Page 47 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
His footsteps are behind me, and I curse the fact that my car can’t go over thirty miles per hour without vibrating the entire frame. I try to race up the steps to the house first, but Stone’s a step behind me, cackling like a fucking monster in my ear.
“Those sticks of legs you have are quick,” he whispers so close to me that his breath brushes against my neck. “But not quick enough.”
I scan the house to see if anyone is home, but there isn’t another beefy hockey player to be found anywhere. Not even in the kitchen.
“I’m fast when I need to be. If I truly wanted to lose your trail, I could.” I open the closet door.
I stare at Stone standing in the hallway with his irking smirk. He finds this amusing, and I do not.
“I’m sly, Stone. You should know that better than anyone.”
I watch as the thought flickers across his features, hardening the lines around his mouth and turning his smirk into a grimace.
Wren—1. Stone—0.
The smile tastes just as victorious as I feel, but when I turn and look at my room, I still.What the fuck?
I whip around quickly and level Stone with a glare. “Not only are you stalking me, but you’re fucking with my shit too?”
Stone rolls his eyes. “I’m not stalking you, Sticks. Way to be dramatic.”
My heart is beating with anger, and suddenly, I’m ten years old again, in a room with Winnie the Pooh wallpaper, looking at my stuff strewn all over the place because one of the foster kids thought I stole their lighter. They destroyed my things, and I still haven’t gotten over it.
“At least clean up after yourself next time! Why were you going through my stuff?” I walk farther into my room, noticing that each of my notebooks is open, and my books are shuffled throughout. I peer back and snarl. “What were you looking for? Didn’t do your homework and wanted to copy me?” I roll my eyes. “Just like high school. Constantly cheating…on homeworkandgirlfriends.”
“I wasn’t in your fucking room.”
He’s standing behind me, and I know Stone isn’t an honest guy, but I can tell by his voice that he isn’t lying. I scan my small area again, and the panic sets in before the realization.
“Jesus, this is a mess,” he says.
“Get out,” I say, hating that my voice is less than confident.
Stone notices. I know he does.
“Wren. I didn’t go through your shit.”
He called me Wren. He knows something’s wrong.
“Getout.”
I push on his chest, and it must surprise him, because he stumbles backward. Before he can realize what I’ve done, I slam the door and flip the lock. I jump when his fists bang against the wood.
“Wren! Open the fucking door.”
I ignore him and take a small step forward. I bend down and scoop up one of my notebooks. It’s an older one, from high school. I kept it because I knew I’d have to refer to the easier equations to further my current labs in Organic Chemistry and probably even more classes throughout my junior and senior year. I run my finger over the soft pencil markings to ease my anxiety, but as soon as I flip to the last page, my eyes swell with moisture. It’s torn, and I knowexactlywhat was hidden in between what seemed like normal equations.
Not to mention, the scribble of messy handwriting left behind is the answer that I didn’t actually need:
Your father says thank you for all of your help, Pumpkin.
I muffle a sob and shove the notebook away. Stone has given up on knocking, and I’m pretty certain he has left for practice. I refuse to open my door, though. Instead, I clean up the mess my father’sfriendshave made and put everything back to where it was before. I should be thankful that they took the measurements for the best batch of meth we’ve ever made instead of taking me, but now they know where I live, and that’s a problem in itself.
* * *
“On your knees.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I stare at the door to the trailer and hold back a sob. There’s a gun pressed to the back of my skull, and I force myself to swallow the frog in my throat. I’m shaking with fear, and my hands have residue on them that is honestly so dangerous. My gloves are thrown off to the side of the table, and I watch as a cockroach scurries underneath the couch to hide from the loud voices.