I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine
and rage the likes of which you would not believe.
If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.
~Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
I TOOK THE PHONE and waved her away. She was still standing outside the door when I closed it. “Hello?”
“Chelsea? I got your number from the school secretary.”
“Um, hi.” I rolled my eyes and fell back on the bed. My yearbook editor, Stephen, of all people. Why couldn’t he be Geoff? Or Stella?
“I told her I needed to get with you about taking some pictures for Friday’s game.”
“Sure. Stella said I would have to take some.”
He sighed. “The real reason I called was to see if you were all right. I mean, it’s got to be hard. You two were friends, and I heard she ran away from home—”
“Look, she didn’t run away. Why do people rush to assume that?” I snapped, sounding harsher than I’d intended. In contrast, Stephen’s voice was soothing, kind. He didn’t deserve my bitchiness. “Sorry, Stephen. I didn’t mean to bite your head off, but I would’ve known if she’d been considering running away.”
“No, it’s okay. I figured you were upset when you left early today.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m not going to the game. I hate football. I’m going to The Grind with some friends. If you want, you’re welcome to join us…after you take your pics.”
The Grind was the place where Stella’s club met. I didn’t feel like hanging out with anybody, but I was curious. Maybe I could find out more about the film club and talk to somebody who knew something about Stella.
There was another voice on Stephen’s end of the phone speaking to him. He came back on and said, “Hey, I gotta go. But think about it. We can talk more tomorrow at lunch.”
Stephen’s call eased my worries a fraction as I returned to school the next morning. I took comfort in the fact that at least I wouldn’t be alone at my lunch table.
At school I learned how quickly word had spread about Stella’s disappearance. By noon, people had stopped asking me questions, and the whispers began. I spent the day dodging people in the hall so I wouldn’t see them talking behind their hands. When I entered my classrooms throughout the day, voices hushed and eyes cut to me, as though I knew something or was somehow involved with her absence.
If this was all part of some big joke and Stella really had run away, I would personally kill her.
I knew next to nothing about football, so Stephen had prepped me with the deets on the game. It was a scrimmage jamboree. The first real game of the season was a week away, and several local teams were practicing tonight, not trying to win.
The stands were full as I wove through the crowd. A play was already in motion.
I’d been anxious for Friday, but I had two reasons. First, like everybody else, I loved that I could wear something besides the stupid school uniform—I didn’t even want to wear my usual morbid black—so I’d worn jeans for the game and a pretty-ish top with butterfly sleeves. And second, I’d get to watch Geoff kicking.
Mom disliked football and Ramsey disliked crowds, so they stayed home. I hated that Geoff wouldn’t have his own dad rooting for him, but he surely would’ve been more surprised to see the man there. Another perk for me was that since I was now ungrounded, I’d been allowed to drive Mom’s car.
Climbing up two rows of bleachers for a better vantage point, I aimed the school camera on the crowd. I took a few practice shots, adjusting the settings for the evening light. Like most schools, the sports fans clustered in groups. There were separate packs of students, parents, and teachers, plus fans who just loved yelling at the football players and refs. The school’s band section was empty since it wasn’t a real game, but a few spectators trickled into the roped-off section.
I spied Lewis Henry Pitney sitting there alone.
Caught watching me, his dark eyes averted to the field.
Why wasn’t he at his own school’s football game? As much as he loathed our school, I didn’t figure he was there to root for the Titans.
I glanced back at the action below us. The Academy team wore shiny red jerseys. Geoff was number eight; I’d already checked. Maybe the opponents, in white and orange, were from Lewis’s school.
If I stared at Lewis long enough, would he acknowledge me? After all, we had a mutual friend. Despite my efforts, however, he avoided my gaze.
Scanning the crowd a second time, I found no friendly faces. It sucked being the new person in town; I didn’t know anyone else.
Screw it. I slipped under the rope and climbed the bleachers to sit on a row adjacent to Lewis. He could ignore me all he wanted, but I was going to watch Geoff play.
The other team had the ball. Our cheerleaders chanted some cheer about defense. Watching them, I was grateful that, at least for a little while, neither Tiffany nor Haley could have their claws in Geoff.
The ref blew the whistle, drawing my attention back to the field. The players were switching to offense. Our team made three pass attempts in succession, all incomplete. After the third try, number eight jogged onto the field, replacing one of his teammates. My stomach fluttered at the sight of him, knowing the pressure he must’ve been under for his first kick of the season.
The spotter took a knee in front of him. The ball was snapped. Geoff’s foot went forward with steady grace and precision, sending the ball into an arc, but an opponent jumped into its path. The ball ricocheted off the defender’s hand and into the cluster of players. As a defender picked up the loose ball, Geoff vaulted forward and launched into the guy.
Smack! The impact echoed in the stands, causing the bleachers to go silent. Geoff landed on top of the defender, and the ball popped free, falling straight into the arms of a Titan. The dumbfounded guy stood stock-still for a full second before running into the end zone.
The crowd roared. Instead of earning three points, with Geoff’s help, they scored six. I grinned and turned to Lewis automatically, wanting to share in Geoff’s success. But Lewis seemed to have forgotten me. His intent gaze and dreamy smile were aimed at the field as he made a fist pump.
I followed his zealous gaze to Geoff, joining in the victory celebration on the field and taking a few congratulatory slaps on the back. Then the spotter was back, setting Geoff up for the extra point, which he made with no problem. When the refs signaled the kick was good, I cheered.
Some photographer I am—with my camera sitting beside me. I wanted nothing to come between the action and myself.
Lewis’s candid smile made him even sexier. His face glowed as he cheered along with the rest of us, unguarded as he tracked Geoff’s movements on the field. When he caught me staring after a length, his expression closed, and his eyes followed the flow of foot traffic in the stands.
Had I seen something I wasn’t supposed to?
Lewis watching…Geoff?
I wouldn’t ask. He already disliked me as it was, but I remembered his bumpy boat ride, the way he rushed us home from the island, his glares, and his cold words for me at the Pellman’s. “You think you’re Geoff’s type, but you’re wrong.”
The game would last an hour, but I had plans. I left my bleacher for the field, taking the camera with me to merge into the string of kids walking to the concession stand.
My concentration centered on how the heck I was supposed to get on the field when everyone else moved toward the food. That’s when I saw her.
Stella.
Several people stood between us in the bustling crowd, but surely I was staring at the back of Stella’s curly head of hair.
My heart raced. I jostled the little kid in front of me.
“Excuse you!” he snapped.
I mumbled an apology, afraid to take my eyes off her.
I called her name.
She ignored me, drawing deeper into the crowd as we reached the concession area. I’d entered a mass of people. A parade of football players from yet another team parted the crowd, cutting me off. When the last player moved out of the way and the food lines formed again, she was gone.
Undeterred, I left the concession lines for the restrooms at the back of the building.
I waited until each stall cleared. A girl with glossy black curls came out, but her skin was fair. Had I only imagined her?
I sighed, kicking myself within. Of course I had.
The Grind was aptly named. Antique bricks created a cavernous building decked out in iron furniture, dim lighting, and European travel posters. The acoustic buzz of the coffee grinder and the aroma of espresso carried all the way into the media room, where Stephen, Mark, their friends, and I sat around the metal patio tables.
It may have been muggy and hot at the game, but I hadn’t been in the coffee house very long before I cooled off. An industrial-sized fan hung from the rafters above our room. I cupped my hands around the oversized porcelain latte mug to keep warm while I listened to the guys’ friendly argument.
“Name one remake that was better than the original,” Mark taunted.
“Ocean’s Eleven,” Stephen answered after a moment’s pause.
“What? You’re nuts, man. The original had the Rat Pack. Seriously?”
“The ensemble casting in the second was far more engaging. The jazz score, the stylish filming…”
Mark turned to me. “What about you, Chelsea? You’re a film club virgin. What would you say is the best remake of all time?”
Mark and Stephen had managed to lighten my mood. The media room, as they called it, was the unofficial hangout for the club, and The Grind’s owner had decorated it with framed movie posters. A large screen TV and stacks of old movies filled the back wall as testament to the club’s activities. More than once, I found my gaze drifting to the poster of the original horror movie The Fly and wondered if Geoff missed being part of the group.
“Best remake?” I played with my bracelet as I sought the answer and then said, “I’d have to go with Fright Night. Colin Farrell. ’Nuff said.”
Dana and Emily, both juniors from Pine Bluff, nodded with wide grins. The guys shook their heads, waving off our votes as irrelevant.
Stephen stood. “I need another cup. Nothing like caffeine before bed.” He touched my back. “You want one, Chelsea?”
“Yeah. I’ll go with you. Wouldn’t want you sloshing my espresso all over your white shirt.” I grinned and followed him to the next room, carrying my empty mug.
In the entrance between the two rooms, Stephen froze. Derrick Winters blocked his way. The heavy-set guy was one of the Academy’s football players, and at his side was Michelle Stone, a cheerleader. If they were here, the scrimmage games had ended.
Geoff and Haley came in right behind the other couple. Geoff’s lips parted in surprise when our gazes met. I probably wore the same expression. The foursome had changed out of their uniforms into T-shirts and jeans. Geoff had on his usual leather cuffs and chains and beat-up boots, his hair damp and inky from a post-game shower.
My stomach flipped. I cradled the mug against my tummy to try to stave off another attack.
“Hey, it’s Stephen the Wolfe,” Winters joked, “and the Wolfe pack must be here, too.”
Derrick struck me as a smart-ass more than smart. In Physics, his inappropriate comments usually made the teacher’s neck turn scarlet. His gaze went to me, to Stephen, and back again. I could see the wheels turning in his mind and knew where they were headed. “Well, guys, looks like Wolfe ordered a latte. A mocha latte. How does it taste?”
“Shut it, Derrick,” Stephen ordered.
I rolled my eyes. “Hey, Beefsteak, do you think you could move so we can order another?”
Derrick’s leering gaze examined me from head to toe. “Maybe I like a little mocha, too.” He licked his lips.
“Winters,” Geoff murmured coolly at his back.
Mortified to have him as a witness to this verbal attack, I suddenly felt queasy.
It was an old joke. I’d heard them all. I handed my mug to Stephen, leaving him holding both.
“You wish, Derrick.” I reached out to push past the guy, but his body was unyielding. His thick torso was stone against my spaghetti-armed force. Football player, you idiot.
“Don’t be a douche, Derrick,” Stephen said, surprising me.
The thug chuckled and leaned so close to my face that I could feel his moist breath. “You think I’m a beefsteak? You got the beef part right. Want some of me?” The big jock cocked his head, gaze hovering on my mouth. “Better be nice, Mocha Latte, or someone might make you disappear like your friend Stella.”
At the mention of her name, cold fear shot through me. I knew Stella would’ve had nothing to do with the asshole, but still…
Derrick swept his rough hand against my cheek. I jerked my head away, nauseated.
Suddenly, Geoff bumped Michelle aside and grabbed a wad of Derrick’s shirt, shoving him hard against the brick wall dividing the two rooms. My panic elevated, causing my pulse to race.
“Outside,” he breathed, and the single word in his calm voice held the threat of a razor-sharp knife. He released Winters with a shove that snapped the football player’s head against the bricks.
“Ow! What the fuck, Ramsey?” He grimaced and cupped his head.
Geoff moved in front of me, blocking my view, and gestured toward the exit. His chest heaved with angry breaths.
I laid a hand on his back. “Don’t worry about it, Geoff.” I craned around him to see. Maybe I could smooth things over.
Winters’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a ferocious snarl. He lowered his hand from his crown and made a fat fist in front of Geoff’s face. “You haven’t changed at all. Once a psycho, always a psycho.”
“Let’s go,” Geoff growled.
Winters shoved past him, and Geoff followed.
Stephen stopped me in the doorway, grabbing my arm. “Stay inside, Chelsea. You didn’t start this.”
“I know, but they’re fighting because of me. I have to try to stop it.” Pulling my arm free, I chased after them.
In the coffee house parking lot, it was just the two of them, Geoff and Derrick, in an empty parking space under the dim green streetlight. I heard Stephen come outside behind me.
Fear lodged in my throat as the two guys faced off. I’d barely caught up with them when Winters swung, punching Geoff in the stomach where the coach wouldn’t see it. I screamed as Geoff doubled over with a grunt.
“You better be glad you’re on the team, faggot!” Derrick seethed.
Glad?
When I darted toward Geoff, Stephen caught my shoulders and dragged me back. Derrick circled his winded opponent, taunting, saying nasty things about Geoff’s mother. About me.
My cheeks burned and my hands fisted.
Derrick laughed at Geoff’s broken form. “Kickers!”
He turned toward us with a vile smile and headed our way. Geoff straightened behind him and took one stride, closing the distance between them.
I gasped and covered my mouth, but it was too late. Derrick wheeled around and came in the direct path of Geoff’s fist.
His jaw made a loud snap, and he stumbled to the ground.
There were gasps behind us. I looked to see the cheerleaders standing in the doorway, hands over their mouths. More people filed outside behind them.
“The manager called the cops,” someone yelled in warning.
“We should get out of here.” Stephen tugged on my arm.
“Hey! Stay where you are!” Another shout came from the entrance. This time, an adult’s voice. Probably the owner. “The police will want to talk to all of y’all.”
The door banged shut, and the crowd scattered as if a gun had fired. All around us, car doors slammed and engines started. Haley climbed into Michelle’s cherry-red Mustang, and they spun out of the parking lot.
Geoff knelt over Derrick, who was groaning and holding his jaw as he struggled to his knees.
“Let go!” I yelled at Stephen before pulling free and running to Geoff’s side. “Are you okay?”
He nodded and added, slightly out of breath, “Winters will be okay, too.”
“Freak,” Derrick muttered and crumpled to the ground with a grimace. Blood and drool trickled from his lip over his hand.
“Stephen’s right,” Geoff said as he rose, finally looking at me. “You need to get out of here.”
“Ohmigod, Geoff, your dad!” My hand flew to my forehead, where I found my brow was damp and clammy. “You’re the one who should leave. I’ll stay here and explain what happened.”
He shook his head. “Our folks can’t know you were involved.”
“I have to tell them you didn’t throw the first punch. You were defending—”
“Go home!” Geoff snapped. “Get out of here. If you don’t, you’ll ruin everything! If my dad knows you had anything to do with me getting arrested…” He raked his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. His dark eyes pierced me. “Do you honestly think he can’t find another ghostwriter for his memoir?”
Geoff hadn’t been around to see the flirty looks his father had been giving my mother, or vice versa, but doubt gave me pause. I didn’t know what Ben Ramsey was capable of, while Geoff had extensive knowledge of his father’s cold-heartedness.
“Both of you go. I’ll stay here and take the heat with Derrick.” Stephen came up beside us, his hands shoved in his back pockets.
“What? Why you?” None of this had anything to do with him. Wow.
He shrugged. “Y’all don’t need to get in trouble, but I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure, mate?” Geoff frowned and gestured at Derrick, who sat with a giant dribble of blood hanging suspended from his mouth to the concrete. Though he was a jerk, Derrick wouldn’t be likely to snitch on Geoff. Apparently he’d catch hell from the coach for fighting a teammate.
“It’s a no-brainer. My mom’s a lawyer, and my dad will love it. I’ve never been in a fight before.” A nervous smile spread on Stephen’s face. “Besides, he’s always telling me to man up.” He sat down on the pavement beside Derrick.
“Thanks, Stephen.” I bent down to give him a quick hug.
Geoff’s Vette sat on the first row diagonal from Mom’s two rows back. He opened his door and stood watching me, holding his stomach with one arm.
“Are you sure you’re okay enough to drive?”
“It’s not far to Mom’s condo. Near the harbor, remember?”
A siren droned in the distance. I could see the lights flashing far down the highway, and my stomach tightened.
I put a hand over his on the doorframe and asked quickly, “Why did you call him out like that, Geoff? You didn’t have to.” First Stella, now this. If he’d been hurt or arrested…
Tears filled my eyes.
Geoff touched my arm and slid his hand up to cup my neck. His thumb caressed the spot where my pulse flickered violently. “Nobody can talk to you like that.”
He pulled away, but the heat of his hand left an imprint on my skin that lingered long after I got in the car and watched him drive off.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I was still a nervous wreck from the fight. I climbed into bed and was under the covers before giving any thought to the sand. I’d grown accustomed to checking for it, but thankfully, my prankster had left me alone the past few nights. Ever since Geoff had moved out.
I had no patience left for ghosts or haints or bad housekeeping of any kind. My mind was preoccupied with other, more interesting things, stuck in replay on the events of the night. Mostly the fight.
Especially the fight.
Geoff had stood up for me, ruining his reputation with his snotty teammates in the process. He’d even ditched Haley to defend me. Most likely, he’d get kicked off the team if anyone told the coach how Derrick had been injured.
He’d sacrificed it all for me.
I’m in love. Pleasure spun through me. I muffled a scream with my pillow and punched the mattress. I rolled on the bed, kicking my feet and laughing.
I allowed myself a dozen fantasies to chase away the ugly things in my life. If Geoff’s parents were still together and happy like they’d been when George was still alive, Geoff and I could be together. His dad would leave him alone, and then he’d be happy, too.
Slipping slowly into sleep, my fantasies gave way to dreams—long delicious dreams. Kissing Geoff beneath the stars. Sharing a blanket on the beach. Skinny-dipping in the cool ocean water under moonlight. Our limbs sliding against each other.
The water grows colder around us as we swim. I close my eyes to dip underwater and then resurface. Suddenly, Geoff is gone. I bob alone on the water’s surface, treading in a circle. I call his name. My teeth chatter. I soon chatter so much that my jaw hurts.
In dreams, you can’t hurt.
Am I dreaming?
I floated up from the waters of my fantasy into the icy sheets of my bed. My body froze. I wasn’t alone. There was a presence in the room. Someone was breathing…and it wasn’t me!
My eyes flew open. I shot up in bed. In the dark, I made out the shadowy human outline standing between the door and me. The silhouette stood a foot shorter than the one upstairs on the balcony.
“Stella?”
Silence. My heart squeezed.
“Yes,” she said.
Surprise took my breath away. I could hardly make enough sound to speak. “Wh-What are you doing here? Where have you been?”
I could almost make out the whites of her eyes in the dark as my eyesight adjusted. Her body swayed and moved back a step.
“Stella? My God, are you okay?” I threw the corner of my cover back and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
A sound emitted from her like a swallowed scream. She drew back from me. I could see her hair now, disheveled and stringy, the headband she always wore tangled and dangling in the limp strands.
“Hey,” I said, palms outstretched to show her I meant no harm. I eased toward her.
Her mouth opened wide in a soundless cry, pouring her hot dry breath over me. I could see now that her eyes were empty, lifeless orbs.
I covered my mouth as terror climbed in my throat and turned from the awful sight of her. A wedge of yellow hall light crossed the floor to my bare feet as the door opened.
I dared to look up again, peeking through my fingers, but she was gone. Only her headband remained on the hardwood floor.