For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (2 page)

    
“Oh,” I breathe, suddenly realizing I’ve made a
faux pas
.  I immediately jump into begging. “Please, Dad?  You know her parents and we promise to go to bed early.”

    
Dad scowls so hard, I see it across the quad.  “N.O.  You know the rules.  Home by ten.”

    
“But-”

    
“No.”

    
I growl under my breath. 

    
“I lo-,” Dad begins, but I hang up and turn my back to him. 

    
“So unfair.” 

    
While I continue to wait for Celeste, I dial Emily – Best Friend #1 since the beginning of Sunday School and the fourth member of my circle of friends – to make sure she’s not really sick today.  She picks up on the third ring. 

    
“KiKi’s Delivery Service,” she says on the other line.

    
I grin.  “So, can I take it you’re not really down with the zombie plague?”

    
“Not a real sick day,” she informs.  “But, thanks for checking.”

    
I roll my eyes.  “Like I wouldn’t.”  I figured she wasn’t anyway.  Em is probably the world champion of feigning illness to stay home.  “What is it today?” 

    
“Cosmic Comics finally got my copy of
Stand Up!
in.  I wasn’t going to miss that.  I’ve been waiting all month.”

    
I nod.  “Your skills astound me.”  She has the world’s largest collection of manga, boxed anime, and collectable figurines I’ve ever seen.  She will claim food poisoning or a migraine so she can get out of school to go to the local comic store to pick up her shipment.  She will then progressively get worse over the next few days to indulge in her new purchase.

    
“Actually,” she says, “I was going to call you and see if you wanted to come over and watch
Hayate no Gotoku
with me.  I baked cookies and everything.”

    
My heart sinks because I have to say no to her.  “Ah, Em, you know there is nothing I’d love more, but I already told Celeste I’d go to her place tonight.”

    
She sniffs.  “So cancel?”

    
“I can’t do that!  I’d be leaving her alone with Amber.  She’s already got her claws in Amber as it is.”

    
Emily is silent for a long moment.  “I don’t get this weird thing between the three of you.”

    
I don’t expect her to.  I don’t expect anyone to, really.  It’s about not letting go – holding on to people you care about.  After what happened with Timmy, I can’t abandon anyone else – can’t be a bad friend.  Friends stick by each other and that’s what I’m gonna do.  That’s why it’s my mission to rediscover Celeste under all the make-up and hair gel and that’s why Amber and Celeste getting closer makes me panic.  Because if I can’t patch it up with Celeste, if we break apart, I’m afraid of losing Amber to Celeste’s magnetic pull.

    
After a moment, Em says, “You know, Amber’s not going to disappear like Timmy did.”

    
I frown at the ground.  Em doesn’t know that.  Nobody knows that.  Timmy didn’t just disappear.  Someone – no,
something
got him.  Something not-quite-right.  I should know, I was running from it too.  She must have forgotten that part.  But then, when things don’t make logical sense, everyone tries to forget it, to explain it away.  But I can’t.

    
Celeste pulls up and honks her horn, even though I’m standing less than a foot away.  “I gotta go,” I say.  “I assume there’s no point in inviting you?”

    
“And miss my shows?  Nope.  Have fun with the She-Demon.  Love you most!”  She hangs up.

Jeanette

    
“That's so uncool.  Your dad is
such
a tyrant,” Celeste complains as she drives Amber and me away from campus.

    
“He’s not a tyrant,” I say in defense of my father.  I give him kudos.  Not only is he the principal of Mary Magda Academy, but he's also the single parent of a teenaged girl.  I don't think either is a particularly glamorous occupation for a single man in his forties.  I mean, he drives a plum-colored minivan, not a candy-apple red convertible.

    
“He’s. A. Tyrant.  You’re an adult.  He doesn’t treat you like one.”

    
I glower at her.  “At least my dad gives a shit.”  It’s a low blow to a girl whose father buys her everything to make up for the fact he’s never there for her, but no one insults my dad.  He’s the best dad any girl could ask for, really.

    
Celeste is quiet for a long moment, evidence that my words exacted their intended punishment and I feel guilty.  Eventually, she says, “So, how long would you get grounded if you broke your curfew?”

    
There she goes, trying to get me into trouble with Dad.  She’s such a rebel these days…  Even so, I answer her question.  “Two weeks,” I say, making sure to make it sound like the horrible death sentence that it is.  In the hopes she doesn’t start on trying to convince me to break curfew, I add, “No phone, no internet, no hanging out after school or on weekends.  Basically, no contact with you guys outside of school.  Plus, no TV.”

    
Amber does her frog-face – making her lips all stretchy and the tendons in her neck stick out.  Really unattractive, but kind of funny.  “Yikes.  I think I'd die.”

    
I try to sound cheery as I say, “You wouldn’t die.  Now, maybe if your parents took away the treadmill…”

    
Amber grabs the sides of the seats and launches herself forward, her angle-cut hair falling across her cheeks. “Omigosh they wouldn’t!”

    
I break into a real laugh.  Amber is obsessed with running.  I, on the other hand, like to sit and pretend I’m a slow-molding potato.

    
“Well,” Celeste chimes in, “I guess it's all for the better.  At least you won’t keep us awake with your bad dreams.”

    
Amber knocks Celeste upside the head. 

    
“Ouch!”  Celeste screeches as she swerves into the median.

    
I grab the side of the door and scream, “Watch where you’re going!” at the same time Amber says, “That was mean!”

    
Celeste swerves back into the lane, nearly hitting Kelly Jones driving beside us.  Kelly flicks us off and speeds away.

    
“I can’t believe you said that!”  Amber goes on.  “You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”

    
“Say what?” I ask.

    
Celeste’s top lip curls up, an indication that she’s angry.  “It’s the truth.  I mean who has nightmares like that?”

    
Oh,
my
nightmares. 

    
That’s a low blow, even for Celeste and me…Amber must know it too because she glances at me, her expression empathetic, and says, “Still…”

    
I flash a smile at Amber, thankful that she’s taking my side, but also telling her that I can fight my own battles.  “It’s fine, Amber.  She’s right, I do have bad dreams.  And God forbid anything disrupted her beauty rest – we all know how much she needs it.”  I keep my tone light and teasing, offering up a wry smirk as a flag of truce.

    
Celeste rubs her forehead, the obvious bad guy in this little drama she has set up for herself.  “Sorry,” she mutters.

    
Apology accepted.  But her words still hurt.  I hadn’t realized my friends noticed my bad dreams.  How embarrassing.  I mean, it is kind of weird to re-live something that happened seven years ago, right?  I probably have PTSD.  It's something I should be seeing a shrink for, but luckily Dad doesn't think it's weird.  After all, I still hear him moaning Mom's name in the middle of the night, so I guess it’s a silent agreement between us.  Let each other mourn the loss of our lost loved ones in peace.

    
Celeste clears her throat, bringing attention to the awkward tension in the car.  “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

    
Should I finally tell them about Timmy?  Would they understand why that night is a perpetual nightmare?  How would they look at me after that?  Pity?  Compassion?  Disgust?

    
“Nett, you're spacing again,” Celeste cries.

    
I glare at her sideways for a long minute, but she's too busy staring at the guy stopped next to us at the stoplight to notice.  The awkward silence grows again and I feel my thoughts pulling me back into myself.

    
“Okay,” Amber bounces upright in her seat, drawing my attention, “I can't wait any longer to spill the beans.”  She dips her face low and presses her nose to the seat so only her bright hazel eyes are showing.

    
I wave my hand.  “Well, spit it out.”

    
She pops up again, grinning.  “Okay, you know Chelsea Grotto, right?”

    
Celeste rolls her eyes as she turns the corner.  “Duh, who doesn't?”

    
“So, she says that she and Mike Hopper went out to Carver Hall Park last weekend.”

    
I grip my seat and turn myself all the way around, not wanting to miss Amber's animated way of telling a tale. “No way!”

    
“Yeah way,” she squeaks as she bounces up and down like she’s just chugged a case of Red Bull.  I swear if she weren’t belted in, she’d hit the roof.  “They hooked up!”

    
Disbelieving, I shake my head.  “She's probably lying.”  I make a disgusted face.  “Why would he do
her
?”  Chelsea is nasty…Like, doesn’t take baths and always has stuff stuck in her teeth nasty.

    
Amber shrugs, the gesture making her bra strap slip from under the short sleeve of her collared shirt.  Lime green with pink polka-dots.  Only Amber.  “That's just what I heard.  Apparently, they went hiking and got lost.  They ended up spending the whole night together in the woods.  It got cold, one thing led to another…”

    
A shiver goes down my back.  I hate Carver Hall Park…  “Creepy.”

    
Amber glances at me, her expression confused.  “I guess it was romantic to them.”

    
“Whatever,” Celeste dismisses. 

    
Amber and I exchange a furtive glance.  We both know Celeste wants to do bad things to Mike Hopper.  Wondering how intense her jealousy is, I turn back to her.  She’s chewing through her acrylics.  On a scale of one to ten, nail biting is now an eleven for Celeste.  She realizes what she’s doing and grips the steering wheel instead.  It groans under her seething anger.  “What else?” she demands.

    
“Just that urban legend.  Seems like more people are seeing the Green Man.”

    
I cock my head, I know Green Man to be a common pagan myth, but I’ve never heard anything about an urban legend around here.  “What?  Who’s that?” 

    
Amber blinks at me, her expression vacant for a mere instant before lighting up again.  “Oh!  You mean you haven’t heard yet?”

    
I lift a brow, showing her that I obviously haven’t.  Usually, I avoid anything and everything having to do with Carver Hall Park, but I don’t want to be out of the gossip loop.  

    
She gets all bouncy again at the prospect of being able to tell the story anew.  “They say there's this green man in Carver Hall Park.  He's totally hot, minus the green skin part.”

    
“So, he’s like some kind of weirdo?”

    
Amber shakes her head.  “Apparently he’s the real deal.  An honest to goodness, walked out of a storybook green guy.  I’m talking Jolly Green Giant green.”

    
Something in the pit of my stomach twists.  I’ve always known something was weird about Carver Hall Park.  Now, faced with news that a strange creature might actually live there, my worst fantasies about what happened to Timmy seem more real.  Was he eaten by trolls?  Ground to dust by a giant?  Dragged into the swamp by a kelpie?  Abducted by aliens?  No, it can’t be real.  I refuse to believe it.  Even if there is someone there, he’s probably just someone in paint.  “How long has he been around?”

    
“I dunno.”  Amber touches her bottom lip.  “At least a couple of years, I’ve been hearing about him from the girls on the track team since we were freshmen.  I would have told you sooner.  I know you like these kinds of things, but I thought since you grew up here you knew.”

    
I like these kinds of things.  Do I?  For the hundredth time, I wonder if my strange fascination with fantasy and paranormal stuff isn’t some sick and twisted obsession.  A need to cope with or put words to what happened that night, a way to understand and control the unknown.  In a world filled with sparkling vampires and boy wizards, being chased by invisible hoards doesn’t seem out of the ordinary.