Second Verse (8 page)

Ginny Chopain, the girl in the photo. In my drawing. My mind dances around it like a butterfly, trying to find a place to land.

There’s a commotion downstairs, loud voices in the kitchen. Weird. Mom hardly ever has people over. Especially angry, loud ones.

I tiptoe to my doorway, leaning on the frame with an ear turned to the hallway.

“You want to call someone? Hold on, I’ll get Lange.”

Huh?

“Thanks. I’m not sure who would do this.”

Vaughn?

I push my hair back in a headband and grab a pair of socks from my dresser drawer, pulling them on as I make my way down the steps, moving faster than I should. I stumble on the last three, skidding on my heels into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” I try my best to stay calm.

Never mind my awkward entrance. No one notices. Vaughn is pacing by my back door, cell phone pressed to his ear. Everything about the situation feels odd, like a play with the wrong lighting, where everyone forgets their lines.

“My car,” he says, covering the mouthpiece. “Someone slashed my tires.”

L
AST NIGHT
, I sat on the porch with Vaughn and waited for the tow truck. He had a spare, but with three tires slashed, one spare wasn’t going to do him any good. So we waited, in silence at first, our breath forming small, even clouds in the air.

It made no sense. Everyone likes Vaughn.

“I know this may sound totally paranoid,” I said. “But do you think the bloody pen could be related to this? Like someone is out to mess with both of us?”

He nodded, grumbling something about kicking someone’s ass.

“Who do you think—”

He cut me off. “No idea. But I
will
find out.”

I’d never seen him so determined.

And now, we’re having breakfast.

Well, that’s the start of it, anyway. We have a whole long day ahead of us.

Vaughn’s mom has an old friend whose grandmother was alive at the time of the Chopain murders. She’s in her late nineties, and had been friends with the oldest Chopain kids. Unlike me, Vaughn has apparently been talking about our research with his parents. Of course it’s easier for him. His mom isn’t like my mom, who would most likely waver between jumping on the ghost hunting bandwagon and overanalyzing my mental state. She’d probably freak if she knew I was looking into these murders. She’s already been making comments about what happened
in the attic, and after way too many years of her questioning my mental stability, sending me to shrinks, and plying me with piles of self-help manuals and spiritual cleansing ideas, the less she knows, the better. Yet Vaughn’s mom sets up meetings with old friends of murdered children to help her son’s fascination.

I’m not sure which is worse.

And what about meeting this old woman? What could she possibly tell us? Details about her friends who were killed? Do I want to know? Do I want that girl to become even more real to me?

I’m not sure I do.

By the time we’re pushing pancakes around our plates and staring out the diner window, I just want to get it over with. By the way Vaughn stirs his coffee endlessly, I gather he feels the same. He leans back against the booth, the glow of the Halloween lights overhead shining orange in his hair. The entire diner has been decked out in Halloween decorations making it resemble a haunted house more than a restaurant.

“I was writing last night,” he says without looking at me. “After everything, I was so tired by the time I got home. I climbed into bed, thinking I’d be out. But then that melody started nagging me again and I had to get up and tinker with it.”

“And?”

“It’s getting there. It’s more layered now. Still needs work though.” His eyes shine, but his lips curl down in a frown.

“So why the sad face?” I twirl my cup on its saucer.

“Oh, not sad. It’s just…” He looks away, shifting in his seat.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just nerves, I guess. Today and all.”

“You better not be hiding something from me.” I point with my fork and try for my best serious scowl.

His laugh rumbles. “Oooh, I’m scared. You going to hurt me with pancakes now?”

“Better than the slow Twinkie death you’re headed for.” I stick out my tongue and duck as he tosses a sugar packet at me.

“Hey kids.” Our waitress places our check on the table and starts to clear the plates. “How was everything?”

“Great,” Vaughn says, forcing a smile. But he can’t hide that nervous look behind his eyes.

“You kids go to Preston?” When we nod she continues, “You must be getting all geared up for The Hunt, huh? I hear it’s gonna be good this year. My sister works down at Macky’s and she said all the shops downtown are gearing up to make Main Street spookier than a horror film.” She laughs as she wipes down the table.

When we slide out of the booth, Vaughn brushes up against the skeleton-bone garland hanging along the wall, nearly pulling it down.

“It looks pretty good in here too,” he says, fingering the bones. “You guys are pretty Halloween-ed out yourselves.”

She shakes her head, giving us a knowing look. “Well, you know how it is. There ain’t nothing like Halloween in Shady Springs. Can’t believe it’s coming up next week already. Lord, time flies when you get old, I’ll tell ya.”

I follow Vaughn to the register, my stomach bubbling in anticipation of the day ahead.

“Lange?”

I cringe before I turn around, plastering a fake smile on my face.

“Hey Kelly. What’s up?” I’m not sure if my act of nonchalance fools her, but she gives me a soft smile and leans in for a hug.

“Where’ve you been?” She looks between Vaughn and me and I can see the questions in her eyes. But Kelly won’t ask.

“What do you mean? Same places as always.” I reach out and touch the magenta silk Gerbera daisies pinned in her hair. “Love these! Very cute.”

Her hand goes up automatically. “Thanks. I picked them up at the thrift shop. Oh, that reminds me, I have to show you my designs for
Turn of the Screw
.”

“Sure. How about tomorrow? You doing anything after school?”

Her face brightens. “Really?”

“Why don’t you come over?” I’m trying here, really trying. To make things normal, at least on the outside. Vaughn looks down at his shoes, fidgeting with his jacket sleeves again.

“Sure, sounds good.” Kelly kicks the toe of Vaughn’s boot and smiles. “What’s up? Can’t say hello?”

With a tight grin, he laughs his laid back laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were going to let me get a word in.”

Kelly laughs, as though she doesn’t see through his act, which I have to admit, is pretty good. He seems normal, almost like himself.

“So, what are you guys doing now … ” She trails off, looking uncomfortable.

Oh right. Us being here together.

“Lange’s helping me. With a song.” Vaughn leans against the counter, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “I’m writing this new piece.”

What? Kelly knows I know nothing about songwriting.

“Oh.” She looks slowly between us. “Cool.”

“It was based on this photo she had the other day,” he continues, biting his lip. “One of her mom’s still lifes.”

I want to nudge him, to make him stop. The deeper the lie goes, the more difficult it’s going to be to keep it straight. Plus, it sounds completely lame.

Kelly nods, but her eyes have shifted. She looks behind me, her face going a bit pale as her mouth lifts into a smile. It’s then that I notice the patchwork backpack hanging from her arm. Stace’s bag.

Crap.

I turn, but even as I do, I know who I’ll find.

“There you are!” Stace says to Kelly. Then she notices me. And then Vaughn. And then back to me again. Her expression slides, settling into something totally blank. Something that says,
Oh. I see
.

A swollen moment of silence is broken by the burst of Kelly’s laughter. “How weird right? We’re like, all having breakfast at the same place! I didn’t even think we were capable of waking up so early on a Sunday.”

But it’s not enough.

Vaughn bends to kiss Stace’s cheek, but it’s cold, like you’d kiss a distant aunt or uncle. I keep my eyes trained on the marble floor.

“Hey,” he says smoothly. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? Hmm. What’s up is Kelly and I having breakfast before working on
Turn of the Screw
stuff. I’m helping her out. You know, like
friends
do.”

No one misses the implication in her voice.

“That’s cool.”

He looks at me. Stace looks at me.

Please make this moment end.

“And you?” She says to him coolly, her eyes on me. “What’s up with you?”

“Oh they’re working on a project too!” Kelly says brightly. “Vaughn’s writing a song inspired by one of Lange’s mom’s photos. Isn’t that cool?” She’s trying too hard. And at the mention of Vaughn writing a song, Stace’s eyes narrow.

“Oh really? Sounds great.” She turns on her heel and heads in the direction of the tables. Kelly gives me a pained look before turning to follow. She squeezes my arm and mouths,
call me later
.

“Well that was awesome,” I say under my breath as Vaughn holds the door open for me. They probably think I’m hooking up with him. Great. Stace hates me. And Kelly, although she seemed sympathetic, will be close behind.
Call me later
. That was an invitation for me to explain myself before she decides to jump on Stace’s side and hate us.

Vaughn and me. There is no us.

“It’ll be fine.” He unlocks the doors of his mom’s minivan and I slide into the passenger seat, slumping down and covering my face with my hands.

“How can you be so lax about this?” I ask when he climbs into his seat. “Your girlfriend, who happens to be my friend—”

“Whoa! She is
not
my girlfriend. Not even close.”

His heated tone stops me from saying anything else, as does the dark expression that’s moved across his face. His attention turns to his rearview as he backs out of the parking spot.

Not his girlfriend? Well that’s obviously not what she thinks. Not what anyone thinks.

And … really? He doesn’t consider her
anything?

“But I thought you guys—”

He keeps his eyes on the road, slowing at the yellow light. “We were sort of together,” he says. “A long time ago. We’re friends now.”

“Oh.”

Well that changes things.

“Besides, things are different now.” He looks at me but I stare straight ahead, studying the face of the red traffic light like it’s an original Van Gogh. “Know what I mean?”

I don’t know what to say.

“You guys always seem so close,” I mumble. “The whole music thing and, you know … ” My cheeks burn as he turns onto the twisty road that will take us out of town.

He scoffs. “Sure, we’re both musicians, but so what? It’s not like
she’s
the one I’m writing songs about.”

I close my eyes and try to ignore the thrumming in my ears.
Hold my heart it won’t be long
.

“Vaughn—”

“Come on. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

With my eyes still closed, I answer. “What kind of friend would I be—”

The slap of his palm against the steering wheel makes me jump. When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me. “I already told you, there’s nothing going on with me and Stace.”

“I’m not
that
girl, you know?”

Silence fills the space where our words aren’t. The trees pass and I count them silently. I wish for a thick charcoal pencil in my fingers to draw the way I feel. Empty and out of place. I’m so focused on the world inside my head that when he touches my arm, I flinch. I look down at his hand, big-knuckled fingers splayed against my arm. They squeeze gently, trying to get my attention.

“You,” he says softly, “could never, ever be a bad person. Don’t doubt that.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Tell that to Kelly and Stace.”

He sighs heavily and shakes his head, powering up his iPod to fill the silence. When he pulls his hand from my arm, the spot where his fingers were feels suddenly cold.

I want to tell him how I like the way things are. How he’s fun and makes me feel like I can laugh, and talk, and be real. How being here with him, in Shady Springs, feels like I’m finally rooted somewhere for the first time in my life. Right now, that’s good enough. Why ruin it?

“Besides,” I say. “We’ve got bigger things to face right now. Don’t you think?”

He nods without looking at me, but the clench of his jaw tells me this conversation isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

W
E DRIVE FOR
over an hour on the quietest, prettiest roads I’ve ever seen. The autumn colors roll endlessly on the mountains that surround us.

We listen to random songs on Vaughn’s iPod for most of the trip. I don’t recognize a lot of them, but when he turns off the highway and the track changes, the lyrics jump out and I listen intently. Something in them reminds me of Vaughn’s song. And they feel like they apply distinctly to me.

To us.

I’ve searched through the darkness, I’ve walked through that door. I’ll be coming back you know, coming back for more
.

I run them through my mind on repeat, trying to figure out what they mean, why I’m drawn to them.

I sneak a sideways glance. On the cracked leather steering wheel, Vaughn taps the slow drumbeat and hums along.

I alternate staring at the clouds and him, the relaxed way he leans with one hand on the wheel as he murmurs along to the next song. I sit forward, tinkering with the button on the iPod. A screechy female voice blares from the speakers.

“Ooops. I was trying to turn it down.”

He rolls his eyes, smirking as he slides the button that turns it off, unleashing quiet in the car.

Finally, I get the nerve to ask what’s been on my mind most of the ride.

“So what do you think? About the murders?”

He gives me a confused look. “What do you mean? That Hank guy did it, right? Confessed it in his suicide note, even.”

“But I’m not sure that’s where it ends. I feel like there’s a reason we’re doing all this. Researching this stuff. You know?”