Gilt Hollow (6 page)

But he wouldn't spend another night out in the cold either. Shuffling through the crisp carpet of fallen leaves, he found a relatively comfortable trunk to lean against, pulled a sandwich out of his bag, and settled in to wait. If he knew the Lamotts, they'd be snug in their beds by ten o'clock, and then he'd make his move.

W
illow closed her locker and leaned against it with a sigh. For the third day in a row, she felt like the walking dead. The night before, Keller House had hit a new level of creeptastic. Sometime after midnight, she'd been startled awake by a noise that faded before she'd fully awoken. Her heart beating in her throat, she'd lain stiff as a board under the coverlet. Just as she'd begun to relax, a creak echoed through the hall, followed by a soft thud, and another, and another—footsteps. She'd pulled the covers over her head like a frightened child and slept fitfully the rest of the night.

In the light of day, she began to suspect the noises had less to do with ghosts and goblins and more to do with a certain individual whose house she now occupied. At one point during the night, she'd heard running water, followed by the metallic bang of pipes. Unless her mom had started sleep-showering, they had an uninvited houseguest.

“Nice outfit, Lamott.” Lisa approached, eyeballing Willow from her red Converse to her oversized sweater and ripped jeans, to her sloppy ponytail and glasses. Then Lisa hooked her arm through Willow's and tugged her into the flow of traffic. “I'd hoped my fashion tips might've begun to rub off on you, but this is even a step back from your usual preppy Gap-girl look.”

“I'm not even sure my socks match.” They turned into the arts hallway and then into the choir room, their only class together besides Study Hall.

“Another sleepless night in the haunted mansion?”

Willow dropped her books on the floor and rotated her stiff neck as she climbed the risers, Lisa on her heels. “Or were you having evocative dreams about Mr. Dark and Brooding?”

Willow frowned and narrowed her eyes at her new friend before plopping down on the top bleacher.

Lisa sat beside her and raised her hands in a pleading gesture. “Whoa, sorry, didn't mean to offend.”

Students streamed into the room, bringing with them an almost deafening chatter.

“No, I'm sorry.” Willow sighed and met Lisa's concerned gaze. “
He's
just a sensitive topic right now. And a big part of the reason why I'm so exhausted today.”

“Wait.” Lisa gripped her upper arm, blue eyes flaring wide. “What?”

As Willow opened her mouth to share her theory, Yolanda and Ona climbed the alto risers, bringing with them a choking wave of incense and musk. Yolanda tossed the blue-black sheet of her asymmetrical bob out of her face, dropped her binder with a loud smack, and then crossed her arms, pulling her crochet knit top tight across her braless chest. “Only the strongest voices get top row.”

Ona flipped her wheat-colored cornrows over her shoulder and gripped her bohemian-print-clad hips, giving a tight nod. “Yeah.” She'd gone to Jamaica with her family in July, where she claimed to have met her spirit mate, who told her never to unbraid her hair. She hadn't washed it since. It was September.

Secretly, Willow had always thought of the hippie-emo twins as Yoko and Ono, but since they pretty much ruled the school, she'd kept it to herself. Besides, knowing them, they'd take it as a compliment. It wasn't. The two of them had
been relentless in their quest to break Willow down in the weeks after Ashton's arrest. And when they finally taunted her until she ran to the bathroom in tears, they'd christened her Weeping Willow—which was shorted to Weepy and adopted by their entire crowd.

In no mood for their usual sass, Willow shot to her feet.

Before she could open her mouth, Lisa rose beside her and jabbed a french-manicured nail toward the bottom row. “Well, good thing there's still room for you two down in front.” She might look like a delicate fashion plate, but she was also a New Yorker.

Mrs. Adders, the instructor, clapped her hands three times. “Students! Find your seats. We have a lot to cover before our concert next month.”

Yolanda narrowed her black-lined eyes. “I'd rather be in the front row than near you two tone-deaf crows. Come on, O.” Grabbing their things, she shoved her way into the front row, Ona on her tail.

“At least I don't smell like I use skunk oil for deodorant!” Lisa tossed after them. “Take a bath once in a while!”

Willow lifted her sheet music folder to hide her idiotic grin.

“What
is
that stench, anyway?” Lisa hissed out of the side of her mouth as they began to sing scales
.

“You know, Patchouli—
mi mi mi mi mi—
everyone wears it.”

“Do . . . re . . . mi . . . fa . . . so . . . la . . . ti—”

“
Oh
, is that the reek I smell every time I walk into this building? I thought it was just clove cigarettes,” Lisa muttered.

“Open your folders to page sixteen of your song books,” Mrs. Adders directed.

“That too,” Willow replied.

“I'm just glad you don't wear it. Might've been a deal breaker.” Lisa read the title of their new piece and smirked, one perfectly made-up eye flashing in a wink before she waved her copy of
Send in the Clowns
above her head. “Oh look, Yo, it's a song just for you!”

Willow doubled over laughing.

■ ■ ■

After giggling their way through several more songs and earning a stern talking to by Mrs. Adders, Willow and Lisa headed to their lockers. Imitating the look on Yolanda's face when Lisa shouted they were singing her song and the entire room burst into laughter, Willow didn't at first notice the hush in the air. Groups of students clustered together, whispering behind their hands, others ducking into their lockers like turtles.

As Willow reached into her own locker, she felt a shift in the atmosphere and the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She turned in slow motion, and all the air whooshed out of her lungs. Waves of dark-tousled hair falling over midnight-blue eyes, broad shoulders thrown back, cargo pants carelessly tucked into combat boots, Ashton Keller sauntered down the senior hallway confident yet alert, as if an attack could come from any side—and he was ready for it.

A gasp sounded from nearby. “Is that who I think it is?”

His name ricocheted like an out-of-control Ping-Pong ball, as more and more students flocked to the scene.

Coolly indifferent, Ashton didn't seem aware of the disturbance around him. His eyes shifted in Willow's direction, pinning her to the spot, then without a change of expression slid away to a cute redhead walking toward him. His lips tilted in a slow grin. After a startled blink, she returned his smile with a tentative one of her own.

“Holy hotness, what is
he
doing here?” Lisa hissed in her ear.

Willow had forgotten her friend still stood beside her. Pain pierced her consciousness, and she peeled herself away from the metal shelves digging into her back. She was practically inside her stupid locker. With growing disgust, she spun around and threw her songbook onto the shelf and then grabbed the text and notebook for her next class. She slammed the metal door with so much force it bounced back and smacked her knee.

“Ugh!” She kicked it, this time making sure it closed.

“Lamott, talk to me.” Lisa adjusted the string bag on her shoulder and followed Willow to the stairs, whispering, “Can't have you going into overload mode.”

“Too late,” Willow spat. “What the heck is he doing? Does he think people will welcome him with open arms? That they've forgotten? Did you see the way he looked at me? Like I don't even exist?”

“Yes, I get it. He's an idiot.” Lisa tugged on Willow's sweater. “Slow down, Speed Racer.”

Realizing her legs had sped up with every word out of her mouth, and that she'd practically run to Advanced Lit class, she paused and faced her friend. “I think he snuck into the house last night.”

“
What?
” Lisa squawked, her mouth dropping open in a cartoonish mask of shock.

“Technically, it's his house, right? But—” The warning bell rang. Willow sighed. “You better go.” Lisa had gym second period, which was on the other side of the building.

“Right.” She glanced at the clock and began to jog, throwing over her shoulder, “See you at lunch!”

The morning passed as if in reverse. Every class Willow
waited, tense and watchful, for Ashton to walk through the door. In second period Bio, Brayden had tried teasing her, but when all his jokes fell flat, he turned silent. She could see in the tense set of his mouth that Ashton's return took its toll on him as well.

In Historical Music Appreciation, the classroom door clicked shut, and Willow sank back into her seat. Maybe they wouldn't share any classes. He might even have to take some lower-level courses to catch up. Despite Gilt Hollow's graduating class having fewer than two hundred students, their academic standards were above average. And, Willow imagined, well above that of a state-run juvenile detention facility.

Mr. Rush tapped his baton on his desk, calling the class to order before he began to conduct—with wide sweeping gestures—a lecture on the influence of Greek theory on medieval music. But at the moment, Willow couldn't care less what the class was about, as long as Ashton wasn't in it.

Just as Willow settled in to listen to a reproduction of “A Troubadour Love Song”—which sounded more like a dying cow accompanied by a toddler playing the lute than the “prodigious classic” Mr. Rush touted it to be—the door swung open. Willow jerked upright. Mr. Rush stopped the song and glared. “
Yes?
”

Ashton strode into the room and handed the teacher a slip of paper. Her pulse creeping into her throat, Willow watched Mr. Rush scan the note and gesture with his baton to the only empty desk. Right next to hers. “Take a seat, Mr. Keller.”

At the sound of the name, whispers and giggles broke the unnatural silence in the classroom. Gripping her pencil, Willow focused on breathing normally as Ashton sat, leaned
back, and extended his long legs into the aisle, his booted feet resting inches from hers.

“Now, let's get back to it, shall we?” Mr. Rush started the torturous song from the beginning and closed his eyes, waving his arms in ecstasy.

Willow ran through her schedule, trying to figure out the earliest opportunity to meet the guidance counselor. She was
so
dropping this class.

“So . . .”

The deep voice, so close to her ear, made Willow jump. Livid that she'd shown a reaction, she turned, shooting daggers.

Ashton stared straight at her, his strong features mere inches away.

She swallowed. Hard.

“Sleep well last night?”

They were the first words she'd heard from him in four years. His voice, smooth and low, was almost unrecognizable. But the cadence, the slight mocking, hadn't changed.

Careful to keep her tone flat, she answered, “What do you think?”

One side of his mouth quirked and something undefinable sparked in his eyes before he leaned back. His posture languid, he shrugged. “How would I know?”

Jerk.

Willow fixed her gaze on the squiggly lines moving to the music on the Smartboard, but her thoughts were far from the screeching love song. Ashton knew exactly why she looked like a zombie with sleep apnea, and his goading confirmed it. He'd broken into her house last night, taken a shower, slept in one of the beds, and probably ate their porridge. Except she was no bear and he definitely was not a cute little blonde girl.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye—over six feet tall, his T-shirt sleeves stretched over biceps that could have fit on a professional fighter. Nope, not Goldilocks, more like the Big Bad Wolf. Willow forced her gaze back to Mr. Rush, who'd begun to pontificate on the wonders of ancient melodies, and zoned out.

Even if the house belonged to Ashton's family, her mother had signed a contract allowing her to live there as caretaker. He had no right to bust in like he owned the place. She had to confront him, convince him to leave before her mom freaked out.

When the bell rang, Ashton stood, grabbed his things, and left without a glance in her direction. Willow blew out a gut-level breath. People filed out, whispering and casting surreptitious glances in her direction. Should she shoot a cocky smile? Ignore them? Make a joke about an ex-convict, a nerd, and a monk?

With a disgusted sigh, she dropped her aching head into her hands. She'd
finally
begun to break out of the stigma surrounding her. She had a new best friend and a real date. Was it too much to ask that she could have a normal senior year?

The second bell sounded and she lifted her head. If she didn't get to lunch, Lisa would likely make a missing-person's announcement over the PA system. But as she gathered her things, she saw that she wasn't alone. Isaiah Kagawa flicked his tied-back dreads over his shoulder and met her gaze.

His dark, almond eyes drilled into her, assessing, before he turned and walked toward the door.

And so it begins.
Willow shoved her notebook into her string bag. As one of the boys who'd testified against Ashton, Isaiah had kept his distance for years. But recently that had seemed to change. Last year he'd asked her to join his group
for a history project, and after that he'd gone out of his way to say hello. It would seem Ashton's return had screwed that up too.

“What does he want?”

The quiet words gave Willow a start. Isaiah hovered inside the doorway, shifting on his feet as if he couldn't decide if he wanted to stay or go.

Willow looped her bag over her shoulder and stood, deciding a bit of honesty couldn't hurt. “If you mean Ashton . . . I have no clue.”

Isaiah's brow lifted in surprise. Why everyone assumed she had the inside track on Ashton's thoughts, Willow couldn't say. Just because she'd defended an old friend didn't mean she could read his mind. Especially not now.

“He shouldn't be here.”