"So why do you think your grades have slipped?" he asks.
"I don't know," I say. "I guess I just have other stuff on my mind."
"Oh yeah?" He closes his book. "Like what?"
I flip the pages forward and back in my textbook, my eyes scanning down the review questions in chapter ten, even though the test is on chapter seven.
"If there's something bothering you, you can tell me," he says. "Did you get another prank after we hung up?"
"Relax, then. He's not calling now, is he? Maybe he knows I'm here."
"Why do you say that?" I ask.
"I don't know. Maybe he only wants to call when you're alone. Or at least when it's just girls around. Maybe a guy would intimidate him."
I feel myself swallow. Chad's eyes travel over my neck to notice the gesture.
"I wish he would call while I was here," he says. "Why?" I ask.
"Because at least you'd know for sure it wasn't me." Yikes! A huge allegation, but I can't object.
"Is that how you think I feel?"
He shifts from Drea's bed to mine, plunking down atop a bunch of papers, making me scoot over to avoid hip touchage. "I don't know. How do you feel?"
I focus down on my notebook, on the three-dimensional trapezoid scribbled near the spiral. I can't look at him. I can't answer what he's asking me--the same question that's been looming over our heads for the three years we've known each other.
I flip a page in my notebook to stall. "How do I feel about what?"
I feel him get all frustrated. He swivels his baseball cap around so that the visor sticks out in back. 'About me?" he says. "How do you feel about me?"
I can't believe he's actually saying it. Actually asking it in real, live, verbal language. I look around the room for something, some idea to segue myself out of this line of questioning. There, sticking out from beneath his left butt- cheek, is one of my lab reports.
"You're sitting on my nanoclusters," I say.
"Huh?"
Did I really just say that? I motion with a nod at the report beneath his perfectly rounded butt cheeks, and he slides the thing out, all mangled from sittage. Still, the newly formed butt-indentations in the soft white paper almost make me want to frame it.
"Just tell me," he says--his face completely serious. "I need to know"
"You want to know if I think you're the one who's been stalking Drea?" I feel so dumb talking this way, asking questions that purposely skirt the real question, but I just can't bring myself to admit it. Not until I know for sure it's over between him and Drea.
"Okay" he says. "To start with. Do you?"
I look into his eyes and really consider the question and how I feel. I think about the dream I had of him at the window. How his jersey disappeared from our room, but then he was the one to show up wearing it, claiming that someone left it in his mailbox along with one of the notes.
I think about how he tried to scare us with the hockey mask, how he's always calling at just the right time, and how we saw him on the pay phone in front of the library just minutes after one of the pranks.
I think how it kind of makes sense, how it would be the perfect way to get Drea off his back. Or just punish her for playing so many mind games over the years.
And then I think how disappointed I'd be if it really was him.
I study his face for some flinch or falter, anything that might give me some sign that it isn't him, that he isn't involved. But I just can't tell. I just don't know
"Well?" he asks.
'Are you the one?"
"I wish you didn't have to ask."
"Is that a no?"
He shakes his head and lifts my chin with a finger, the minty smell of his toothpaste filling the air between us. He moves in toward me, stopping just inches from my mouth, so close that I can see the tiny points of baby-blond that surround his upper lip.
"Wait, is that a yes? I have to know, Chad."
I hate myself for asking, for being so loyal, for having to know the truth, for caring either way.
He moves even closer, so near that the skin of our lips touches. Soft and moist and hot-tea minty.
It makes me want to burst out crying out of mere frustration. But I don't. I keep my eyes from fluttering closed, my lips from quivering against his. And wait for the answer.
"It's a yes," he says, finally. "I am the one." He closes his eyes and presses his lips fully against mine. At first I don't know if I should kiss him back, but then my mouth just does. A full-lip, tongue-twirling, tingle-all-over kiss.
When we break, my eyes remain on his mouth, almost afraid that if I look up into his eyes, I'll wake out of the most blissful sleep. He touches my cheek with the nubs of his fingers and then brings my lips up for one more taste.
"I've been waiting to do that since the last time," he says.
"Really?" I try to stop the smile on my face.
"Remember?" His eyes shift from my mouth to my eyes. "The last time?"
I nod.
He moves in for another kiss, but my words pause hum. "When you said that you were the one, you didn't mean you were the one, I mean the one who's after Drea, did you?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't think you are." And I don't think he is. But I sstill want--need--to hear him say it.
He smiles at me, relieved, and leans in for that kiss. "What about Drea?" I say, stopping him again. "I mean, what about how she feels about you?"
"She doesn't really feel anything about me." He sighs and draws his mouth away from mine.
"She just thinks she does. If I wanted to ask her out again and I don't, but if I did--she'd say yes, enjoy the victory for a few days, and then want to break up. It's always been like that with her, like some game."
"Do you think that maybe you still have feelings for her'?"
"Sure, I mean, we've grown up together. I care abolut her. A lot. Just not the way she thinks she wants." He takes my hands and sandwiches them between his own, sendinig warm and sparkly tingles up and down my back. "Me and Drea get along much better as friends."
"Is that why you want someone else?"
"Don't you get it? I don't care about someone else."
Our eyes lock and I'm not sure what comes over me, id it's the way his eyebrows furrow, begging me to understami him, the way his lips sit, begging to be kissed, or pure unadulterated, all-American hormones, but all of a sudden, I'm on him. My hands, my mouth, my lips, my heart.
We kiss--a long, soft, pulpy, winter-under-the-blankets-by-the--
fire kiss. But then I push him away. We can't," I say, all out of breath. "We can't do this. I mean, want to, but...
Chad wraps his arms around my oulders and holds me to his chest. I listen to the rhythm o his heart beating and give up on saying anything more. I ctly want to cry.
twenty
There is no way any studying is going to get done now. I'm sitting on my bed, flipping pages back and forth between chapter summaries, running my eyes over the columns of meaningless physics terms, but my mind is not absorbing anything at all.
-Maybe we should get some fresh air," Chad suggests, closing his book.
I nod, relieved to change the scenery, hoping the cool night air will shake me out of this funk.
And as if by some celestial force, we end up at the tree where we first kissed, though neither of us points it out. Instead, we just walk by it, flashlights in hand, beyond the lawn and into the woods, making awkward small talk about hockey schedules and Chinese food, about things that don't even seem to matter right now.
The woods smell sort of musky tonight, like salty skin and perfume mixed, like hot and sticky summer nights in a tent. I breathe the scent in, hoping it will linger on my clothes and in my hair so I can savor it later on.
"I'll be right back," Chad says. "Nature calls."
I nod and look away while he disappears behind a clump of trees. I wait for several minutes before getting concerned. "Chad?" I call. "Is everything okay?" When he doesn'
t answer I make my way toward the cluster of trees where he headed. I find myself lifting branches and swiping brush from in front of my eyes, walking farther and farther, expecting to find him.
But I don't.
Instead, I arrive at a clearing. I peer between two long and leafy branches sticking out in my path and see a large, wooden structure of some sort, highlighted by the moon.
"Chad!" I shout. "Come out, now!"
The structure is almost houselike--naked wooden planks like right out of a lumberyard, boards nailed together to form a giant, square base, and individual planks sticking up straight like walls.
Did Chad bring me here on purpose? Does he think this is funny?
"Chad!" I shout toward the structure. "You're scaring me."
I go to take another step, but then stop. Listen. Someone's following me. I can hear. them. Can hear their footsteps crunching down against the fallen leaves and twigs.
Pain bubbles up in my stomach. I have to pee. Now! Out of the corner of my eye I spot one of those portable bathrooms, the mint-green kind you see at amusement parks. I squish my inner thighs together and walk as best I can toward it, using the light of the moon to guide my way.
But before I know it, my foot has stepped into a ditch, and I'm on my way down, my left cheek smacking hard against the powdery dirt.
A light shines on from somewhere inside the house in response. I lift myself out of the ditch and sit back on my heels. There are letters dug into the ground. Long, straight letters, at least a foot long. They spell out DREA.
I step around her name and head for the porta-john, still several yards away. I need to know if anyone is in that house. If they are the ones who turned on the light or dug Drea's name in the dirt. If Chad is the one following at my heels, trying to scare me out of my wits. But first, I have to pee; there's no contest.
My stomach aches with each step. But I make it, and turn the handle on the door. Locked.
-Chad? Are you in there?" I smash my thighs together; hear myself whimper like a pup. I wait a few moments. Nothing. Silence. A dark, lonely, nighttime silence.
Someone is inside.
I back up, feel my chest heave in and out, my breath almost independent of me. Chad would answer me. He wouldn't joke for this long. He knows how scared I got about the phone calls.
I glance toward the doorlike openiring of the house and run inside. A spotlight meets me with
-h a clunk against my
forehead. It hangs from a support bearrm, just below the partial roof, and lights up the whole area!a. I rub the spot and look around. Boards have been erecte(
ed to create one long
hallway with adjoining rooms to the le eft and right.
A ripping sound, like heavy tape, is s coming from somewhere down the hallway. "Chad?" I call
"Is that you?"
The noise stops.
"This isn't funny, you know" I half-e-expect to find him in one of the rooms with some clich6d iddea of romance--like a candlelit picnic or a room full of d'Thiaisies--even though we've mutually decided to keep thinolo-....s platonic. I jam my hand between my legs and slowly beg;in down the hallway, the rubber soles of my yellow sneakers squeaking slightly against the wooden floor.
There are four doors to choose frork-n, two on each side. I decide to head toward the one closest to me on the right. It has the largest archway, and from this angle, I can already see through to an empty corner. I take two steps forward, then stop, hearing a board creak somewhere in front of me.
"Stacey?" a voice whispers.
And then the light goes out.
I hobble back in the direction of t:he main door-frame, my fingers practically pinching closed-.I the folds of skin between my legs. With my other hand, I pat along the walls, making my way back down the hallway plank by plank, so I can guide my way out. But it's like2 the hallway doesn't end, just keeps going on and on.
What is wrong? Why am I not mit yet? Why haven't I even made it back into the front roornI?
Twenty-six planks of wood later, I stop looking for the entryway. Instead, desperate, I assess the gaps between the wooden planks. About six inches wide. I poke my arm all the way through a gap and feel the wind fly through my fingers. Freedom is on the other side, I'm sure of it. And if I can squeeze my body through, I will be back outside, in the forest, and can make my way back to campus.
Footsteps make their way down the hallway toward me. I take a deep breath, suck my belly in, and push, shoulder- first, into the gap. I angle my head sideways to fit; jut my pelvis forward; kick my leg through. But it's no use. The planks of wood pinch into my ribs where my bones and flesh won't budge. There's no doubting it now--I'm trapped inside.
A phone rings from one of the rooms.
"It's for you, Stacey" says a voice.
The voice. Him. And it's so close to me, like just beyond my fingertips.
"Better get it," he says.
Nine rings, ten.
"Get the phone, Stacey!" he yells, as though through clenched teeth.
I walk toward the scream of the phone, the sting below my abdomen reminding me I have to pee.
"Getting warmer."
The sound of the ringing grows louder with each step. My arm outstretched, I walk in search of the phone, my other hand still squelching the pee back. I step through an opening and a light comes on. A spotlight--hanging down
from one of the roof planks. It illuminates a pay phone on the wall directly in front of me. And still ringing.
"It's for you, Stacey" the voice repeats.
I pick up the receiver and feel my lower half release--my pants fill up with warm and wet.
"Hello?" I whisper, trying to make it sound as though I'm not crying, not feeling sorry for myself, not scared half to death.
"Hello to you, Stacey," he says. "Time's almost up. Only two more lilies left in our bouquet."
"Who is this?"
"Love is funny, Stacey. Didn't you know that?" I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. He's right behind me.
I swirl around and meet his eyes with mine. "I can't believe it," I whisper. "It's you."
tw-cnty-one_
I sit up with a gasp.
-Stace?"
I blink my eyes and look around. I'm still in my room. Still in my white tank top and Drea's pajama bottoms. And Chad is still beside me, in my bed.
I shift slightly, to check if I really wet myself.
I did.
The clock reads 6:15 A.M. We slept for over four hours.
"Did you have a bad dream?" He Os up and wipes at his eyes.
I know I saw the stalker's face in rnl dream. But now, sitting up in bed, the rush of reality all a.ound me, I just can't remember it.
"You should go," I say.
But he doesn't move.
"Please." I shake Chad's hand from my shoulder. "Hey," he says. "Why are you acting so scared of me?" "I'm not. Just go. Go!"
"Is this about what happened last night? Because--" "Nothing happened last night," I srap.
"Not nothing," he says.
It's quiet between us for several seconds. I clench my teeth and feel an ache in my jaw.
"How about everything we talked about?" he asks. "You know, if things were different--"
"Well, they aren't," I say.
"I guess that's just it," he says. "I'll wait until they are, if that's cool with you. Because last niglIt wasn't just nothing for me."
I hate him for being so perfect. I hate that he cares and that I care back. I hate sitting here, having to beg him to leave so I can clean up the mess.
"You don't have to say anything," he continues. "I just wanted you to know that."
I gather the covers around my legs, feeling the warmth in my pants, feeling the tears storm down my cheeks.
'Are you cold?" He removes the covers from his middle and places them over me.
I nod, squishing the comforter over my lap. "Please go, Chad."
"I don't want to leave with you upset."
>
"Go!" I plead. "Leave me alone."
"Why? Why are you doing this?"
"Because I don't care about you," I spout. A deadly stinger.
Chad sinks back in his chest from the blow. "I don't believe you," he says, after a pause. His voice is all scratchy, like I've made him bleed from the inside out.
He stands up from the bed and looks away to hide his face. His body looks tired, defeated, like I could crumple it up into a paper ball and toss it away.
He bends down to put on his shoes and that's when Drea comes in.
Dreal
I watch the smile on her face melt. She studies the picture of Chad and me: Chad, reaching for a sneaker, his clothes from yesterday hanging in a giant wrinkle on his body, and me, still lying in bed. She looks from his bed-head hair to the pant leg, stuck up around one knee.
"Drea--" he says.
She turns to me, a cupful of coffee and a wax paper bag slipping from her grip, landing splat against the floor. "I brought you breakfast."
I open my mouth to say something, but all the words that come to mind--this isn't what it looks like, it was an accident, we fell asleep--sound completely pathetic.
"Drea, before you freak out--" Chad takes a step toward her, exposing the side of his face with the bed-ruffle imprint.
"Don't speak to me!" she says.
"Drea--" I begin.
"How could you do this to me?" she shouts.
"Nothing happened," I say.
"She's right," Chad says. "Nothing happened. I came over to study and we fell asleep."
"No wonder why you didn't answer rrry calls last night." "What?"
"Don't act all innocent with me. I tried to call you last night, like I said I would, but you wouldn't answer. Too busy, I guess."
I look toward the night table, but the phone isn't there. I
glance around and spot the cord sticking out from beneath a pile of dirty clothes. "Drea, I didn't hear it ring." "Fuck you!" she says, her eyes welling up with tears. "Drea, we were studying and fell asleep."
"Right. Amber warned me about this, about how much you like him."
Ouch! Did Amber really tell her that?
"Come on, Dray" Chad says, "let's not make this bigger than it is. I called here because I have this massive physics test tomorrow--I mean, today--"