Louder Than Words (7 page)

Stuart was at the kitchen sink, washing up for dinner—he could be a little OCD. Drying his hands carefully on a white linen towel, he looked less like someone preparing to eat dinner and more like a surgeon scrubbing up for an operation. He blew me a kiss.

“Hey, Sweets. What’s up? How’s Jules?”

Jules? We hadn’t run into each other at school, as we only had a couple of classes together, and they didn’t meet every day. I shrugged my shoulders. At home, I often resorted to exaggerated body movements to communicate. I had raised shoulder shrugging and eye rolling to a high art, and my aunt and uncle had become masters at interpreting the nuances of my various gestures.

“Wasn’t she here this afternoon?” He gestured to the pair of mugs in the sink.

Charades were no longer going to work, so I grabbed my Hawkie Talkie and briefly described meeting Ben in the library and how he had walked me home, leaving out all the juicy, embarrassing, illegal bits.

Charlotte pounced. “You met a boy? Is he cute? He walked you home?”

I nodded in answer to each question.

“I knew it. It was just a matter of time. You see, I was right. This is going to be your year. Everything’s going to change for you,” Charlotte said, smiling broadly and giving me a hug. I hadn’t realized that in her mind a boy was the cure for all that ailed me, or that she was clueless enough to believe that thinking about something could make it happen.

“HE LIVES AT 7 SEASHELL LANE.”

Charlotte turned the color of the cardboard Chinese takeout containers. “The boy you met is named Fisher?”

More nodding. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

As Charlotte stuttered, trying to find the right words, Stuart cut in. “Sasha, we spoke to Dr. O’Rourke at length about this, and she felt very strongly that if you didn’t bring it up, we shouldn’t go there. Charlotte and I weren’t sure that was the right thing, but Dr. O.’s the professional, and when you never talked about your old house or anything in it, we figured she was right. According to her, your failure to recall anything meant that your mind couldn’t handle it, and we didn’t want to take a stand against your doctor and test that theory.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO THINK.”

It was like I’d just found a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that had been lost between the sofa cushions for four years. Shouldn’t I be more worked up about this development? Shouldn’t I be running over to Seashell Lane, looking for some clues to bring my foggy memory into focus? But instead of wanting to see my old bedroom again, I was way more interested in seeing Ben.

Alone in my bedroom I texted Jules.

I met a boy at the library today
.

Cute?

Majorly
.

Name?

Ben Fisher
.

I know him. In my calc class. Total hottie, looks like one of those Roman statues you’re always mooning over in your art books
.

He kind of rescued me
.

What????
she texted back. I could almost hear her yelling.

I’ll e-mail you. Too long for text
.

I laid out the whole sordid tale, leaving out the mind-reading bit. At some point I would tell her, but that was an in-person conversation.

Sasha, you have to go to the police!! How can you not tell Charlotte and Stuart? Ben’s right. They would’ve raped you if he hadn’t shown up. You can’t let them get away with that. What if they come after you again? What if they attack someone else? You would feel responsible, wouldn’t you?

Probably pretty selfish not to think of it the way Jules did, but I was practically a professional victim, and I didn’t need everyone in the world to know that it had happened again.

I can’t. It was the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. I was half-naked and totally helpless. If I tell, I’ll have to keep thinking about it. I just want to forget about it. Promise me you won’t say a word to anyone, no matter what
.

I promise. I think you’re crazy, but I promise
.

Thanks, Jules. I’ll be fine. I just need to be more careful about wandering around in the dark
.

Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened, Sasha. If you do, then I’ll definitely tell. You’re fragile enough as it is—more guilt isn’t what you need
.

Fine. No guilt
.

So, is he nice?

Beyond sweet. Told me I’m beautiful
. I blushed thinking about the naked part.

:) You are. So did he ask you out?
Now Jules was sounding like Charlotte.

No. You think he might? It would have been weird if he had, after what happened
.

Boys don’t talk about looks unless they mean it. He must like you, or at least your boobs
.

Funny. Cross your fingers for me
.

My whole body’s crossed
.

Thank goodness you gave me that book. I might actually need it!

Trust me, Sash, you will
.

Ben’s appearance in my life was like a sudden onset of turbulence, and all my baggage was spilling out of my overhead compartments, no matter how hard I tried to slam them shut. The more I tried to shove my private thoughts to the back of my mind, where I hoped they might be hidden from his telepathic brain, the more intrusive those thoughts became, probably reaching Ben’s supernatural ears as if I were shouting at him. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on other things, every time I closed my eyes I saw Ben standing in my kitchen without his shirt, smiling that dangerous smile. My hormones, which had apparently been hibernating, had suddenly woken up. And like a bear after a long winter, I was hungry.

I fell asleep wondering who else knew about Ben’s special powers. Was I the only person outside his family who knew, or was the inner circle much larger? Why did he tell me? He could have rescued me without disclosing his unusual talent. Maybe he thought I was special in some way, or maybe he thought a mute, social outcast would be the perfect person to keep his secret.

Instead of the usual nightly rerun of my personal catastrophe playing out behind my eyelids, I was bombarded with a spate of new images. Someone kept changing the channels. First I was wandering through an enormous hotel, ankle deep in water, barefoot, looking for a way out. Strange and vaguely disturbing, but a walk in the park compared to my usual nighttime viewing. Then I was in a dark, primeval forest, tree limbs reaching down to grab me, and I was dressed like a Disney princess, a cross between Snow White and Cinderella, meandering in circles, searching for a path to lead me out of the woods. It switched to a school, not mine, but larger, like a college campus, and I was wandering, desperately late for an exam in a class I’d never attended on a subject I knew nothing about.

When I woke up in the morning I wrote down everything I could remember—Dr. O’Rourke said that was key to analyzing one’s dreams. She was right. When I looked at my notes, I realized that the common thread was the fact that I was lost. I didn’t need Sigmund Freud to help me figure that out. I was lost—now if only I could start dreaming about how to find myself.

Jules ran up to me as I stood at my locker. “Did you hear what happened?”

As I’d just arrived at school, and any number of things could have happened, I simply shook my head and widened my eyes. Jules leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Those creeps who jumped you in the park, all four of them, are in the hospital.”

I tilted my head to the side and made a beckoning motion with my hand. A great opening, but not enough information.

“Apparently someone put something toxic in their jock straps, and their junk swelled up to, like, four times normal size. At the hospital, the doctors thought they might have to amputate, but they’re better today, although I heard they won’t be able to have sex for a year.” By now Jules was laughing so hard I could barely understand what she was saying.

Head-tilting and blinking proving to be insufficient linguistic substitutes, I pulled out my robot ventriloquist machine. “DO THEY KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?”

“Nobody knows. They think it was some kind of prank, but because the locker room guy had already put their stuff through the laundry, the police have nothing to go on. Any evidence there may have been got washed away. It’s a total mystery.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT.”

“No worries about those assholes bothering you any time in the near future.
That’s
good news.”

I nodded. “KARMA’S A BITCH.”

“Definitely.” The first bell of the day rang. “I’ll see you at lunch. I wonder if your statue boy has heard about this. Pretty funny stuff.”

For someone who was so smart—Jules was taking AP calculus and AP French—she wasn’t too swift. It hadn’t even occurred to her that my savior was apparently also a vigilante. I needed to find him to see if it was really true or just some perfect, heaven-sent coincidence. The latter was unlikely, as no one but Ben and Jules knew about my run-in with the offensive line, and lucky coincidences were not my strong suit.

All day long, the engorgement of the four varsity athletes was the major topic of discussion in the hallways, the cafeteria, and, of course, the locker room. Everyone was grateful that the football season had already ended, so that the misfortune that had befallen these poor boys at least had no impact on Shoreland High’s winning season. But lacrosse season was looming, and a prospective repeat state championship was at stake. It was a potentially disastrous situation.

Before the last bell, Principal Carson made an announcement over the intercom. “As I’m sure all of you have heard by now, several of our students were gravely injured as the result of a cruel and shocking practical joke. While I do not believe that any of our fine Shoreland students could be responsible for such a dangerous and devastating assault, I do hope that if anyone has any information that might lead to the apprehension of those responsible, that person would come forward. Someone has committed a heinous act against four innocent young men, and it is my earnest desire that such person or persons be brought to justice. Thank you, and good afternoon.”

If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I wouldn’t have believed it. Four innocent young men, my ass. What was it that made some people think that athletic ability was synonymous with an elevated moral character? Even the principal seemed to believe that because these animals helped win football games they were automatically decent, honorable people, in spite of their regular appearances in detention. It made me want to tell everyone what they had tried to do to me the week before, but that could only get Ben and me into trouble. I had to hand it to Nunchuck Boy, he had it all covered—policeman, judge, jury, and executioner—all in one dreamy package … assuming that he was the one who had done the deed.

Ben was waiting for me on the front steps of the library after school. “Well? How’d I do?”

I can’t believe you did that. What if you got caught?

I was starting to crush on him, and it wouldn’t be good if he got arrested less than a week after we met. My make-believe love life would end before it had even begun. Could he have conjugal visits in prison even if we weren’t married? Could I really fall in love with a possible lunatic who was into street justice?

He shook his head and laughed. “I know what everybody’s thinking, remember? I had to do something. You’re the one who refused to go to the police—you left me no choice.” He took my backpack, opened the door to the library, and motioned me in ahead of him.

So it’s my fault you went all Rambo on those morons? I didn’t ask you to retaliate on my behalf
.

“Don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault.”

It sure felt like it was my fault.
I didn’t want or expect you to do anything, least of all take the law into your own hands. They almost had to have their things cut off
.

No matter how much I despised them and what they had done to me, I couldn’t imagine hurting them back. I didn’t have the stomach for revenge, I guess.

“So what if they did. Then they wouldn’t be able to put them where they don’t belong. Logical consequences. You shouldn’t take your hammer out of your toolbox unless someone asks you to nail something. It’s simple.” For him, the matter had been resolved, justice had been done, and my honor had been salvaged.

Eww. Hanging a picture will never be quite the same for me. Thank you for that. What did you use, anyway? Are they really going to be okay?

What if Ben had caused permanent damage? What if they were sterile? Although they were prime physical specimens, they weren’t too bright, so it was unlikely that any great advances in the world of science would be jeopardized if those goons couldn’t father children, but still …

Ben stroked his chin. “It’s an old family recipe—also makes a kickass chili. I think they should make a full recovery, although I’ve never used the stuff on people before, only ground beef.”

You sound completely insane
.

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s totally organic, with no preservatives.”

This was one big joke to him, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to protect me, or if I was on the verge of getting involved with a sociopath. No, it couldn’t be—he was too kind, and too handsome for that—and my four bullies were only being temporarily sidelined, just long enough to hopefully learn their lesson.

Remind me not to get on your bad side … or eat your chili
.

We had been sitting on my sofa in the library sunroom for several minutes already when Ben jumped up. “Is it okay that I sit here with you? I don’t want to invade your space or anything.” He smirked at me.

Anyone who attempts chemical castration on my behalf is welcome to sit wherever he wants
.

This couldn’t be happening. I was joking around with the guy of my dreams, and I wasn’t the least bit nervous. My only concern was that Ben was hearing everything I thought about him, not just what I wanted him to know, but there was no way around that. It was like the bathroom door of my mind was always open.