The Stranger Inside (6 page)

“What’s the guy’s name again?”

“Parker Zuckerman. You met him yesterday at the mall. I mean, that’s what I told your mom just now on the phone. I said I’m Parker and you met me at the mall.”

I set my jaw, still blazed at Mom for not telling me Grey had called. And called and called. Evil! I tried convincing myself she deserved this—to be lied to; I shouldn’t feel guilty. She may say she has my best interest at heart, but I found it hard to believe she even
had
a heart, letting me think I was all alone. That no one cared. Not even Grey, my only friend.

 I bit my lip, not exactly comfortable with a calculated lie—even when I tried to justify it, ‘cause to me, Mom deserved it. But lying still made me feel … icky. “Devious.”

“Yeah, well, with your mom you have to be. See you in a while.”

Sawyer hung up and I frowned at the phone. He obviously knew my mom pretty well. Weird.

“Whatever.” I tried shrugging it off, ‘cause I didn’t want it to eat at me, but I felt creeped out. How did he know my mom? Why didn’t she like him? It reminded me again how mysterious he got last night—when he all the sudden realized I was me, Jodi—after I’d told him and told him. But for some reason, when he saw my house, that’s when he pieced it together and believed me.

He’d gotten so mysterious. I tried to downplay that every time the memory cropped up. After all, last night had been a nightmare and Sawyer had comforted me, sort of, as best anyone could under the circumstances.

I lay on my bed, my arm stretched out over my forehead, staring at the Good Charlotte poster taped to my wall. Every time I saw it, which was constantly now, I thought about tearing it down and ripping it to shreds. I could even see myself doing it, all
screw-you
like. It seemed it would maybe be symbolic and therapeutic and all that kind of stuff. But instead of moving, I squeezed my eyes shut. Jeremy gave me that poster two years ago, right before Mom kicked me out of the house. I’d gone to take a shower and when I came back to my room, Jeremy had taped it to my wall, a big surprise. The poster was his way of saying he had tickets for us to see my favorite band.

For a moment my mind slipped back to that day, all happy and full of love. Jeremy had run his fingers through my hair, saying, “Wear your red dress, okay? I love you in your red dress.”

I’m not going to cry
.

I shot up from bed and ripped the poster off my wall. I didn’t tear it up, though. Not like I planned. Once it was in my hands, I couldn’t do it. Gah! Instead, I rolled it up and shoved it in the back of my closet. At least I wouldn’t think of Jeremy every time I looked at my wall now—instead I’d see a gaping hole, emptiness. I tried to ignore the irony, and figured I was making baby steps towards “break-up recovery.” Or more like, “machete-through-my-heart recovery.” Slow, tiny baby-steps. Pathetically slow. Abnormally slow.

But Jeremy wasn’t normal and what we’d had wasn’t normal. He was my everything when I lived here, my boyfriend, my best friend. His older sister, Erica, had treated me like an intruder when I was forced to move into their house after Mom and Craig got married. She made me feel unwelcome, like a pest. But Jeremy wasn’t like that—not at all, ever. He was the opposite. He’d welcomed me with open arms, into his life, into his heart.

He’d promised it was forever. He’d bury his face in my hair and whisper, “
I love you Jodi. I’ll always love you. Always.”

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memory. Normally, I didn’t allow myself to think of Jeremy. It hurt too much.

I sighed, still left with a half hour of nothing to do but think about the blood in my dream or the fact I was bonkers—even those thoughts were preferable to those of Jeremy. Well, almost. I got my flute out of its case. Playing usually helps calm me down. Usually.

I had only played a second, though, when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. It was weird—like a shadow, black and ominous. And quick. It zoomed across my wall, blazingly fast, then it was gone.

My heart stopped. Froze in my chest. Then it pounded like a jackhammer.

“What the …?”

When I could finally move, breathe, I bolted to my window then looked out to see if maybe an airplane had flown by. Hoping. Maybe it had made the shadow? But no. There was nothing in the sky. Nothing in my room. Nothing but me—Miss Nutso.

***

Parker was an awkward, skinny boy with thick glasses. Mom seemed pleased by his appearance. She didn’t even bother to give him the third degree. She just said to be home by nine.

The ride to Sawyer’s was short and silent. Parker didn’t seem to be much of a talker, not that I minded. I was still kind of freaked about the shadow thing. I mean, what was it?
Nothing
, I tried reassuring myself.
A simple trick of vision
.

I willed myself not to let the word “hallucination” even enter my mind. After all, it wouldn’t have, if I didn’t know about Kenzie. What probably happened was this: I just woke from that scary dream and I wasn’t totally awake. And I wasn’t thinking clearly. And … that was it. All there was to it.

When we got to Sawyer’s he was sitting out on his front step, messing with his iPhone. When I saw him, I widened my eyes. He was actually pretty hot—really hot—not exactly my type but still yummy attractive. Last night I hadn’t paid that much attention. Learning you are completely nuts is somewhat self-absorbing.

Sawyer strolled over to the car as we pulled up. He opened the door for me, smiling with a flirty gleam in his eyes. As I got out of the car, his eyes darted from my hair, to my face, to my legs. He raised his eyebrows, and mouthed the word
wow
, but he didn’t say anything aloud. He just smiled, all
you’re-my-shiny-new-toy
, eyeing me as though he itched to reach out and play.

I straightened my skirt and dropped my gaze, feeling shy. I’d gone to an all-girl school practically my entire life. I wasn’t used to guys’ attention anymore and certainly wasn’t used to one giving it so brazenly. But Sawyer watched me even as I straightened my skirt. I could feel his eyes drinking me in. When I finally looked up at him, he made a slight thumping gesture, his hands over his heart.

“It’s your hair,” he said with a teasing laugh, seeming to know his gaze unsettled me. “It’s Mmmmm,” he put his hands over his heart again, “beautiful. Out here in the sun, it’s red. And shiny. It makes me want to get my hands in it.”

He flicked his gaze to Parker. “Thanks for giving her a ride.”

Parker nodded, then without a word, drove away. Sawyer watched him leave with a peculiar smile on his face. “I was kind of worried your mom wouldn’t let you come.”

“You didn’t act worried,” I said, ‘cause he didn’t. He’d acted like he had
The Plan
, all confident and sure. Like he totally knew my mom and what it took to push her
give-me-what-I-want
buttons. Exactly who was this guy? I stared at him, openly scrutinizing. He just stared back, his round blue eyes full of mischief, obviously enjoying the probe. Finally, I relented, “Parker was a good choice.”

Sawyer grinned. “I thought he would be. I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of hired him to be your boyfriend.”

I blinked. “You what?”

“Well, I mean, he’ll be picking you up whenever I want to see you. Your mom can just think he’s your boyfriend.”

I stared at him, harder still. It was eerie how well he knew my mom. “That might work,” I admitted. Mom thinking I was dating Parker might actually get her off my back.

“So, why does my mom hate you?”

“It’s a long story,” Sawyer hedged, practically stuffing me into the passenger seat of his car. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”

“Dinner?” It was only four in the afternoon. I know I said I was like an old person, with the naps and everything, but still, I doubted I could actually get the senior discount for the early-bird-special.

“Yeah, dinner. You can eat now, can’t you?”

“I could. But it’s early. Why don’t we eat later? I don’t have to be home until nine.”

“Nine?!” He staggered. “Your curfew’s
nine
?”

 “Well, maybe it won’t be after a while if I keep dating Parker,” I said, then went on, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “It’s just that my mom doesn’t trust me. Past history and all that.”

Sawyer raised his eyebrows. “She’s got you confused with Kenzie.”

I knew he was only teasing, I could tell by his grin, but still, I felt this need to explain, to make sure he understood. “No. She doesn’t even know about Kenzie. You’re the only person who knows.”

“Yeah?” He gave me a sidelong look, like he couldn’t manage a full-on gaze, like he was embarrassed for me. “How’d you manage that?”

“I told you, it hardly ever happens. And when it does, it’s not like it was yesterday. I mean it’s not an all day thing. Usually it’s like a half-hour—at the most. The very most.” I bit the inside of my cheek, my ears burning. “It’s caused from stress. I guess.”

“Really?” Sawyer glanced at me, then over his shoulder as he backed the car out of the driveway. “Are you under a lot of stress?”

“Well, yeah. Kind of.” I didn’t really want to tell him about Dad. The subject hurt to talk about. But the thing was, I wanted him to be my friend. He didn’t seem like the most compassionate guy in the world, but he was all I had at the moment. I figured I should toss him a bone. “My dad died recently.” I bit my lip, even having trouble just getting that little bit out. “That’s why I’m here, living with my mom.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely sympathetic. He glanced at me as he drove. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about it.

He glanced at me again, then back at the road. “Well, we can’t be together that late anyway. My band practices at seven.”

My eyes lit up, or at least the equivalent of that. “You’re in a band?”

“Yeah, The Clutch. I play the guitar. I told you that yesterday—oh, I guess I told Kenzie.”

No. Stop talking about Kenzie
, I willed.
Forget there is a Kenzie. ‘Cause probably there isn’t. Not anymore. I hope.

But a band—a sexy, hot band full of guys—that’s what I needed, a distraction. Hanging with them could get my mind off images of blood and Kenzie for a while. Hopefully. “Can I come hear you practice?”

Sawyer winced—I swear,
winced
. Then he set his jaw, staring straight out at the road. It was a long time before he answered. “No,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I don’t think you should.”

No? No! He’d been acting so into me—wanting to date me even though he knew I was screwed up—and he’d been looking at me all
I’m-incredibly-hungry-can-I-suck-your-face-please-please-please
ever since I got here
.
He had schemed around psychotic Mom, hired Parker so he could see me. And his answer was no?

I stared at his set jaw, not sure how to react. It was weird. He had gone all rigid, like what I asked was a big deal. But it wasn’t … was it? I didn’t get it.

He gave a nervous laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why can’t I come?”

“Because …” He ran a hand through his hair, like he was uncomfortable with the truth.

He took a deep breath. “Look, we don’t like to have people around when we’re practicing—not even beautiful girls. Man, especially not beautiful girls. It’s distracting.” He glanced back at the road, then obviously to placate me, added, “Maybe you can come hear us when we play for real sometime.”

Ugh. Wary glance. “How often is that?” I remembered back to when Jeremy used to be in a band. They practiced a lot, but rarely performed.

Sawyer didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Almost every weekend.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He laughed at my surprise. “We’re good.”

Well, great
.

I slunk down in my seat. I didn’t believe his excuse. Whatever was going on in his brain wasn’t what came out of his mouth.

Still, I tried to be fair. I couldn’t hold his guard against him, not really. He just met me. He didn’t have to spill his guts to me or all of his secrets either. I sure wasn’t spilling mine, and I’d be bugged if he tried weaseling them out of me. Still, I wanted to hear his band, meet his friends, and I definitely didn’t want to be home by seven; left to sit around thinking about Kenzie and blood and shadows.

We pulled into a restaurant that, by sheer coincidence, used to be my favorite. It’s called “The Pancake House” and just seeing it again brought back a wave of nostalgia. Jeremy and I, we spent a lot of time here, just the two of us. It was “our place.”

I gulped, almost asking Sawyer if we could go somewhere else instead, but I didn’t. Partly because I was dying to see the place again, but also there’s a part of me that’s apparently really into pain.

Inside, the place was just as I remembered—dingy but cozy. Nothing seemed to have changed.
It’s just a pancake house
, I told myself.
Get over it
. But seeing the tiny booth in the corner tugged at my heart, made me want to be alone, pay it homage.

I was glad when the hostess came and sat us on the other side of the room, making it so I had to totally turn my head to get a glimpse of the booth.
I just won’t turn my head
.
I can do this
.

“I’ve been thinking.” Sawyer opened his menu, then closed it. He leaned over the table toward me. “It might be a good idea if you got a job.”

I choked on my water. “Excuse me?”

“You should get a job. Work. It’d be easier to see you that way.”

“Yesterday I was looking for a job,” I reminded him, confused.

His mouth quirked in reply to my job hunting statement, like it was funny. “Yeah. But you were looking in the mall.” He blew his straw wrapper at me. “Everyone wants to work in the mall. You can’t really get a job there unless you know someone already working in one of the stores.”

Grrr! That was probably true. Bummer. I slumped a little. “I don’t have a friend working
any
where.”