Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1) (14 page)

The few remaining people
within
earshot started
backing away. Kevin raised his hands in the universal sign
for “calm down.” Since I wasn’t confrontational by nature, my next
move surprised me further. I swatted the underside of Kevin’s cup,
sending the contents right into his shocked face. Without waiting
for his reaction, I pushed past him and stormed towards the
house.

By the time I located Devon, my anger
with Kevin had worn thin, replaced by worry for my friend. She was
sprawled on the Chevy’s hood. Mascara stained her puffy cheeks, and
her thin body quaked with silent sobs.

“Devon?” I called, tentatively placing
my hand on her shaking shoulder.

“Can you drive?” she hiccupped, not
bothering to look up since she would’ve known my voice
anywhere.

The sip of alcohol I had consumed
hadn’t impaired my abilities in the least. “Sure, sweetie,” I
answered, taking the keys from her now-outstretched
hand.

Devon stumbled onto the lawn, regained
her balance, and collapsed into the passenger seat.

“Your house or mine?” I asked, turning
the key in the ignition.

“Yours,” she mumbled
thickly.

An hour later, the two of us had
swapped our party clothes for pajamas and were settled on my bed.
The playlist coming through my computer’s speakers was one I
reserved for times like tonight. All the artists were female, all
the lyrics angry. The selections read like a Lilith Fair set
list.

One gallon of mint
chocolate chip ice cream later, Devon was actually smiling again.
She vowed that this time she was done with Rick Hanes. No necklace
from Tiffany’s or any designer handbag would make up for this
latest indiscretion. Since she was my best friend, I didn’t point
out that she made the same
declaration
every time
Rick cheated. Instead, I nodded
and loyally declared him the leader-of
-clan-prick
. We bashed everything
from Rick’s hair to the size of his manhood while we passed the ice
cream back and forth
and lounged against
the decorative pillows on my bed
. Not that
I had carnal knowledge of Rick, but my proclamation that he hadn’t
been favored by the endowment gods made Devon laugh
hysterically.

“Thanks for leaving, Eel,” she said,
once the sticky carton was empty.

“I wasn’t having a good time anyway.”
I waved off her gratitude.

Devon beamed at me through red-rimmed
eyes and then rested her head on one of my fluffy pillows. “What
happened with Kannon? What did he want to talk to you about?” she
asked, switching gears from her personal problems to
mine.

The mention of his name sent a shiver
through my body that had nothing to do with the ice cream. Then I
remembered the possessive way Jamieson kept touching him and how
she’d insinuated that they were more than friends. Despite all the
Wentworth family’s wealth and prestige, I’d always felt sorry for
Jamieson. All the material possessions in the world couldn’t make
up for the death of her mother when she was eight, or for the fact
that her newest stepmother wasn’t alive during the Reagan
administration. But seeing her with Kannon had sparked a jealousy
that I’d never known.

Instead of actually answering Devon’s
questions, I asked one of my own. “Do you ever get déjà vu?” I
wanted to know. Earlier, I had done a little Google research on my
dreams. Déjà vu was the closest match to my new ability.

Devon wrinkled her nose and gave a
short laugh. “Sure, doesn’t everyone?”

“So you sometimes know what someone is
going to say before the words are out of their mouth? Or what is
going to happen the split second before it does?” I pressed
urgently. Maybe this whole phenomenon wasn’t that strange after
all. Maybe I’d just come late to the party.

“That’s not really déjà
vu,” Devon said slowly. “Déjà vu is the feeling that you’ve already
experienced something; it’s French for ‘already seen.’” Devon
sounded like the
Wikipedia
article I had read. Come to think of it, that was
probably exactly where her definition came from. Devon was
inquisitive by nature. If she didn’t understand something, or
didn’t know something, she looked it up.

“Why do you ask?” Devon’s tone was
laced with suspicion.

“No reason,” I mumbled, regretting
that I’d brought up the topic.

Devon laughed. “No way.
Spill.”

I sighed. “When Kannon pulled me from
the water, he called me by my name. Like, before I told him. He
called me Endora.”

My best friend remained silent for
several long beats. I glanced sideways, not daring to actually look
her in the eye for fear of what I might see in her
expression.

“Oh my god.” Devon bolted upright,
comprehension dawning. “Don’t tell me Kannon blamed déjà vu?!” She
erupted into a fit of laughter.

I grabbed a pillow from behind my head
and hit her. The way she said it made me feel like a pathetic fool.
I wasn’t the kind of girl who fell for stupid lines or crushed on
some boy that I’d only met once. Yet when Kannon had said that he’d
dreamt of our meeting, I’d bought it hook, line, and
sinker.

Devon held up her hands and tried to
catch the pillow even though I wasn’t swinging it with enough force
to do any real damage. When she finally managed to wrestle it from
my grip, she wiped tears from under her eyes.

“It’s not funny, Dev,” I said,
crossing my arms over my chest, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Come on, Eel. You can’t honestly tell
me that you of all people fell for that. You’re the girl who thinks
soul mates are as mythical as unicorns and that romantic gestures
only exist in the movies. Who are you? Elizabeth?”

I cracked a smile at that.
Elizabeth was on a never-ending
quest to
find “the one.” She ate up lines like, “If I received a nickel for
every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd have five cents,”
and “Do you have a Band-Aid? I just scraped my knee falling for
you.” She wasn’t naïve so much as she loved the idea of one perfect
person out there for everyone. One of her greatest fears was that
she would miss the chance to find true love if she didn’t explore
every opportunity that presented itself. Needless to say, at
seventeen she’d done more exploring of the opposite sex than
most girls in the senior class
.

“Oh, Endora, I have envisioned meeting
you my entire life. It’s fate that we met at Caswell Lake. Have my
babies,” Devon crowed in what I assumed was supposed to be an
imitation of Kannon.

I shoved her, and she nearly toppled
over the side of the bed. “Are you done?” I demanded, scowling; her
words had hit way too close to home.

Devon righted herself and then sobered
when she noticed I wasn’t laughing with her. “I’m sorry,” she said,
sounding about as serious as I did on Thanksgiving when I told my
mother the turkey wasn’t dry at all even though it crumbled like
sawdust in my mouth. “Look, the kid is hot. I am not disagreeing
with that fact. But he is super weird. There is something not right
with him. Telling you he knew your name because he experienced déjà
vu just proves that. And it bothers me that he just so happened to
be at Caswell Lake alone. As it turns out, it’s nowhere near his
house at all.”

Part of me knew she was
right. If we had been having this conversation even the week
before, I would have agreed with
her
. Now that I’d started experiencing
déjà vu, or whatever it was, I couldn’t discount that Kannon might
actually be telling the truth. Of course, I couldn’t tell Devon
about my dreams now. The way she reacted to what Kannon had said
only proved that if I did tell her, she would start
Googling the nearest psych ward.

“My question is: How did
you know his name at the game today?”

“He called me last
weekend,” I admitted.

“How did he get your
number?” She paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, wait. Let me guess.
He told you the numbers came to him in a dream?”

“You’re quite the comedian
tonight.” I rolled my eyes. Being honest with Devon had opened me
up for this type of teasing. I couldn’t really blame her for taking
the bait. “And no. He got the number from Jamieson.”
Saying her name left a bitter taste in my
mouth.
“I think they’re dating,” I added
miserably.

Devon made a disgusted noise before
saying, “Great, you’ve caught the attention of the devil’s
concubine.”

After that, we commenced with a round
of Jamieson bashing. I knew it was wrong to talk about people
behind their backs, which was why I normally refrained from saying
anything that I wouldn’t be willing to say to their faces. I made
an exception in Jamieson’s case, though. Mostly because, while I am
not gorgeous by any stretch of the imagination, I liked my face
just the way it was.

Gossip, ice cream, and
Alanis Morissette were an exhausting combination. Before long, the
conversation became decidedly one-sided. When Devon failed to weigh
in on who should be cast in the
Magic
Mike
sequel, I realized I was talking to
empty air.

Devon’s soft snores filled
my bedroom moments later. I tried to get comfortable but couldn’t.
I tossed and turned for nearly an hour before I gave up on my
pursuit of sleep. I was only slightly ashamed to admit that my
inability to fall asleep was really
due to
fear
. Fear for what I might dream. The
dreams that had come to fruition thus far had been benign. I didn’t
even remember having dreamt the situation until just moments before
it became reality. Still, the
newfound
ability made me
uneasy.

Careful not to disturb
Devon, I eased off of my bed and padded the short distance to my
computer chair. I wiggled the mouse to bring the monitor to life.
When a bright blue light filled the darkened room, I turned to make
sure the light didn’t wake Devon
.
She rubbed her nose in her sleep but seemed
otherwise unperturbed. Turning back to my computer, I selected
Facebook from my favorites tab. I typed “Kannon Stevens” into the
search bar at the top and waited. Several excruciating seconds
later, Kannon’s page filled my screen.

The profile pic showed
Kannon and Terrence Wilky in their St. Paul’s lacrosse jerseys,
giving cheesy grins for the camera. He had only one other photo: a
picture of clear blue water, a white sandy beach, and the
caption,
“My Salvation.”
Okay,
I thought,
whatever that means.

He listed Chevy Chase, Maryland, as
his hometown. No surprise there. Chevy Chase was where both St.
Paul’s and Mt. St. Mary’s were located. Other than that, he had
remarkably little personal information. Jamieson, Terrence, and
several other names I recognized from my past life commented on his
page frequently. Most of the comments were things like, “That party
at Jeffery’s rocked!!!!” and “Dude, Sister Mary Theresa should
really wear tighter clothes ’cause I bet she has a banging body.”
Clearly his friends were intellectuals.

I wasn’t really sure what I
had hoped to find out by stalking Kannon Stevens on Facebook. There
was nothing on his page that proved he was telling the truth about
the dreams or that confirmed my other working theory – that he was
a stalker. Under
“likes”
he didn’t list peeping in windows, hiding under
the bleachers to look up girls’ skirts, binoculars, or anything
else that screamed “Creeper.”

One crucial detail didn’t
go unnoticed on my part, though. He had no relationship status
listed. Not that this was proof he wasn’t dating Jamieson, but
my
friends updated their
statuses the minute they changed. I didn’t have
to click on Devon’s page to know that she now listed herself as
single, though I was willing to bet the price of my college tuition
that it would change again by the following evening.

Since I’d already crossed
over to the dark side, I decided to go
full-on crazy
and check Jamieson’s
page. Unlike Kannon, Jamieson had thousands of pictures. I clicked
on the most recent album labeled “Chillin’ with my crew.” Most of
the photos were of Jamieson and her cronies, Caitlyn Linderman and
Jessica Rouch, and were taken everywhere from the Wentworths’ Tahoe
home to their condo in Cabo San Lucas. Some were at random parties,
and a few were taken on her family’s yacht, aptly named the
Not Guilty
since Mr.
Wentworth was a criminal defense attorney. And yes, several were of
Kannon. But the most telling bit of information I gleaned from
Jamieson Wentworth’s Facebook page: She listed her relationship
status as “single.”

“Oh, you’re home,” my mother’s quiet
voice startled me.

I jumped in my chair. I was so caught
up in my late-night stalking I hadn’t even heard the door open.
Blood rushed to my cheeks as I quickly closed the browser before my
mother could see what I was doing. She didn’t even like me having a
Facebook page. She said my generation used the social networking
site as an outlet for expressing views and ideas that no one really
cared about and to make themselves feel important.