Christabel
Lucy was driving way too fast, as usual.
I stared at the lake, where I’d been brooding when she came to get me. I’d been trying not to think about my parents. It was hard not to. My dad had loved to fish. He drove out every weekend in the summer to sit in his rowboat in the middle of a lake just like this one, waiting for fish. But one morning when I was eleven, he didn’t come back. His rowboat eventually drifted to shore three days later, empty. Mom started drinking that week and never really stopped. I turned to poetry, especially Percy Bysshe Shelley. He had been lost at sea, too, but when his body was found three days later, they burned it on a funeral pyre. Everything but his heart turned to ash. Sometimes I like to think that my dad’s heart is still out there somewhere, like some precious underwater treasure.
There was the teeniest, tiniest possibility that I was incredibly morbid.
Lucy’s phone rang. “Nicholas,” I told her, reading the call display.
“Answer it,” she said. I hit the button and held the phone up to her ear so she could keep her hands on the steering wheel. I couldn’t hear what Nicholas was saying but her face changed.
“What? What do you mean? No way! Nicholas? Nicholas! Nicky, damn it!” Her hands clenched. “Hit redial, would you?” she asked through her teeth, switching on the high beams. I kept forgetting this was deer country and they might jump in front of the car without warning. The phone rang and rang. I eventually hung up.
“He’s not answering.”
“I think we need to turn around,” she said.
“Why, did the cops get them?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
I frowned. “Lucy, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know,” she admitted. She looked torn, easing her foot off the gas pedal.
“Ever been to jail?” I asked, mostly to distract her.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Hello? Of course I have. Who do you think has to go bail out my parents when they lie down in front of logging trucks or climb trees to snuggle with endangered owls or whatever?”
“Right.” Which was a better story than mine. I’d been only once, and not to some small-town single-cell jail, either. Mom once got arrested downtown for a DUI. She lost her license. That was last summer, before Uncle Stuart unexpectedly dropped by and found his older sister passed out on the couch with vomit in her hair. Not exactly her finest hour. Then Uncle Stuart knew the truth and wouldn’t be stopped from helping, no matter what we said.
I missed her. She didn’t do that stuff on purpose. I knew she loved me. She was just weak. I felt kind of bad thinking of her that way, but it was true.
I shook off the mood before it could clamp its sharp teeth shut over my head. Mom was in rehab, getting better. When Lucy’s phone rang, she yelped so loudly that she startled me into yelping too. Then we both laughed.
“What are you so nervous about?” I asked her as she fumbled for her phone. “Give me that.” I glanced at the call display before she drove us into a tree. “It’s your mom.”
“Of course it is.”
“She’s texting. She and your dad are going to a late movie.”
“Text her back that we’re fine and on our way home.”
When I was finished, I shook my head. “Honestly, it’s a good thing you guys don’t live in a big city. Your parents would be a wreck.”
Lucy just snorted. I got that feeling again, like there was a layer under everything that I wasn’t quite seeing. It made me want to pick away at it until it unraveled. She slowed her car down to an idle.
“I’m counting to ten,” she decided, reaching for her phone. “And then I’m turning around if he doesn’t answer.”
“What’s the big deal?” I asked.
“Um, his car is crap,” she replied, a little too quickly. “Breaks down all the time.”
I raised an eyebrow incredulously. “And you know how to fix it.”
“Well, no, but I worry. You know, gangs.”
“Right, the organic New Age flakes roaming the countryside with their ferocious flaxseeds. Give me a break, Hamilton.”
Her phone trilled, announcing a text. She grabbed it from me so fast she accidentally scratched me. “They’re fine,” she assured me, sounding way more relieved than was warranted. What the hell was going on? She put the car back into drive, her shoulders visibly unclenching. I hadn’t even known shoulders could clench. She relaxed even more when Nicholas’s Jeep caught up to us, trailing behind like a clunky, muddy shadow. I glanced in my side mirror, frowning.
“Is that a knife in the hood?”
She glanced back. “Trick of the light. Told you it was falling apart.”
It looked in pretty good condition to me.
“So,” Lucy said before I could press her. “You and Connor?”
“He’s nice, but he’s not my type.”
Lucy shot me a look, as if I were demented. “Are your eyes broken? Hot guys aren’t your type?”
“Good boys aren’t my type,” I corrected. “I like an edge.”
Her smile was more of a smirk. “Give him a chance.”
“I’ll totally hang out with him, don’t get me wrong. He’s decent. You know, nice.”
Lucy winced. “Ouch. He’s not dark enough for you?”
“Exactly.”
She was still smirking as we pulled in front of the house. I had no idea why she thought it was funny. Nicholas raced in on squealing tires to park behind us. Lucy ran down the driveway to smack him on the shoulder. Hard.
“Don’t do that again!” she exploded.
“You stopped the car,” he accused, “when I told you to keep going!”
“So?”
“So, you don’t do that again!”
I unlocked the front door, very aware of Connor ambling up the walkway behind me, which was stupid. Hadn’t I just told Lucy he was too nice? “Are they fighting?” I asked, even though she’d already told me they weren’t.
“Not really.” He smiled. “Trust me, you’ll know if they’re fighting.”
The dogs greeted us with wagging tails and drool, as usual. Nicholas followed Lucy into the living room. They both looked worried.
Connor turned to look at me, kicking the door shut. “Where’s your laptop?”
“Oh, um, in my room.” I hurried ahead of him, suddenly worried that I’d left a bra out on the bed or that there was underwear falling out of my laundry basket. Girls in poems never had to worry about that stuff. Luckily, my room was relatively inoffensive. The bed was unmade and there was a row of old teacups on the windowsill, but the closet door was shut and my diary was well hidden. Connor went straight to my desk and lifted the screen of my laptop.
“So what’s it doing?”
I half smiled. “I have no idea. The Internet’s not talking to me.”
He flicked me a glance and half smiled back. “Okay.”
His fingers flew over the keys and he bent his head, his hair falling over his forehead. “How much poetry do you have on here?”
My eyes widened. “You’re not reading them, are you?” I never let anyone read anything I hadn’t edited or fixed up.
“I won’t,” he promised. “You just have a lot of Word documents here. You should make sure you back them up.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“So, you’re really into this poetry stuff, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I can’t help it.”
“Who’s your favorite?”
“John Keats right now, but only because of that movie Bright Star. I love Shelley too.”
“They’re all old dead guys, right?”
“Um, yeah.” I shrugged. “But they were the best.”
He grinned at me slowly. “You’re a geek.”
“Am not.”
He snorted. “I know a fellow geek when I see one. I can quote Firefly and old Star Wars until you throw up.”
I had to laugh. “Nice image. I still bet I can out-quote you, or at least out-trivia you.”
“Please.”
“Byron used to drink vinegar to lose weight.”
“Leia’s cellblock in Star Wars: A New Hope was AA-23.”
“Charlotte Brontë’s pen name was Currer Bell.”
“On Firefly, Jayne’s favorite gun is named Vera.”
“Pride and Prejudice was originally called First Impressions.”
To throw off the media, “one of the fake titles for Return of the Jedi was Blue Harvest.” He leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Draw?”
“All right, tie.”
He shut my laptop and tilted it back to show me the side with all the buttons. “So you can’t connect to the Internet, right?”
“Right.”
“It’s just this switch here on the side. You probably accidentally hit it. Happens all the time.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
He looked comfortable and confident in a way I hadn’t noticed when he was with his brothers. He was quiet, less flashy in his charm, but there was a glint in his eye.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was a good kisser.
He looked up as if he knew what I was thinking.
Which wasn’t possible, of course. And had I really been wondering what it would be like to kiss him? A guy who lived on a farm in the backwoods of nowhere and quoted Star Wars?
“I’ll get us drinks,” I offered. “I know where Lucy hides her secret soda stash.”
He mumbled something unintelligible that I took as an assent. Lucy and Nicholas were still in the living room and were being very quiet. I averted my eyes. The last thing I wanted to see was my cousin making out. Van Helsing followed me down into the basement, which had walls of brick and wood paneling; all it was missing was green shag carpeting. The fridge was in the corner, bookended with shelves full of Aunt Cass’s pickles and tomato sauce. I had to dig in the back, behind bags of tempeh and packets of pumpkin seeds. I knew there was ginger ale tucked inside a box purporting to house vegetable juice. I had to move aside bottles of wheatgrass and vitamins and a jar of something thick and red, like raspberry pulp. I tucked the soda cans under my arm and pulled out the jar, holding it up to the light. It was viscous and only let a little ruby light through. Van Helsing bared his teeth. I blinked at him.
“I know, it’s disgusting, right? I wonder what Aunt Cass was trying to make.”
I took it upstairs. “What the hell is this gross-ass thing?” I demanded, waving the jar. The lid wasn’t on as tight as I thought, and a dribble of thick, red liquid oozed over the side. I nearly threw it onto a side table, next to a fertility statue carved out of turquoise. “Ew!”
Connor was in the living room now, and he and Nicholas stood up so fast, I barely saw them move. I jumped, startled. “What?” I asked.
Van Helsing growled. Gandhi came charging down the hall, also growling.
“Shit, Christa, back!” Lucy shouted, sliding across the wooden floor. She crashed into me and I hit the wall, then the floor. A photograph tumbled off its nail and fell, glass breaking. Lucy whirled, knees bent, staring down at Nicholas and Connor, who had gone from moving too fast to not at all. They were so still, they looked like they were holding their breath. Van Helsing barked once. Nicholas flinched.
“Christa,” Lucy whispered urgently when I sat up. “Don’t move.”
“What? Why?” I made sure none of the glass was about to poke me in the hand or the butt if I altered my position. “I’m fine.”
“Just trust me.” She swallowed.
I didn’t trust Nicholas’s smile one bit. Even Connor looked odd beside him, pale and sleek. Gone was the friendly hot-geek vibe. His eyes looked even more blue and he seemed taller for some reason. I wanted to get closer to him. I shifted, suddenly thinking all sorts of naughty things. Maybe there was a bad boy in there after all.
“Lucy.” Nicholas’s voice cracked.
“Christa, pass me the jar,” Lucy said as Gandhi and Van Helsing angled themselves in front of us.
“You just told me not to move!”
“Just do it!”
I pushed into a crouch.
“Move slower!” Lucy added frantically when Nicholas tensed and Connor put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Gandhi, stay!”
“Are you guys high?” I snapped, annoyed. I shoved the jar at her. “Here.”
Lucy just angled her hand back, not taking her eyes off the brothers for even one second. When she had a good hold, she put it on the floor right in front of her.
“Okay, no more drugs for you,” I said. “Seriously. It makes you guys weird.”
She ignored me and lifted the lid off. Then she used the toe of her boot to slide the jar across the polished wood toward Nicholas and Connor. The huge dogs pushed at us, ushering us backward into the kitchen before I could see what was going on.
“What the hell?” I asked.
She pushed her hair off her face, hands trembling lightly. The front door slammed and there was the rumble of a car engine starting, followed by the peel of tires on the road.
“Lucy?”
Her smile was tight. “Never mind,” she said. “I think someone spiked our drinks at the party.”
Somehow, I knew she was lying.
For one thing, I hadn’t seen her take a single sip of anything the entire time we were at the beach. And I knew exactly how people acted when they’d had too much to drink. Not like this.
In the hall, the jar was empty.