Frenzy Page 2

  I glance around for Crystal, but she’s nowhere in sight. I pull my cell out and text her: where are you? She usually rides home with me or Stacey. She texts back instantly that she caught a ride with someone else, and can’t make the movies tonight. Her father is in town, and her mother insists the three of them spend quality time together. Since she’s been at the school, she’s made each Friday movie night. I shrug and tell her I’ll text her later.

  “Ian’s awesome,” I say to Brian, pushing my phone into my purse.

  “Not really. He’s just a guy,” Brian replies.

  “What’s wrong with you? What’s the deal with the two of you?”

  He glances at me with a devilish smirk. “I’ll race you.”

  “What?”

  “Get in position.” Oh, yeah, he’s bossy.

  “This distraction technique isn’t going to work. After I make you cry with my superlative skills, you’re going to talk to me.” To say we’re competitive is an understatement. Therefore, his request isn’t absurd, just ill-timed.

  We race often—to see who reaches the pool in his backyard first, to see who does a lap in the pool the fastest, to determine who eats the fastest. There’s always something to compete for.

  I’m wearing black Converse—not the best running shoes, but I can take him or at least have a good time trying. Brian hates to lose. He’ll trip me if the opportunity presents itself.

  “Okay. The finish line’s the grass.” He points beyond the patchy grass in front of us near the concrete student parking lot.

  Brian lifts his foot and attempts to kick me in the left leg. He misses. I squeal in pain anyway, to throw him off. ’s an athlete and has an advantage after all. So instead, I slap the back of his head with the palm of my left hand.

  “Watch it,” he winces.

  “On your mark, get set…” We both inch forward a little—we rarely play fair. “Go!” Brian yells.

  I sprint headfirst. My feet glide smoothly over the cement. I lose track of Brian as I haul myself toward the finish line he’s pointed out.

  He probably has a cramp. That’s what he gets for eating those donuts a few minutes ago. In record time, I reach the grass. I do my seldom-performed victory dance—my arms flaying wildly in the wind and my hips gyrate to the beat of my heart. I spin around, prepared to taunt Brian.

  But he isn’t beside me.

  I turn to face the school. He isn’t there, either. My stomach rumbles as the smell of Joe’s Pizza—two blocks away—wafts to my nostrils, distracting me from my quest. Where is he? I’m hungry.

  Out of nowhere, he barrels toward me; I have no time to move before he knocks me to the grass. His muscular biceps ripple as he pins my arms and legs—holding me in place with his body. He grins down at me.

  He shouts, “One, two, three.” He taps his hand on the ground and throws his arms up in a victory stance. “And the winner is… me.”

  “We weren’t wrestling… we were racing,” I remind him from my constrained position.

  “I’d rather wrestle.” His voice is husky and causes my breath to catch. “You don’t get to touch your opponent when you race. All I ever want to do is touch you. You’re so beautiful.” He bends forward to kiss my lips.

  Just as his lips are about to touch mine, I pull my right leg up and swing it around. I knock him over and then bounce on top of him. My legs fold around him, trying to prevent him from moving. “You don’t get a kiss in wrestling.” I smile down at him. “Now I’m the winner of both the race and wrestling.” I brush the grass from my top with the flick of my wrist. When I look back down at him, his eyes trace the contours of my face, like he’s trying to memorize how I look.

  He sits up easily, despite my attempt to keep him pinned to the ground. His expression is serious. My mind races to comprehend the shift in his mood. Did I do something wrong? He stares at me as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. He pulls me so I’m tucked under his arms, and the stubble on his chin tickles my face. With feather-soft caresses, he strokes my back. His citrusy scent fogs my senses. How can he do this to me? For the longest time we don’t speak.

  He runs his hands across my backside. “What’s this?” he asks pulling something from my pocket.

  In his hand is a folded piece of orange paper. “That was in my back pocket?”

  “Yes.” He glances at me and for a few seconds, neither of us speak. How did someone get close enough to put this in my pocket without me knowing?

  “What does it say?” I ask. For a beat he does nothing… just stares at me. Finally he unfolds the slip of paper.

  He reads it to himself first. His hand balls into a fist on my back and then he reads it to me. “‘Like I said, he can’t be with you all the time. He can’t protect you from me. I’ll get you. Soon.’” He looks up once he’s reads it. “This is another lie. If this person was so close that they could slip this in your pocket, then they could have done more. They didn’t because they couldn’t. They didn’t have time, space, or opportunity. And I’ll be damned if they ever get it.”

  We don’t say anything more. He resumes rubbing the small of my back. I finally gaze up at him and ask, “What’s going on with you today?”

  He snorts and tightens his arms around me. “Nothing. Can’t I hold my girl without a lecture?”

  I take a deep breath. “It seems like there’s something wrong with you. Your behavior has been… I don’t know… strange. Do you have something you need to tell me?” I lean my head back to peek up at him. His slate eyes lock with mine for a second. He turns away, squinting into the midday sun.

  “No,” he says, not meeting my eyes again.

  “You know you can talk to me—if you want.” He opens his mouth like he’s prepared to speak, then shakes his head and closes it.

  “I know, Sunshine. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll exercise my right when it’s time.”

  His statement is confusing. Just as I’m about to ask for clarification, Stacey comes into view. I’ll have to put the conversation on pause until we’re alone again.

  In the back of my mind, I know something has changed. Something’s wrong—something concerning Brian, and it has to do with Ian. I need to find a way to articulate how his behavior has been odd. But with the limited emotions I have, I’m scarcely capable of even expressing how I feel.

  Chapter 4

  A couple weeks have passed, and Ian is as much a part of our clique as anyone else. He and Crystal are hilariously similar with the nicknames, except Crystal’s names are a bit morbid at times.

  Brian doesn’t seem to like Ian at all, yet he invites him out with us constantly, and then ignores him the entire time. I’ve walked in on the two of them in heated debates. As soon as they notice me, they stop talking and walk away in opposite directions.

  The rational side of my brain tells me that Brian understands I can’t always express my feelings or comprehend the motivation behind why others behave the way they do. His grasp of my emotional imbalance is why I’m certain he’s trying to protect me. Maybe that’s why he and Ian never openly argue in my presence. It’s a theory, but one I’m not content with accepting.

  ***

  I’m running late to the bowling alley; everyone decided to go after Stacey and Michael mentioned it. Mrs. Muncheon asked me to help a student having difficulty in Calculus for an hour after seventh period. No matter how much I explained the problem… this chick didn’t get it.

  As soon as the hour’s up, I run from her office at a breakneck speed. My locker is on the main hall, so I decide to drop my books before I leave. As I round the corner onto the main corridor, I bump into someone coming around the bend. I fall on my behind and skid across the newly polished linoleum floor. I look up, and Ian smirks down at me.

  “Hey, L. In a hurry?”

  He helps me to my feet. “Yes. What are you still doing here?” I walk past him and snatch my locker open. A green slip of paper falls to the floor. I snatch the paper up and smash the note into my
bag before Ian sees it. This is the tenth note I’ve gotten., But nothing has happened since the car incident. With a loud thud, I drop my books in the bottom of the locker and slam it shut.

  I’ll mention it to Brian after bowling tonight. Maybe. He gets jumpy for a few days after I tell him about them. I’m worried he’ll convince my parents to get me a life-alert bracelet.

  When I turn, Ian’s standing in front of me. Just as I’m about to give him my undivided attention, Crystal pops her head around the corner up ahead. She draws back like she’s been stung by a bee when our eyes meet. I keep an eye on the corner, wondering if she’ll come around. She doesn’t.

  I finally glance back at Ian. This time, he peers down the hall. I follow his gaze. There’s no one in the hall but us now. He doesn’t utter a single word, though… he has this goofy look splashed on his face. I smile. Ian’s an oddball sometimes.

  “Aren’t you supposed to meet us at the bowling alley?” I step around him and start for the exit. He takes long strides and is in front of me in no time. He swipes his hands on his jeans several times. Doesn’t that mean he’s nervous? Why would he be nervous around me?

  “I wanna talk to you about something.” He comes to an abrupt halt in front of me, so I stop before I hit him with my bag. “But I need to do this in private.”

  “Ian, we have to go. Brian’s in the car waiting. You know how much he hates to be late. And everyone else is probably already at the bowling alley. Come on, we can talk on the way.” I grab his hand and pull him with me, except he doesn’t move. I try to shove past him, but he stands there with a pinched expression.

  “We kinda need to do this now. I’ve been putting it off for too long already,” Ian starts. “Don’t you feel that something is wrong? Off?”

  My feet are firmly planted to the floor now. What is he asking me?

  I wish Stacey or Brian were here to explain Ian’s demeanor—it’s changed. His eyes are a new shade of blue, and his posture is stick-straight and not his customary slouch. His usual Warriors ball cap is gone, and he wears a Chicago Bulls cap. Traitor.

  Private and alone are two wholly different things, too. Us being alone feels wrong right now. Plus, I don’t know how to answer his question. I generally feel something is off with me compared to most everyone else. I step around him again. I continue walking, at a much slower pace than before. Ian follows beside me.

  I whirl around to face him, “I don’t know how to answer your question. Now stop talking so we can go.” That’s my response. Short and simple. I reel around to make a dash before he can offer commentary.

  I smash right into Brian as I turn on my heels. He glowers at me—mouth slanted in anger and his jaw locked, as if I’m a child and he’s chastising me.

  “Brian. You scared the crap out of me.” Not really, but that seems the appropriate thing to say.

  His usually bright eyes are vacant.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were waiting in the car?” I ask.

  Still nothing—just a blank stare—but his vision shifts to take in Ian. Ian’s jaw is clenched and his usually smiling eyes are chock full of questions he seems content with keeping to himself. His mouth is a taunting sneer as he holds Brian’s intense glare.

  “What’s going on?” I demand. Brian turns and smiles.

  “Hey, Sunshine.” He makes no move to touch me. “You ready to go?” He smiles the smile that usually makes my heart palpitate and perform all manner of rhythmic beats, but right now, it has no effect on my bodily functions.

  What’s going on?

  Tired of the charade in front of me and not equipped enough emotionally to understand it, in a firm voice I demand, “What’s going on? Someone explain what’s happened. Right now.”

  Brian’s eyes are large, like two giant storm clouds converging. Gesturing toward Ian, he answers, “Him parading as your friend is a lie.”

  “Was I the only one pretending to be something I wasn’t?” Ian shoots back.

  “Tell her why you’re here!” Brian shouts. His mouth tilts into a snarl. It reminds me of our neighbor’s little two-toned Yorkshire terrier. Unsuspecting, I went to rub him one day as he sat on the lawn in front of her house. He barked and snarled as I attempted to touch him, until I crossed the street, back to my house. I watched as he instantly transformed from Satan’s puppy back to an adorable pooch. Right now, Brian’s demeanor resembles the possessed pup.

  “Tell her what you want her to do,” Brian yells. I glance at Ian. What he wants me to do? Ian doesn’t return my glare. His head is bent toward the gray lockers. “Tell her. Let her decide what she wants. She can do that without your undue influence.”

  “What do you mean, ‘what she wants’?” Ian says. “She doesn’t have a choice. She has to do it. Period.”

  Brian takes a step forward. “You and your people may not like it, but everyone has a choice.”

  Chapter 5

  “Just because your family made this choice doesn’t mean it’ll be what’s best for her!” Ian shouts back. I peer down the hall to ensure no one has come in response to their loud, confusing confrontation. “I never liked what went down… none of us did. You went against everything.” Ian moves closer.

  Brian reaches out and yanks me into his arms. Surprised by his sudden touch, I jerk away. He glances at me and gently wraps his arms around my waist. “Sorry,” he whispers. I don’t pull away this time. Ian’s a threat now? Earlier this afternoon, I counted him as one of my best friends.

  “I know you’re her deposit escort, but think about what’s best for her?” Brian asks, in a small voice. My head snaps up and my mouth falls open. His usual voice, with its booming authoritative quality, is gone. His words sound more like a whimper.

  “What’s a deposit escort and why do I need one?” I ask. No one answers. Instead, Brian and Ian stare at one another like they might throw a blow.

  “I am thinking about her,” says Ian. “Once she learns everything, once she starts to remember, will this”—he motions with his hands to everything around—“be what’s best for her? Or do you mean you’re what’s best for her?”

  “Stop it!” I shout. My head spins from trying to decipher their conversation. Their angry words make no sense to me, and I can’t take another minute of it. “Brian, tell me what’s going on right now, since you seem to know so much.”

  He runs his right hand over his face once. “Um…” Pause. “I can’t.” He takes a deep breath and glances at Ian. “It’s not my place. Not my story to tell.”

  “Not your place… what does that mean?” I push him away, but he gathers my arms and folds me into a tight embrace. He buries his head in my hair.

  “Please. Sunshine, don’t pull away. I can’t explain this the way he can.” I squint up at him. “No. What I mean is… I can’t explain it right. I’ll get the details wrong. He should explain this.”

  “At least you got that part right,” Ian says.

  “But I’ll be right there listening, to make sure he doesn’t leave out any of the important facts,” Brian says. I open my mouth, ready to protest. He continues before I can say anything. “It’s just… I’ve been gone so long. I don’t know if much has changed. I’m pretty sure it has. I was young.”

  Ian glares at Brian with his arms crossed over his chest and his head high. “If you want me to do this, you’ll let me explain my way. Without interruptions.”

  Brian grunts. A vein in his neck continually pulses. I skim my finger over the throbbing vein. “Okay,” he says. “Watch what you say because regardless to what you think of it”—he turns my head so our eyes meet—“I love her. She has my heart.”

  My heart beats so loudly that I don’t think I’ll hear what Ian has to say anyway. It’s questionable if it thumps erratically because of Brian, or what Ian is about to tell me.

  “We should be sitting for this,” Ian says. “We can talk at your house later, after bowling.”

  10, 9, 8, 7… I’m counting lockers.

&n
bsp; “I’m not prepared for this, either,” Ian adds. “I’ve never met someone who didn’t have an awakening. I mean, I know you’ve been having pain—Chief told me that—but you should’ve had a full awakening.

  What is he talking about? Awakening—what is that?

  Brian shakes his head and Ian walks past us, toward the exit. That’s it. We’re going to talk later. They decided I don’t need to know now. Brian and I walk to his car. He doesn’t look at me, and I have the suspicion he’s avoiding eye contact. He doesn’t offer his hand either, like he normally does.

  The conversation I assume would continue in his car does not. He drives to the bowling alley without a single word to me. Every couple minutes, I sneak a peek at him, waiting for an explanation, but none comes. He doesn’t offer a word the entire ride. A rush of heat invades my face. As much as I want to remain placid, I can’t deny the adrenaline coursing through me.

  I’ve never felt this before. I grit my teeth, trying to halt the swell of fierce words that collect on my tongue from spilling out into the known.

  When we pull up to the bowling alley, I hurry to unbuckle my seatbelt I scramble out of the car. My anger on the cusp of boiling over, I walk into the building mad enough to rip someone’s head off. Brian’s or Ian’s—it’s only a matter of a coin toss. I laugh because I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry before.

  “Liz,” Brian calls after me. “Slow down, please.” I keep going. For the first time since I met him, I don’t want to talk or even look at him. Being my boyfriend doesn’t entitle him to make decisions for me; I hope he doesn’t think it does. Is this how relationships work? Not for me it won’t.

  I squint into the dimly lit bowling alley. My nostrils are met with the scent of the nachos I crave most when I come here. The sound of balls crashing into pins, the whoop of a good bowl, and the chatter of happy people distract me from my anger. I glance around, trying to determine what lane my parents and Stacey occupy. I spot them and wave hello to Stacey, who waves from their direction.