPA. I can always make it up in summer school."
"Is she okay with that?" I ask.
She shrugs. "I guess she and my dad are kind of fighting a lot."
"They need to hang out with my horn-dog parents for a little while," Amber says.
"Oh yeah?" PJ says, turning to Amber. "Maybe you and I should take example from your parentals."
-Not even a chance," Amber says.
"You didn't say that last year."
"Last year was different." She stands in the mirror, penciling blue hearts on both cheeks with a lip liner. -I was so immature."
"So, PJ, to what do we owe such non-pleasure?" I ask. He pounces down beside me on the bed.
"Nada, mademoiselle."
"No wonder he's failing French," Drea says.
PJ blows her an air kiss and then continues to talk in my ear, his guacamole breath making me want to puke. "I was
just walking these lovely ladies back to their dorm, and wanted to come and wish my good friend Stacey good night. C'est tout."
"And?" I ask.
"Just tell her," Drea says. "She needs to know"
'All in good time, love dove." He crosses his legs at the knee and kicks a foot back and forth.
"So, Stace, what's all this I hear about some crazy stalker and how you're going to stop him? I want juice."
"PJ, I really don't feel like--"
"Tres interessant, mademoiselle." PJ taps a finger over his mouth in thought. "So BVS of you."
"BVS?"
"Hel-l000?" He snaps his fingers back and forth over his head, home-girl style. "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer?"
"Of course," I say. "PJ, I'm tired. I want to go to sleep. Tell me what you're going to tell me or--"
"Or what? You'll turn me into a frog?" He wiggles his fingers in front of my face all hocus-pocuslike. So obnoxious.
"Why not?" Amber says. "You kiss like one."
"Well, if you were to loan me, say, two nights' worth of French homework, I might be more convinced."
lust tell her," Amber says. "Or I'll mess up your hair."
"No way, girlfriend. You know how long it takes me to get this look?" PJ runs his fingers over the yellow spikes. "Okay, fine. I'll tell you. Today, after French, I heard Veronica Leeman, a.k.a.
Snotty Ronnie, say that she's been getting some weird phone calls."
"What kind of calls?"
'Your typical stalker--hang ups, heavy breathing, some perv who says he wants her."
"Did she go to campus security?" I ask.
"I don't know," PJ says. "Maybe. She was pretty psycho about it."
"She's psycho anyway" Drea says.
"You just don't like her because she's got the hots for Chad," Amber says.
"Wait," I say, "what did you hear her say exactly?" 'That'll cost you two nights' worth of French homework."
"I suck at French. You know that."
"Gotta fill the pages with something."
"Fine." I point to my French workbook in the corner. "Okay, what was yesterday's homework?"
PJ flips through the pages.
"Page fifty-three to fifty-five, exercises A, B, C, F, and H." He checks those exercises before tossing the book back into the corner.
"Anyway," Amber says.
"Anyway," he repeats, "so, I was standing in the hallway and, you know, Snotty Ronnie was combing that nest she has on her head.... PJ surveys around the room as he talks, checking out the knickknacks on Drea's bureau. He stops mid-sentence at Drea's teardrop earrings. "Tres chic, Dray. Must borrow"
"Do I have to take my homework back?" I ask.
"frês rude, mademoiselle. Is that the way you treat all your guests?" He uncaps Drea's antiperspirant bottle and sniffs. "So, anyway. I'm just walking along, pretending to mind my own business, when I hear Snotty Ronnie telling a bunch of her snotty friends that she's been getting these prank calls."
"What do they say to her?" Drea asks.
PJ rolls the antiperspirant ball at the front and sides of his neck. "Something about coming after her and ripping off all her clothes."
Drea bites down on one of her acrylic nails, causing what she would normally deem an emergency repair, but she's so sucked into the moment, she doesn't even notice.
"You're serious?" she asks.
"No. Who'd want to see her in the buff? Can anyone say Grinch alert?"
"Duh, the Grinch is a guy" Amber says.
"Precisely," he says.
"Come on, PJ, be serious," Amber says.
"For a kiss."
"Kiss this." Amber points her butt in his direction. "Don't tempt me, kitten," he says. "So anyway, all these
pranks, wanting to sex her up, yada yada ya, and--" "What?" Drea asks.
"The juiciest apparently he can see her when he calls." "How does she know he's watching?"
Drea tightens the neck of her blouse.
"Because," PJ's voice dwarfs into spooky mode, "he knows what she's wearing and who she's with. He even knew when she reached into her bag and took out... " PJ pauses for effect.
"What?" Drea asks. "Took out what?"
"When she took out a metal garden rake to comb through that hair." He grabs at his stomach and starts laughing, like the complete idiot that he really is.
None of us join him.
"I think you better leave, funny boy" Amber says. "Come on," he says. "Where's your sense of humor?"
I move to sit beside Drea, allowing her head to fall against my shoulder. She holds her hands over her throat and tries to calm her breathing.
"Drea," PJ says. "It was a joke. I'm sorry"
"I think you better leave," I say.
Amber yanks at his arm, trying to lead him back over to the window.
"Fine. I'll go," he says, pulling away from her. -I don't need to be told twice."
"Yes, you do," Amber says.
"Sorry, puppet," he says to Drea. "I guess I can get carried away sometimes. Scratch what I said about the rake, but everything else is legit. Friends?" He extends his hand for a shake, but Drea ignores it. "Fine, leave me hanging." He runs the hand over his hair spikes. "I'll let myself out."
Amber closes the window behind him and flips the lock shut. "He can be such a boy."
"It's not his fault," Drea says. "He's just being PJ. It's whoever's doing this."
"We need to talk to Veronica Leeman," Amber says, flipping her nose in the air.
"She'll never talk to us." Drea grabs the protection bottle and holds it close.
"She has to," I say. "But first, I've been thinking about trying something new"
"Drugs or girls?" Amber asks.
-Very funny." I unlatch the silver dream necklace from around my neck, and dangle the crystal I added to it in front of their eyes.
"I can't be hypnotized," Amber says. "I've tried it on myself before. Doesn't work."
"I'm not trying to hypnotize you. I just want you to look at it. My grandmother gave this crystal to me. She told me that with it, I'd always be able to know she was watching."
"No offense, Stace, but it's just a crystal. You can buy them anywhere. I have a green one back in my room. I wear it with my grasshopper earrings."
"No," I say, rubbing my thumb over the grooves, "this one's different. It's a Devic crystal. See the fractures and chunks? For every chip, ther
e's insight and spirit."
"What does Devic mean?" Drea asks.
"It means communication with the spirits in nature. It means opening our hearts to the magic of nature and Mother Earth."
"Spirits?" Drea asks.
"I've been thinking about conducting a séance." "You're serious?"
"Completely. I think my grandmother can help us with this. But I need your help, too. Both of you."
"I'm so in," Amber says.
"I don't know" Drea chews off the remainder of her nail tip. "Is it dangerous? I mean, can it make things worse or kill somebody or something?"
"Not if we do it right," I say. "Just think about it, okay? But first, let's go find Veronica Leeman."
s-cve_nt-c-cr)
We decide to track Veronica Leeman down in the campus café, since that's where she normally hangs out. On the way there, I end up telling Drea and Amber the G-rated version of my nightmare.
I tell them how Chad showed up at the window, about the love-is-funny note, and how he gave me three lilies to pass on to Drea. Three lilies--not four--probably to denote that a day has passed, that we're just one day closer to
whatever impending danger awaits us. Amber asks me all sorts of questions--did Chad mention Pys name, was he laughing when he gave me the lilies or was he all somber about it--but all Drea can ask me is why I was dreaming about Chad in the first place.
I take a deep breath, silently count to five, and tell her that Chad's appearance in my dream is probably insignificant. That I may have dreamt about him because he came to the window yesterday with that note from his hockey jersey.
Or maybe it's because he really does have something to do with all this.
We swing the door of the campus café open and there's Veronica, sitting at a ring-shaped table with Donna Tillings, the class gossip. We don't normally hang out here since it's not really our crowd--popular cliques mixed with tormented-artist types. The café used to be a theater way back, before they started using the auditorium for plays, so they still keep the whole drama motif going--stage and audience seating, script-style menus, and director's chairs. Teachers and administrators call the cafe by its name, On Stage, but everyone else calls it Hangman, coined because legend has it some girl hanged herself here when she didn't get the starring role in Carousel.