Phobic (4 page)

“What’s the catch? I don’t buy that ‘unity team’ crap. They hate me, and I hate them, and it’s been that way for years. Nothing is going to change that.” Especially not coming to MY house. Of all the places they could possibly have a party.

Todd meets my gaze and knows I mean business because he’s not arguing with me. He sighs.

“Face it, Pipes. Your house is weird. And people kind of think you’re weird because you never show them otherwise.”

He’s right—my house is weird. But it’s hard to hear Todd admit what I’ve known for years. That they all think I’m a freak. Having their party there will confirm it that much more. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s the real reason Cassie insisted on doing our assignment there.

“If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Todd goes on. “But who knows, it might be a good thing. You have to put yourself out there. Talk to them, instead of waiting for them to talk to you. This is your chance. Your house has the coolest setup. I’ve been saying it all along, but they’re finally coming around.”

Talk to them, sure. The popular kids from school. The kids who spend every minute I’m around them putting me down. And thanks for reminding me that my house was your bargaining chip.

“Like I said, Pipes. You don’t have to. We can just have the party at my house. But I think they want to know if it’s all true,” Todd goes on. He studies his hands, and from his tone I can tell he’s wondering whether or not he should have kept his mouth shut.

“If what’s all true?” Is he talking about my mom? He promised he would keep it a secret!

“The secret passageways,” he says, elbowing me. “The floating door.”

Oh. That.

“But they can already see that from the outside,” I say. And I hadn’t thought about that part of things. Like what to tell them if I actually
do
hear Dad’s voice again.

A few more students lumber in, and a guy I hadn’t noticed sitting there puts a trombone to his lips and blurts out a few notes. I lower my voice. “I mean, it’s only on the side of my house.” On the upper level. No stairs leading to it, just the door to nowhere.

“Come on, let them see who you really are. They think you’re some closet freak.”

“You’re not helping.”

“They’ll be nice,” Todd adds. “I promise.”

“Only because you threatened them,” I mutter.

I duck my head down and Joel’s words from last night linger in my brain, sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.
Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if you actually tried making friends.
Joel probably says stuff like that just so the pressure gets taken off of him.

But he’s never said a word about those friends coming to our house. No one besides Todd has ever really come over, and I know Joel likes it that way.
He
hardly has anyone over!

“It’s not a big deal,” Todd says, his voice gentle. “Never mind. I’ll just tell them I’d rather have it at my house. Besides, we’ve got a hot tub.”

“I’ll have to check with Joel.” Though it isn’t a good idea to spring a bunch of strangers on my house—especially not after this last-minute project with Cassie—I can’t help being curious about what will happen.

Todd puts his arm around me and squeezes. At least he’ll be there. And I can tell Joel I’m making an effort at the whole friend thing. I sink into him.

“You won’t be sorry, Pipes,’” he says.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Dread is a twenty-pound sack of rocks connected to the clock, dragging time so the rest of my classes take a decade instead of an hour. Despite my curiosity, the thought of having all of those losers over still tortures my brain. I shouldn’t agree. This is the last thing I need right now. I should be focusing on my audition, not worrying about the kids I despise the most in the world coming to
my
house. It’s blasphemy, like I’m turning my back on an important belief.

I know Todd would never intentionally hurt me, but his honesty earlier still stings.
Face it, Pipes. They think you’re weird because your house is weird.
I almost laugh. If they already think my house is weird, just wait until they come over tomorrow night and see what
really
happens there.

This is a disaster. Dis. As. Ter.

Todd does have a point; it would be nice to let them know me, to get them to back off. And I won’t be able to run this time, not like I would if it were at like, Sierra’s, or something.

Maybe we should just have it at Todd’s house. He’s next door after all, so they’ll still get the gist of my freaky haunted house. But I can’t dog out. Not this time.

Fortunately, the space by my locker is mostly clear when I check in book-wise after school. Todd and the guys are all out at the field for practice. No doubt Sierra is out there, too, watching her boyfriend get all sweaty. Whoop-de-do.

“My audition,” I mutter to myself as my backpack gets heavier with each book. “I’ll just focus on my audition.”

“Hey, Piper,” Cassie says, her perky smile coming out of nowhere. “Want a ride?”

“Sure.” I slam my locker shut.

Lying on my stomach on the bedroom floor, I scribble the eraser across my paper while Cassie rearranges the square pieces of the puzzle for the fifty billionth time. So far so good. The house hasn’t made a sound since she got here.

“Maybe they go this way.”

“There,” I say, penciling in what I’ve already figured out, that the three squares put in the correct position make a right triangle. Lorde plays on the iPod, and I labor to keep my mind on the math problem in front of me instead of the fact that Joel will be home any minute and I’ll have to mention the party to him. The progressive darkness outside with the sun setting makes it harder to see. If the sun is already setting, that means it’s time for Cassie to go.

“You got it? Good.” Cassie sits up and brushes hair out of her face. She leans over and copies what I’ve got written. So much for group work.

Her glance travels and lands on the antique, pink dollhouse in the corner, an almost exact replica of my house, except for the color.

“That is seriously the cutest thing,” she says, crawling over to it.

“Yeah,” I say, worry ticking inside me. I could be nice and go on about how it was my favorite thing to play with as a child. How I loved the tiny, delicate pieces, so rich in definition and detail, unlike the plastic, stickered pieces in my friends’ playhouses. Like the other antiques we have, this dollhouse has been here as long as I can remember, and probably longer.

But this silence from my house can only last so long. The later Cassie stays, the more uneasy I get. So instead, I set my ruler down and ask, “What time did you say you were meeting Sierra?”

Cassie stuffs her notebook in her bag and stands, craning her neck to look at the cherubs painted on my ceiling. “Seriously, who has a ceiling like that? Oh—” She pulls out her cell. “Not sure. Sierra said she’d call.”

I stand too. I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t know how to politely kick someone out. “Maybe you should go over there and just see—”

“I’m so thirsty, mind if we get a drink of water?”

Before I can answer, Cassie’s already leading the way toward the landing and down the stairs. I hurry to catch up, half debating taking the servants’ staircase down so I can beat her to the kitchen. But that will only impress her, no doubt, not give her the impression I want her to leave.

“I feel like I’ve gone back in time being here,” she says, snooping through cupboards for a cup. I get one out and hand it to her.

“My mom used to say that,” I say, the words slipping out. Crap. I just broke my own personal rule—never talk about her.

“Where is your mom, anyway?” Cassie asks after getting a gulp and setting her cup on the counter.

“Oh, you know…”
Prison.

At the mention of my mother I stare out the window at the gazebo outside, so similar to the one we had in Shady Heights before we moved. Knowing my house, it very well could be the
same
one—I’ve never thought much about it before. But Mom liked to read under its shade. She loved the roses, the smell of the nearby chokecherry trees, the way the sun kissed her skin.

She loved this house too, always talking about how elegant it was, how it made her feel like she was living in another time. The same thing Cassie said.

An awkward silence lingers between us. Cassie turns away from the china hutch, her mouth gaping open in genuine shock. Her thin brows bolt up, and she mouths, “
Dead?
”

I stiffen, not knowing what to say. As if to make things worse, we’re standing on the circular red rug in the center of the floor. The sight almost turns my stomach. This rug covers The Spot. The trap door where Mom hid the body.

She claps a hand to her chest. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, Piper. I shouldn’t have asked. Probably hard for you to talk about.”

“Something like that,” I say, wincing. She’s being so nice, and I’m just being…well, an idiot. I think we might actually be connecting, and I have to blow it by being me. I look up to the molding along the ceiling. The house hasn’t so much as creaked since she got here. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if Cassie stayed a little later.

I don’t get how she can be friends with Sierra. Cassie gives me a small smile and then turns her back to me, toward the basement entrance. Her ringed fingers lift to stroke the intricate, circular carvings on the door’s surface.

“This is like, crazy beautiful. I can’t believe you live here.” She reaches for the knob, and my panic switch flicks back on.

“Don’t!” I run over and slam my back against it, blocking her way. The carvings feel strange against my back, and I realize I’m touching the thing for pretty much the first time ever.

The only other time I’d gotten close to this door, my father had been coming up out of it. His expression quickly darkened, and he charged at me. His hands gripped, digging into my arms like claws, shoving me hard against the wall. A cold draft wafted in from the open basement door, and he grunted and kicked it shut with his foot, slamming my elbow into the corner of the china hutch. I bit my lip to hold in the cry of pain.

“Don’t you ever go down there,” he yelled, ramming me into the wall again. “Do you hear me? Never!”

Tears stung my eyes. I stared at my father like he was an imposter. I couldn’t think of where he meant. I hadn’t even known he was there!

He blinked a few times, and the fury drifted from his eyes like smoke. His grip on me softened, and he lowered me to the floor.

I’d felt rigid, like my arms and legs were all bonded together and he’d snap them off if I dared to move. Eventually, I chanced a glance up away from his shaking hands to the sweat beading on his brow. For the first time it connected in my seven-year-old mind—maybe I wasn’t the only one who missed my mother.

But it was more than that. My father had looked broken.

“You okay, Daddy?” I asked, not sure if I should.

He hadn’t answered. Just kept staring at the wall where he’d thrown me. I glanced at the basement door behind him, at the circular designs that made me think of sideways eyes. Curiosity won over, and I kept talking.

“What’s—what’s down there?”

“Never you mind,” he said, stalking off and leaving me feeling more alone than ever.

This time Cassie acts like
I’ve
struck
her
. Her heavily lined eyes blink over and over, and she looks as though I’ve told her she has to solve the Pythagorean Theorem over again all by herself. Todd’s words play back again.
They think you’re weird.
No. Wonder.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to think fast. I can’t tell her the truth. “It’s just that we have…asbestos. You know, old house.” I force a smile.

Cassie relaxes. “Right. I’ve heard that’s like, awful.”

She pops her lips together like she’s smacking lip gloss. My eyes dart around, and I scramble for something to say to redeem the situation.
My dad had these rules about our house, certain places I was never allowed to go. That’s one of them.
That will only generate more questions for sure.

At the thought, my stomach sinks. There’s no way we can have the party here. I can’t keep tabs on where everyone goes, and the house undoubtedly will do something to them if they snoop. It will have to be outside.