Second Verse (5 page)

“There was this one time… I don’t know. I didn’t do it, but almost. Well, not really, but it was just a thought…”

“Out with it already!” Ben says.

She takes a deep breath. “My sisters were in the tub and I was blow drying my hair. I watched them for a while in the mirror. They were marching these plastic dinosaurs up the wall. And I thought, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if I threw it in.’ The blow dryer, I mean. Well not funny, but you know. I was tempted. To do it.”

Silence falls like a blanket over us. I stare at my sandwich, the sound of chewing magnified in my ears.

“Anyway, it was stupid. It doesn’t even really count for what we’re talking about. I don’t even know why I told that story.” Her words come out in a rush.

I’m not sure why she told that story either, but my skin crawls with her confession. We clear our throats and push around the trash on our trays.

“Stupid kid’s stuff, right?” Ben says in a shaky voice.

“Yeah, kid’s stuff.” Kelly’s eyes dart to Vaughn and then me, begging us to change the awkward subject. “What about you guys?”

The bell rings and I say a silent prayer of thanks.

“Next time,” Vaughn says, shrugging. “I’ll have to come up with something good.”

I nod and smile while my friends gather their things. They linger, chatting while I stare at a sketch I did in Life Drawing last period. I tune them out and try my best to ignore Stace as she leans to say goodbye to Vaughn.

All the while I replay the question: The strangest thing we’ve ever done.

Sell. Her. Sweeney
.

When they’ve all left, Vaughn moves down to sit across from me. He wears an ironic smile when he stretches his arms out on the table, resting his hand inches from mine.

“So,” he says, nodding to the door. “What’s yours?”

“My what?”

He rolls his eyes. “Strangest thing that’s ever happened to you?”

I give him a knowing look. I am so not going there right now.

T
HAT NIGHT
, I think about words. The words in my head. The words in Vaughn’s song. The voice in the barn. I pace my room, trying to make the connections, staring into the dark outside my window. The barn looms against the night sky, a hulking black mass that dwarfs the trees around it. Tonight, the barn reminds me of a monster, and I can’t make sense of anything.

Vaughn thinks the history of this house ties it all together. I know he’s probably right, but I’m scared to find out more. I have to live here, to sleep here. The walls are probably crawling with what happened in this place, room after massive empty
room of hidden memories and who knows what else. Troddenon hallways like paths of strange and twisted happenings. And what if, whatever was in the barn that night has slipped into the house, if it’s running through the core of the place, wrapping around and into me, causing me and Vaughn to feel and do the things we’re doing?

I need to refocus. My fingers itch with the need to create, to draw until I’ve worked out whatever thoughts and feelings are lodged in my brain. I feel tiny in my room, as if the walls and house are too much to handle. But they press in on me too. Suffocating.

Sitting at my desk, I pull out my sketchpad. I’ll draw the house, I’ll draw the barn. How it makes me feel, how I see it. Art is always the best medicine.

My hand moves across the paper quietly, leaving lines and arcs in shapes I don’t plan. A face, smooth cheeks, soft lines. I work quickly, barely thinking about what I’m doing, almost out of my control. A body materializes below the face, a young girl, her hair hanging in waves. I add braids, a simple dress. Flat, comfortable shoes.

I frown at the page. It’s certainly not what I planned. But I look at her again and I smile, tentatively.

It’s not complete, but in my mind, I can see where this girl is going.

My Transformations project has finally begun.

O
N
T
HURSDAY
, I get to the cafeteria just as Kelly’s telling everyone about
Turn of the Screw
. She’s been picked as Head Costumer for the annual Preston winter production. For a junior, this is huge. I’m proud of her, even if I’m distracted.

“Whoa,” Ben says as I slide into my seat. “You’ve got raccoon eyes.”

“It’s called eyeliner,” I say, fighting the urge to dig in my purse for my compact.

Vaughn raises his eyes, his gaze trailing my face. His grin pulls up on one side and he nods appreciatively, like I’ve seen him do when he listens to a song he really likes. I hope no one notices my flaming cheeks.

“Seriously, Ben.” Kelly says, paper coffee cup poised at her lips. “We need to work on your sense of what’s happening in the real world of style.” She coughs into her hand. “Penny loafers.” Another cough.

Stace snorts. “Oh, she
so
just went there.”

“Whatever.” Ben rolls his eyes, nudging Stace with his elbow. He looks at me. “So did you hear? Purgatory is performing for Preston. The night of The Hunt.”

“Really?” I adjust my sweater, self-conscious about how low cut it is.

“Yeah. Apparently, it’s going to be a whole different set up this year.”

“Well, all I know is,” Stace cackles, glancing at Vaughn pointedly. “I’m planning to completely woo Kent Lee if I can manage it.”

Barely suppressing a yawn, Vaughn balls up his napkin, tossing it in the air and catching it again. Purposely ignoring her stare. And sitting way farther from her than usual.

Kelly places a hand across her forehead, pretending to swoon. “Kent Lee is so yummy. Sweet cartwheeling Jesus, did you see him last time they played? Tank top. Tight. Muscles.”

Nodding frantically, Stace grins. “Lots of muscles. Those abs, my God, those abs.”

Ben rolls his eyes and waves a hand in their direction. “Good luck with that.”

I laugh. To hear the two of them talk about the front man for Purgatory, you’d think he was an actual God. He’s cute and all, but he’s no Vaughn.

Speaking of.

Mischief blazes in his eyes. “How about you, Lange? You impervious to the charms of Bruce Lee?”

“
Kent
Lee,” I correct. “And no. Not impervious, exactly. But he’s not really my type.” I shrug.

“Oh really? What’s your type then?” He leans across the table, rubbing his chin. “Is it the music thing? Musicians don’t do it for you?” His smile widens and I wish I had a dollar for every shade of red I must turn.

“No, not at all! Musicians are fine. No. Musicians are good. I love musicians!”

Did I really just say that?

Kelly clears her throat, “Yeah, so Kent Lee? I seriously can’t wait.”

“Huh.” Stace’s voice has gone completely dull. She glares at all of us, specifically letting her eyes dart back and forth between Vaughn and me. She stands abruptly. “I’m out of here.”

She’s in the hallway before anyone else moves.

What just happened?

The bell rings and Kelly gives a nervous smile as she and Ben pack up their stuff. “Talk to you guys later.”

Once they’re gone, I nod to the hallway. “What was that about?”

“She’s always pissed about something.” He waves a hand. “I’ll talk to her later.”

Oh.

I exhale and study the table. When he rests his hand on my arm, the electricity from the barn isn’t there, but heat rushes between us like brushfire.

He leans over. “Speaking of music and your
thing
for musicians,” he smiles wickedly, “you owe me a violin solo.”

“Huh? Random, much? I don’t play violin.” But I
am
thankful for the change of subject.

“Kidding. Well, kinda.” His eyes dance. I follow them to where they’re staring at my collarbone. My ugly birthmark, which is usually hidden, stands out against my pale skin.

“A violin? Really? I’ve always thought of it as the shape of Africa. And what are you doing looking down my shirt, anyway?”

He grins. “What can I say? You’re kind of on display today. And anyway, it wasn’t
down
your shirt, it’s like, your collarbone or whatever.”

My mouth hangs open.

“Relax. I’m only looking. I’m human, you know.” He smiles. “You look good.”

Well then.

“Thanks,” I mutter, wishing I could crawl under the table.

I look good?

Vaughn drums the edge of the table again, totally at ease. “We’re still on for research later right?”

I groan. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope, not really. Plus, I’ve already Googled
some
stuff. I bet you have too.”

“No, actually. I’ve totally been avoiding it.”

“Why? Like you don’t want to know what’s happening?”

He’s right of course, but still. I’m not sure I’m ready for more information. I shrug. “I just wish this never started. I’d honestly rather know nothing.”
And feel nothing
. My mind flips to the voice in the barn and the way my house has been closing in on me. I shudder, imagining what truths we’re probably going to find.

He pushes a hand through his hair. “You’re horribly stubborn, you know.”

“I agreed to go, didn’t I?” I nudge his knee with mine and manage a smile. “That’s about all the cooperation you’re going to get out of me at this point.”

I
N THE LIBRARY
, I pick a table way in the back. Except for a college-aged girl a few tables away, who’s completely engrossed in a pile of research books, we’ll basically be alone. Vaughn arrives minutes after me, straight from the coffee shop next door.

“Caramel, right?” He holds out a coffee cup, complete with the slim cardboard sleeve that tells me it’s a latte, a fact that instantly makes my mouth water.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it from him. “How did you know I like caramel?”

He takes a swig of his. “It’s what you always get, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”
But I never knew you noticed
. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, dragging a laptop onto the table, next to a small stack of books. His face is inches from mine, so close I can make out the individual hairs in his stubble.

His phone buzzes. He presses buttons while I get the computer started.

“All okay?” I ask.

“Just letting my mom know I’ll be a little late.”

“Impressive,” I say. “My mom would never text.”

“As if you would?”

“Shut up! I could if I had to.”

“You do realize you’re ridiculous, right? You’re probably the only human being without a cell. You’re like someone from another time. Or maybe another planet.” He taps his chin thoughtfully.

I snort as I pull out a notebook and a pen, tapping it on the edge of the table. It’s time to dive in, but I don’t want to. I know an entire family was murdered in my house, and I know something or someone tried to contact us in my barn. And, if I’m being honest, the weird stuff that’s still happening, for both of us, has me more than a little freaked out. But even still, I don’t want to learn anything else about this sick stuff. It just feels wrong, like we’re unleashing a whole lot of hell. I take a deep breath, counting to ten slowly, like my old psychiatrist, Dr. Ramirez, used to tell me to do when I was trying to deal with things.

“Do you need to call your parents or anything?” He holds out the phone.

“No,” I snap. “And it’s just my mom. No
parents
.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to—”

Jesus Lange. What’s wrong with you?

“No, I didn’t mean it to come out that way. You were just trying to be ni—”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have assumed.” He nods to the table. “Let’s just do this.”

“My dad’s dead.” The words come out before I realize they’re on my lips. It’s the first time I’ve told anyone since we moved to Shady Springs. I’ve always just said he’s not around.

Vaughn stares at the table, reaches out to squeeze my hand. “That sucks,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

His words are simple, but they wrap around me like a hug and for those few seconds, the void in me is filled.

“Thanks,” I whisper. “For just, I don’t know, letting me say that.”

His thumb moves slowly across my hand, his body shifting toward mine. I want to squeeze back. I want to wrap my hand around his. But I know better.

“Okay, so what’s first?” I break free and pull the screen toward me. Despite the lingering trace of Vaughn’s touch on my
skin, I keep my hand steady and somehow manage to read the words on top of the screen. “Dutch Country History.”

Beside me, he sighs.

The picture shows cornfields and in the distance a brown barn with a weathervane on the roof. I raise my eyebrows and look at Vaughn. “Exciting stuff, I see. This is lame.”

“Just scroll through. Let’s see what we can find.”

I sigh. This is boring. What’s next? I reach across to see the list of sources he’s printed out. Warmth buzzes where our shoulders press.

“Back off, will you?” He laughs, nudging me with his elbow and turning away.

I lunge for the paper, but he dodges me. We go back and forth a few times, like some little kid game of keep-away. Finally, I grab it from him, letting out a whoop of satisfaction that earns me an admonishing look from the girl down the row.

But when I read the words on the list, my smile disappears. I feel a cold flush inside, like someone’s turned on a faucet.

Famous and Infamous Pennsylvania Murders

“Come on, Language Barrier,” Vaughn jokes, trying to lighten my obvious mood change. “You knew we would start with this. Finding out the details behind the murders is the only thing that makes sense. How long are we going to pretend it’s not connected?” He taps away at the keyboard until the site comes up.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He’s right, but damn, I don’t want to do this.

“Fine,” I mumble, pulling my notebook toward me, ready to take notes. I click the top of the pen and press it to the page. Red blossoms down the paper, spreading quickly through to the pages beneath.

“What the hell!” I shriek, dropping it on the table. Red drips from the point like … “Is that blood?” I whisper.

Vaughn stares at it for a moment, then back at me, eyes wide. “Where did you get that pen?”