earlier.”
“I know.” Clara shudders. “Some of them are so gross. They just openly gawk at .
. . anybody.”
Amber gasps in response while Drea‟s mouth drops open in sheer loathing.
“Anyway,” I say, wrapping an arm around Drea, literally holding her back from bopping Clara on the head. “Clara, you‟re obviously going to stay with us tonight.”
“If it‟s okay,” Clara says, blotting her eyes and nose with the napkin. “I cal ed my parents. They were willing to drive back tonight, but it‟s like four-and-a-half hours from their friends‟ place, and it‟s already kind of late. They‟re coming back tomorrow, though; they‟re leaving first thing.”
“Of course,” I say, nodding. “We insist you stay here.”
“That‟s what I told her you guys would say.” PJ drapes his arm around Clara, smooshing her against his chest.
“Great,” Amber says, dabbing at her mask of mud and bringing a fingerful up to her lips for a taste. “Just freakin‟ dandy.”
sixteen
Before bed, we offer to shuffle up our sleeping arrangements to make Clara more comfortable. When PJ‟s attempt to coerce Clara into his bed doesn‟t work, I offer to sleep out on the couch while Clara takes my place. Except Amber refuses to sleep in the same room with someone she doesn‟t know—a first for her—and Jacob isn‟t comfortable offering up his bed (probably because he has stuff to hide, like journals and dream boxes). Top that off with Drea‟s loathing for Clara, PJ‟s bed being too stinky for anyone else but him, Chad not really caring where he sleeps, but Clara completely weirded out at the idea of sleeping in the same room with guys. The end result is Clara sleeping out on the living room sofa, alone.
Before settling myself down to snooze, I punch my pillow a couple times for the optimum level of fluffage and glance over at the de-stressing jar on my bedside table. It‟s actual y helping me quite a bit. I feel much calmer than I did earlier, almost restored, which is why the whole sleeping arrangement chaos doesn‟t drive me to grab my pillow and camp out on the sand—probably something I would have resorted to under normal circumstances.
I close my eyes, thankful that Jacob and I managed to work some things out, and then I do my best to focus on Clara. But, once again, I can‟t sleep. I just keep playing it over and over again in my mind—my dream, her voice, the blood, the idea of someone going through her stuff. But no matter how many times I go over it, there‟s just not enough to point me even remotely close to an answer. I need to have another nightmare; I need to bleed again, to figure out what exactly my body is trying to tell me.
I reach for the de-stressing jar, focusing on the sage inside, how the tip has completely blackened over. That‟s when I feel myself start to nod off.
It‟s also when I hear Clara calling me. I sit up in bed and look over at Amber and Drea to see if they can hear Clara cal ing me, as wel . But they‟re stil sleeping, completely unaffected by her voice.
I slide into my slippers and make my way out to the living room to see what she wants. But she isn‟t even out here. The sofa is al made up for sleeping—bed pillows piled high at one end and a blanket draped across lengthwise—but no Clara.
“Stacey,” she cal s. “I need you.”
Her voice is coming from the bathroom. I turn to look; the door to the bathroom is shut, but I can see from the door crack that the light is on.
“Clara?” I rap lightly at the door.
No response.
“Clara?” I knock a little louder.
Still nothing.
I press my ear up against the door. The faucet is running, so maybe she can‟t hear me. Maybe she‟s washing her hair in the sink. I try cal ing her a couple more times and knock even louder, but nothing seems to work.
I wrap my hand around the doorknob and turn it. “Clara?” I say, peeking in.
The faucet is on, steaming water pouring out into the sink, but she‟s not in
“I know.” Clara shudders. “Some of them are so gross. They just openly gawk at .
. . anybody.”
Amber gasps in response while Drea‟s mouth drops open in sheer loathing.
“Anyway,” I say, wrapping an arm around Drea, literally holding her back from bopping Clara on the head. “Clara, you‟re obviously going to stay with us tonight.”
“If it‟s okay,” Clara says, blotting her eyes and nose with the napkin. “I cal ed my parents. They were willing to drive back tonight, but it‟s like four-and-a-half hours from their friends‟ place, and it‟s already kind of late. They‟re coming back tomorrow, though; they‟re leaving first thing.”
“Of course,” I say, nodding. “We insist you stay here.”
“That‟s what I told her you guys would say.” PJ drapes his arm around Clara, smooshing her against his chest.
“Great,” Amber says, dabbing at her mask of mud and bringing a fingerful up to her lips for a taste. “Just freakin‟ dandy.”
sixteen
Before bed, we offer to shuffle up our sleeping arrangements to make Clara more comfortable. When PJ‟s attempt to coerce Clara into his bed doesn‟t work, I offer to sleep out on the couch while Clara takes my place. Except Amber refuses to sleep in the same room with someone she doesn‟t know—a first for her—and Jacob isn‟t comfortable offering up his bed (probably because he has stuff to hide, like journals and dream boxes). Top that off with Drea‟s loathing for Clara, PJ‟s bed being too stinky for anyone else but him, Chad not really caring where he sleeps, but Clara completely weirded out at the idea of sleeping in the same room with guys. The end result is Clara sleeping out on the living room sofa, alone.
Before settling myself down to snooze, I punch my pillow a couple times for the optimum level of fluffage and glance over at the de-stressing jar on my bedside table. It‟s actual y helping me quite a bit. I feel much calmer than I did earlier, almost restored, which is why the whole sleeping arrangement chaos doesn‟t drive me to grab my pillow and camp out on the sand—probably something I would have resorted to under normal circumstances.
I close my eyes, thankful that Jacob and I managed to work some things out, and then I do my best to focus on Clara. But, once again, I can‟t sleep. I just keep playing it over and over again in my mind—my dream, her voice, the blood, the idea of someone going through her stuff. But no matter how many times I go over it, there‟s just not enough to point me even remotely close to an answer. I need to have another nightmare; I need to bleed again, to figure out what exactly my body is trying to tell me.
I reach for the de-stressing jar, focusing on the sage inside, how the tip has completely blackened over. That‟s when I feel myself start to nod off.
It‟s also when I hear Clara calling me. I sit up in bed and look over at Amber and Drea to see if they can hear Clara cal ing me, as wel . But they‟re stil sleeping, completely unaffected by her voice.
I slide into my slippers and make my way out to the living room to see what she wants. But she isn‟t even out here. The sofa is al made up for sleeping—bed pillows piled high at one end and a blanket draped across lengthwise—but no Clara.
“Stacey,” she cal s. “I need you.”
Her voice is coming from the bathroom. I turn to look; the door to the bathroom is shut, but I can see from the door crack that the light is on.
“Clara?” I rap lightly at the door.
No response.
“Clara?” I knock a little louder.
Still nothing.
I press my ear up against the door. The faucet is running, so maybe she can‟t hear me. Maybe she‟s washing her hair in the sink. I try cal ing her a couple more times and knock even louder, but nothing seems to work.
I wrap my hand around the doorknob and turn it. “Clara?” I say, peeking in.
The faucet is on, steaming water pouring out into the sink, but she‟s not in
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