all this big-time freelance work for magazines like Vogue and Esquire, but I don‟t know. I mean, the guy is way weird. This isn‟t the first time he‟s asked to take my picture.”
I nod, wondering if I should pay another visit to his cottage when he isn‟t home, cringing at the thought of that decrepit darkroom and the way he looked at me—
how he wanted to take my picture. “So what did you say when he asked you to pose?”
“Wel , of course I said no—yet again—but that stil didn‟t stop him from looking at me like the creepy-creepy that he is. After that, me and PJ went to my cottage.”
“The door wasn‟t even locked,” PJ says, tisk-tisking Clara with his finger.
“Anyone could have just slithered in there.”
“Why wasn‟t it locked?” I ask.
Clara shrugs. “It‟s a pain carrying around a key, especial y with a bathing suit.” I nod at her lack of common sense, noting how she‟s also wearing a sweatshirt with two perfectly good pockets. That and another sarong—a red one with bright gold flowers. “Which cottage is yours, anyway?”
“Number 24. The one with the bamboo wind chimes. I‟m sure you‟ve heard them.
They‟re so obnoxious, but my dad real y likes them.” I nod, wondering if those are the wind chimes I heard in my nightmare.
“Can we please get through this story, like, today?” Amber groans. “My face feels like it‟s fizzling.” She grabs a paper plate and uses it as a fan.
“So anyway,” Clara continues, “we went into my room and—” She‟s wel ing up al over again. “Someone went through my drawers.”
“How do you know?” Jacob asks.
“Because they were open.”
“At least one of them was.” PJ snickers.
“Which one?” I lean in toward Clara and take one of her fluttering hands, the cold, biting sensation returning to my own hand, running up my arm and wrapping around the back of my neck.
“My underwear drawer.” She blushes.
“ What?” Drea gasps.
“Did they find anything interesting?” Amber plucks a tissue from the front of her bathing suit and hands it to a sniffling Clara.
“I don‟t know what they found.” Clara pauses a moment to grimace at the tissue offering. “But they went through my things.”
“How can you be sure?” Jacob asks.
“The tel tale sign,” PJ says. “Lace trim hanging out the sides. Straps thrown askew. Undies left in a tizzy. Like the skivvies themselves decided to party it up while the mistress was out. You know the saying, while the kitty‟s away . . .”
“You‟re so freaking weird.” Amber bal s up her tissue and throws it at him.
“For later, O queen of kink.” PJ sniffs the tissue bal and then stuffs it into his pocket.
“So what you‟re saying is that you got panty raided?” I hand Clara a napkin, and she gratefully takes it.
“And you‟re sure you didn‟t just get ready extra fast this morning and leave your stuff like that?” Drea says.
“That‟s what the cops asked me.”
“You cal ed the police?” I feel my eyes widen.
Clara nods. “They even came over. But they weren‟t real y surprised or mad about it or anything.”
“Because the doors and windows weren‟t locked,” PJ clarifies.
“They made a report and said that it was probably some boys playing a prank.”
“Or maybe a fraternity pledge stunt,” Drea says.
“The police suggested that, too.”
“Hel-looooo,” Amber says, snapping her fingers. “Who pledges a fraternity in the summer?”
“So the police are gonna check it out,” Clara says. “You know, go and talk to the frat boys who live next door.”
“I‟m tel ing you,” Amber says, “it‟s not them. Casey and Sully are way too sweet and sensitive for stuff like that.”
I look at Amber, completely funkified by her logic. I mean, sweet and sensitive?
Am I totally missing something here?
“There are probably a lot of guys living in those frat houses,” Drea says. “I saw a couple of them watching me on the beach
I nod, wondering if I should pay another visit to his cottage when he isn‟t home, cringing at the thought of that decrepit darkroom and the way he looked at me—
how he wanted to take my picture. “So what did you say when he asked you to pose?”
“Wel , of course I said no—yet again—but that stil didn‟t stop him from looking at me like the creepy-creepy that he is. After that, me and PJ went to my cottage.”
“The door wasn‟t even locked,” PJ says, tisk-tisking Clara with his finger.
“Anyone could have just slithered in there.”
“Why wasn‟t it locked?” I ask.
Clara shrugs. “It‟s a pain carrying around a key, especial y with a bathing suit.” I nod at her lack of common sense, noting how she‟s also wearing a sweatshirt with two perfectly good pockets. That and another sarong—a red one with bright gold flowers. “Which cottage is yours, anyway?”
“Number 24. The one with the bamboo wind chimes. I‟m sure you‟ve heard them.
They‟re so obnoxious, but my dad real y likes them.” I nod, wondering if those are the wind chimes I heard in my nightmare.
“Can we please get through this story, like, today?” Amber groans. “My face feels like it‟s fizzling.” She grabs a paper plate and uses it as a fan.
“So anyway,” Clara continues, “we went into my room and—” She‟s wel ing up al over again. “Someone went through my drawers.”
“How do you know?” Jacob asks.
“Because they were open.”
“At least one of them was.” PJ snickers.
“Which one?” I lean in toward Clara and take one of her fluttering hands, the cold, biting sensation returning to my own hand, running up my arm and wrapping around the back of my neck.
“My underwear drawer.” She blushes.
“ What?” Drea gasps.
“Did they find anything interesting?” Amber plucks a tissue from the front of her bathing suit and hands it to a sniffling Clara.
“I don‟t know what they found.” Clara pauses a moment to grimace at the tissue offering. “But they went through my things.”
“How can you be sure?” Jacob asks.
“The tel tale sign,” PJ says. “Lace trim hanging out the sides. Straps thrown askew. Undies left in a tizzy. Like the skivvies themselves decided to party it up while the mistress was out. You know the saying, while the kitty‟s away . . .”
“You‟re so freaking weird.” Amber bal s up her tissue and throws it at him.
“For later, O queen of kink.” PJ sniffs the tissue bal and then stuffs it into his pocket.
“So what you‟re saying is that you got panty raided?” I hand Clara a napkin, and she gratefully takes it.
“And you‟re sure you didn‟t just get ready extra fast this morning and leave your stuff like that?” Drea says.
“That‟s what the cops asked me.”
“You cal ed the police?” I feel my eyes widen.
Clara nods. “They even came over. But they weren‟t real y surprised or mad about it or anything.”
“Because the doors and windows weren‟t locked,” PJ clarifies.
“They made a report and said that it was probably some boys playing a prank.”
“Or maybe a fraternity pledge stunt,” Drea says.
“The police suggested that, too.”
“Hel-looooo,” Amber says, snapping her fingers. “Who pledges a fraternity in the summer?”
“So the police are gonna check it out,” Clara says. “You know, go and talk to the frat boys who live next door.”
“I‟m tel ing you,” Amber says, “it‟s not them. Casey and Sully are way too sweet and sensitive for stuff like that.”
I look at Amber, completely funkified by her logic. I mean, sweet and sensitive?
Am I totally missing something here?
“There are probably a lot of guys living in those frat houses,” Drea says. “I saw a couple of them watching me on the beach
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