Wicked Hunger (20 page)

“If Ivy knows Zander is dangerous, but isn’t in love with him, then she must be trying to bait him into hurting her.”

“Why would she do that?” I ask. It’s not a new idea, kids have done that to me before—usually succeeding—but I don’t see what Ivy would get in exchange for the huge risk she’s taking.

“Maybe she’s trying to expose him for what he is,” Ketchup says, “and I don’t mean like when Tommy Ned threw that baseball at your face just to watch the welt it gave you disappear within seconds. He did that to be a jerk and make you look like a freak.”

“Which he did.”

“You’re not a freak, Van,” Ketchup says sharply. I roll my eyes at him and urge him to spit out the rest of his explanation. I am too a freak.

“For Ivy to put herself next to Zander, she’s got to have a bigger reason than that. She must want to show a bunch of people, or a certain person, how dangerous he is.”

“Who would care that much?” I ask. “If Zander actually hurt Ivy, the police would get involved, but they would just think he was insane like Oscar. They’d lock him up and forget about him. Maybe it would be on the news for a while, but she wouldn’t have really accomplished anything.”

Ketchup leans back, pulling me along with him. Before I know it, my head is resting on his shoulder comfortably. This time, I am in control enough to start to sit back up, but his arm tightening around me makes me pause. I look at him, ready to tell him that we shouldn’t. The pure puppy dog longing in his eyes begs me to give him just this one moment. I can’t resist. I realize I don’t want to. My head lies back down on his shoulder as a sense of warmth spreads through my body.

“Maybe we can find out who, if anyone, is behind Ivy’s interest in Zander,” Ketchup says.

“What do you mean?”

“When Laney asked you both to go to her house Sunday, Ivy said she couldn’t because she wasn’t allowed to go places on Sunday.”

My “
and…”
is implied in my expression.

“I thought that was kinda weird when she said it. Unless her family is super religious, and Ivy is extremely obedient and pious—which doesn’t really fit with her pink striped hair and attraction to Zander—she is lying. She’s hiding the real reason she can’t hang out on Sundays,” Ketchup says. “And if we try hard enough, I’m sure we can figure out what she’s really doing.”

“Are you suggesting we spy on Ivy this Sunday?”

“Yep.”

“You really think we can do it without being caught?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

He says it with such confidence that I wonder whether or not he has reason to be so sure of his abilities. Has he spied on me before? That leaves me with both an icky feeling, and an excited hum running over my skin. I’m not sure which one is more powerful, but I’m definitely going to make sure my curtains are closed tonight.

Hoping my thoughts aren’t blatant in my expression, I turn to look at Ketchup. With my head on his shoulder, it puts our faces rather close together when he turns toward me as well. His eyes are suddenly all I can think about. I used to tease him that his eyes were the color of mud. It made him furious every time I said it. They’re still a strange mixture of grey and brown, but they don’t remind me of mud anymore. Instead, the colors look to be slowly blending together, a potter’s clay not yet molded into what it is meant to become. They hold immeasurable possibilities, and I think they are the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

“You really want to help me?” I ask him quietly. In the midst of thumping bass and melodramatic voices blaring through the party, I’m not sure how he even hears me, but he nods with conviction. “Everything I’ve told you tonight sounds like a bunch of crap, but you’re willing to go along with it. Why?”

“Because I trust you,” he says simply. The other reason is left unsaid, but it’s echoed in the way he holds me. Because he loves me, too.

“We may get into trouble doing this,” I warn him.

He grins. “That’s nothing new.”

“I’m serious, Ketchup. This may lead to serious consequences for you.”

“I said I’ll help, so I will.”

Several minutes pass where neither one of us speaks. It isn’t uncomfortable. I have no desire to look away from the intensity of his gaze. I want to be swallowed by it.

“You could have told me why you really broke up with me, Van.”

“I still haven’t told you, not really,” I admit.

“Tell me.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Nothing you can say will make me leave, Van.”

“This will.”

“No, it won’t. Whatever this thing with you and Zander really is, we could find a way to make it work.”

My chin drops down. “If I choose you, I’d have to give up Zander. He’s my brother, Ketchup. I can’t do that to him.”

Ketchup’s fingers glide across my cheek, tricking me into looking back up. His mouth hovers just above mine. “I’m not going anywhere, Van.”

“I don’t want you to,” my traitorous mouth whispers.

The desire in his eyes staggers me. When he leans in, I don’t move. I don’t even want to. I want to recapture the moment I lost two years ago.

Incredibly loud slurping right next to my ear diverts my eyes to find Laney staring at me. I jump away from Ketchup and scramble to my feet. Laney turns on her heel to follow my frenzied movements. Looking annoyed as anything, Ketchup tries to follow me. He darts around Laney in an attempt to reach me. She’s no help at all, turning out of his way and watching with a fascinated grin while trying not to drop her nachos.

“Van, wait,” Ketchup says when I elude him.

I grab Laney's arm and start dragging her toward the parking lot. “I’m going home, Ketchup.”

“Home?” Laney squeaks. “I just got back. Things are getting interesting. I don’t want to leave, yet.”

“I’ll drive you,” Ketchup says as he catches up to me and tries to grab my arm.

“I…no. No. Come on, Laney.”

As I pass by Zander, he looks over at me questioningly, a hint of concern in his eyes. I shouldn’t leave him there with Ivy, but I turn away and keep walking. He isn’t the only one with problems. He’ll be safe enough with so many other people around. I push through the gate without looking back. I spot Laney's car and make a beeline for it.

“Van, wait!” Ketchup grabs my hand and yanks me to a stop. I spin around to face him, unsure of what to say. Luckily, he talks before I have to figure it out. “What time should I pick you up on Sunday?”

There’s so much more hiding behind those words, but I force myself to ignore all of it. “Um, I don’t know. Early? What time do you think we should start?”

Before he can answer, Laney pipes up, and for once I know how Zander and Ketchup feel. “I thought you were going out with Noah on Sunday. Aren’t you going to start writing your scene or something?”

Jealousy tightens Ketchup’s grip on me. “Not until later,” I say through my teeth.

“Eight o’clock then?” Ketchup asks.

“Sure.” I slide myself out of his hold and shove Laney toward the new car she just got for her birthday. She has sense enough to shut up until we’re inside and pulling away.

“So, you wanna talk about what just happened…or what almost happened?”

Glaring at her, I say, “No.”

She shrugs and lets me be for now. If only my own heart and mind would do the same. All the way home, the only thing I can think about is the favor Zander owes me and how I know exactly what I want to ask for.

When Noah pulls up in front of my house, I jump up and fly out of the front door with barely even a goodbye to Grandma. I have to get away. Zander has been a moody mess since Friday night. Grandma isn’t any better, but they are the easiest thing I’ve had to deal with today. Spending the morning with Ketchup was torture. Not only was it awkward and weird between us, the only thing we saw Ivy do all morning was go into the converted garage in her backyard and come back out hours later.

What was the garage converted into? Now
that
we couldn’t figure out without getting caught. Too many eyes to attempt a look in broad daylight. When we finally had to give up so I could make it back in time to meet Noah, the tension between us got even worse. I was about to choke on it by the time we got back to my house.

Climbing into Noah’s car, I buckle myself in with a nervous smile.

“Hey, so how was the party after the game Friday night?” he asks.

My insides twist into a million shapes they shouldn’t. “Uh, fine.”

“Did you stay very long?”

“Not really. I was pretty tired. It was a long day.” It’s been a long couple of weeks, actually.

“Well, are you ready to do some writing?” he asks.

“I guess, though I’m not sure how much writing we’re actually going to need to do. I don’t think there’s a lot of talking in a battle scene. Not unless you count yelling.”

Noah laughs. “True. I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

As we drive over to his house, I will myself to relax. At one point, the idea of Noah actually developing feelings for me was exciting. I let myself wonder what it would be like to have a normal relationship with someone. Ordinary sounded so wonderful at the time. Now, every moment I spend with Noah just inspires more guilt.

Thankfully, Noah lives on the opposite end of the school district, so I have plenty of time to try and collect myself. I push everything but our project out of my mind. Surprisingly, Zander and Ivy are the easiest to ditch. Ketchup is the hardest. He lasts until we reach Noah’s house.

When we park in Noah’s driveway, I stare up at the split level home in awe. Not because it’s huge or lavish. It’s pretty average sized, actually. The lawn is well cared for, but not perfect, and the mailbox looks like it’s been backed into several times. I smile, wondering if that was due to Noah learning to drive. What I really love about his house is the tricycle left on the grass, the giant-sized scribble drawing done in chalk on the driveway, and the blaring sounds of pop music spilling out of an upstairs window. His house is happy and alive.

The impression doubles when we walk through the door. His little sister Amelia is running through the house with a fairy wand in her hand and a cape tied around her neck. A slightly taller, equally energetic boy chases after her with a Nerf dart gun spraying foam bullets in every direction. In the kitchen his mom and older sister are cooking dinner together and arguing about how the recipe should be prepared. Noah’s mom is waving a spatula covered in something yellow and creamy at her daughter when she notices us.

“Noah,” she says, smiling and dropping the spatula back into the bowl. She wipes her hands on a towel and holds one out to me. “And you must be Van. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Elsa, and this is Kennedy, Noah’s older sister.”

Kennedy swoops past her mom and ruffles her brother’s hair. “Nice to meet you, Van. We’ve heard
lots
about you from Noah here.”

“Shut up, Kennedy,” Noah quips. She laughs at him and saunters back to the stove.

“Mom, we’re going downstairs to the den. Can you keep the little ones out while we’re working?”

“I’ll try,” she says with a smile. After seeing them tear through the house a minute ago, trying might be the most anyone can expect. “Van, you haven’t eaten yet, have you? We’d love for you stay for dinner tonight.”

Caught off guard by her invitation, it takes me a minute to respond. “Uh, no I haven’t eaten yet, but you really don’t have to feed me. I’ll just eat when I get home.”

“You’ll eat with us.” End of discussion, apparently. She turns back to the stove to argue with Kennedy some more and gets another plate out of the cupboard to add to the stack already on the counter. I’m sure she’s forgotten about us completely until we start to head downstairs and she throws one more comment over her shoulder. “Stay in the den, Noah. No girls in your bedroom, okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” Noah drawls, rolling his eyes.

He leads me downstairs to a toy covered den. His growl of frustration amuses me. “Sorry this place is such a mess. My little brother and sister are walking disasters. It’s impossible to get them to clean up after themselves.”

“It’s okay, Noah,” I say. “It’s actually kind of nice. I like the mess.”

He looks at me with one eyebrow cocked. “I didn’t picture you as a messy kind of person, despite the sponges and spilled cookies.”

“I’m not, but this is different.”

“How?”

I shrug, not sure what I mean myself. “It isn’t dirty clothes or forgotten sandwiches. It’s the mess of playing and being happy. They’re too busy running around playing cowboys and some kind of fairy princess superhero game to worry about picking up. It’s nice. It’s a sign that your house is happy.”

“You’ll have to tell my mom that. It will make her day to hear toys on the floor equals happiness. It’ll mean our house is about the happiest place on earth,” Noah says.

I laugh and start helping him clean up. When we have some free space on the floor, we sit down on a couple of bean bag chairs with a notebook and absolutely zero ideas. Fifteen minutes later, we still don’t have anything useable. Throwing my pencil down, I sink into my bean bag.

“I have no idea where to start with this.”

“Where to start…” Noah sits up. “Well, why do most battles and wars start?”

“The three G’s,” I say automatically.

“What?”

“God, gold, and glory. Didn’t you have Ms. Ames for world history?” I ask.

Noah shakes his head. “I had Dunne.”

“Oh, well that was always Ms. Ames’ answer for wars. Some kind of religious proclamation of superiority, wealth being at stake, or the need to be the biggest and most powerful. Pick any war in history and she could give you one of those three reasons as the cause of it,” I say.

“Hmm,” Noah says, “I think Paris and Helen of Troy might disagree with Ms. Ames. Love can spark wars just as quickly as the other three.”

“Paris and Helen aren’t real people, Noah. They don’t count.”

Slouching into his bean bag, Noah looks at me thoughtfully. “You think they’re the only ones that ever started a fight because they weren’t supposed to be together?
West Side Story
is a classic movie, one everybody’s seen. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s
Romeo and Juliet
, another fictional story.” I pick the notebook and pencil back up off the floor. I hold the pencil ready to write something, anything. This isn’t really a topic I want to discuss right now. “Besides, we can’t use love as a reason for our fight. There’s only two of us, and if we were in love with each other, why would we be fighting?”

“We’d have to have a love triangle, I suppose, but you’re right that we’d need three people for that,” Noah says. He taps his chin. “Too bad Ketchup isn’t in our class. I bet Mr. Littleton would let us add him in if we asked.”

My head snaps up, and we lock eyes. His are calm, but his body is held taut. Mine is immoveable. Although, the feeling of insects crawling around under my skin is on the verge of making me jump up and bolt. “What?” I manage to ask.

The corner of Noah’s mouth twitches at the sharpness in my tone. “Van, I’m not blind. Ketchup sat behind me the whole game. I could feel him glaring at me every second, and if I even got close to touching you, he
accidently
kneed me in the back or kicked me. It’s obvious that Ketchup has a thing for you.”

“Look, Ketchup is…my best friend,” I finish lamely.

Noah frowns. “Best friend? Or something more?”

“We’re not dating.”

“Look, I know it may be none of my business,” Noah says, “but I like you. I want to keep seeing you, and not just to do homework. If you’re not interested, well, you can just say so and I’ll back off.”

I look down at the notebook, tapping the pencil against it to keep my thoughts focused. I love Ketchup. I always will. But I would be lying if I said Noah and his normal life wasn’t at least a little appealing. Maybe it’s the right thing to do. If I distanced myself from Ketchup, he might find someone else and be happier. If I were a stronger person I would do it. In the end, I answer Noah’s question as honestly as I can.

“I don’t know what I want,” I say. “I do like you. You’re really sweet, and you actually want to hang out with me, which is a big plus. It’s just that there’s a lot going on in my life right now.”

I look up at him, hoping he can understand. Noah nods thoughtfully. “Does Ketchup know that?” he asks, a bit of annoyance creeping into his voice.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Noah sighs. “Ketchup doesn’t seem to care that you’ve put limits on your relationship with him. He still looks at you like you’re his. And you don’t stop him from acting like that.”

“How am I supposed to stop him?” I snap.

“By putting some distance between the two of you, for one.”

Meeting Noah’s eyes, I don’t know what to say but the truth. “Noah, I’m sorry Ketchup wasn’t very nice to you at the game, but nothing I say to him will change that. He really is a good guy, but yes, it bothers him to see you with me. Maybe I should walk away from him, do the right thing, but I can’t. There’s too much history, too long of a friendship for me to do that. I’m sorry, but if you want to hang around with me, you have to accept the fact that Ketchup will be there too.”

“Ketchup isn’t going to run me off.” Noah suddenly grins. “I just hope he’s ready for some competition.”

I shake my head, knowing Ketchup is more than up to the challenge. “Good luck,” I say with a smile. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. We’ve been through a lot together. It won’t be easy to get him to back off”

“Then why aren’t you dating?” Noah shakes his head. “Sorry, none of my business.”

Shaking my head, I appreciate him trying not to be nosy, but I feel I owe him some kind of explanation, even if it’s not much. “I know it sounds cliché, but it’s complicated. Family stuff mostly. I can’t really go into it, but Ketchup and I are only friends.”

More questions burn in Noah’s eyes, but he is nice enough not to ask. He seems glad for now to know that there is a chance for a relationship to develop between us. To be honest, so am I.

A few silent minutes later, Noah’s mom calls us up for dinner. Well, she calls everyone, and everyone comes pouring out of both levels to converge on the kitchen in a rush. Dodging them is tricky. I end up flattening myself against the wall as I watch them fall into their seats. The three siblings I met earlier are joined by two more, a boy who looks to be about ten and a girl who can’t be much older than thirteen. His parents sit at either end of the table, and two chairs have been squashed in at one end to make room for me and Noah.

“Are there anymore?” I whisper to Noah.

He chuckles, and says, “Nope, that’s everyone. Hungry?”

I nod, but more than just the large family staring at me holds me back. Zander, Oscar, and I once tried to figure out how many people in the world our hunger might want. We tallied up everyone we had ever come in contact with that spiked our hunger at school and compared it to how many people were in our school. It was hardly scientific, and probably not terribly accurate, but the numbers we got were a bit discouraging. On average, one in twenty or so people appeal to our hunger. Any time I get around a group of new people, I get nervous, and there are still four members of Noah’s family that I have yet to really meet.

Before I can work up the courage to approach his family of my own free will, Noah slips his hand into mine and tugs me forward. He didn’t do it just to get me started, either. He makes no move to let go of me as we cross the kitchen to the dining room. Maybe because he’s partially dragging me.

I breathe a sigh of relief when Noah finally lets go of me to pull my chair out. Hoping I can melt into the general mayhem around me and stay at a safe distance until I can be sure, I fold my hands in my lap and don’t say anything. Not more than two seconds pass before Noah’s mom is introducing me to everyone at the table, telling me their names and letting everyone in on the details of the project Noah and I are working on.