It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. I want to explain, and he’s obviously waiting for me to respond. But even if I can manage to make my mouth work again, what am I going to say? I don’t remember whatever happening he’s talking about. And I wish to God I did because whatever’s happening right now is making it hard for me to breathe.
“Just talk to me,” he says, and he reaches out like he’s going to touch me. I want him to. So much that my skin aches for it. When he pulls away, it’s all I can do not to grab his arm to yank him back.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Blake’s voice startles me. He’s suddenly right behind me, his hand pressing into my lower back possessively. It feels as hot and unwelcome as a branding iron. It takes every ounce of strength I’ve got not to lurch away from him and closer to Adam.
“Am I interrupting, Reed?” Blake asks again, a cold edge to his voice.
“No,” Adam says, but his eyes are on me. “Apparently not.”
His long stride takes him down the hall. I watch the distance stretch between us and feel like I should call after him. Or run to him. It makes absolutely no sense.
“We’re late for English,” Blake says, pointing me toward a door at the end of the hallway.
So now I know where to go. I guess that’s one mystery solved. Only eight billion or so to go.
Chapter Five
There are serious advantages to being popular. Having people magically appear after every bell, happy to chitchat all the way to my next class, is really handy when you have no clue where to go.
The downside? Maggie wasn’t one of those people. Not even once.
I dig through my purse for my car keys and thank whatever forces might be listening that Blake has some sort of sports practice after school. Because I’m not ready for another dose of him.
Just as I start the engine, someone taps on my window. I glance up, forcing a smile to my face.
Abigail Binns. Star of 42nd Street last year and high-flying, hand-springing cheerleader since junior high. I like Abbey. We’re not friends exactly, but she’s been on my bus route through three schools now. It’s hard not to like someone who volunteers at the children’s hospital and bakes cookies for her neighbors at Christmas.
I roll down the window. “Hi.”
“Hi, Chloe. I’m so sorry to bother you. My brother was supposed to pick me up, but he got stuck at work. Is there any way you could drop me by my place on the way home?”
“Sure,” I say.
Abbey flashes a million-dollar smile and hops in the passenger side of my Camry. My dad bought the car when I was born, and I think he’s determined to make it last until I die.
“Thank you so much,” she says, pulling on her seat belt as I start backing out.
Someone strolls right behind my car, and I slam on the brakes, coming way too close to hitting him. All I see is a charcoal gray hoodie pulled all the way up. It’s more than enough to send my pulse into a sprint. Adam drops the hood back and flashes me a look I can’t read. It doesn’t settle my heart down at all.
Abbey shakes her head. “Not an ounce of common sense in that guy.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, but I crane my neck to watch him walk away all the same.
“I still can’t believe he’s in so many AP classes,” Abbey says.
I tear my eyes away from the rearview mirror to look at her. “He is?”
“Well, yeah. His GPA this quarter is a 3.98.” Abbey covers her mouth the moment she finishes her sentence, looking shamed. “I shouldn’t have said that. I overheard it in the office. Honest, I wasn’t trying to be a snoop.”
I smile my first genuine smile since this whole thing started. And why shouldn’t I? The walking Gossip Girl of Ridgeview, Ohio, just landed in my car.
“That’s okay,” I tell her. “It wasn’t like you divulged some dirty secret.”
She giggles. “He probably thinks his grades are a dirty secret. I’ll just never understand. So did you hear about James and Kelsey?”
I drive as slowly as possible while Abbey fills me in on all the latest social happenings of our school. She’s got juicy stuff on absolutely everyone, which would be sort of fun if she wasn’t so determined to put a positive spin on every last bit of that dirt. Also, she might look seventeen, but after listening to her talk, I’m pretty sure she is an eighty-five-year-old widow who attends church three times a week.
“Bless her heart, we all make mistakes. It’s really a shame those two can’t work it out,” she says as I turn onto Belmont Street.
Cookie-cutter two-story and Cape Cod houses like mine give way to sprawling historic giants. Mom calls them the Belmont Beauties. She’s not wrong.
This is where Abbey lives. Where all the Ridgeview lifers live. These homes have been in their families for generations. I gaze out the window, passing wide, wraparound porches, most festooned with Prowler Pride flags and “Keep Ridgeview Clean” signs.
And then of course, there is the queen of them all. The white, columned mansion flanked by lilac bushes in the spring and crowned in glittering lights at Christmas. The Miller house. Iona, Quentin, and their daughter, Julien. Julien holds more academic and athletic titles than my entire homeroom class. It’s not surprising. Her parents were legends too.
What is surprising is the lack of pumpkins and cornucopias on the lawn. Mrs. Miller lives to keep her house appropriately festive for every conceivable holiday and—wait a minute. Where are her curtains?
Something small and white near the mailbox catches my eyes.
I slam on the brakes, gaping at the wooden realtor sign with its bright red FOR SALE message printed at the top.
“Omigosh, Chloe, what is it? Is it a dog?” Abbey asks, hand to her chest and eyes searching the road. “Did it get away?”
“Where are the Millers?” I ask, waving wildly at the house.
Abbey’s too busy worrying about the nonexistent dog to even look at me. “What are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about? I’m talking about the Millers, the family that’s lived here for, like, twelve billion years!”
Abbey turns, looking at me like she’s seen a ghost. Her dark eyes go very round.
“You’re joking right? They left in August, Chloe.”
“Left?” I say, because I can’t even process that word. The Millers do not leave. They organize every charity event and holiday parade in this little nowhere town. If they left, the whole damn city would slide into Lake Erie.
“California,” Abbey says slowly, looking a little pale. “Remember their big move to California?”
I blink but say nothing. Because I’d believe in Bigfoot before I’d believe this. The Millers wouldn’t move two blocks away from their ancestral abode, let alone two thousand miles.
“Chloe, you came to the going away party. You and Blake.” She looks genuinely frightened now. “Are you kidding around or something?”
She wants me to be kidding. Heck, I want me to be kidding. So I sigh and give an awkward laugh. “Uh, of course. It’s just…weird seeing their house empty like that.”
Abbey deflates like a balloon, shaking her head so that her blond hair swishes. “You’re terrible, Chloe. Frightened me half to death.”
I force a smile, but it feels too tight on my lips. My palms go slick on the steering wheel. Between that and my shaking knees, I don’t know how I drive the next half block to Abbey’s place.
She stops after she’s out, holding the door open with a manicured hand. The air is icy, and my head is throbbing now. I just want her to go.
“You know, I thought the move was weird too. Julien seemed so off that whole month, like she could barely remember her own name. You can’t imagine the kind of stuff she couldn’t remember. It was…uncanny.”
I can actually feel the ice forming in my veins. I force myself to respond. “Yeah, well, I’d be off too if I was moving thousands of miles away.”
“Yes, but…” She trails off, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind.”
“No, tell me,” I say, though I have a bad feeling I don’t really want to know.
Abbey tips her head. “Well, do you remember that psychology course we took last year?”
I nod impatiently because of course I remember it. It was the first time in my life I’ve ever leafed through a textbook ahead of time. Just for fun.