Very Wicked Things (8 page)

Finally, I reached one of the side exits and ran out the door and onto the soggy lawn. My shoes dug into the mud. Great. This day just kept getting worse. At least the rain had stopped, so I found a bench, wiped it off with my hands, and plopped down.

I fiddled with the necklace that rested under my shirt, trying to ease the after-effects of his words. He’d merely told me what I already knew, that I’d been a dalliance to him, something he’d discarded as soon as it got old. Still, the words stung. “I won’t cry,” I said aloud. Crying was pointless. Plus, I blamed myself for even opening my mouth and antagonizing him. It made me look foolish and like I still cared.

And I didn’t.

I straightened my skirt. Oh.

“He called me a bad dresser. Well, to be honest, he called me a blind slut,” I muttered to the blue bird perched on the back of the bench. “Is it sad that I consider it progress that he even spoke? I don’t sleep around, just so you know, and I dress for myself, no one else.” So not true.

The bird flew away, and I focused on Sarah, remembering Heather-Lynn’s earlier text. I pulled out my phone and checked to see if she’d sent any more texts. Only one.

It read,
Canceled her dance classes. Gave her a sleeping pill.

I immediately called, and she answered on the first ring as if she’d been waiting.

“What happened?” were the first words out of my mouth.

She sighed heavily. “After you left, two of Alexander Barinsky’s men came by looking to collect twenty thousand dollars they said Sarah borrowed last fall. They pushed us around, but we’re mostly fine.”

Shock washed over me. Alexander Barinsky was the nastiest, meanest, most feared man in Ratcliffe. When I was around eight years old, I’d watched him stab a crackhead in the alley outside his grocery store, just one of the many businesses he owned. I don’t know why he’d gutted him. Maybe the druggie had been loitering and causing trouble. Maybe he owed Alexander money. I’d only seen it because mama was drunk and had sent me down to grab some chips and soda. But, he was the kind of man who didn’t care if you witnessed his crimes. He knew you weren’t going to call the police. Because if you did, you’d die next.

I jumped to my feet, picturing beefy, gangster type men barging their way into our shabby house. My voice was incredulous. “That’s impossible. She’d never go to the mob for money. It has to be a lie. Or a mix-up.”

Silence on the other end.

I clutched the phone. “Heather-Lynn, do you know something I don’t?”

“No, of course not, but she
is
sick. What if she forgot how bad these men are? What if she’s spending money we don’t know about.” I heard paper rustling in the background. “I’m going through her check book right now. Maybe I can tell what’s going on.”

I licked dry lips, my head spinning, trying to wrap around the idea of why we’d even need twenty thousand dollars.

“Oh, and Dovey?”

“Yeah?”

“When Sarah said she didn’t have the money, they brought your name up. They said they’d be back.”

My stomach dropped. This…this was insane.

“I’m coming home,” I announced as I headed back to the doors. I couldn’t leave two defenseless older ladies home alone with madmen coming back. Not sure what I could do, but I could try.

“You can’t,” she said, sounding a little exasperated. “You’ve left school twice last week for her doctor appointments. You can’t miss anymore ballet practice. Remember your audition? She’d want you to practice. And she’s fine now. She’s sleeping.”

I paused. The audition was my only shot at a local company, and I couldn’t let it slip away. I sighed, feeling conflicted, but knowing I needed to stay. “Okay. I’ll see you as soon as class is over.” I nibbled on my lip. “And keep the main door dead-bolted. Even when Max comes by with the mail. Don’t let anyone in.”

But they’d get in if they wanted. We both knew it.

After we’d talked a bit more, I hung up the phone, fighting down panic. I wanted to sit and mull it all out, but BA beckoned. It was nearly time for second period. I needed to get to Calculus.

“You mind if I light up?” a male voice said from behind me, making me jump.

I recognized the voice and forced a smile as I turned to face him. Spider stood there, his lean build encased in skinny jeans paired with a black leather jacket. He’d completed the look with a stud in his ear and a plethora of silver chains around his neck. He may have looked like a thug, but he was a softie on the inside, a very mercurial softie. His whole vibe said he was artsy and slightly unbalanced, kinda like what I imagined a hot-headed rocker type would be.

I immediately wanted to tell him about Sarah and the phone call from Heather-Lynn, but yanked myself back. No reason to drag him under if I didn’t even know if it was true or not. And if it was true, I wasn’t sure I’d tell him either. Yeah, he was my bestie, but there’s a limit to what I’m willing to admit about my neighborhood and how I’m connected it to. And a small part of me was afraid he’d reject me if he knew the truth about my parents.

I pushed the Sarah thing from my mind and tried to think positive.

Maybe it was all a horrible misunderstanding.

“Fire it up,” I said to him. Spider did what Spider wanted anyway. “You make it a habit of sneaking up on girls?”

He grinned as he lit his cig. “Only when I see them run out of class for no apparent reason.” He pursed his lips as he exhaled delicate smoke rings that danced through the air.

“How’d you make those?” I quizzed as he offered me one. I shook my head.

“Learned it in rehab,” he said.

My eyes shot to his. “Rehab? Hello, you never told me. When was this?”

“Old news. Happened when I was twelve, the same year I got my tattoo.” He ghosted his hands over the hand-sized black widow on his neck. Hence the nickname. “And maybe I’m opening up more.”

“Drugs or alcohol?” I asked as he leaned his shoulder back against the brick of the building, watching his smoke trails drift up into the overcast sky.

He lolled his head toward me and made a kissy face at me. Yeah, he’d clammed up. Same old, same old.

I smirked. “I’d like to peek inside your head for one day. See what kind of secrets you got going on in there.”

He scoffed. “Nothing but a bunch of naked girls, trust me.”

I laughed.

“It’s not like you to skip class,” he said, arching a brow. “And Lit is your favorite, right?”

I nodded and fiddled with my jacket, not ready to explain. He’d always gotten weird when I talked about Cuba.

I focused on Spider. “How’d you get out of class?”

“Saw you out in the quad from the science lab. Told Mr. Brenner I had a headache so I could check on you. You okay? You know I’ll kick anyone’s arse you want.”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

He grinned. “I saw you talking to yourself. Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You only do that when you’re pissed.”

I picked at my nails.

He tilted my chin up, his hands gentle. “It was Cuba, wasn’t it?”

I shot him a glance, and he seemed good, so I went with it. “I baited him in class. He, I don’t know, snapped at me. I just wanted a reaction from him, you know? It’s been a year…” I stopped talking, noticing his red eyes and scrunched up face. “Too much to drink last night?”

He nodded. “Hung out at Gilligan’s with some of the band guys. Someone bought us drinks, and next thing I know, I was up there singing karaoke and then shagging some chick in the loo.”

I shook my head and grinned. “Don’t want to know who you did the dirty with.”

“Oh, it was dirty.”

I groaned. “Unbelievable. Girls never see you coming.”

“It’s ‘cause I’m a musician and I’m British. I’m like Prince Harry to them. Or David Beckham.”

“You wish. And they aren’t musicians, goof,” I noted.

He shrugged. “Meh. We favor. What difference does it make?”

I poked him in the arm. “Your hair is white.” This month.

He smirked. “Then I’m a freakishly young Davie Bowie.”

I giggled. “I like Billy Idol better.”

“Shall I sing
White Wedding
?”

I nodded, and he held up a finger, hummed to get the correct pitch, and then sang the first few lines. I grinned until
wait a minute
. “Hold that song. I seem to remember you drunk dialing me last night.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, his lips twitching.

“You did!”

“Don’t talk so loud,” he said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temple. “I’ve taken four Aleve, and I’m still feeling a bit crap.”

“At three in the morning, no less.”

“Speak softly, please,” he murmured.

“You’ve got to stop calling and saying crazy things—and what was up with all the breathing?” My eyes flared. “Oh, heck no. Please don’t tell me you called while you were getting busy? With some skank, no less—”

His brown eyes popped open. “What did I say? Do you remember?”

“No, there was music blaring.”

“Good,” he muttered, stubbing out his cigarette on the ground.

What was he afraid I’d heard him say?

Bzzzz
. The bell rang, and because I was anxious about Alexander Barinsky and maybe seeing Cuba, I forgot to ask him what he meant by
good
.

At noon, I went to lunch. The cafeteria was noisy as usual and smelled like taco day, which lifted my spirits a little. Tortillas, seasoned beef, and cheese—what’s not to love?

I sat with Spider and a girl—maybe his date? Her name was Mila, and of course, I’d seen her around, but I’d never chatted with her. She had brown hair, a smattering of freckles across her ski-slope nose, and grey eyes. With her pale pink fuzzy sweater, pink jeans, and a pink headband, she reminded me of a giant stick of cotton candy, and honestly, it hurt my eyes to stare at her too long.

But, she seemed nice as we chatted, nothing at all like Spider’s usual type which was loud, brassy, and well, not nice. Yet, I wondered if she might be the random girl he’d shagged at Gilligan’s. He did have charisma and even the good girls loved his wild look.

WHILE SPIDER WENT to grab our lunches, her eyes kept jumping away from me, and when I turned to see what she was looking at, my gaze landed on the jock table. I wasn’t surprised at the
who
she stared at. Sebastian.

Did this mean Spider was out?

“Do you wonder if he feels you staring?” I asked.

She startled, her eyes darting back to me. “Is it obvious?”

“Believe me, I’ve done my fair share of secret glances at the football table,” I muttered.

Her face fell.

“No, no, not at Sebastian.
Cuba
,” I admitted.

“Wow,” she murmured, giving me a surprised look. “Bad choice. Dude has the attention span of a gnat when it comes to girls.”

“Yeah,” I said. “No joke.”

My eyes went back to the jock table and found him. Usually he bantered back and forth with his classmates, wearing those sunglasses that drove me nuts, but today he sat hunched over the table without talking, a brooding expression on his face.

Something was decidedly off with him today. I mean, he’d always been an intense kind of guy, but this went deeper.

I watched Emma stroke his arm, and my skin grew cold, remembering how she’d pretended to be my friend in front of Cuba last year when we were dating. A mean girl, she was pretty and had a sweet smile, until you turned your back and she shoved a knife in it. It was no secret she’d gone through more friends since freshman year than a dancer goes through shoes.

My shoulders slumped as I stared at them. I’d heard they were hooking up. In fact, the rumor was he’d sleep with anyone, even two at a time if he could talk them into it.

But Emma hurt more than the ones I didn’t know about.

I focused back on Mila, pushing him away. “Yeah. So. Sebastian, huh? Does he know?”

Mila blushed. “We’re just friends. It’s nothing really. Plus, he flirts with everyone, especially April and Emma.”

I squinted my eyes at her long face. Hmmm. “So, am I right in assuming you aren’t the girl Spider shagged at Gilligan’s?”

She blinked. “Gah, no. We’re just friends.”

I grinned. “Then that settles it. We’re friends. If Spider likes you, I do, too.”

“Who does Spider like?” he said, standing next to our table overloaded with our lunches.

“Me and Mila,” I said, helping him divvy everything out. I gave him a peck on the cheek and tucked some money in his jean pocket. “Thanks for grabbing it.”

We ate our lunches and they talked, but I barely listened, too caught up in my anxiety over getting home. My ears perked up more when Mila mentioned the athletic dance in a few weeks. You had to be invited by either a football player or a cheerleader to attend. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not that I wanted to go anyway.

“I’m going to crash it. Dovey, you should come with me,” Spider murmured as I popped a piece of lettuce in my mouth.

I chewed, shaking my head. “Cuba would freak. He hates me. I hate him.”

I didn’t really hate him.

“Show him you don’t care. I promise not to drink,” he implored, his eyes searching my face.

I smiled. “You do puppy dog eyes very well, and you must be desperate for my company to not drink, but no way will I go.”

Odds were I’d see Cuba with another girl, kissing and making out. My hands clenched.

Last year, the first time I’d seen him with a new girl after we’d broken-up, it had been in this very cafeteria. That day, watching him laugh and flirt with her had shattered me, making me feel a lot like the day I’d been attacked by a stray dog when I was six or seven. That seemingly sweet dog had been lurking around the street I’d lived on for weeks, letting me pet it. I’d sneaked out pieces of bologna from the fridge for him when mama wasn’t looking. Being young, you believe in anything, and I believed that dog loved me. Why wouldn’t he? He’d licked my hand and chased me around the shrubs in the yard. But, on that particular day, when I approached him, he’d had open sores and matted fur. He’d jumped in my face and latched on to my arm, his teeth big and sharp. He’d growled and his eyes rolled, and I screamed louder than I ever had. Mama had flown out of our apartment, an empty whiskey bottle in her hand. She’d slammed that bottle down over and over on his head until finally, he let go. Then he’d looked at me, whimpered, and died.