Forks, Book Two Page 4

  By the time the movie ended, I had thoroughly convinced myself that whatever I had seen the night Jason was shot was merely a figment of my overwrought imagination due to the stress I was under. Ken even said a lot of victims imagine things that aren’t real because their brain can’t process the trauma they are under. I was all in with what Ken said. That made complete sense to me even though a small part of me wondered…I squashed it down.

  When the bell rang, I mentally prepared myself for the conversation I was sure Viktor was going to try to have with me. And even though I had been waiting to see him, now that he was here, I was scared to say anything to him—I wished I was an Ostrich, that way I could simply keep my head in the sand, for like, ever. That way I wouldn’t need to know any real answers to any of the questions swirling in my mind. Gathering my things together, I took longer than necessary. Kids shoved past me to leave and I was jostled further back. Someone stepped on my foot—hard.

  I looked up and big surprise, Viola was smirking at me over her shoulder. Automatically my eyes drifted past hers and went straight to Viktor’s.

  Our eyes locked and my breath caught. A rush of heat climbed to my cheeks.

  Viola made a groaning sound and shoved past him out of class. She said something that I couldn’t hear and he turned to look at her.

  The moment was broken.

  Leaning down, I grabbed up the rest of my books and shoved them in my bag. When I couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer, I pulled my bag on my shoulder and turned around to talk to Viktor… but he wasn’t waiting for me like I thought he would be—he was already gone.

  five

  By the time I made it outside, the parking lot was practically empty. A small part of me thought—Oh, who was I kidding—I hoped Viktor was waiting for me—and, he wasn’t.

  Cold gusts of wind slapped against me, pulling my jacket and hair back as I made my way to my car. The lot backed up to a field that had large trees scattered throughout and every time the wind blew the limbs made an eerie creaking sound. I made a mental note to get to school earlier because I did not want to park back here ever again—it was giving me the creeps.

  As if on cue, footsteps sounded behind me. I turned and looked behind me but no one was there. Feeling panicky, I fast-walked the rest of the way to the car, unlocked the door and jumped inside. Once inside, I locked my door again. Shoving my key in the ignition, I started the car. Peggy Sue sputtered to life and I feathered the gas, hoping the stupid thing didn’t conk out. Mom said Peggy Sue needed a tune-up. I told her Peggy Sue needed a more than a tune-up, she needed a freaking overhaul. I threw the car into drive, took off out of the lot, and headed for home.

  Much later, after I changed into my comfy sweats and old ratty t-shirt, I tossed on a hoodie and my Eskimo slippers; then headed downstairs for some much needed sustenance.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked Mom when I got downstairs. She was in her usual spot on the sofa, reading.

  She blinked at me. With her glasses on, she reminded me of a little owl. “Earth to Mom.” I waved my hand, walking closer.

  She set her book down. “What?” She looked confused.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Oh.” She took off her glasses. “It’s catch-as-catch-can tonight.”

  A flare of irritation shot through me. That was another one of Mom’s famous phrases that meant I had to fend for myself. “Where’s Ken?”

  Her face fell. “He can’t make it tonight.” She slid back on her glasses and turned the page on her book with gusto.

  Great. Now I felt like a jerk. “Why?” I knew I should have left well enough alone but I was curious.

  She sniffed. “He had to work.”

  “Oh.” I waffled in place, not sure if I should say anything more. “Are you all right?” I caved.

  “Sure,” she squeaked in a pitch too high. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Ah, maybe because you sound and look like a wounded animal. “No reason.”

  She took a deep breath. “Everything is great with us.”

  “Oh—kay,” I said slowly trying to gauge her mood. I didn’t say they weren’t. “When are you seeing him again?”

  “Who knows,” she said and slammed her book shut.

  Well that answered that. I wished I kept my big mouth shut. Apparently, things weren’t as great as she was pretending. But even though I felt bad for her, I didn’t want to hear about it tonight. I had enough of my own stuff to worry about. Like my stupid self-inflicted regret filled conversation I had with Vincent and why Viktor didn’t want to talk to me—and why I even cared.

  “Well, okay.” I tried to back out of the room.

  She let out an audible sigh.

  I exhaled. I couldn’t leave her like this. With a sigh of my own, I walked back to the couch. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh Amber…” she cried and covered her face.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” I patted her shoulder, trying to console her.

  She dropped her hands. “I think he’s ditching me.”

  Not this again. “Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t think his family liked me.”

  “That can’t be true. You and his sister seemed to be really getting along.” Did they? I didn’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I was too wrapped up in trying to see who was sitting behind the partition at the restaurant.

  “We were, weren’t we,” she said.

  “Sure,” I said just to be safe.

  “Why do you think he’s not coming over then?”

  How the heck was I supposed to know? “I’m sure he just got tied up with work stuff.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes. Come on Mom, why else?” Granted that was a loaded answer but thankfully she seemed to miss it.

  She fiddled with the pages of her book and then glanced at her phone. “Maybe I should call…”

  “Um…” I chewed my lip. Should she call? I didn’t know.

  I didn’t want to say yes in case he didn’t answer, then she would be an even bigger basket case. “Why don’t you wait a bit, see if he calls you first.”

  She stared at her phone like she was giving it serious thought. “I guess you’re…”

  On cue, her phone rang.

  Her eyes widened. She reached for her phone and looked at the number. “It’s him,” she squealed excitedly as the phone continued to ring.

  “Mom, what are you waiting for? Answer the phone.”

  “Oh right.” She waved me away and hit answer.

  Relieved, I took that as my cue to leave. Walking into the kitchen, I grabbed a pan from the cabinet and set it on the stove. Checking the pantry, I scanned the rows of cans and decided on Chunk’s Sirloin Burger soup. I popped the top, dumped it into the pan, and turned the heat on low. I could hear Mom laughing.

  Grabbing some bread for a grilled cheese, I buttered both sides, slapped a piece of American cheese in the middle, and then tossed it in the oven. It was my cheat. I didn’t grill the bread per se, but instead, since I was lazy, I baked it in the oven. Pulling the milk from the fridge, I filled a glass and let it warm up on the counter while my dinner finished cooking.

  Rain splattered against the windows, and the house shuddered in the wind. Shivering, I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared out the window while I waited for my food to heat. I really couldn’t see anything but my own reflection. I made a face and sighed. Turning away, I wandered back to the doorway to check on Mom. She was still on the phone and she was smiling. Thank God.

  Walking back into the kitchen, I grabbed two bowls from the cabinet and two spoons from the drawer and set them on the counter beside my milk.

  The soup was boiling.

  I turned off the stove and dumped the soup into two bowls. I wasn’t that hungry but I needed to do something to keep my mind off Victor and Vincent. It didn’t help much though. My thoughts kept drifting back to them both and I still had no answers. Delaying going back to my room, I p
ulled over a Halloween crossword puzzle that Mom had on the table and a pen. After I got my grilled cheese, soup, and milk from the counter, I sat down.

  Taking a bite of soup, I stared at the puzzle. “Four letter word for type of dog.” Not thinking, I quickly jotted down: wolf.

  Reaching out, I grabbed my milk and took a sip. I heard Mom laugh again. Now we were cooking. Hopefully, everything was fine now that Ken called.

  Reading another clue, I set my glass down. “Seven letter word for, Dracula.” Come on. I automatically scribbled a word down and took another bite of my soup. I finished chewing and read another clue except the word didn’t fit with the other ones I wrote. Huh? I stared it the paper trying to find my mistake.

  I found it.

  Instead of writing Vampire, I somehow wrote Viktor down instead. My heart sped up.

  “Amber,” Mom called from the living room. She sounded a bit screechy and I wasn’t sure if it was from something good or bad. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

  “Coming!” I quickly crossed out his name and left the kitchen to see what Mom wanted.

  Luckily, when I got the living room, it was nothing dire. Mom just wanted to give me the high points of her conversation with Ken. It lasted for an hour. By the time I made it back to the kitchen my soup was cold. I gave up on dinner. Grabbing my bowl and glass, I washed them out in the sink and then set them on the towel on the side of the counter to dry. Mom was once again engrossed in her book, so I headed to my room—even though it was still pretty early by my standards—it was only a little after ten, I was exhausted.

  Talking to Mom had that effect on me—she was a lot to take in one sitting. On the bright side, everything was once again right in Mom’s overly melodramatic world.

  Ken really did have to work; so as usual, Mom was just jumping-the-gun and envisioning the worst-case scenario—as she would say—making-a-mountain-out-of-a-mole-hill. I was glad everything was okay though, since he really did have a good effect on her; luckily he would be here tomorrow so I wouldn’t have to eat soup out of a can again. I hated to admit it but I was becoming attached to Ken, too.

  Even though it was early, I pulled off my slippers and settled down into bed. I hit the on button on the remote so the background noise of the television would override my thoughts of Vampires and Werewolves.

  “Oh, come on!” Twilight was playing, again.

  At some point, I must have fallen asleep. I knew this because Viktor was with me and he was smiling. My heart sped up like it always did when he was around me.

  He lifted his brow. “You nervous,” he asked and my heart jumped into double time.

  “No.” I was lying. Of course I was nervous.

  “You have something you want to ask me?” His breath whispered over me, drawing me in closer.

  Even though I knew I was dreaming, that still seemed like a weird question to ask. “Yes.” My voice vibrated strangely in my ears.

  “Ask me,” he urged.

  “No.” I shook my head, suddenly very afraid.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Wh-who said I was afraid?”

  “You did.” He smiled then and it wasn’t a normal happy to see me smile. It was feral, menacing, and held a promise of what was to come—my body shuddered. It was suddenly so cold—too cold.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  It wasn’t Viktor who spoke this time.

  I turned and Vincent was standing across from me and that look was back on his face—the sad confused one. My heart lurched in my chest. “I’m not doing anything,” I defended, and again my voice vibrated strangely in my ears even though I was dreaming of Viktor. That is where I always went to see him now—it seemed safer somehow to visit him this way.

  “It still counts you know.” Vincent glared at me with a look of disgust on his face.

  “What counts?” I was confused. Wasn’t this my dream?

  “What you are doing?”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “You’re a liar.” His voice was filled with so much venom, I flinched.

  Was I? Of course I was. I was lying to him, myself, and in my dreams, Viktor.

  “You better make up your mind,” taunted a small voice from beside me.

  When I turned, I wasn’t even surprised to see Glinda sitting next to me, looking freakishly pale. The blue veins in her face and neck were throbbing.

  Seeing her like that didn’t even faze me. I was more upset by what she said. “I don’t want to.”

  She laughed in that maniacal way of hers and grabbed my arms with her small hands. Her fingernails dug into my flesh as a flash of pain shot through me. I tried to jerk away but she wouldn’t let go. She kept squeezing. I forced my eyes from hers and looked at Viktor. His face held no emotion. It was beautifully expressionless.

  The only person that showed any emotion at all was Vincent. He looked so…sad.

  I wanted to tell him not to be. I wanted to make it better, to take the pain from him that I knew I somehow was causing.

  Like night and day, both beautiful in their own way, and even though they were side by side, I was torn in two—I still couldn’t choose.

  A loud buzzing ripped me from my bizarre dream. Breathing heavy, I reached behind me and turned off my alarm clock. Wincing in pain, I looked down—red trailing lines, like scratches were on my arms.

  six

  As I drove to school, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake my bizarre dream. It clung to me much like the fog clung to the Earth here, like a shroud. I had no idea how the fingernail marks got in my skin, unless I somehow did it myself…only I didn’t believe that. But what was the alternative? To believe Glinda somehow entered my dream and did it to me?

  I couldn’t wrap my head around that, though. It was too weird—too everything, to contemplate. Turning into the parking lot, I pulled into my regular space and turned off the ignition. Lifting my sleeves, I looked down at my arms again, hoping I had imagined the marks, except they were still there.

  My car door flew open and a head popped in. “Hey,” Vincent said, sounding breathless. “Can I hang with you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying to calm myself as I quickly pulled my sleeves back over my arms. My heart was pounding really fast.

  His green eyes glittered as he smiled at me. “So what are you doing?”

  “Um, I was getting ready to go inside.”

  “Oh.” He turned in the seat so he was facing me. “So how have you been?”

  “Good,” I said. “How about you?” It felt weird—making small talk. My dream kept pushing in from the peripheral of my mind and the way he had looked at me.

  “I’m just peachy.” His eyes flashed strangely and then he frowned.

  “Oh—kay.” I swallowed hard, feeling un-accountably nervous.

  “What have you been doing?” It didn’t feel like a question but more like an accusation.

  The warning bell rang.

  Anxious to get out of the car, I grabbed my bag and pulled my keys out from the ignition.

  His frown deepened. “I take it that’s my cue to leave.” He turned and grabbed the handle.

  “Vincent…wait…” I put my hand on his arm.

  He looked down at my hand and then slowly lifted his eyes to mine. Our eyes locked for a breathless moment and I felt like I used to around him. My heart fluttered in response.

  “It’s all right, Tiger.”

  “Huh?”

  “I forgive you.”

  My heart skidded to a halt, remembering my dream. “For?”

  “That’s a loaded question.” His eyes flashed and not in a good way. “You sure you’re ready for the answer?” His brow hitched up a notch.

  “Ah…” I suddenly found it hard to take a breath.

  He shook his head and a sad look crossed his face, the same one I remembered from my dream. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

  “That’s what I thought.” He opened the car door, jumpe
d out, and shut it before I could say anything else.

  When I got to my first class, Glinda was in her usual seat and as I made my way to the back, I couldn’t help noticing the strange look she was giving me. A shiver of unease slid over me as I sat down in my usual chair.

  “Hey,” I said and pulled out my books.

  “Hey you,” she said and gave me one of her “I know something you don’t know” looks that I was getting used to…kind-of.

  While the teacher droned on, I had a hard time concentrating. My eyes kept drifting to Glinda’s fingernails as she tapped a staccato cadence on top of her desk.

  Her nails were painted red, the same color as the blood I had on my arms from the nail marks I somehow gave myself while I was sleeping.

  When class ended, I was more than ready to leave. Glinda, thankfully, was preoccupied talking to one of the boys in class, Jeremy. He was a wrestler with a beefy build, light brown hair and always wore t-shirts that looked too small on his large frame. He was nice enough, I guessed, but kind-of a meat head as in he liked to say gross things about female body parts every time a male or female passed by him in the hall. He called me ball boobs and I wasn’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or not cuz there are all kinds of balls. Golf balls, softballs, baseballs, footballs and the list went on and on. So needless to say, it was hard to tell and I wasn’t going to ask which ball he meant—knowing my luck it would be a ping-pong ball.

  Since I needed to get my history book out of my locker before I left, I made my way against the flow of warm bodies pressing against me and headed in the opposite direction from everyone else as they made their way towards the doors that led out of the school.