A Whisper To A Scream (15 page)

Frustrated, he fell back on his bed and
sighed. Maybe his mother knew best. Perhaps it was best for Adam to
let the past stay in the past.

Chapter 17: New Faces

I walk into first period English, and my eyes
wander to Ms. Winkle’s desk. A woman with cat-like green eyes and
heart-shaped face sits there in place of the old hag who staggers
down the hall, with a fierce look in her eye and a scowl on her
face.

Ms. Winkle never misses a day of school. Part
of me thinks that she doesn’t take any days off on purpose as
another way of torturing the students. Another part of me thinks
that maybe she finally bit the dust.

Wren flops down behind me and leans forward,
her lips against my ear. “Where’s Ms. Winkle?” she asks,
puzzled.

“Beats me,” I reply, whispering.

Wren’s desk creaks as she sits back. Adam
strolls in and I bite my bottom lip, smiling. As soon as he takes
his seat the bell rings and the new teacher’s head snaps up. I look
at her, curiously as her attention averts in Adam’s direction. She
stares at him, lost in a daze. She focuses hard, and tilts her head
to the side, wearing a melancholy expression. Adam isn’t looking at
her, he’s looking at me, but I’m caught in between both of them
shifting my eyes from her to Adam.

The bell rings and the new teacher snaps out
of her trance-like state, rising slowly from her seat. I squint.
She looks eerily familiar. I know I’ve seen her somewhere before. I
just can’t remember where.

A robotic smile curls on her lips. Like
someone is behind her face pressing controls that command her on
what she’s supposed to be doing. “Good morning, students,” she
greets us in a monotone voice. “I’m Miss Miller. I’ll be taking
over for Ms. Winkle while she recovers.”

I hear Katie in the back of the room. “What
happened to her?”

Miss Miller purses her lips, giving Katie a
cold, calculating stare-down. “She just had a little accident.
That’s all.” I slink down in my desk. This new teacher is odd. And
scary. There’s something about the vacant look in her eye that
tells me she’s ten times more deadly than Miss Winkle would ever
be. She claps her hands together. “Let’s get started,” she says,
turning to write Miss Miller on the chalkboard.

At the end of first period I observe Miss
Miller as she watches Adam. He slides his arm across my shoulder
and I’m looking over my shoulder at Mrs. Miller whose eyes are
pinned to his back.

Half-way down the hall, I look up at him. “Do
you know the new teacher?”

“No. Why?”

“She was staring at you, a lot.”

Adam chuckles. “I have that effect on
people.”

I slap his abs with the back of my hand,
playfully. “Listen to you. Cocky much?”

He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “It
only matters to me if I have an effect on you though.”

I shake my head. “You do.” I grip his fingers
and squeeze. “You always will.”

****

The rest of the day doesn’t consist of much.
In Journalism we studied the structure of magazine articles. Well,
the rest of the class studied the structure in magazine articles
while I slept. Lunch was awkward. Adam sat with me, Wren, and
Molly. I could tell they felt a little childish and didn’t know how
to act around him. Molly in particular didn’t know how to act and
giggled at everything he said, a swell of redness forming around
her smatter of freckles.

After the last period of the day, I rush
through the parking-lot taking long strides. Adam is perched
against his car, wearing his leather jacket and sunglasses. The red
fleshy organ in my chest cavity races. My stomach does a backflip.
My fingers are itching for him. Inches away from the passenger
side, Adam scoops me up and gives my lips a gentle caress. He sets
me down and opens my door for me. I love how most of the time he’s
a gentleman. Not many gentlemen exist anymore.

I think of a story my grandfather told me
about the first time he saw my grandma. He’d just returned from
serving in WWII and was with a few of his friends at a summer
tourist spot by Lake Erie. He was riding in the back of a
convertible and he saw my grandma walking down the sidewalk with
one of her girlfriends. As the car rolled by her, she met his gaze,
smiling. Then my grandfather did the unthinkable. He jumped out of
the car. He jumped out of a moving vehicle just so he could talk to
her. I smile to myself. Maybe I get my reckless behavior from
him.

My eyes center on Adam as he turns the key in
the ignition. Would he do that for me? Absolutely. I am sure of
it.

The first half of the quiet ride home
consists of stolen glances, whimsical smiles, and the feel of my
heart hammering against my rib-cage. The second half Adam speaks
up, first. “So you going to the football game Friday?”

Ah, football again. “Are you?”

“I have to.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you play.” A smile inches
across my lips. “I never really pegged you as the jock type.” I’m
usually good at analyzing guy types. Adam seems too scholarly.

“So now you have to be a specific type to
play sports?” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

“No. You just seem too articulate. That’s
all.”

“I’ve played football since I could walk,” he
jokes.

“What position?”

He throws his hands up pretending to barrel a
game winning pass to the wide receiver. “Quarterback.”

That makes sense. If he can play the piano
like Tchaikovsky and paint like Van Gogh, there’s no doubt in my
mind he can throw a football like Jerry Rice. I’ve come to the
conclusion that there isn’t one thing that Adam can’t do
perfectly.

Hanging a left, Adam speeds up my driveway.
“So are you going to come watch me play?”

I smirk. “Do you really want me to?”

He parks the car. “Of course.” He glides two
of his fingers across my chin. “I have to have my number one girl
there.”

A loud throaty laugh rasps from my esophagus.
Not because what he said was funny, but because it’s the first time
I’ve heard him sound cheesy. With Adam almost everything he says
sounds so strategic—so planned out. It’s like he has to think about
what he says before the words leave his lips.

“I’m having another party on Friday,” he
announces as we turn our bodies to face each other.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Are your parents ever
home?”

“Hardly ever on weekends.”

“What about your sister?”

“How did you know about her?”

“I saw her bedroom at your last party,
remember? It was right before you tried to kick me out of
yours.”

He leans in, tracing my jawline with his
fingertip. “Right.” He’s so close I can feel the heat from his lips
on mine. A burning desire starts in my core and before I can
rectify what I’m doing, I fling my body across the seat and
straddle him. His hands are in my hair, tugging gently. Soft lips
trail along my neck and I’m not physically present anymore. I’m
floating above my body so high from his touch that I don’t want to
ever come down. He crushes his mouth to mine and presses me closer.
I can’t think of anything else except for how I never want to pull
my lips away from his. Adam’s free hand trails up my shirt along my
spine and I shiver.

I lose my grip with reality. Adam is an
illusion. Not real. But his mouth hovering over mine in a
passionate frenzy feels so real. Too amazing and spine tingling to
be a fantasy. I come crashing back into my body and as much as it
hurts to pull away from him I do.

He tucks loose pieces of hair behind my ears.
“Is something wrong?”

I feel foolish—awkward. He oozes sex appeal.
And I know he’s overly experienced when it comes to girls. So how
do I tell him? How do I tell him I’ve never been with a boy in that
way?

Blake pops into my head, accompanied by the
distasteful look he wore when I told him he wasn’t allowed below
the pants. “I’ve just…” I struggle to get the words out.

“Ellory,” Adam urges. “You can tell me
anything.”

Heat radiates through my cheeks and I stare
at my hands. “I’ve just never done that with a boy before,” I
stammer.

His fingers are on my chin and he tips my
head up. “Look at me,” he commands. I keep my eyes down. “I’m
serious. Look at me.” Hesitantly, I lift my eyes and look at him.
There’s an understanding look on his face. “You mean so much more
to me than that.”

“Really?”

He cups the back of my neck and I rest my
forehead against. “Yes. And besides, I’d never pressure you into
doing something you weren’t ready for.”

“I just know some guys have certain
expectations…”

“Some guys do. But, fortunately for you, I’m
not one of those guys.” He places a gentle peck on my lips.

I’m seriously the luckiest girl on the
planet.

In my living room, I watch Adam from the
window as he turns the car around, the tires spitting up gravel and
dust. I place my hand on the window longingly, wishing that he
could stay with me forever. I smash my lips together and still feel
his mouth on mine. I close my eyes and visualize his hands
caressing every inch of my body. By the time I open my eyes he’s
gone. And I feel a part of me die.

For the first time in a long time I decide to
do homework. Mom’s going to shit a brick of happiness if she gets
home while I’m doing it. Wren usually lets me copy hers on the way
to school or in study hall.

Rummaging through the junk-drawer, I search
frantically for a pen. There has to be one in one of the three
drawers. I give up on the first drawer that consists only of rubber
bands, coupons, and a few household tools. I open the second drawer
and center on a black ball-point pen. But before I close the
drawer, a crème envelope catches my attention. I swipe the envelope
from the drawer and carry it over to the kitchen table.

I pull out a chair and take seat, once again
examining how it’s addressed. The writing reminds me of the way
wedding invitations are penned. I dip my finger in the hole I’d
previously made and slide it all the way across. The thick envelope
crinkles and rustles through the quiet and a sharp piece cuts into
the top of my finger. “Ouch! Damn it!”

I drop the envelope on the floor and sucks on
my finger. The tiny cut throbs and my whole finger burns. Paper
cuts are the worst.

Bending down, I reach for the envelope, my
thumb and forefinger grip a loose corner and the a small card, like
a thank you note slides out and flips open on the tile floor.

Choking on my breath, I read the card. Eyes
wide. A nauseous feeling of fear rotates through my stomach. Seven
words. Seven terrifying words.

He’s not who you think he is.

Chapter 18: The Letter

I’ve been staring at the red, block-lettered
note for the last twenty minutes. I haven’t even bothered to pick
it up off the floor. The muscles in my spine tighten.
He’s not
who you think he is.

I know immediately they are referring to
Adam. There’s no other ‘he’ in my life.

The red letters fade in and out of my vision
and I try to think of who might have sent me this. Katie or Megan
maybe? No. They’re both bitches, but neither of them would think of
something like this. Neither one of them has the mental capacity to
toy with a person.

Then I think of Wren for a second and
instantly check her off in my head. Wren would never. Molly? Again
another no. Someone from Adam’s past maybe? But I don’t know anyone
from his past. And obviously, they don’t know me.

Squeaks, jingling, and a turning crank rings
out from the garage, cutting into my thoughts. Shit! Mom’s home.
The engine to her car dies down and I hear the garage door again as
she hits the button outside the kitchen door. Scrambling I snatch
the letter from the floor and slide it into the middle of my
book.

Flipping through my book, I find the page I’m
supposed to be on and whip out my notebook as soon as she walks
through the door. I look up at her briefly, and then resume
pretending to do my homework.

Mom gasps and clutches her chest. The whole
time she reacts I’m telling myself to play this off cool. So she
doesn’t suspect that something is wrong with me.

She hangs up her coat and purse on a rack
next to the door. “I think I have just died and gone to parental
heaven,” she utters as she steps next to me hovering over my book.
She kisses the top of my head and stares down at my textbook. “Are
you actually doing homework?”

I’m panicking. Mom is looking at me and I’m
looking at my trembling fingers. I exhale lightly and swallow hard.
I smile at her. “Yep.” I shoo her away. “Now back off. You’re
invading my space.”

Mom raises her hands backing away. I relax
the second she exits.

Lying in my bed that night, I’m so torn and
I’ve never felt so alone. I can’t go to anyone. I can’t tell Mom
because she’ll freak out and maybe get the cops involved. I can’t
go to Adam because what if this just all something stupid? What if
someone is playing some kind of prank? Wren. She always looks at
things logically. Wren will know what to do and I know that I can
trust her.

The next day at school, I wait for her by the
bathroom door. Shrouded by the neutral wall, I remain hidden. I
don’t anyone to notice anything off when I’m talking to her. I
watch her intensely as she steps away from her locker and closes
the gap between us. Like a burglar in a dark alley, I reach out and
yank her into the girls’ bathroom, my hand over her mouth.

Wren shakes and pushes me off her once we’re
through the door, “Ellory! What’s wrong with you? You scared the
crap out of me!” she yells hostily.

“Shh!” I place my finger against my lips.
“I’ve got to tell you something, but you’ve got to swear you won’t
say anything to anyone.”

“Did you have to pretend you were kidnapping
me to tell me?” she snaps.