A Whisper To A Scream (16 page)

“Yes.”

Rushing water echoes against the rose colored
tile walls. My eyes widen and I shake my head at Wren, telling her
to keep quiet. We both turn our attention to the last stall. Miss
Miller steps out of the stall, walking to the sink. “Good morning,
ladies.”

“Good morning, Miss Miller,” we say in
unison.

Miss Miller tucks her auburn hair behind her
ears and washes her hands. Wren’s arms tense around the books she’s
holding. Me, I can’t move at all. I’m frozen. There’s something
frightening about Miss Miller. So frightening that I’d almost
prefer to have Ms. Winkle back. And I’m not a fan of Ms. Winkle. At
all.

An empty haunting stare is in Miss Miller’s
eyes as her gaze shifts between me and Wren. “I’ll see you ladies
in English.”

We nod. Then Miss Miller exits.

I shudder. “That woman gives me the creeps,”
I comment.

“Tell me about it,” Wren adds. “I’d rather
have Miss Winkle.”

“I was thinking the same exact thing.”

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”
Wren peeks at her watch. “The bell is going to ring in three
minutes.” I reach into my back pocket and shove the note in her
face. Wren looks clueless. “Well what is it?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” I harrumph.
“Someone sent me this in the mail. No return address. I have no
idea who it’s from or what to do about it.”

Wren squints and studies the lettering. “Do
you think they’re talking about Adam?”

“Of course. It says ‘he’. Aside from my Dad,
whom I haven’t seen in years. What other ‘he’ could this person be
talking about?”

She draws her eyebrows together and places a
knuckle on her lips. “I don’t know, Ells. You can try googling
Adam. See if you can find anything on him.”

“You think there would be stuff on him on the
internet?”

Wren opens the heavy, wooden bathroom door
and I follow her out. “Duh. Where have you been? They put almost
everything on the internet anymore.”

I nod. But I don’t own a computer. Mom
doesn’t believe in them. She has this old-fashioned attitude about
modern technology.

During my fourth period study-hall I get a
pass and go to the library. There’s a row of computers in the back
that students can use amidst the stacks of dusty, out of date
books. I enter, engulfed by quiet and smile at Mrs. Snell, the
librarian before weaving through the metal racks of books. I sit
down at the computer in farthest corner and open up the internet
search engine. I type in Adam’s full name, Chicago Illinois, and
his age. Naturally, five thousand different Adam Jacobs come
up.

I move the mouse down and scroll through the
results until I come to an image. Adam is shaking some man’s hand.
The man opposite Adam is dressed in a suit, and clean-cut. He seems
like he might be important. Then I see another picture of Adam with
his arm back, preparing to barrel a football eighty yards or so. I
click on a few articles that accompany the images. One talks about
him doing charity work at a local soup-kitchen. Then I abandon my
search. What am I doing? The letter is nothing. It’s a stupid
prank. It has to be.

Hushed voices and footsteps pound in my ears.
“How many times to I have to tell you! Stop!” A guy’s voice. Adam’s
voice.

“I’m sorry okay!” Katie.

I appear at the end of the aisle to see
Katie, with her back against the bookshelf and Adam across from her
his arm on a metal bar above her head. I sneer, folding my arms
across my chest. “What’s going on?” I ask my voice at a normal
level.

Adam’s eyes snap toward me. “Nothing,” he
says shortly. “Katie was just leaving.”

Katie doesn’t even look at me. She scoffs,
slides away from the rack, and walks away.

Adam strolls over to me and places his arm
around my shoulder. I look up at him. “What was that about?”

“You know Katie,” he tells me. “That girl
just doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no.”

I flashback to the bold red words on the
note. He’s not who you think is. I stare at him—hard as we walk out
of the library. But he is who I think he is. The guy I love. The
caring, sweet, beautiful, and funny guy I love. I’ve got to start
trusting him. I’ve got to realize that him liking me isn’t too good
to be true. All I know for sure is if I don’t swallow all of the
uncertainty inside of me, eventually I’m going to lose my mind over
it.

Wren meets me at my locker at the end of the
day. “How’d the search go?”

I shrug. “Good.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Not a thing.”

Her eyes bulge. “Nothing?”

“Nothing but good stuff. He’s like a saint or
something. There was stuff on him winning awards. Doing charity
work.”

We walk down the hall. “I guess you can
forget about that note and that hunch of yours.”

“Yep.”

I know she’s right.

I meet Adam at his car. In the rearview
mirror the dark silhouette of a person appears in a window on the
top floor of the school. I twist around in a panic and look out the
back window. There’s no one there. Adam notices that I’m tense and
hesitates before getting in. “Are you okay?” He stifles a look
around the parking lot then hops into the car. “You look like
you’ve just seen a ghost.”

I’m panting. I think I just did. “I’m fine,”
I lie. “Let’s just get out of here. I don’t feel good.”

Adam starts the car and peels out of the
parking lot and my eyes are still glued to the empty spot in the
window.

Chapter 19: Gridiron God

During last the period of the day on Friday,
there’s a pep-rally. I sit amongst the student body on the wooden
pull-out bleachers in the gym, trying to make it through the
cheerleaders’ routine without blanching. I don’t make it.

The football players are introduced and I
tune out Principal Anderson’s voice when Adam walks out and
instantly finds my eyes in the crowd. I try to keep myself from
appearing too giddy, but I can’t help it. Adam lights me up, inside
and out. My eyes shift to the number on his jersey. He’s number
one. Number one player. Number one in my heart. I know that’s a
cheesy analogy, but I know that’s how I’ll always feel and no other
number can trump number one or follow it. Number one always comes
first.

I wait for Adam at the gym doors after the
assembly. He laces his fingers through mine and brushes his lips
against my cheek. He strikes a pose. “How do I look in my
uniform?”

I laugh. “Like an athlete.”

He laughs and kisses my forehead. We walk
through the back exit to his car. “There something I’ve been
meaning to ask you.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“You know homecoming is next weekend. I just
wanted to see if maybe you wanted to go.”

I’d never been to a school dance, but I never
missed an after party. “I don’t know, Adam. Dances aren’t really my
thing.”

“Come on.” He looks at me playfully. “Have
you ever been to one?”

“No.”

He stops at his car and opens the door for
me. I slide into the passenger seat and he hovers over me. “I don’t
dance. And I don’t wear dresses. That’s how I know.” I picture my
closet, piled with ripped jeans, army pants, and t-shirts. There’s
one dress in the very back, hidden amongst the tomboy apparel. A
short, plain black dress I wore to my great aunt’s funeral when I
was twelve.

Adam closes my door and jogs around to his
side of the car. He gets in in a flash and revs up the engine.
“This is your senior year.” I come to the realization that he’s not
going to give up until I say yes. “Don’t you want to be able to
look back on high school and know that you enjoyed yourself at one
high school dance?”

“Not really.”

“Can’t you humor me and go for my sake then.”
I scrunch my nose and make a face. Adam laughs then pouts, “Please.
Do you want me to beg?”

“Fine.” I give in. “Just this one. But you
have to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“You have to promise me that if I go to this
dance with you, you won’t pull this crap when prom comes
around.”

A devilish grin materializes on his lips. “I
can’t make that kind of promise.”

“Adam,” I say sternly. “Promise me.”

He exhales. “Fine. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

After Adam drops me off, I go to my room and
change into some comfy clothes. Mom told me on Wednesday that I
could go to his game and the party after, but until seven, when the
game starts, I’ve got some time to kill. I watch some TV, a crime
show that always has reruns. Then go to the kitchen and make myself
a turkey sandwich. I’ve inhaled half of it before I’ve walked back
into the living room and I see something on the counter.

I freeze, as the crème envelope sticking out
amongst the other mail catches my eye. I exhale slowly, telling
myself that it could be anything. I turn and inch my fingers toward
it, plucking the rectangular letter from the pile of mail. I almost
choke on the turkey in my throat and the rest of my sandwich falls
to the floor.

The same handwriting. The same kind of
envelope. No return address. I shred the envelope and remove the
card. No… Not again. The red block letters stab my eyes.

Stay away from him. He’s mine.

Now I’m not frightened. I’m angry. This has
to be Katie’s handiwork, especially after what I witnessed in the
library. I crunch the letter in my hand and throw it in the trash.
This is going to stop. Tonight at Adam’s party, I’m going to take
care of this once and for all.

****

Mom is folding a basket of laundry when I
walk into her room. “Mom?”

She doesn’t look up. She’s concentrating hard
on the way she’s folding her delicates. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“Can you give me a ride to the game?”

“I thought Wren was taking you?”

“She sent me a text. She wanted to go early
and tailgate and I didn’t want to.”

Mom folds the last article of clothing in the
basket. “Sure, honey. Go wait in the car. I’ve just gotta grab my
purse.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She ruffles my hair as she passes me and I
smooth it down. “No problem, honey.”

I wait for Mom in the car, dreading the
school-spirit filled night ahead. I wish the whole school-pride
thing sounded appealing, but sadly it doesn’t. All the high-pitched
squeals. The screaming, ugh, Part of me wishes that Adam was the
articulate I pegged him for. After Mom gets in the car and pulls
out of the driveway, I rest my head against the window. The small
shops in town are decorated festively, sporting our school colors
of red, black, and silver. Cars lining the streets have red and
black spray painted windows and streamers hang from the
bumpers.

I get dropped in front of the field. A chain
link fence wraps around the stadium and the field lights are
bright, burning orbs like balls of fire in the black sky. Inside,
the game is beyond packed. Every seat is full and I weave through
the crowd as I make my way to the student section. When I came to
games in the past, I’d usually sit at the top of the bleachers by
myself, with a thermos of hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps.
It’s easier for me to make it through a game when I’ve got a little
buzz going on.

When I make it the edge of the student
section, I scan the bleachers vigorously in search of Wren and
Molly. Loud hoots and howls echo through the stadium and the entire
student section is dressed in red and black. Some of the senior
boys have even painted their bodies to show their spirit.

“Ellory!” A faint cry rings out amongst the
madness. I spin around, trying to figure out where the sound is
coming from.

“Ellory!” I hear again. I squint. Wren is in
the top left corner of the bleachers sandwiched in between Molly
and one of the painted skin guys. She motions for me to come
up.

I make a confused gesture. How in the hell am
I supposed to get up there? Unless I step on my entire class to get
there. Wren keeps motioning for me and Molly joins in. I shake my
head and reluctantly climb to the top. “Sorry,” I mumble as I
accidentally step on someone’s foot. “Ouch!” a girl cries as I
squish her fingers. At the top, Wren scoots over and I’m smooshed
between her and Molly.

People are screaming so loud, I wish I had
some earplugs. “That was a work-out,” I tell Wren.

“What?” she shouts.

“Never mind,” I grumble. I know she can’t
hear me, but I say it anyway.

My attention shifts to Katie, Megan, and the
rest of the blonde bomb squad in their cheerleading uniforms. I
look away, telling myself that if I focus on her it’s only going to
piss me off.

Our team takes the field and the whole
stadium is out of their seats clapping and shouting. The marching
band starts up the school fight song and I try to spot Adam on the
sidelines. I squint and see the red number one on the black jersey.
The light hits his face and he smiles. His smile gleams,
jump-starting my heart. I wait for him to look for me in the
bleachers, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t look at me. He looks at
Katie. I stop breathing. I’m two seconds away from running down the
bleachers and leaving the game. Balling my fists, I let out a long
breath and try to calm myself down. Why is he looking at her like
that?

Stay away from him. He’s mine. The red
letters circle through my brain. This is first time I’ve ever been
jealous and I hate the way it makes me feel. Like scrapyard metal
tossed away, lying somewhere in a junkyard. I’m excess. Only good
for certain projects and only used in small doses.

Adam’s attention shifts away from Katie
abruptly, and then his eyes find mine in the crowd. His gaze burns
into mine, and he holds his for a second and then he winks at me. A
smirk on his lips. I forget about my jealousy. I forget about how
angry I am. So I smile and wave as Adam puts on his helmet and
dashes onto the field.