Wicked Hunger (13 page)

“I want to keep hanging out with you,” Noah says, “but if Zander has a problem with that, I’d rather not find out right away. You know what I mean?”

Defense for my brother springs to my lips. My mind works a little faster, and I pause. Zander didn’t actually meet Noah at the studio. With Ivy there, it would have been impossible for him to notice anyone else. It would be just my luck to find out Zander’s hunger has a Noah-sized craving. It’s happened before. My heart aches thinking about it, but Noah’s hand rubbing up and down my arm draws my attention back to him.

“Okay,” I say quietly, “I get what you’re saying.”

It won’t be like I’m lying to Zander about Noah. He already knows about him. I’ll just avoid the two of them ever meeting until I can be sure Zander won’t kill him.

“Zander always goes back to the locker room to clean up after the game before coming to find me. I understand if you don’t want to be there when he comes out, but that doesn’t mean you can’t watch the game with me.”

Noah sighs and takes his arm from around my shoulder so he can drop his head in his hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have even said anything. I feel stupid for bringing it up.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. “You’re probably right. It might be better if you didn’t meet Zander yet.”

Taking his head out of his hands, Noah looks over at me. I saw the hint of worry for me in his eyes before. Now it’s too blatant to miss. “Van, how bad is Zander’s temper? Has he ever…”

“Noah, please. Zander would never hurt me. You’re taking his reaction to Ivy completely out of context,” I lie. “Ask anyone at school. Zander is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet.”

“Then why did you agree it would be best not to meet him yet?” Noah asks.

I scramble to come up with a believable reason, and surprise myself by finding the truth. “Zander and I, we’re really all each other’s got anymore. We live with our grandma, but the two of us have been through a lot together. We’re pretty protective of each other. Zander especially.”

“So, I do need to be careful of him,” Noah says.

Yes, definitely, I think, but I say, “No, of course not. It’s just that Zander will get in the way trying to make sure
you’re
not going to hurt
me
. Zander’s a great guy, but he has scared off some of my friends before.”

“That’s exactly what I’d like to avoid,” Noah says. His arm comes back around my shoulder as he smiles.

I admit I like the feel of his arm around me—not nearly as much as someone else's—but I still wonder about one thing. “So, you’re scared off pretty easily, are you?”

The sound of Noah’s rich laugh instantly warms me and makes me feel a little silly for even asking. “Scared off? Not exactly. I’m just realistic. Your brother is huge. I have to tip toe to make five foot ten. If Zander doesn’t want me around you, I have the feeling there won’t be much I can do about it, no matter how much I might want to.”

A feeling I haven’t felt in a very long time creeps down every inch of my spine. Noah understands seeing me could be dangerous. Sure, he has no idea just how dangerous, but a pounding from my brother is still a pretty terrifying option. He knows there’s a risk to being around me, but apparently he thinks I’m worth it. I haven’t been worth the risk to a guy in…well, since what feels like forever ago.

Before I can get too excited about this possible relationship, something tugs at my heart, reminding me that isn’t true. There’s one person I’ve always been worth the risk to. Ketchup won’t ever give up on me, no matter how hard or how often I push him away. Suddenly, Noah’s arm around my shoulder makes me squirm.

“So, game next weekend then?” Noah asks.

Trying very hard to push away thoughts of Ketchup and what can never be, I say, “And Jeet Kune Do the weekend after.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Noah stands up and offers me his hand. I take it and let him pull me back to my feet. We’re heading out of the gym, almost to his car, when I remember one more thing I need to warn him about.

“Hey, Noah,” I say, stopping him from walking away after he opens my door, “could you do me a favor and not mention us practicing together to anyone. My grandma would kill me if she found out.”

“Not a fan of martial arts, huh?”

“More like not a fan of anything even remotely violent,” I correct.

Noah looks mildly surprised, but says, “No problem. My mom wasn’t real excited about it either, although it’s a great way to burn off extra aggression. Maybe if Zander gave it a try he’d have an easier time dealing with Ivy.”

Walking to his door, Noah doesn’t seem to expect me to respond to his comment, so I don’t. I use the few seconds of alone time to wonder. All our lives we’ve been drilled to stay away from any semblance of combat, but what if Noah’s right? I felt great practicing with him today. What if controlling our hunger can’t be done by starving it? That certainly didn’t work for Oscar. What if the only way to beat our hunger is to give it what it wants, but in a controlled, structured way?

Zander swears that’s what he’s doing when he plays football. I feel the same when I sneak off to the boxing gym. But those are both sports. I’ve never considered that punching a bag and knocking down other players could be taken a step further without backfiring. If it works with sports, why wouldn’t it work with combat? Obviously, there’s more potential for things to go badly, but it could work. I think. My thoughts turn even more contemplative as I think about how things might have turned out if our hunger had been handled differently from the beginning.

If Oscar had been given the chance to battle, would he have made the same choices? If Zander tries, will it keep him from killing Ivy? Will it help me survive turning sixteen? The possibilities give me hope, but it’s tempered by fear. What if we try, and find out we can’t stop once we start? What scares me the most is that after the taste of battle Noah gave me today, I don’t care whether this is a path toward finally gaining control, or losing it completely. The experience was too delicious to give up. I’ll be back to fight again, and all I can do is hope it won’t end with Noah’s blood on my hands.

My mountain bike falls against the side of the house with a clatter. I should probably lock it up, but I’m too tired to care. Covered in sweat and a shade darker from spending the day out in the sun has left me thirsty, exhausted, and hopeful. The hopeful part of me stays buried deep inside as I walk into the house. Books scattered all over the living room only seems unusual when I realize Van isn’t here with them. I call out for her, and no one answers, not even my grandma. Curious, I cross the living room to the kitchen and find it empty as well. I’m about to check upstairs when I see a note on the counter.

Grandma,

Went to the gym with Noah, my new English partner. Be back in a couple hours. Call my cell if you need me.

Love ya,

Van

She went to the gym with Noah? And didn’t even text me to let me know where she was going? What on earth does working out have to do with an English project, anyway? Maybe she suggested a work out before they got started on their project to keep her hunger at bay? That’s why I spent the morning mountain biking. It makes sense, but Van assured me she didn’t react to this Noah guy at all. Either she lied to me, or something else is going on. I don’t particularly like either option.

I almost whip my phone out right then and call her. The fact that she’s at the gym and probably doesn’t have her phone on her while she’s working out doesn’t stop me as much as the fight I’m sure will break out when I confront her. We both have hunger issues, but Van also has a hot temper that has nothing to do with her hunger. If I attack her for sneaking off with Noah and possibly lying to me about him, she’ll get angry, and whether her hunger wants Noah or not, her anger will feed it until it finds someone she wants and pushes her to act. Our argument will have to wait until the risk of Van hurting someone is at a minimum.

Staring at the phone in my hand does remind me of what I was planning on doing before I saw the note. I scan through my contacts and tap on Laney’s dopey grin. The irony of the mental rant I just gave my sister doesn’t escape me.

“Zander?” Laney asks when she answers her phone.

“Hey. Do you have Ivy's number?” It’s blunt and not very polite, but I have no intention of getting dragged into a long, drawn out conversation with Laney. Of all Van’s friends, I enjoy talking to Laney the least. Even the twins that dress like three-year-olds are better than Laney. She never shuts up.

“Ivy’s number? Sure. What do you want it for?” she asks coyly.

Just shoot me now. I roll my eyes. “She offered to help me with my math.”

“And you’re taking her up on her offer?”

“Obviously. What’s her number?”

“Hmm, are you sure that’s the only reason you want her number? You and Ivy seem to be running into each other quite a bit lately. I know you’ve sworn off girls since Lisa, but I’m beginning to wonder. Is there something secret going on between you two?”

I don’t think Ivy had any idea how much she was asking of me when she didn’t give me her number. I’m tempted, very tempted to hang up and forget the whole thing. Yeah, right. I have to see Ivy again. “Laney,” I say patiently, “if there was something going on between me and Ivy, don’t you think I’d already have her number?”

“This could all be an elaborate attempt to cover up what’s really going on.” Her conspiratorial tone annoys me. Not only is she partially right, which stings, but her mention of deception pulls my thoughts back to Van’s note and my irritation doubles.

“Just give me her number, Laney.”

Laney has never shown any fear around me at all—I don’t think she’s smart enough for that—but the edge to my voice spurs her to do as I say. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

I shake my head at her. Jerk? That was pretty mild, if you ask me. She’s the one making this difficult.  A few seconds later, I have Ivy’s number, and all but hang up on Laney when she tries to ask me more about what Ivy and I are going to be studying.

I have everything I need now, her number, physical exhaustion to keep my hunger in check, and a good reason for calling her. Calling her should be easy. Instead of dialing her number, I set the phone down and head upstairs for a shower. I take my time washing and rinsing away the dirt and sweat from this morning. When the sheeting water does nothing to calm my anxiety, I finish up and move on to getting dressed. It doesn’t take long enough. Too quickly, I’m back in the kitchen staring at my phone.

My fingers move independent of my brain and start dialing Ivy's number. I'm surprised when she picks up on the first ring.

"Well, that took you longer than I expected," she says.

"What?"

"I was expecting your call half an hour ago."

"You knew I was going to call?" I ask.

Ivy laughs, and I relish the sound despite my confusion. "Laney called the second after you hung up on her," she says.

"I didn't really hang up on her. I was just done talking."

"You hung up when she was in the middle of a sentence."

"When is Laney not in the middle of a sentence?" I grumble.

Ivy chuckles and says, "That's true. She does talk a lot."

"A lot is an understatement."

When Ivy laughs again, it strikes me that I'm not reacting to her at all. Hearing her voice certainly awakens something in me, but it isn't my hunger. For once, it's easy and fun to talk to Ivy. That realization makes me happier than I’ve been since meeting her.

"So," Ivy says, "I'm guessing you subjected yourself to calling Laney to get my number for a particular reason. Did you want help with your math, or was there something else?"

I can't answer right away. Trying to figure out whether she actually sounds hopeful that I’m not just calling about math homework takes all my mental power. Tired as I am, I can't figure it out.

"Yeah, I need help with my calc again."

"Oh." It's only one word, but this time I'm sure I can hear her disappointment. An eager to please side of me I haven't seen in a while suddenly rears to life.

"I was thinking that since it's kind of late in the afternoon we could get together to study, and then maybe after that we could get something to eat. As a thanks for helping me." I grimace at my last line. I wanted to make sure she knew I wasn’t just calling for school, and then I ruined my invitation by making it sound like I was only offering to be polite. As I'm berating myself, I realize Ivy hasn't said anything.

"Uh, Ivy?" I ask.

She's silent for a few more seconds before speaking. "If I help you with your homework, I want something in return."

Her demand catches me off guard, but I manage to respond. "Dinner isn’t good enough?”

“Dinner’s good,” Ivy says, “but I want one other thing. I want to ask you a question, one you have to answer.”

Dread spreads through me like a disease. She has to have dozens of questions, none of which I can answer. She’s been nothing but pleasant to me despite the way I’ve treated her. I should have seen this coming. Of course she was just biding her time to figure out what is behind my bizarre behavior. Ivy offered up the exchange lightly, but I know she means it. If I don’t answer a question, she won’t meet me today. She’ll be safer if I refuse.

That thought makes me cringe. I’m putting her in so much danger just to satisfy my selfish desires. Ivy has yet to say she knows how dangerous I am, but I’ve given her enough evidence that it has to be a foregone conclusion by now. She knows she’s taking a big risk and all she wants in return is one answer. That’s a fair trade, isn’t it?

“One question?” I finally ask.

Ivy hesitates. “Just one for now. One study date, one answer.”

Date, I like the sound of that word no matter how much I shouldn’t. I’m about to agree to her conditions when I stop to think about the possible ramifications. What if she asks me how I was able to bruise her arm just by grabbing it?

“There are some questions I can’t answer, Ivy.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment, “I’ll let you choose which of my questions you want to answer. How does that sound?”

Hoping at least one of her questions will be as harmless as what my favorite color is, I say, “Deal.”

“Great,” Ivy says happily. “When and where should we meet?”

I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. I scramble to come up with an option that is safe enough. “Do you know the park a couple blocks down from the high school?”

“Sure, I pass it on my way to school every day.”

“Let’s meet there. There won’t be many nice days like this left soon.” Plus, there will be a lot of people there with us. It’s out in the open, which helps, and I can leave easily if I need to.

“The park sounds good. What time?”

“How soon can you get there?” I ask without thinking.

I expect her to laugh or tease me, but instead she says, “Fifteen minutes.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “See you in fifteen minutes, then.”

“See you soon.”

Ivy sounds pleased as she says goodbye. I stuff my cell phone back in my pocket, pleased as well. It’s a feeling that fades quickly, though. On the phone, it was easy to talk to Ivy and agree to her strange demands. Face to face, it won’t be like that. I’ll be fighting myself every minute. It will be torture, and I just agreed to it willingly. Why couldn’t I have just settled for talking to her on the phone?

Shaking my head, I gather up my books and head out to my truck. I know I’m about to walk into a potential disaster. Knowing doesn’t stop me from being excited. The whole way to the park, I fight the kind of stupid grin I despise seeing on Laney every time she starts blathering on about one thing or another. I try to talk myself out of doing this. I remind myself what could happen over and over again, but every time I almost turn around, the sound of Ivy’s voice filters back into my mind. Her laugh is worse than my hunger. I think I would do anything to hear it again.

When I reach the park, I scan the parking lot for Ivy’s car. This isn’t the only parking lot for the large park, but this is the one closest to her house. I don’t see her car anywhere, so I get out and wait on a bench where I’ll be able to see her pull in. I don’t have to wait long. Less than five minutes later, I spot her green sedan pulling into the lot. I wait impatiently for her to park and make her way over to me. Equal parts bliss and agony sweep through me at the sight of her. Ivy smiles as she draws near, but pulls up short of actually reaching me.

“You must live close by,” Ivy says, “I thought I was going to beat you here.”

“I’m only about a mile away.” I stand up and tighten my hand on my backpack strap when she takes a step toward me. This was such a bad idea.

“So, where do you want to sit?” Ivy asks.

I glance around the park, looking for somewhere with people, lots of people. Crowds always pose the danger of containing someone my hunger will want, but I feel confident that no one will be as big of a lure as Ivy. I spot a cluster of benches near the pavilion in the center of the park. I gesture toward it, making Ivy raise an eyebrow at me.

“Are you sure the noise won’t bother you?” she asks, looking at the band performing in the pavilion.

“No, it’ll be fine. I usually listen to music when I do homework anyway.”

Ivy shrugs and turns toward the sultry salsa beat. She isn’t actually dancing, but I swear her hips roll in time with the music. She’s a good ten feet away from me when she turns back to find me staring at her. A smirk that hints she knows exactly what I was staring at lights her features. A blush threatens to spread over mine, but I force it away. Doing my best to ignore my embarrassment, I hurry to catch up with her. My hunger growls and roils inside of me, worsening with each step, but as I get closer to her I can smell her perfume and see the details of her face more clearly. Opposite desires slam into each other and keep them in a precarious balance.

The picnic tables appear in front of us just in time. I swerve to the opposite side and sit down. Ivy doesn’t say anything about my choice of seating, sitting down across from me with a neutral expression. It isn’t nearly far enough away, but I focus on my feelings for her and hope they prove stronger than my hunger. “Okay,” she says, “what are you having trouble with?”

That’s a pretty long list. Ivy only wants to know about the math, though. Opening my book and turning it so we can both see, I point at one of the problems I got stuck on last night. “I’m not sure what I did wrong here. I thought I followed all the steps, but I keep messing up.”