Deadly Little Games (20 page)

I
ARRANGE TO MEET
Kimmie and Wes before homeroom the following day. The cafeteria serves breakfast for early risers in the form of stale toast, oatmeal sludge, and watered-down orange juice.

“This had better be worth it,” Wes says. “By my calculations, I’d say you’re denying us at least thirty minutes of sleep.”

“Not to mention precious primping time.” Kimmie motions to her outfit: a black leather poodle skirt paired with a glittery pink T that reads
DEMON IN TRAINING
.
“Like it? I also have a coordinating pitchfork, but in all this rush I forgot it at home.”

“Along with your sense of style,” Wes jokes, resting his cheek against her shoulder.

“So, are we to assume that this impromptu meeting has something to do with Ben?” she asks.

I nod and tell them about the kiss.

“Okay, so this was
definitely
worth the dark circles under my eyes,” Kimmie says. “Details, please. How was it?”

“No details. It just sort of happened. The kiss itself was…fine.”

Kimmie glares at me, her mouth hanging open like I’m full-on crazy. “‘Fine’? You had his
tongue
in your mouth. I demand a description.”

“Was it sloppy, too dry, or with just the right amount of spittle?” Wes asks.

“Did your teeth avoid clanking? Did your tongues swirl in sync? Did he have fresh-smelling breath?” Kimmie adds.

“It was good,” I say, eager to move on. My face heats up as I replay the moment of the kiss in my mind.

Kimmie sighs at my lack of details. “Well, I must say, I’m not so surprised it happened, especially considering all the Ben drama. Last I talked to you, you didn’t even know if you two were still together.”

“Right, it’s called rebound,” Wes says, like I need the explanation. “And it can be damned tasty in the right situation.” He takes an enthusiastic bite of toast.

“Do you think kissing Adam had anything to do with the sculpture you did of his pouty mouth?” She puckers, too. “Like, maybe the sculpture was a premonition….”

“And what other body parts will you be sculpting and acting upon in the near future?” Wes asks. “I’ve got a really interesting—”

“Thank you
very
much.” I cut him off.

“You’re not going to tell Ben about this, are you?” he asks. “Because it’s not like he’s been telling
you
anything.”

“Except he’ll probably be able to sense it anyway,” Kimmie reminds him.

“Telling him is the right thing to do,” I say. “It’s just going to kill him. I mean, in his eyes, this will be the second time Adam’s taken someone away from him. It’s no wonder he has trust issues.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Wes says. “You’re primal in nature and thus bound to fall prey to your own beastly instincts, which is exactly what I told Tiffany Bunkin on our date last night. That girl can’t keep her hands off me.”

“A good thing?” I ask him.

Wes shrugs and drinks Kimmie’s juice down to the pulp. “I mean, she’s cute and all—in a wildflower sort of way—but I’m not so sure she does it for me.”

“Because you’re far more interested in weeds?” Kimmie asks.

“I’m giving her another chance,” he says, ignoring the question. “We’re going out tomorrow night.”

“Just like my parents,” Kimmie says. “I’ve got it all set up. Nate has a sleepover at his friend’s house, and I’ve made a reservation for three at Cuvée. I’m telling my parents I need to meet them there, because I’m helping you with math homework”—she winks at me—“I’ll give them a few minutes to themselves and then call the host and have him tell them I’m not feeling well and can’t make it out.”

“Very original.” Wes rolls his eyes. “Did I not see that same scene in the movie
Parent Trap
when I was seven?”

“It happened in the last season of
Totally Teen Princess
, if you must know,” Kimmie says. “And it totally worked. Frannie’s parents got back together.”

“And so you know the plan is foolproof,” Wes jokes.

“Be sure to tell us how it goes,” I say, praying she doesn’t get her hopes up, though fairly certain they’re already pretty high.

I
N CHEMISTRY, I DON’T
tell Ben about what happened with Adam. Nor do I tell him after school, when I spot him in the parking lot. But by Saturday morning, when he calls and tells me that he wants to talk, I’m determined to come clean.

I open the front door to let him in. “Hey,” I say, noticing right away how amazing he looks. There’s a trace of stubble on his face, like he’s just gotten out of bed, and his hair is rumpled from his helmet.

“I got us some bagels.” He holds up the bag.

“Thanks,” I say, taking his coat and leading him into the kitchen. I set a couple of plates down on the island. “I hope herbal tea is okay. My mother has this weird thing about caffeine.”

“Sure.” He smiles. “Tea would be great.”

I heat up the kettle, pour us a couple of mugs, and then sit on a stool opposite him. I force down a bite of bagel, even though I have no appetite. In my mind I try to formulate the gentlest way to tell him.

“I’m really sorry about everything that’s been happening between us,” Ben says before I can start. “I haven’t really been fair.”

I bite my lip to stop the trembling, feeling horrible that he’s the one apologizing. “It just seems like you keep pushing me away. We get so close, but then you won’t let me in.”

“I want to let you in now. I want to tell you everything.” Ben stares at me, seemingly eager for a response.

“What’s with the big turnaround?” I ask, looking down at my plate.

“You have to understand what it’s been like for me. I’ve spent so much time on my own these past few years. I thought that maybe I could do it again, that maybe all this stuff I’ve been feeling—this anxiety, I mean—hasn’t been worth it. But it
is
worth it.” He leans in closer, forcing me to look at him again. “Because I honestly can’t live without you in my life.”

My heart swells and then breaks again. I want so much to return the sentiment, but I can barely even speak.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” he continues, “I kind of like that you want to help Adam, that you’re so willing to do the right thing despite the consequences. And you’re right, I do know about living with guilt. I don’t want you to have to live with it, too.”

“I may have no other choice.”

“We’ll figure this out. Just look at what happened the last time we combined forces.”

“I know,” I say, thinking about the sculpture we did together, and feeling my whole body start to shake.

“Camelia?” he says, clearly noticing how jittery I feel. He reaches out to touch my hand, but I pull away before he can.

“What’s the secretive thing you’ve been sensing?” I ask. “The thing that supposedly might jeopardize our relationship…”

“I’m sorry about that, too. It was stupid not to tell you.”

“So, tell me now,” I say, though suddenly reluctant to know the truth.

“I sensed it first in gym,” he begins, “when you showed up and surprised me…when I got knocked down…”

“After sculpture class.”

He nods. “And then I sensed it off and on whenever I’d touch you. The thing is, I know it couldn’t happen. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. I trust you. Completely.”

A storm of tears rages behind my eyes, because I know now what he sensed. I press my eyes shut and keep my hands in my lap under the table, where he can’t possibly touch them.

And know how ashamed I feel.

“I sensed that you and Adam kissed.” His face flashes red. “I know it’s completely stupid. I know it would never happen, that you’d never do anything like that. I trust you,” he says again. “So, don’t hate me, okay?”

“I could never hate you,” I mutter, faking a sip of tea to cover my expression.

I know I should tell him the truth. I
want
to tell him the truth. But my voice is broken. My head’s all woozy. And my insides feel like they’re bleeding.

My parents come in a couple of seconds later. Dad prattles on about how Mom forced him to take a yoga class this morning. Mom lectures us on the evils of the hormone-infested cream cheese on our gluten-containing bagels.

Meanwhile, Ben excuses himself, saying that he promised his aunt he’d help her unload some bags of topsoil at her flower shop. “I’ll call you later?” he says, getting up from the stool.

I manage a nod and watch him leave, but I don’t walk him to the door. Or even give him a hug good-bye.

B
Y LATE AFTERNOON
, I’m still reeling. I don’t even have the nerve to call Kimmie. It’s not that I think she’d lecture me. It’s just that I’m not particularly proud of myself right now, and I’m not quite ready to share that.

At about six o’clock, my phone rings. I flip it open, assuming it’s Ben, readying myself to tell him that we have much more to talk about.

But it’s Adam. “Hey,” he says, “are you busy?”

“Why?” I ask, detecting a hint of alarm in his voice.

“We need to talk. I’m actually only a block away from your house. Could I borrow you for a little bit?”

“Sure,” I say, wondering why Ben hasn’t called like he said he would, and hoping this doesn’t take too long.

We hang up, and I tell my parents that I shouldn’t be more than an hour. A couple of minutes later, Adam picks me up, and we take off right away.

“Where are we going?” I ask, noticing how unusually quiet he’s being, and how he seems to have a definite mission in mind.

“I need to show you something,” he says, stepping on the accelerator and shifting into high gear.

We race down a bunch of streets, but eventually it appears we’re headed for his apartment. Adam pulls into a parking space in the back lot and switches off his ignition.

“What’s going on?” I demand.

“I locked my door,” he whispers. “I’m almost sure I did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I tried to call other people,” he says, staring down at his steering wheel. “But Tray and Janet took a bus ride to one of her competitions, and I have no idea where Melissa and Piper are.”

“Adam,” I say, touching his forearm, trying to snag his attention, “you’re not making any sense.”

“I have something to show you,” he says again. He looks up at me finally. His eyes are red, as if he hasn’t slept.

“Let’s go,” I say, finally taking charge. I open the door and step outside. A chill in the air bites at my neck. Meanwhile, two of the main parking-lot lights have been broken. Glass lies shattered against the pavement.

I click on my key-chain flashlight (a stocking stuffer Dad bought me) and lead us through the side entrance, trying to imagine what the urgency is. Did Adam find another crossword puzzle? Could the message possibly be even more disturbing than what we’ve already seen? Is he even being genuine?

Just before opening the door that leads to his floor, I grab my cell phone and check for a signal. It lights up right away, but then goes dead, as if the battery’s out.

“Are you planning to call someone?” he asks.

“No.” I flip my phone shut, hoping he didn’t see that it isn’t working. I begin down the hallway that leads to his apartment, reminded once again of the
YOU DESERVE TO DIE
message written across his door, and of how Adam chose to erase it before anyone could see it.

“There it is,” Adam says, nodding toward his door. It takes me a second to spot it: the navy blue scarf tied around the knob.

“Is that yours?” I ask, pretty positive that I’ve seen him wearing it.

“Yeah,” he says. “But it was in my closet, inside my apartment. I know it was.”

“Meaning, someone went into your apartment, took it from your closet, and tied it to the knob for no apparent reason?”

“I know,” he says, standing uncomfortably close to me now. “It sounds crazy.”

“Not crazy, just not fully thought out. Maybe someone borrowed the scarf without telling you, and now they’re returning it.”

“No one borrowed it.”

“That you know of,” I counter, thinking that it wouldn’t be such a stretch, considering how people seem to borrow his apartment whenever they feel like it. “Or, maybe you were wearing the scarf and accidentally left it out someplace. Maybe someone recognized that it was yours and left it here for you.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Is the door locked now?” I ask, noticing how quiet it is on the floor.

“No. That’s the weird part. I could’ve sworn I locked it.”

I take a deep breath, remembering that he mentioned before how easy it was to break in to these apartments. “So, have you gone in to check things out?”

“I probably should have, but I wanted someone here with me first—a witness—because I almost feel like I’m going crazy.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means.

Adam opens the door and turns on some lights. At first, things appear pretty normal, but then I enter the kitchen and see his dry-erase board.

The photo is the first thing I notice. There’s a snapshot of Adam pasted to the board.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, taking a couple steps closer.

It’s a picture of him playing basketball in a gym. Someone’s drawn on the photo, adding a noose around his neck. There are letter spaces below the image, where someone’s filled in the words
I HOPE YOU ARE ENJOYING MY DEADLY LITTLE GAME
, all in capital letters.

“We should go.” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I need to take you home.”

“No,” I say, grabbing his arm. “We need to figure this out. When was this photo taken?”

“I don’t know. I hit the gym a couple nights a week to shoot hoops. I’ve been doing it since I moved here.”

“Alone?”

“Not usually. Sometimes I go with Tray, sometimes my old roommate’s there and decides to join in. Piper’s been known to come along on occasion; so have Melissa and Janet. Some nights, if we’re up late studying and need to keep ourselves awake, we’ll go shoot for a half hour or so.”

“Which gym?” I ask, still trying to make sense of things.

“The one at school.”

“Who’s allowed to access it?”

“Just students, in theory, but it’s not exactly Fort Knox. Anyone could borrow a student ID and get in.”

“Yes, but who would go to all that trouble?”

“Maybe Wes,” he says, checking for my response.

“
Wes
?”

“Why not? Did you not see the hangman game he drew on here…when he called me an idiot?”

“You’re not serious,” I say, raising my voice.

“Well, I’m not ruling him out.”

“I think we definitely need to call the police,” I say, refusing to entertain his Wes theory for even one solitary second.

“And what will we say? That I leave my door unlocked on occasion and my friends take advantage of it? That somebody potentially borrowed my scarf without telling me?”

“Let’s talk about this,” I say, hoping to convince him.

“Let’s get you home,” he says instead. He opens his door to lead me out.

For once, I decide not to argue, even though I probably should.