Part 15 (1/2)

Great. I'm stalking my own therapist so I can listen to her fight with her husband? Clearly, I do need therapy. Probably for the rest of my life if I don't get my c.r.a.p together and get out of here.

”Well, if everything's so fine, why is Chloe Spinnaker asking me about Julien?”

Everything goes cold and still, inside and out. I don't blink or breathe. I stand there, legs turning to jelly, wis.h.i.+ng I could hear whatever's being said on the other end of the line.

She's talking quieter now, or maybe she's turned so that she's facing the other way.

The phone rattles into the cradle, and I bolt like a horse out of the gate. I dance sideways through the waiting room, trying not to knock into the magazine stand between the chairs.

My heart is drumming so loud I can feel it behind my ears. I slink over to my purse, tugging it free of the door as I step outside.

The light from my front door looks like heaven. I feel myself deflate like a balloon as I turn off the car, my shoulders finally relaxing.

I still know nothing. Tomorrow I'll still wake up with a gaping hole in my memory and a best friend who won't speak to me. Plus, I have no idea who the h.e.l.l this Daniel person is or how he fits into all of this.

But I'm one piece closer, and that's something.

Outside, the air is frigid, and I find myself cursing my missed summer again. I climb the steps to my porch with visions of a hot shower and fleece pajama pants in my future.

I toss my keys on the end table and chuck my coat on the hook by the door. And then I hear someone laughing in the kitchen. No, not someone. Someones.

”Chloe?”

It's my mom who calls out, and I'm about to answer when another figure appears in the kitchen doorway. Blake. Blake is standing in my kitchen, sock-footed and holding a mug of something steamy.

I see my mom and my dad and everyone's smiling and this is supposed to be normal, but my teeth are starting to chatter again and then he's kissing me. Right in front of my parents. He just leans in and kisses me, letting it linger just long enough so that it feels like he's proving a point.

”Hey, babe,” he says.

I return his embrace like a puppet, invisible strings lifting my arms and placing them around his middle. Over his shoulder I can see my delighted parents. Or my delighted mother at least. My dad's smile looks just a little too tight around the edges to totally convince me.

”Your hands are freezing,” he says when I pull back, rubbing my fingers between his palms.

”I didn't know you were coming. I didn't see your car,” I say stupidly, and then I look to my mom and dad for help because, really, aren't boys supposed to call first?

Apparently not when the boy is Blake Tanner, because he's exactly the guy you want your daughter to date. He's one of the good guys. A Boy Scout. An athlete. h.e.l.l, he's been on the Ridgeview Good Citizens' list so many times they should practically name it after him.

”I took my dad's car,” he says, nodding out the window where I can see a s.h.i.+ny, black Audi parked on the street. ”Mine's in the shop for a tune-up.”

”Oh,” I say. ”Okay. Did you need something?”

He laughs and waggles his chemistry book at me. ”Um, chemistry? Midterm's tomorrow?”

”Right,” I echo, wis.h.i.+ng to G.o.d I could just warm up enough to keep my chin from trembling.

I imagine the rest of my night studying with Blake. Which makes me think of Adam folded into that narrow s.p.a.ce between my window and bed. Which makes me think of slamming my head into the nearest wall-seriously, what am I going to do here?

”I figured you might want to run over the review,” he says. ”Like we always do.”

I nod and smile because everyone else seems to be happy about this plan.

”So...” he says, trailing off and jerking his head just a little toward the kitchen. Or my bedroom. It could be either.

Please let it be the kitchen. Please.

I glance around because, h.e.l.l, I've never had a boy come over to study. Not a boy I'm dating at any rate. I have no idea what the parent rules are in this situation.

”Let me go get my book,” I say dumbly, heading for the stairs.

”Or I can come up there,” he says, s.h.i.+fting his own book in his arms. ”I actually dropped my stuff in your room earlier.”

He was in my room. Presumably alone. I feel icky all over at this.

”There's more room in the dining room,” Dad says, and I can tell by his face that he'd prefer us there, a mere ten feet away without a doorway in sight.

But Mom frowns at him pointedly. ”We're getting ready to watch a movie, George. They'll never be able to focus. Plus, there's no Internet in there.”

”They need Internet to study?” Dad asks, emphasizing Internet and study as if they're code names for something much dirtier.

”Don't be obtuse, George. They always study in Chloe's room.”

Do we? Or is my dad closer to the truth? Do we do something else? I feel my throat going dry as I realize exactly what we really might do in my room.

”I'm sorry,” Mom says, waving us toward the stairs with a roll of her eyes like she's completely cool with all of this.

I am not cool with this. My ribs feel tight, and my knees are wobbly.

”The dining room would be fine,” Blake says, but I'm not buying his tone. This has brown-nose-the-parents all over it.

”Don't be silly,” Mom says, clearly eating right out of his hand. ”We'll be down here if you need anything.”

”Right down here,” my dad adds.

I storm up the stairs, catching a glimpse of my crimson face in a decorative mirror on the wall. None of this seems to bother Blake, who follows me like a Labrador retriever, closing my bedroom door very quietly behind us.

I immediately scan every inch of my bedroom for signs of Adam. Ridiculous, I know. It's not like he left a trail of clothes or anything. G.o.d, don't think about Adam stripping off clothes. Not when Blake might be expecting me to strip off clothes.

Better yet, maybe I can just not think at all.

”What's the test on?” I ask, the words squeaky.

Blake just laughs and crosses the floor between us, threading his fingers in the back of my hair. He pulls me in and all I can smell is his cologne. It's too much, too strong, and all I can think is, Mom would die if she knew how this guy had snowed her over.

I have maybe a half second to process that this is going to happen, and then his lips close over mine.