coupledom.
“We are so going to have to double-date,” Julie crowed. “Spider wants to take me to a party at the Stinking Rose restaurant in Beverly Hills. It’s all garlic. They have a private room called Dracula’s Grotto.”
“Cool,” I said, beginning to shake off my fear in anticipation of good times to be had with Troy. This could end happily. I had almost stopped believing in the notion of a good time without a catch.
“There,” she added, stepping away from her handiwork as she cut the gauze with the scissors and tucked the loose end into the headband she had created for me. Then she frowned slightly at me. “Ooh, creepy.”
Marica grimaced. “She’s hurt worse than it looks.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I got up and moved to the mirror over my dresser—roses etched into the antique glass—and peered at myself. With the heavy bandage around my head, I looked like a wounded colonial soldier. Directly in the center of my forehead, a circle of bright red blood was seeping through the layers. The lobotomy zone. Did it mean anything?
I stared at it, bracing myself for a wave of fear and panic, but I felt . . . okay. Almost detached. I did have a bump on my forehead. It was bleeding. There was nothing supernatural about it.
“Maybe we should unwrap it,” Julie suggested, handing me my cloud pajamas.
“No, it’s okay.” I took the pajamas. “Thanks.”
I headed for the shower, bracing myself for a fresh wave of fear. I spent the majority of my days and nights at Marlwood in abject terror—either mine or Celia’s—and we had shared many horrible moments in the Grose bathroom. But this time, as I put down my pj’s and took off my bathrobe, I felt nothing. It was so odd and unexpected that I burst out laughing.
I showered, washing my hair, shaking it out as if I were some kind of poodle, remembering the bandage too late but leaving it on for the sake of my friends. My pajamas smelled like clean cotton.
I went back into my room, bundled up in the too-cute ski parka CJ had sent me (not even she could be right one hundred percent of the time when it came to clothes) and told everyone I was going to sneak back into the infirmary so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Julie insisted on going with me. But I didn’t want her to come back alone, so Marica volunteered to come too.
We headed out like the three Musketeers, tiptoeing around puddles and trying not to make any noise. I couldn’t believe that Troy had finally done it. It was so amazing. This had been one of the most extreme nights of my life.
When we reached the door of the infirmary, my phone vibrated. So it hadn’t been ruined after all. Life just kept getting better and better. I raised a gloved hand, and my escort halted. Pulling out my phone, I saw that I had four texts and a voice mail. The texts were from Troy, trying to get my attention, then telling me to check my voice mail.
This was it. My supreme moment of triumph. I looked at my two friends and whispered, “Troy.” They lit up.
I hit voice mail and put the phone to my ear. Julie did a little dance and gave Marica a hug. Marica laughed silently and they both grinned at me, thrilled.
“Hello, Lindsay,” it began. “I—I’m sorry to do this over the phone but . . . ”
He didn’t sound very happy. My stomach clenched.
“ . . . I’ve been thinking and, I, well, the hammer thing did kind of bother me. A lot. So, I’m sorry, but . . . I . . . I’m just not ready . . . ”
Then he was gone. I looked down at the phone to see if there was another message. If he’d been cut off and called back to tell me he was not ready to have his life ruined by Mandy. But some of my layers of individuality already knew that he wasn’t ready to have his life ruined by me . I was a life ruiner. I’d hit him with a hammer.
But he said he loved me, I thought. I stood at the door, staring at Marica and Julie, numb and cold and shattered.
“No Troy,” I managed. “For
“We are so going to have to double-date,” Julie crowed. “Spider wants to take me to a party at the Stinking Rose restaurant in Beverly Hills. It’s all garlic. They have a private room called Dracula’s Grotto.”
“Cool,” I said, beginning to shake off my fear in anticipation of good times to be had with Troy. This could end happily. I had almost stopped believing in the notion of a good time without a catch.
“There,” she added, stepping away from her handiwork as she cut the gauze with the scissors and tucked the loose end into the headband she had created for me. Then she frowned slightly at me. “Ooh, creepy.”
Marica grimaced. “She’s hurt worse than it looks.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I got up and moved to the mirror over my dresser—roses etched into the antique glass—and peered at myself. With the heavy bandage around my head, I looked like a wounded colonial soldier. Directly in the center of my forehead, a circle of bright red blood was seeping through the layers. The lobotomy zone. Did it mean anything?
I stared at it, bracing myself for a wave of fear and panic, but I felt . . . okay. Almost detached. I did have a bump on my forehead. It was bleeding. There was nothing supernatural about it.
“Maybe we should unwrap it,” Julie suggested, handing me my cloud pajamas.
“No, it’s okay.” I took the pajamas. “Thanks.”
I headed for the shower, bracing myself for a fresh wave of fear. I spent the majority of my days and nights at Marlwood in abject terror—either mine or Celia’s—and we had shared many horrible moments in the Grose bathroom. But this time, as I put down my pj’s and took off my bathrobe, I felt nothing. It was so odd and unexpected that I burst out laughing.
I showered, washing my hair, shaking it out as if I were some kind of poodle, remembering the bandage too late but leaving it on for the sake of my friends. My pajamas smelled like clean cotton.
I went back into my room, bundled up in the too-cute ski parka CJ had sent me (not even she could be right one hundred percent of the time when it came to clothes) and told everyone I was going to sneak back into the infirmary so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Julie insisted on going with me. But I didn’t want her to come back alone, so Marica volunteered to come too.
We headed out like the three Musketeers, tiptoeing around puddles and trying not to make any noise. I couldn’t believe that Troy had finally done it. It was so amazing. This had been one of the most extreme nights of my life.
When we reached the door of the infirmary, my phone vibrated. So it hadn’t been ruined after all. Life just kept getting better and better. I raised a gloved hand, and my escort halted. Pulling out my phone, I saw that I had four texts and a voice mail. The texts were from Troy, trying to get my attention, then telling me to check my voice mail.
This was it. My supreme moment of triumph. I looked at my two friends and whispered, “Troy.” They lit up.
I hit voice mail and put the phone to my ear. Julie did a little dance and gave Marica a hug. Marica laughed silently and they both grinned at me, thrilled.
“Hello, Lindsay,” it began. “I—I’m sorry to do this over the phone but . . . ”
He didn’t sound very happy. My stomach clenched.
“ . . . I’ve been thinking and, I, well, the hammer thing did kind of bother me. A lot. So, I’m sorry, but . . . I . . . I’m just not ready . . . ”
Then he was gone. I looked down at the phone to see if there was another message. If he’d been cut off and called back to tell me he was not ready to have his life ruined by Mandy. But some of my layers of individuality already knew that he wasn’t ready to have his life ruined by me . I was a life ruiner. I’d hit him with a hammer.
But he said he loved me, I thought. I stood at the door, staring at Marica and Julie, numb and cold and shattered.
“No Troy,” I managed. “For
Similar Books
