Authors: Jennifer Walkup
I watch his profile, the shadow of his lips when he breathes.
“Well it feels that way,” I say. “Lately, it’s like that’s all there is. Figuring out this crap with Ginny and Beau, and Sellers and the Sweeney murders, and … ”
“Shhh.” His shadow turns toward me. “There’s a lot more to us than that. And you know it.”
“I guess.”
“You guess?” I hear the smile in his voice. “What, you’re gonna make me spell out how crazy I am about you?”
“If you really want to.” I grin, pulling out a pair of pajamas—boxer shorts and a tank top. “Okay, I’m going to change. Don’t look over here.”
He laughs. “It’s dark, genius.”
I change quickly and climb under my covers. “What about you?
“What about me?”
“Um, well, I don’t exactly have any guy clothes for you to wear. I’ve got sweats, but considering you’re like a foot taller than me, not sure they’d work. Unless you like that skintight-sweatpants-capris look?”
He snorts, flopping down on the bed. “Nah. I’m good. I’ll sleep like this.”
“That’s crazy. You’re wearing jeans. Come on, get comfortable, I don’t mind.” I nudge him, being playful. But inside, I’m racing.
“You trying to get my pants off, Languini?”
Thank God he can’t see my face right now. It’s on fire, I swear. “Whatever. Last time I try to be nice. It’s not so easy to get a pants-off invite in my bed, you know.”
Did I seriously just say that?
“You sure you don’t mind?” His voice pitches with surprise and I smile. He’s as nervous as I am.
Turning onto my side, away from him, I pretend to yawn. “I think I can handle it. There’s this little thing called self-control. I’m pretty good at it.”
“Is that so?” He shifts on the bed while I study the darkness, pretending not to analyze every movement. Him pulling off his pants. And then his sweatshirt. I imagine him sliding into bed with me but then I stop imagining it because he’s here, under my covers. He pulls me against him, the warmth of his legs tangling with mine, his arms hooked around my stomach. Our bodies bend and press in all the same places, lined up like two halves of the same whole.
And then he’s humming to me, singing softly. Our song. Buzzing against my earlobe. Teeth nibbling there, moving down to nip my neck. My shoulder.
Uncontrollable shivers.
And then we’re kissing.
And then I’m thinking we aren’t going to get much sleep tonight.
T
O BE ON
the safe side, we wake early. After seeing Mom snoring away safely in her bed, I sneak down the street with Vaughn while the sun’s still spilling its first rays into the early morning sky. Between us, there’s more of a closeness now. His arm around me feels more protective than it did yesterday, his hand on my hip more secure. I’ve never felt more like he was mine than I do right now, walking along like we’ve been sewn together. I squeeze his hand, the weight of our lives heavy on me. The weight of everything hanging in the air.
I try to enjoy it, the way his thumb gently moves against mine, the way he smiles at nothing and steals glances at me at the exact same time I look at him.
But there’s only one thought in my head. What’s going to happen next?
The remaining Edith Sellers were duds. Half of them seemed to have barely heard of Pennsylvania, let alone Shady Springs. Today I plan to look up old death records in town. Depending how old that mirror is, she’s probably long gone. But still, there could be a trail there. Some information to help us.
I drop my stuff into his backseat on top of a sea of books and magazines. “Ew. Do you live in your car?”
Laughing, he lets his bag fall on top of the mess, carefully laying his guitar behind the front seats.
“What can I say, I’m not the most organized person in the world. Speaking of that. I think I have an extra sweatshirt somewhere
in here.” He leans into the backseat, digging under a blanket, and I steal a glance at his butt, his perfectly-fit jeans hugging it just enough to highlight its perfection.
When he turns around, I grin and nod to his shirt. “Yeah, going to school in yesterday’s clothes will put you even more in the skank department than you already are.”
“Excuse me?” He crosses his arms and looks down at me with those dark, soulful eyes. A smile twitches on his lips.
“Just sayin’ … ”
“I think showing up with you will do quite enough to put me in that category, thankyouverymuch.”
“Ouch.” I clutch a hand to my heart. “That hurts.”
Grinning, he picks me up in a bear hug and spins me around, his lips tickling my neck. We make too much noise, but the houses stay dark. When he puts me down, I’m dizzy from so many things.
“Okay. I’m starving,” I say, pulling my arms into my sleeves as I head for my side of the car. “I’m also freezing.”
“All right, we’ll stop for bagels. Let me just check the trunk for a shirt.”
I slide into the front seat and open my visor while I dig in my purse for lip gloss. In the mirror, I see Vaughn, backing away from the trunk with a weird look on his face.
Like he’s terrified.
I lean out my open door. “Vaughn? What’s up?”
“Uh. I think you need to come back here.”
My stomach fills with cement and I’m shaking before I even get out of the car. He’s pale as ice, staring at the trunk like it’s alive. The only part of him moving is his hair in the breeze.
Slowly, I follow his gaze.
Oh shit.
“Horse tails,” I mutter. Three days, three horse tails. But here, there’s only one, hanging from the back of the closed trunk.
“That’s definitely not a horse tail.” He steps toward the blond ponytail and squats down.
“That
is human hair.”
Our breath dissipates in the cold and I look around, sure someone is watching our discovery. The sun is almost up now, the sky a deep, inky blue. Across the street, lights are on in the upstairs windows of a small, clapboard house.
“Should we open it? You don’t think—” I can’t even bring myself to say the words. I can barely imagine it – that the pony-tail is still attached to a person.
His eyes widen. “No. Can’t be. But still. I should open this up, just to be sure what we’re dealing with.” With a deep breath, he hooks his fingers under the trunk’s lid.
I look over my shoulder again, afraid of what this looks like.
Afraid of what we’ll find.
The latch releases, the trunk popping up to hover above a mostly-empty trunk. The ponytail falls to the street.
“As if there was going to be someone in there.” I shake my head. “I need to get my imagination under control.”
But Vaughn doesn’t answer. He uses a plastic grocery bag to pick up the ponytail, tying the handles in a knot and throwing the whole thing in the trunk.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go. This day is off to a shitty start. We gotta get our game plan together and figure out who the hell would cut off their hair for us.”
D
ESPITE THE ANTICIPATION
of going to Sharon’s after school and the relentless pit in my stomach from the ponytail, the morning flies by, lunch coming faster than I expect. I pace in front of the cafeteria, waiting for Vaughn and feeling accomplished from the list of names and phone numbers in my pocket.
I managed to track down one Edith Sellers McRand, originally from Shady Springs, died 1962 at the age of 83. The online obituary listed surviving relatives, including two grandsons who still live in town, who are thankfully listed in the white pages. But I haven’t called them yet.
I’m not even sure why I agreed to meet Vaughn here. He insisted we eat where we want to, and to hell with hiding from Stace, but this hardly seems the day to start taking a stand.
I hear Kelly’s loud, contagious laugh before I see her. When she turns into the hall, I smile, trying to act natural.
“Hey!” She calls, waving.
The nervous bubbles settle a little. But then, as she gets closer, my mouth drops open.
“Oh my God! Where’s your hair?”
She runs a hand against the blunt edge. “You like it?”
“It’s nice, but what made you do that? You had the longest hair ever.”
She shrugs. “Time for a change. Besides, Stace was cutting hers for Locks of Love and talked me into it.”
“Really? Wow.” My chest constricts, barely letting me breathe.
Chill out, Lange. It’s a coincidence. No one would be that obvious. Not even pissed-off Stace
.
“Didn’t you see the announcements the past few weeks? The music department sponsored it. Yesterday after school there were some hairdressers here. Stace and some of the other music students ran it.”
I look around and see what I didn’t before. She’s right. All around us, girls who yesterday had hair halfway down their backs, are sporting bobs and super short styles. They swarm like bees at a hive, taunting and dangerous.
It could have been any of them
.
“So, what’s up with you?” She smiles.
“Um, nothing really.” Oh you know. Sort of fell in love with Vaughn. Oh and by the way, we were in love in our last life too. We’ve been chasing down my murderer while trying to find the person who’s messing with us in this life.
I can barely keep up with my spinning mind. Where the hell is Vaughn? Three senior girls with fresh haircuts walk out of the cafeteria laughing.
It could have been anyone’s hair. It could have been any of them
.
Round and round the thoughts go. A carousel at a haunted circus.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I gotta run.”
She looks at me sideways. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later then. You’re meeting me during your free period, right? Down in the Costumes room?”
I am? Oh that’s right, I totally made plans with her. “Sure,” I croak, forcing another fake smile. “Definitely.”
She looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head. “You really all right?”
“I’m fine. Seriously. I’ll see you later. This afternoon.”
Moving quickly, I walk with my head down. I can’t get out of here fast enough. I’m nearly knocked off my feet when I slam right into someone. With a mumbled apology, I look up.
Stace grins down at me, her shoulders thrust back. Kelly was right, Stace chopped her hair off too, even shorter than Kelly’s. It sticks out in spikes all over her head. My mind flashes to the ponytail in Vaughn’s trunk. It could be the same color blond…
But it could be anyone. I have to get out of here
.
When I try to step around her, she puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Looking for Vaughn? I just saw him in the stairwell.” She smirks. “He’s ready for you now. Since you like my leftovers.”
“Whatever. Nice hair.” My hands clench into fists.
“It was for a good cause!” She calls after me in that same sarcastic voice.
I finally find him near the main office, strolling along. I’m so wound up I could crack, yet here he is, loping along like he’s got nowhere to be.
“I was waiting for you!”
“Whoa—what’s wrong?” His eyes search mine.
“I just ran into Stace.”
“What now?”
“Have you seen her today?”
“No. Why?”
“Come on.” I pull him toward the stairs. “We are
not
going to the cafeteria.”
We skip out on spending lunch hour in school, eating sandwiches in his car instead.
“It’s too obvious,” he says. “Who cuts off their hair and then uses the ponytail as a threat against someone? That’s like wearing a neon sign of guilt.”
I wipe my napkin across my lips. “Fine, it could have been anyone’s. There were a ton of people with short hair today. But still. Stace was one of the ones running the event.”
“So what? She stole someone’s hair because she’s jealous of us?”
“Sounds as reasonable as anything else. She
did
outright threaten me, remember?”
“I agree she’s jealous. And I agree she’s pissed off. But you can’t force a solution just because you
want
it to fit.”
“So what then?” I suppress an annoyed sigh.
“Just forget her for now. Let’s get through this afternoon and get to Sharon’s. Then, we need to call those Sellers guys. What are you gonna say to them?”
I stare at a pair of hummingbirds on a wire. “I’m not sure. I may just tell them the truth. Well, not the
truth
truth, but that I found the mirror in my attic, with Edith’s name on it. Maybe it’ll spark a conversation or some kind of clue.”
Uncertainty crosses his face.
“What other option is there? Telling them I heard a voice during a séance that whispered their dead grandmother’s name?”
He rubs his eyes. “I guess you’re right.”
“Whatever. We’ll decide later. Right now, I have to meet Kelly.”
B
ACK AT SCHOOL
, I head down to the theater rooms with a head full of questions, but I try to erase the anxiety from my face and voice. All I have to do is fake a conversation with Kelly, get through one more period of school, and then Vaughn and I will be off to Sharon’s, where I have no idea what to expect.
No one answers my knock on the Costumes door. Despite getting way distracted with Vaughn, I’ve still managed to get
here a bit early. Screw it. I don’t want to stand in the hallway alone. I’ll wait inside.
It’s as messy as I expect it to be, costumes and material flung all over the place. There’s a sewing machine set up in the corner along with nearly life-size sketches of what she envisions for the costumes. I squat, looking through them. They’re really good. I wonder how many other student designers are working on these with her.
I close the sketchpad and reach for the one beneath it, bumping into something when I slide down the wall to sit. From the corner of my eye, I see something colorful. A patchwork backpack.
Stace’s bag.
I pause for only a second. Why would her bag be here of all places? But I don’t have time to think about it. Working quickly, I pull the drawstring open, glancing every two seconds over my shoulder, even though the door is closed.
The bag is pretty packed. Books, notebooks, what appears to be reams of sheet music. I dig faster, listening intently for sounds in the hall.