Blue Is for Nightmares (8 page)

I lean forward to see the figure below. It looks up at me, almost startled, its face covered by a white hockey mask, and suddenly I feel like I've been plopped onto the set of
Friday the
13th and at any minute now a six-inch knife will come plunging through the window.

The hand curls into a fist and knocks against the glass. And then he starts laughing. A dead giveaway. I'd know that

Kermit-the-frog laugh anywhere--head, bobbing; mouth, arched open; and zero sound coming out.

Chad.

He flips the mask off and breathes aloud, Jason-from-Friday-the-13th style. "I can see you, Stacey" he repeats, still laughing.

"I hate you, Chad."

He smooshes his lips against the glass, but he still looks good. Fresh-out-of-bed good--his sandy-blond hair still sticking up in the back, a bedsheet-pattern line against his cheek, tiny points of fresh, golden hair sprouting from his chin. Sexily delicious.

"Where's your sense of humor?"

I start to pull the window shade down to block him out. I don't want to talk to him right now. I look awful. I feel awful. And I despise jokes like this.

"Wait a minute," he says. "I'm sorry, okay?"

It's hard to resist since he looks so scrumptious, standing on tiptoes, a glob of white toothpaste gathered in the corner of his mouth. An imaginary bubble blows out from my head. In it, the two of us have woken up together; he's sneaking out, and this is our secret.

I pop the thought out of my head with a pin of reality and push the window open. "What are you doing here?" "I was actually looking for Drea."

"She's showering. Why?"

"We were supposed to meet for breakfast. I was gonna help her with her psych homework."

"Really? I thought it was the other way around."

79

"I help her, she helps me." He winks. "What's the difference?" He hoists his elbows up on the sill to peer into the room. "You girls are slobs. Worse than us bachelors."

I smooth my hands over my hair and try to subtly pinch my cheeks for color. "I'll tell her you came by."

"What's the matter? You want me to go so soon?" Chad dangles his hand off the sill, inside the room, allowing me to catch a glance of the tiny points of boy-hair on his knuckles. "Can I come in?" he asks.

"Why?"

"What do you mean
why?
To hang out for a while. To talk. We don't get to talk as much as we did last year."

It's true that we don't. But it hasn't exactly been the same between us since that day when we kissed. I look at him, from his long, curly lashes to the pout in his mouth, and feel a million tiny bottle-rockets go off in my heart, just remembering that kiss.

"Please," he says. "With peanut butter and banana sandwiches on top?"

I feel my cheeks turn warm, like bowls of chowder. He's thinking about it too. It doesn't surprise me that he's thinking about it. What surprises me is that he's
admitting
that he's thinking about it, and that's something altogether different.

He
wants
me to know that he's thinking about it.

A part of me wants to let him in. Another part wants to close the window and yank the shade down over his face, once and for all. I swallow both parts down in one bittersweet gulp and say,

"That's probably not a good idea. Madame Discharge usually makes her rounds sometime around now"

He nods, disappointment brimming in those luscious, greeny-blue eyes.

I bite the side of my cheek and search my brain for something to say. Anything. "So, who told you we like horror?"

'A little bird," he says, sticking his chest out. It takes me a moment to notice that he's wearing his old hockey jersey, the one that was tacked up over the broken window.

"Hey, you have your jersey. When did you get it back? Someone took it from our room."

"Sure they did.-

"They did," I say. "We came back late last night and it was missing." I look back at the broken window, at the image of Scooby Doo posing from the beach towel tacked up over the hole--

Amber's addition.

Chad pulls the hockey mask back over his face and breathes like Darth Vader. "This was just my way of getting you guys back after your failed attempt at scaring me. Better luck next time."

"What are you talking about? We didn't try to scare you."

He lifts the mask from his face. "You didn't?"

I shake my head.

"Then who put the jersey in my mailbox?" He tugs a sheet of notebook paper from his back pocket. "This was attached to it."

I take the note. There are large block letters written with red marker across the page: STAY

AWAY FROM HER. I'M WATCHING YOU.

"Whatever," he says. "Probably just one of the guys, playing a joke. Look, I gotta go before security catches me. Maybe I can come in some other time."

"Maybe," I nod, still clutching the note in my hand. "Can you just tell Drea I can't make it for breakfast after all? Hockey practice."

I swallow down the ball of impending doom I feel lodged in my throat, and manage a slight nod.

"Tell her Donovan's gonna be in the room, so she can just e-mail him the assignment, and I'll have him print it out and give it to me before class."

My head fuzzes over with questions, but instead of asking any I just say "Okay"

"Thanks, Stacey. Tell Dray thanks, too. I owe her big time. Oh, and can you tell her to make sure she changes her answers around a bit? Wouldn't want the teacher to think we're cheating." He winks.

I wave goodbye before shutting the window and locking it.

There, it happened. He canceled. The cards predicted correctly.

I vvhip the door of the shower room open and boog it acr.oss the red clay floor in search of Drea.

There are a few girls waiting in line for a shower stall, their arms full of fruity shampoo and bars of soap, but no Drea. I visually

lur the pairs of feet sticking out from beneath each cursco in search of Drea's pink jelly shoes. I notice a pair of tail

Osi:ar the Grouch flip-flops, standing in the last stall. ,Ainber? Is that you?" I jiggle the curtain.

"Get lost," says a throaty voice that definitely isn't Amber's.

I round the corner by the sinks and there's Drea, in front of the mirror, scrunch-drying her hair with a blow dryer. She clicks the dryer off. "What's wrong?"

'Are you okay?" I'm all out of breath. I look over her shoulder at Veronica Leeman, who pretends to brush her teeth a few sinks away even though it's so completely obvious that she's eavesdropping.

'Are
you
okay?" Drea asks.

"Get your stuff and let's go," I say. "We need to talk."

"What-ev-er." Drea focuses back in the mirror and plucks a salmon-pink lipstick from her makeup pouch. She smears it on and blows obnoxious air kisses toward Veronica. "Chad just
loves
this color on me."

Everyone knows Veronica would give up using hair spray for a whole year just to have one date with Chad. Drea smiles at me, proud of her own bitchiness.

'Actually, Chad can't make it for breakfast," I say, savoring every syllable.
I
can be a bitch too.

Veronica spits a mouthful of toothpaste out in Drea's sink, a speck of peppermint spooge landing against Drea's cheek.

"Watch it!" Drea squeals, swiping the dribbles with a cotton ball.

Veronica gets right up into Drea's face. "If I catch you and your loser friends flashing my dad again, you'll have
me
to answer to."

"What are you talking about?" Drea asks.

"That was my father last night outside your room," Veronica continues. "He was lcoking for my room, and un- fortunately found yours. Your room is the one on the ground floor, all the way to the right, facing the lawn, isn't it? Are you girls that hard up that you have to resort to middle-aged men?"

"Is your father that hard up ihat he has to resort to peeping in the windows of teenage girls?"

"Screw you," Veronica says "For your information, he works the late shift and had to swing by my room to pick up some keys. There wasn't anyon2 working the front desk."

rerfume in Veronica's direcDrea

squirts a few puffs of tion to ward her off. "Well, he oust have liked what he saw, because he came back for mon this morning."

"To drop the keys back oft--not that it's any of your business." Veronica walks away and Drea and I look at each other and burst out laughing.

"It figures she would have wacko-perv for a father," Drea says.

"I can't believe that was him" I say.

"Wait," Drea rebounds. "Wiat do you mean Chad can't make it?"

"He said something about 1-laving an early hockey practice," I say. "He wants you to e-mail the assignment to Donovan so he can print it ou and give it to Chad before class."

"Why isn't Donovan going P the hockey practice? He's the star center." Drea hurls her ipstick into the sink. "I'm so sick of him lying to me and bloving me off. This is just like last week. He gave me some fathetic story about visiting his sick grandmother."

"He
did
have his hockey mask with him," I say. "You know what this means though, don't you?

The cards were right. He canceled."

"I have more important things to think about than cards."

"More important than your life?"

Drea tries to push her way past me, but I grab her arm and spin her around. "Your spoiled brat routine isn't going to work this time," I say. "I'm going to help you whether you like it or not."

She stares at me a few seconds, as though not wanting to listen but too scared to run away. "I can't deal with this right now."

"Well, I'm sorry, but you don't have a choice. You're my best friend and I don't want anything to happen to you."

I lead Drea into a bathroom stall for privacy, pull the now-mangled note from the center of my palm, and drop it into hers.

"What's this?"

"Just open it," I say. "It was attached to Chad's hockey jersey. He got it back. It was stuffed into his mailbox with the note."

"Stay away from her. I'm watching you'?" Drea reads. "Wait, I'm confused; I thought
I
was supposed to get the note."

"You will," I say. "Another one. Addressed to you. I'm sure of it."

"Who's the 'her' in the note?" she asks.

"Who do you think?"

Drea smiles. "It's me, isn't it."

"It's not a compliment, Drea. This is serious. Whoever sent this note to Chad is trying pretty hard to make sure he stops hanging around you. Chad might even be in danger himself."

Drea's smile wilts. -That doesn't make sense. Why would anyone want to hurt Chad?"

-Because whoever this is wants you all to himself.- -So, you're sure it's a guy?"

"Who knows? You've pissed off enough girls around here.- I spread the paper out on the wall and smooth my fingers over it to feel the grains. There's a slight vibration coming from the word

"her." I trace the letters with my finger and concentrate on each one. Then I close my eyes and bring the paper up to my nose.

"What?" Drea asks. "What is it?"

-Lilies,- I say. "Like in my dream. There were lilies." "What do lilies have to do with anything?"

she asks. "They're just flowers."

"Lilies are the death flower."

-You're scaring me."

"We're in this together," I say, taking her hand and holding it. "If we can predict the future, we can change it." -So much for fate."

-We make our own fate," I say. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Promise?"

I nod and think of Maura.

"You're my best friend,- she says.

I lean over and give her what we both need, the biggest hug.

"Can I just make one small request?" Drea asks. 'Anything."

"Can we get out of this bathroom stall now?"

"Totally," I giggle. "We still have a half hour before classes--skipping breakfast, that is."

"I don't think I can eat."

"Let's go back to the room and make a plan."

By the time we emerge from the stall, the entire bathroom has emptied out. All except for what awaits us.

It sits across the width of the sink. A large, rectangular box, wrapped in cherry-red paper, with a silver bow. There's a card attached on top with Drea's name written in the same red block lettering as Chad's note.

I reach for Drea's hand, but it's trembling over her mouth. A wheezing sound sputters from her throat, like she's having trouble finding her breath. "Drea, are you okay?"

But her eyes aren't even focused on the package. They're focused on the salmon-pink words that are sprawled across the mirror. Someone wrote them using the lipstick she placed to her lips only minutes ago: I'M WATCHING YOU, DREA.

"Drea?" I cup her shoulder. 'Are you okay?"

She manages a nod but continues to wheeze. I take her hand and lead her away from the mirror, away from the pink smear of lipstick scribbled across.

This seems to help her a bit. After a few seconds, her gasping becomes less violent, less desperate. "We'll get through this," I assure her, but I'm not even sure she hears me. Her eyes are closed, like she's concentrating hard on catching her breath. "I'm here."

But so was the person who left this gift. I look toward the door. I absolutely hate it that the shower room is on the ground floor of our building. If the exit door out in the hallway is unlocked, which it often is when the maintenance people are cleaning, it's like anybody can just walk in here from outside.

I wonder if anyone saw who did this. If it has anything to do with that guy Drea's been talking to.

But maybe it's not even a
him.
Maybe it's some girl who has a crush on Chad, but can't get to him because of Drea.

Maybe someone like me.

I brainstorm a mental list of all the girls who've crushed on Chad during the past year. But, aside from myself and Drea, the only one I can think of is Veronica Leeman. Veronica, who was here only minutes ago, who spat out her toothpaste at Drea and bitched at us for flashing her father.

"Drea, are you all right?" I squeeze her china-doll fingers.

She nods. "Panic attack. I haven't had one since middle school."