Phobic (5 page)

The front door slams open, and we both jump. I steal a glance at the clock. Joel would have gotten off about twenty minutes ago.

“Sounds like my brother’s here,” I say, relieved at not being expected to explain. I’ve never told Todd about Dad’s rules, and Todd’s been my friend for years. I’m not about to tell Cassie after an afternoon here.

Cassie glances around the kitchen, at the ceramic tile near the sink and the white cabinets, the striped wallpaper. Her appreciative expression from minutes ago has been replaced with uncertainty.

I rack my brains for something to say. Todd would know how to smooth this over.

Joel stalks in, loosening his blue tie. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled to his elbows, a sure sign he’s just had a long day of school and then his office. Gel slicks back his brown hair. He looks from me, to Cassie, and back again.

“Hey, Joel, this is—”

I gesture to Cassie, but her mouth twitches, and she grabs her bag from the counter and says, “Guess I’ll go see if Sierra’s there yet,” before heading out.

“W
ho was that?” Joel asks after the sound of the front door closing. That sucked. Cassie should know better than to think she can come snooping around. Guess that’s the last time she’ll be here. My phone buzzes with a text from Todd.

What did Joel say?

“Cassie Richards,” I answer Joel, trying to keep track of who I’m talking to. She must think I’m psycho. Probably dying to tell Sierra exactly what it was like in Piper’s psychotic house. “Just had to do an assignment with her from school.”

Joel nods and loosens his tie the rest of the way, slipping it off. He dumps his briefcase onto the dining table on one of his many stacks of papers. For a moment I wonder whether or not I should tell him about hearing Dad’s voice earlier. One thing at a time.

I text Todd back.
Haven’t asked yet. Cassie just left.

Okay. I’m coming over.

That means it’s now or never. I step forward, willing my tongue to keep going.

“So Todd wondered if we could invite some kids over tomorrow night,” I say as fast as I can. “Sort of an after-the-game party.”

The house groans. Joel and I stare up at the ceiling. I wait for the TV to flick on again, or for the sound of popping static, but nothing happens.

Joel pulls a loaf of bread and the peanut butter jar from the cupboard. “Isn’t your audition tomorrow?”

He has to bring that up. “Yeah, but this will be after that.”

“I’m not sure it’s good to have that many people here.” He slathers chunky peanut butter all over one side of bread.

“What about that try-making-friends mantra you gave me the other night?” I argue, though I’m not sure why. Just sick of this power trip he’s been on—I’d like to win, just once. “If the house knows I’m okay with it, what could happen?”

“Hey, guys,” Todd says, marching in through the back kitchen door like always. He looms over Joel. Joel does the guy chin-nod thing and then takes a bite and sits at the table with his back to us.

“So—do you care? Joel?”

“Donkey balls,” Joel answers with his mouth full, his usual lame nonsense when I bring up something he doesn’t want to deal with. I roll my eyes at him and tug Todd toward the stairs and up to my room.

Todd ducks below the mini stained-glass window above the door. His wet hair produces poodle-worthy curls, and he smells like minty shampoo. He’s got on a shirt that says something about being Canadian and knowing his
Eh-B-C’s
. Practice must have ended not too long ago.

“I take it the party’s a no-go,” he says, resting on the edge of my desk and picking up the pamphlet to Interlochen Arts Academy, the school hosting the summer program I’m auditioning for tomorrow. He flicks the edge of it with his thumb.

“You got that impression, too, huh?”

“You know I’m doing this for you, right?” He sets the pamphlet down and looks right at me.

My ankles won’t stop bouncing. I’m not sure if he’s doing it for me or so things will be easier for
him
. Either way, anxiety riddles its way over my nerves.

“That doesn’t mean I like it.”

I wait for Todd to press his point further, to try and convince me how super terrific his new friends are, how their finger- and toenails don’t even grow, they’re just
so
awesome. Luckily, I’m spared a repeat of
that
conversation because Todd parts my curtains and asks, “What’s Joel doing out there?”

I join Todd at the window. Joel is out back, sleeves rolled to his elbows, shovel in hand. Not the usual choice of pastime for my brother.

“Dunno,” I say, heading down the stairs. Todd and I meet him outside, Joel grumbling under his breath.

“Since when have you taken up gardening?” I ask. Since when has he had the time for it? He gets up pretty early for classes, and then usually he’s go-go-go with homework and depositions until late in the evening.

“Just go back inside, Pipey.” Joel’s face looks as though he’s ready to teach the ground a lesson for not growing things on its own.

I bend to sift my fingers in the upturned dirt. Its soft, gritty strains sift through my fingers.

“Dad always worked so hard out here,” I say, looking up at Todd. “Remember? He could never get things to grow though. And he was always complaining about it. He kept trying new spots, but no matter where he tried, he only got dirt.”

“Look,” Joel says, finally raising his head. He blinks at Todd, but goes on. “I’m glad you’re all happy down memory lane or whatever, but now is not the time.”

Where did that come from? Did he have a bad day? For a split second I wonder if this has anything to do with me requesting to have kids over for a party. “Joel, I’m just saying Dad really—”

“Dad did jack for anybody but himself! And now, even when he’s gone I can’t escape. I still have no say in my own life. The bastard is still trying to tell me what to do!”

He pitches the shovel and it does a sort of wonky teeter before landing with a thud on the grass beside the gazebo. I almost ask if he’s heard Dad’s voice too, but I get the feeling bringing it up will only make this worse.

The emptiness I’ve felt since finding Dad dead on his desk overwhelms me like a flood, pouring in from all sides. Despite his fit of anger, Joel remains in the yard, shoulders rising and falling with each of his breaths. His gaze zeroes in on the shovel he pitched. I step over and place a hand on his arm.

“‘Get the ground ready’,” he says, peering over the cliff of his shoulder at me. “‘Give your life to this, Joel.’ Does he even care that maybe I
don’t
want to do this?”

“Joel?” I have no clue what he’s talking about. It sounds like he had a chat with Dad over the phone or something. Another feat I know is impossible. The dead don’t talk. Or at least they shouldn’t.

“Just go back inside, Piper.”

“Well, that was weird.”

Todd paces the floor of my bedroom, and I stand, clutching the back post of my antique four-poster bed. I’m still trying to connect the pieces, though huge gaps linger, leaving more black spaces than anything. Why in the world would Dad care if Joel started gardening?

“It must be something they talked over before he died,” I say, thinking out loud.

“If that was the case it would be something like, ‘Live up to the family legacy, Joel,’ or ‘Work hard and take care of Piper.’ Not, ‘Hey, be sure to plant my garden.’”

A pocket of unease burrows in my chest. Something is definitely weird with Joel acting this way. I can’t figure out what’s got him so upset.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I think aloud.

“What?” Todd asks, still looking out the window. His head reaches the top of the pane. “Gardening?”

I stifle a laugh. “No. Having them all here tomorrow.” Something’s really bothering Joel. Probably not the best time for my brilliant plan to invoke my father’s ghost or whatever that was.

As if on cue, a horn honks from outside, making its muffled way in. Todd’s gaze clamps to mine. I go to the window to find Jordan’s white truck parked out front. Sierra and Cassie climb down from the cab.

“What are they doing here?”

Todd stands beside me, giving me a waft of mint. He groans. “I told them it wasn’t set yet.”

I round on him. “Todd!”

“I swear! I told them you had to check with your brother.”

“But the game isn’t until tomorrow. Why are they here
now?
”

Todd pulls out his cell phone and thumbs over the screen as the roof above us protests with a clattering of creaks and shudders, like someone tripped and fell in the attic. His hand freezes, and without moving an inch, his eyes slide to me.

Seconds tick by.

“You got bats up there or something?”

I force a laugh. “Maybe.” But my voice breaks like a bad recording. I sit at the chair by my desk, wringing the chair back. The anxiety doesn’t settle. Joel didn’t seem to care whether they came over or not, but I do. Especially with the house deciding to act up.

“Get them out of here, Todd. This is seriously not cool.”

Another rasping shriek comes from the walls, ripping through the room, and the color drains from Todd’s face. I close my eyes.

The room shakes like it’s on a fault line. Todd’s arms wobble as he tries to keep his balance. My yearbook on the floor slides away from him, and I have to hold on to the chair to keep from slipping off of it.

“What—?” Todd asks.

My muscles strain harder, my fingers clamp to the smooth, wooden chair back. The furniture all stays in place, yet my backside dangles in the direction of the window.
Why now—not now!
My nail polish and notebook clatter off the desk. Other things roll out from under my antique bed—a penny, a Tootsie Roll—and Todd falls against what used to be the floor. His heels shuffle, but he can’t keep himself from sliding.

“I want the party here tonight! Let me go!” I say with a struggle. The room tilts further, and my grip slips as I cling to the chair like it’s a cliff I’m about to fall off of.
What
is the deal? My house is acting psycho right now!

“I’m going, I want this!” Total lie, but it’s the only way I can think to get the house to stop.

With a huge screech, the area reels. I slam back into the chair, pressure snapping at the base of my head. The room thuds and rights itself. I brace myself on the arm of the chair, feeling the jarring effects of whiplash, waiting for my pulse to slow.

“What was that?” Todd asks, sounding completely out of breath. He lies on my rug, arms spread to his sides. His chest rises like an ocean tide. I’ve never seen his eyes so wide.

My arms jiggle like jelly, and I watch as items readjust themselves—the blankets on my bed fold back into place and a pair of shoes slides back beside my desk. I don’t understand why the house is being protective of me. Like the doorknob thing this morning.

The tension in the air fades, but I’m still disconcerted. Even though Todd knows about my mom, he doesn’t know all of my secrets. Sure, we’ve been friends since I moved in the empty lot next door to him nine years ago, but how do you tell someone your house is haunted? I’m used to the muted howls below or the repetitive slamming noises in an empty room until I go in only to find an object I thought I’d lost.

And yeah, I’d been hoping to hear that voice tapping in from who knows where. But this is the first time my house has really interfered.

“What. Was. That?” Todd asks again, with more insistence this time.

Come on, Piper. Think.
Smiling like it hurts, I force a laugh. “You look like you just got off a roller coaster. Practice must have been pretty intense.”

Please let him buy it
.

“You mean you—you didn’t—” His brow is scribbled over with confusion lines. “Crap, Piper, the room flipped upside down. You were hanging—”

The doorbell rings, stealing Todd’s attention. I don’t want them here, but I’ll take the distraction right now. I’m sure he won’t let it go otherwise.

He pushes himself to his feet, his brow still furrowed. He spins, scouring my room like he’s never seen it before. His glance slowly trails its way to meet mine, and the unsettled look twists my insides.