Snared (3 page)

“No,” her dad said. “I know he was pretty upset when Don and Judy sold the place, but that was over a year ago. He hasn't said a word about the new owners.”

“And what's so interesting about the house next door?” her mom asked.

Lindsay knew she couldn't say anything about the boy without enduring her mom's goofy jokes about romance, so she didn't. “Someone needs to introduce them to
Total House Makeover
,” she said.

“It could use a bit of renovation,” her dad agreed. “I noticed the porch was missing a couple of boards when we were unloading the car. It's a shame. The structure looks pretty solid. The place could be real nice with a little work.”

“Maybe a bulldozer would help,” Lindsay joked.

“Be nice. It's not that bad,” her mom said.

“I have exacting standards and exquisite taste. As such I can't help but notice how much most things blow.”

Her dad laughed loudly, and her mom smiled.

“That's my girl,” her dad announced, and jabbed his fork into a piece of chicken.

 

She found the binoculars on the windowsill in the den. Lindsay certainly wasn't looking for them, but there they were. After dinner she'd wandered into the room, wanting to see more of the ocean. She picked the glasses up and lifted them to her eyes. The metal casing was heavy and cold against her soft skin. Looking through the lenses, she adjusted the focus until the distant ocean waves came to her crisp and clear, though still terribly gray from the storm. Breakers rose and crashed and foamed. It looked cool, if depressing. She swept the glasses over the horizon and down the beach, where she again adjusted the focus, bringing a new object into view.

“Jeez,” Lindsay yelped, tearing the glasses from her eyes. There was something hideous and unbelievable out there. It looked like a baby, buried in the sand.

She looked through the binoculars again and relaxed. It was a doll. The plastic head was crushed and most of the body was buried in wet
sand, but its sad and mangled face was clear enough. One of the eyes was open, while the other was covered with the broken eyelid, which drooped askance against the doll's cheek. The plastic fibers that once looked like hair fanned over the sand, dirty and wet.

Farther along, she saw the side of a distant house and then a window. Lindsay adjusted the focus yet again, and nearly dropped the binoculars when the image cleared.

A woman, maybe her mom's age but totally beautiful, walked through the upstairs bedroom of the house. She wore a brightly colored piece of fabric knotted around her waist. Its lovely purple and crimson swirls draped to the woman's knees. Besides the loose skirt, the woman was naked.

Embarrassed, Lindsay put the binoculars back on the sill and stepped away. It occurred to her that the half-naked woman was the exact reason her uncle Lou kept the binoculars on the sill, and she shuddered at the idea.

Still, she might be able to use the binoculars.

She wouldn't watch the boy next door, wouldn't spy on him or anything. But at least she could get a good look at him. More than likely he'd turn out
to be just another guy, and that would be that. Though if he was cute…

The thing was, Lindsay had to take something good back from this trip, even if it was just a story about the hot guy next door. Her parents had dragged her away from the party of the year. That's all anyone would talk about when she got home, and Lindsay would feel like a complete shadow if she didn't have an equally cool—no, cooler—story to tell. She needed an adventure or a summer romance, something none of the other kids would have. She couldn't go home with stories about flea markets or rubbing suntan lotion on her mom's back.

Lindsay left the binoculars on the windowsill and walked through the dining room to the kitchen door. Wanting to make sure her parents were busy before she lifted the binoculars, Lindsay pushed open the swinging door and froze.

Her stomach knotted up, and she reared back a step. Her parents were making out against the kitchen counter.

They weren't just kissing either. That was gross enough, but they were really lip-locked, and her mom had her hand inside her dad's shirt, rubbing
his stomach. She didn't even want to think about where her dad's hands were.

At least they'd be busy for a while.

Lindsay closed the door quietly. She grabbed the binoculars and went up to her room.

 

Lindsay stood next to the window seat, adjusting the binoculars, focusing on the window of the house next door, but she didn't see the boy. The light was out in his room and not so much as a shadow moved. After a few minutes, she felt like a perv, and hid the binoculars under the green cushion before logging onto the web. She surfed around for a while, but the long day had exhausted her, and soon enough she turned off her computer and crossed the hall to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Ten minutes later, she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The house was so quiet she could hear music playing next door. It was strange. It sounded New Agey, with the muffled chime of bells and a small drum being rapped beneath a moaning melody like chanting. Maybe the kid's grandparents were hippies or something. Her friend Trey's grandparents were like that. They wore headbands
and said things like “groovy,” “peace,” and “far out” a lot. They really liked a place called Woodstock and a band called Happy Dead or something like that. Of course, Lindsay had no idea what that band sounded like. They might be just like the odd monotone voices she was hearing, punctuated by chimes and drums. They probably were.

Don't let it be his music
, she thought. How sad would that be? A hot guy who listened to decaf tunes? That would be tear-worthy.

The moaning chant rose in volume, sounding deep and ominous.

Then a cry pierced through the muffled music. It sounded like someone was in pain. And it didn't seem to be part of the drum and chant song. Lindsay looked at the window, worried. Did someone outside need help?

Is it part of the song?

Afraid, Lindsay curled up tightly under the covers. The sound didn't come again, though she strained to hear. After a while, the music stopped and the night grew silent. Then she rolled over, faced the wall, and waited for sleep to come.

Lindsay woke to sunshine, the fear of the night forgotten. A wedge of golden light fell through the window, cutting a swath across the room and the end of her bed. Her parents moved around in their room at the other end of the hall. She heard their footsteps and their voices. Her mom giggled, and her dad made a growling noise. Lindsay did her best to ignore them. She felt great. Rested. Clear-headed. She wanted to pretend she was alone in this house and shared the beach with no one but the boy next door.

Lindsay rolled over and snuggled deeper into the quilt. He would be hot, she decided. No way did he listen to that hippie music. He would be
young and cool and totally into extreme sports. A guy didn't get a body like that by playing video games all day. He was probably at the beach to surf. So cool. And he wouldn't be one of the immature guys she met at school. He'd be an adult, but not too old.
He'll be perfect,
she thought.
Just perfect.

When she finally left her fantasy behind and got out of bed, she powered up her laptop and cast a glance out the window. No one moved in the yard or behind the windows of the rundown house. Disappointed, she grabbed her robe and put it on. Downstairs she found her parents in the kitchen again, only this time they weren't macking all over each other. That was a relief.

They exchanged good mornings and her dad, still smiling, asked if she'd slept well.

“Pretty good,” she replied, heading directly for the coffeepot.

“It's the sea air.”

“Mmmm,” Lindsay replied, already deeply involved with her first cup of bean.

“I'm fixing pancakes,” her mom said.

“Mom,” Lindsay said, “you know I don't eat breakfast.”

“You're on vacation.”

“Try to convince my thighs,” Lindsay said. “Thanks anyway. Coffee is fine.”

She took her coffee upstairs and carried it to the window seat. After getting situated with her computer in her lap and her coffee next to her hip, she opened her email, but the house next door kept distracting her. She read a line of one of Trey's messages, looked down at the window, read another line. Kate sent an email telling her that Nick Faherty—only the hottest guy at school—was definitely going to be at her party and…
OMG, do you believe it? He's bringing his older brother who looks just like Tom Welling. I wish you could come. I'm going to be a total head case.

Yes, you will
, Lindsay thought. She looked through the window, thought she saw movement across the way, but the boy didn't appear.

Lindsay clicked the Reply button so she could tell Kate how happy she was for her. Nick and Ian Faherty were quite a party coup. It was epically unfair that Lindsay wouldn't be there to hang with them.

Before writing the note, she again looked out
the window and was startled to see two men looking up at her from the backyard of the unpleasant house. The sight of them was unnerving. They just stood there, staring. But what really got to her was the fact that they were the same guys she'd seen at the grocery store wearing black parkas and holding huge umbrellas.

Today they wore black T-shirts and gray shorts. Both men seemed to be several years older than her dad but in infinitely better shape. The day before, she thought they were exact opposites, one skinny and one fat, but now she could see their muscle through their tight shirts. The short one was so buffed it looked like his shirt would tear open if he moved his arms at all. The tall one was narrower but ripped.

Lindsay looked away, hoping she hadn't stared too long. It was freaky enough to have them looking at her; she certainly didn't want to get caught staring back.

A thought began to emerge as she gazed at the blank email template on her screen. Maybe the boy next door had two fathers. He was the son of a gay couple. How cool would that be? Her friend Rachel had two moms, and they were really nice.

Maybe the boy was adopted. That made him even more exotic. Another thought tried to creep in—a thought about the boy being something other than a son to these two men—but she pushed that away quickly. Life just couldn't be that unfair.

She threw another quick glance outside. The shorter man was pointing at the base of the house and talking to the taller man, who stooped to hear. The tall guy nodded his head. In the window, thirty feet from where these men examined the rundown house, the boy appeared.

Lindsay's heart raced, and she looked away to her computer screen.
Let him see you first
, she thought.
Don't let him catch you staring. He'll think you're a major freak. Just be cool. Pretend he isn't there and write back to Kate. Flip your hair just a bit, but don't look out the window. Smile like you've just thought of something brilliant. Drink some coffee. Hold the mug at your chin for a moment. Look up like your brilliant thought is totally deep. Put the mug down. Casually look out the window, and
…

The boy was gone. The two men in black T-shirts stared up at her from the backyard. Both looked pissed off.

Feeling uncomfortable under their gaze, Lindsay lifted her laptop and carried it with her to the bed so she could write back to Kate.

 

Lindsay waited for her parents to leave for the flea markets before taking her shower and cleaning up for the day. She stood in front of the chest of drawers looking at the tops and the shorts she'd packed and didn't like any of them. All the clothes looked like something a little girl would wear, all pinks and yellows and whites. This always happened to her. Every time she
needed
to look good, she just couldn't find anything to wear. Most of her clothes were brand-new, but somewhere between the store rack and her uncle's house they'd lost their appeal. None of her outfits looked special enough. What if she ran into the boy outside? She didn't want to look like some Hicksville teen. Crap. These things were all she had, though. Something from the drawer would have to do. Finally she chose a pair of yellow shorts and took a white blouse from the closet.

Once dressed, she returned to the window for a moment to look down, but the boy wasn't there. She wandered downstairs and onto the porch of
her uncle's house. The sky was clear and blue and the day hot, though the breeze off the ocean cooled her skin. Not far up the beach, she noticed the crowds. Dozens of people lay under the baking sun, walked over the sand, soaked in the ocean. She looked south and saw a handful of people there as well.

A car engine sputtered into life, and Lindsay backed toward the door. The noise came from behind the house next door, and she imagined the two old guys were going out for a drive. She walked into the house through the den and dining room to the kitchen door. She opened it, but did not step outside. Instead, she leaned on the jamb, making sure she was hidden from the driver's view.

She heard the car back out of the drive. Once she was certain it was far enough down the road, she poked her head out and saw the back of a long silver sedan. Sunlight glinted off its trunk as it rolled to the north. Satisfied that she could not be spotted, Lindsay walked onto the porch all the way to the rail.

On a whim, she walked to the side and looked over the rail down the length of the house to the
window where she first saw the boy. From this angle, she couldn't see anything.

Lindsay walked back inside and up the stairs. In her room, she went immediately to the window seat and pressed her face against the glass, looking down at the boy's room.

And there he was.

He stood in the window. His head was lowered, looking at the band of sand separating his house from her uncle's. Lindsay pulled the binoculars from under the green cushion and quickly put them to her eyes. It took way too long for her to adjust the lenses, but finally the boy came into focus.

Excited, she waited for him to look up from the sandy ground. When he did, her throat closed up tight and her heart raced.

He
was
hot. As she expected, he was only a little older than her. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. His black hair jutted in wild spikes from his head. His thin face, flawless and beautiful, wore a sad expression that made Lindsay's heart flutter. His eyes were as blue as the sky. His frowning lips were full, and she suddenly wanted to kiss him, which was totally weird because she didn't even know him.
But she found herself thrilled by the wonderment of what his lips might taste like and feel like against her own.

Lindsay spun from the window, clutching the binoculars to her chest. What was she going to do now? It wasn't like she could just go over to his house and say, “Hey, my parents dragged me out here from the city, and I got bored and was looking through my uncle's binoculars and thought you were hot, so why don't we date or something?”

She could sit in the window seat for a while and pretend to write on her laptop. He might see her, but then, he might not.

Her cell phone rang, yanking Lindsay from her thoughts. She checked the caller ID.

Kate
.

“Perfect timing,” Lindsay said as she answered the phone.

“What? What's going on?”

“Nine-one-one.”

“More scary umbrella men?”

“Noooo,” Lindsay said. “Jeez, live in the now. It's male-related.”

“Beach hottie?”

“Way hottie. I mean, he's staying in the house next door. I saw him through the window last night, and I thought he might be cute, but then I saw him again today, and he totally is. He's at his window right now.”

“Is said hottie age-appropriate?” Kate asked.

“Duh.”

“Any sign of female interference?”

“What? Like a girlfriend? I don't think so. The only other people I've seen at the house are a couple of old guys. I think they might be his parents.”

“Both of them? Like Rachel's moms?”

“Pre-xactly like that. They're both buff, full-on groomed, and wear matching outfits.”

“Sounds totally same-sex to me.”

“I know,” Lindsay said. “Progressive, right?”

“Do they really wear identical outfits? I mean, is it like they order from the same J. Crew catalogue or is it matching leather diapers or what?”

“Kate, come on.”

“Okay,” Kate said. “Is he still at the window?”

Lindsay leaned forward just enough to see the boy in the neighboring house. “Yes.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

She thought about it for a moment and came
up with a plan. It was simple and cool. It made her smile. “We're going for a walk,” Lindsay said.

 

“I can't,” Lindsay said, standing on the sand behind her uncle's house.

“Well, I know I couldn't, but you can,” Kate said. “You can do anything. Besides, it's no crisis. You're just talking on the phone, wandering around the yard. No big deal. You don't even know he exists. It's a total coincidence. Now, set to steppin'. I have a bazillion things to do before the party.”

“I'm so pissed I can't be there.”

“I know,” Kate said. “It's totally lame. There's no way I can pull this off without you here. I mean, what if we run out of beer or something? Or what if Matt starts a fight? Crap. I should just cancel.”

“You can't cancel. If you're worried about the beer, just have Matt's brother pick up a couple of extra cases. Put them in the bathroom off the kitchen, in the tub, and cover them with ice. As for Matt, he isn't going to start a fight, because his mother threatened to yank him off the basketball team if he caused any more trouble. If he gets all weird, just remind him of that.”

“I will,” Kate said. “You're right. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I promise I'll take a ton of pictures and post them on my website. It'll be kind of like being there.”

“Uh-huh.” And watching the Oscars on television was kind of like being Colin Farrell's date. “Now, I'm about to make contact.”

Lindsay shook out her free hand to relieve a bit of stress. She rolled her head on her neck and then stepped onto the band of sand between the two houses. Though she tried to resist, she threw a quick glance at the boy's window. Catching herself, she looked away quickly before she could even tell if he was there. Instead she looked down and noticed for the first time that her uncle's house didn't rest on the ground. It stood three feet above the sand on wooden supports. In the shadows under the house, tufts of tall grasses grew.

“That's weird,” she said.

“What? Is he gross close-up?”

“No,” Lindsay said. “We've come to my uncle's a bunch of times before, and I never noticed that his house is built up off the ground.”

“Yeah, fascinating,” Kate said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Architecture is hot. What's
the boy
doing?”

“I haven't looked over there yet. Should I?”

“Yeah, but let me say something funny first. That way, he'll see you smiling.”

“Okay.”

“On the count of three,” Kate said. “Ready? One, two…”

Lindsay began to turn, hoping the boy would still be in his window when she completed the turn.

“Three,” Kate said. “Michael Chandler.”

Lindsay broke into a wide smile at the mention of the name. Last year, Brett Underhill had dragged Kate into the boy's locker room as a prank, and she'd seen more than a couple of the boys undressed, including Michael Chandler. Chandler was a big mean jock who liked to beat up the younger kids, and Kate got a full monty look at him. In her words, his unit was like a pencil eraser in a nest of black thread. But Michael Chandler wasn't the point. The point was, Lindsay completed her turn with a huge grin on her face.

And the boy was in his window, looking out at her. She froze, absolutely froze solid when she saw him.

“Did it work?” Kate asked. “Lindsay? Hey? Is he there?”

“Um…uhm-hmm.”