Temptation: A Novel (5 page)

12. Pity Party

Give me a freakin’ break.

I sit there on the edge of an unnamed road in the middle of an unknown forest. I shut off my bike, and then I wipe the tears away from my face. They make me angry. The feel of them. Streaming down my cheeks as I’m riding on my motorcycle. That’s so
not
cool. That’s so
not
how to ride a bike.

I climb off and head to the edge of the trees towering over me.

I don’t want the sky to see me.

Just in case.

Just in case they’re looking down. They—whoever they may be.

I let it out for just a few minutes.

I let it out, realizing the truth.

Oli was protecting me and Kelsey, and that was it. And now he’s dead.

I don’t care what anybody else says—he didn’t just drown.

Get control, Chris. Get control, and get over it.

When I leave this cursed place, I’m going to be a master of my mind and soul. A master at being able to let things go or at least bury them deep inside.

My eyes burn, and I wipe the silly, stupid tears away.

I think of Oli.

Oliver Mateja.

A part of me wants to know his story—his real story, the story behind why he chose to help me out when it meant abandoning his friends.

Why would he do that?

And this is what it got him. This is what happens when you stick your neck out for others. You find yourself at the bottom of a lake.

But not you, Chris. You’re special. You’re different.

Then the words spoken by Jeremiah Marsh seem to whisper in my ears.

“We can live and die afraid, or we can live to defy, Chris. It is up to you.”

I don’t get it. I don’t understand.

All we have is ourselves. That’s all. Nobody else is looking out for you. Nothing is there to come and save you and defeat the evil monster.

I hear a rustling in the woods. For a second I think—no, I
hope—
that it’s the bluebird I used to see at Iris’s place and shortly after the fire. But I haven’t seen the bluebird in a long time.

Something’s in the woods—I know it. I can feel it.

But it’s bigger than a bluebird. Bigger, and probably meaner.

Every man for himself.

And this man decides enough’s enough. The pity is over.

The party, however, is just about to start.

It’s called letting go.

13. Warning Sign

That afternoon, as I’m watching television because I don’t have much else to do, I hear a knock on my door. It startles me. I can’t help it.

I see someone peering through the window. Newt’s big glasses are easy to recognize.

Newt’s an odd kid, but he’s one of the few people at Harrington High who seems to get how awful things are in Solitary. He’s also one of the few people I trust.

It can’t be good that he’s standing at your doorstep, since he’s never come by before.

I open the door. “What is it?”

He glances down the stairs behind him before he quickly moves by me to get inside. Once inside, he locks the front door.

I used to think his silly fears were a bit extreme, but I don’t anymore.

“How’d you get here?” I ask.

“Rode my bike. Did you hear?”

“About Oli?”

“Who told you?” His eyes seem to keep getting bigger, like someone blowing up a balloon.

“The sheriff.”

Newt’s bangs are sweaty, and his face is flushed. I ask him if he’s okay, if he wants to sit and have something to drink.

“Oli was the most athletic guy in our school,” he says, ignoring my questions. “He didn’t drown. There is no way he drowned.”

He doesn’t have to tell me this.

“How did you hear?” I ask.

“Word’s getting around school. I saw it on Facebook.”

I nod. I haven’t been online for a while, much less on Facebook.

“I heard about what happened with Oli and Gus and you in the art room,” Newt says.

“I’m sure a lot of people have.”

“Don’t you think it has something to do with that?”

I shrug. “I’ve stopped thinking.”

The beady eyes look at me as if they’re trying to comprehend what I just said.

“I’m tired of playing detective,” I tell Newt.

He shakes his head.

“What?”

“You can’t just—”

“I can’t just what?” I ask. “Stop? Stop asking questions? You’re the one who always said I should be careful.”

“But that was before—”

“Before what? Before Oli died? Before they got to Jocelyn? Before they made Poe leave?”

“No. It was before—before I saw what they did to you.”

I don’t get what he’s talking about. “What do you mean, what they did to me? Who are you talking about? And what’d they do?”

“Nothing,” he says. “They didn’t do anything.”

I’m still not following.

Newt sighs and looks back at the door.

“Nobody’s coming, man,” I say. “There’s no boogeyman listening to us.”

He looks at me, his eyes flitting around.

“What?”

“See this?” Newt points to the red streak on his face.

I nod.

“You want to know how I got this? And the one on my arm?”

“Yeah.”

“Stuart Algiers. The kid who disappeared before you moved here. That’s how.”

“He did that to you?”

“No,” he says in frustration. “It was after he went missing. After the rumors really started getting crazy. I started looking into it.”

“You did?”

He nods. “Stuart was always nice to me. He stuck up for me when others didn’t. He was—he was kinda like you. And after he disappeared during Christmas break, I knew something bad must have happened to him. So I started looking around. Asking questions. Playing detective. And that’s when this happened.”

“
What
happened?”

“I was walking home from the park when a couple guys wearing ski masks jumped out of a van and grabbed me, then knocked me out. I woke up somewhere dark with a whole group of them standing around me, threatening me. They took something hot and sharp—like a knife left in a fire—and they did this.”

I can’t help but wince, looking at the scar.

Now you know, Chris.

“They said the only reason they didn’t kill me was that I was going to be a lesson. They wanted me to walk around with this, to warn other students not to mess around. Not to ask questions. To go about their lives being quiet and not curious.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So then you come in and start hanging around with Jocelyn and asking questions and snooping around. That’s why I’ve been careful. Why I act this way.”

“I’ve been warned too,” I tell him.

“Yes, but—Chris, for some reason you’re different. I don’t know. You just—you are.”

“Why?”

“Because people are looking out for you. And because—because they haven’t gotten to you.”

“Says who?”

He just looks at me, the eyes behind the spectacles, the scar on his cheek, the flustered face.

He is the picture of a warning sign.

“They got to Oli just like they got to Stuart. Or to Jocelyn. Or to others. But not you, Chris. You’re different.”

I shake my head. I don’t believe it. “So—what’s that have to do with anything?”

“So you can’t stop,” Newt says with as much strength as his little form and feeble voice can muster. “Not after everything. That’s what they want you to do. You have to keep going.”

“Keep going? Keep going where?”

I think of the pictures I found of Jocelyn dead and bloody. I think of Pastor Marsh, of the blade I thrust into his chest, of the realization that I’d killed a man in cold blood.

But you didn’t. He’s still around, still preaching some kind of message on Sunday mornings, still smiling his creepy smile.

As if everything that happened to us in the woods was just a dream. Or a nightmare.

Is there a difference?

I think of the following days and nights where I walked around as if a ghost or a goblin might grab me at any moment. Where I tried to make sense of it all.

I still can’t. It doesn’t make any.

“There’s nowhere left to go,” I say.

“Chris—”

“Newt, no. Enough.”

“You just can’t—stop.”

I laugh. It’s probably a little bit too loud and too crazy, because Newt suddenly looks scared.

“This is not my problem. I’m—I’m sorry to hear about Oli. Really. But I didn’t have anything to do with it. And this—all of this—I didn’t sign up for this. I’m done. With all of it.”

14. Similarities

I get to Harrington High a bit late and see Brick standing by the entrance, smoking. He watches me get off the bike and then offers me a cigarette when I get near him.

“No, thanks.”

“You do drugs, Buckwheat?”

I never know what exactly I’m gonna get from Brick.

“Just got out of rehab, so I gotta cut down, you know,” I say.

For a brief second he thinks about what I’m saying, then he laughs. “Funny.”

“I try.”

“You know, they don’t like drugs around here.”

“I hear they sure like them in Nebraska, though.”

This time he really doesn’t get my joke. Or he doesn’t think it’s funny.

“I’m serious. Like—it’s kinda weird.”

“People not liking drugs?”

He flicks his cigarette away and then shakes his head. “Nah, man. It’s how they leave you alone. If you’re part of that crowd.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

He opens the door to the school. “Look, you’re still new. I’ll show you sometime. Okay?”

I’m not so sure I want Brick showing me anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“That guy Staunch. I know all about him. I could write some books.”

He says this with a laugh.

The very mention of the name makes my skin crawl. I want to ask what he knows, but I don’t. Part of me wonders if he’s trying to get me to ask him, then he’ll fill me with lies.

“They don’t mess with me,” Brick continues. “Think I’m just a useless druggie, you know. But those are the ones you gotta watch. ’Cause those
are the ones watching you.”

Mr. Taggart is standing by the chalkboard with his wrinkled long-sleeved dress shirt sticking half out of his pants. He’s writing something in really messy cursive. Brick glances back at me and gives me a
What now?
expression. I take my new seat close to Lily and Harris but don’t get much of a greeting. Especially from Lily.

The teacher turns and looks at us. “I don’t know what I’m doing up here.” Then he curses.

I look at Harris, who is looking at Lily.

We’re all thinking the same thing.

What are
we
doing here?

“Any of you any good at algebra?” Mr. Taggart’s groggy voice asks.

He’s asking
us,
the ones sitting in class during the summer.

Brick raises his hand, which only gets a dismissive nod from the teacher.

“Do they use algebra in
Call of Duty
?” Brick asks.

Several people laugh as Mr. Taggart gives him a dead person’s look.

“Very funny, Franklin. You’re gonna need that humor in prison.”

“Trying my best,
sir,
” Brick replies.

This is gonna be a long class.

After class, Harris seems to remember the visit from Sheriff Wells and asks me about it as we’re walking out.

“It was nothing.”

“Have anything to do with Oli?”

So he’s heard. Of course he’s heard.

“Where’d you hear about that?”

“Everybody’s talking about it on Facebook and Twitter.”

“Talking about what?” a voice out of nowhere asks.

Little Miss Sunshine strolls up to us, still playing with her iPhone. Lily hasn’t said much to me today. I felt like a doorknob sitting in front of her. A doorknob that nobody’s bothering to turn and open. And I specifically tried looking a little nicer today, whatever that means since doorknobs never look particularly interesting.

“This kid at our school drowned in a lake,” Harris says.

Lily stops texting or doing whatever she’s doing and stares at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s awful. Did you guys know him?”

Harris and I shake our heads. She brushes back the curly golden locks and looks genuinely upset.

“How old was he?”

“Seventeen,” Harris says.

“Just a kid,” she says, staring down the hallway and lost for a moment. “Wow.”

We’re heading out of the school on another gloriously sunny day. I’m getting ready for the regular routine of telling them I’ll see them later when Lily says, “Now I’m seriously bummed out.”

She stops Harris as if she’s had a bright idea. She looks like a model today in her bright pink top and dark pink shorts.

“You want to go to lunch today? Do you have time?”

“I don’t work until three,” Harris says. He works at a golf resort not far from Asheville.

“What about you, biker boy?”

“I don’t have a job,” I say.

“Great. Let’s go somewhere, then. My treat. I don’t exactly have a job either. But I have money.”

I nod and realize I have no idea where Lily lives or what her story is.

“Want to follow us, then?” she asks. “Harris and I will figure out a place to go.”

I nod. As Harris and Lily walk over to his car, I see Brick coming up behind me.

“Puppy dogs.”

I smile and nod, not knowing what he meant by it.

“You keep sniffing and you’ll get your nose cut off,” Brick says to me in his good-old-boy accent. He makes himself laugh as he keeps walking away from the parking lot and down the hill.

I guess he doesn’t drive to summer school.

As I follow the shiny sports car that looks like it just got washed and waxed, I’m wondering why Brick thinks we’re puppy dogs.

And why he thinks we might get our noses cut off.

I think of Jared, my so-called cousin. All he ever wanted was to keep tabs on me and fill me with wrong information.

Don’t worry, Brick. I’m not trusting anybody again. No way.

We drive fifteen minutes away from the school, so far that I seriously start wondering if they’re playing a joke on me. We get off the main highway and head into a small town called Flat Rock. They eventually stop at a smokehouse that looks pretty busy for a Tuesday. It takes us a few minutes to order and then take our food outside to sit at a table.

Lily wears large shades that seem to lose themselves in her windblown hair. She’s ordered fries and a barbecue beef sandwich as large as her head. Something tells me she doesn’t eat like this every day.

“So what’s your story, Chris?” she asks me after we’ve started eating.

Harris sits next to her in a pair of mirrored sunglasses. I can’t tell if either of them is even looking at me while they eat.

“I moved here last October.”

Last October feels like two years ago.

Make that two lifetimes ago.

“From where?”

“Libertyville. A suburb of Chicago.”

She finishes a fry and then sips her soda. “I absolutely love Chicago.”

So here’s my chance. To ask her what her story is.

Yet I just can’t.

“Why’d you move?” Lily asks.

“My parents divorced.”

“You kidding?”

I shake my head.

“Same here.”

“Really?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“Who’d you move with?”

“My mom.”

“Same here! What—was your old man cheating?”

“Uh, no.”

“Mine was. What a nightmare. It just proves that it doesn’t matter who it is. If it’s a guy, then it can happen. Right, Harris?”

“We’re all pigs,” Harris jokes.

“You are.” She picks up one of the ten napkins around his plate and flings it in his direction.

I don’t want to tell her that my parents’ divorce was due to God and not because of breaking one of His commandments.

“Where’d you move from?” I ask.

“Just like you—a suburb. Dunwoody. North of Atlanta.”

The obvious question on the tip of my tongue is—

“So you’re wondering why in the world Solitary. Right?”

“Nobody moves to Solitary,” Harris says. “Then Chris comes along. And now you.”

“Why’d you move here?” Lily asks.

“My mom grew up around here. And my uncle—he used to live here.”

“Ah, family then,” Lily says. “We’re sorta the same. Well, kinda. My mother’s mother had a place here. She recently passed and left it to us. After everything happened back home—my mom just wanted to split.”

“Sounds familiar,” I say.

“You guys should start some kind of recovery group,” Harris says.

“Hey—shut up,” Lily jokes. “Divorce isn’t funny.”

Harris nods. “Especially when you have to move to this place.”

“How was your first year at the school?” Lily asks.

I seriously almost choke on a bite of my burger. I finally swallow and am not sure how to answer her.

I mean, could things have possibly gone any worse?

“That bad?” she asks with a laugh.

“Wasn’t that good.”

“Great,” she says. “You guys sure know how to make a girl feel welcome. Especially after she buys you lunch.”

“What do you want us to say?” Harris asks. “We’re just being honest.”

“Gee—I can’t wait for school to start!” Lily exaggerates.

I wish I could see her eyes. They really do tell a lot about somebody. And I just want to see them in order to get some idea, some hint of who she might really be. Right now she’s like the sun above us. Bright and cheery and carefree.

I want to tell her things about this town.

“Maybe my mom will decide that she can’t take any more and move us back to Atlanta.”

Maybe it’s from her good looks or maybe it’s from where she grew up, but Lily carries a confidence that’s surprising even for someone like her. It’s not like she’s talking down to Harris and me. But she definitely controls the conversation and the tone and, well, basically everything about us sitting here.

And you like that, don’t you?

Coming from a house where my mom controls nothing—absolutely nothing—the feeling of having someone in control is kinda welcome.

Especially if that someone is someone like Lily.

“I gather that the two of you aren’t exactly typical Harrington High boys, are you?”

“Oh, no, it’s almost seventy-five percent black,” Harris jokes. “Right, Chris?”

“Yeah, sure. And everybody
loves
alternative music.”

My joke is definitely the weaker of the two. But Lily smiles at both of us, the two boys sitting at her table.

“I’m expecting both of you to show me around when school begins. Deal?”

Harris and I both nod. I’m pretty confident both of us are more than happy to show Lily around. At least I am.