Prey (7 page)

Ryan

I know the location of purgatory—my aunt's house in Baltimore. Dad and I arrive four days before Christmas. By day two I want to go home. My cousins make me nuts. Especially Karen, all of twelve and hanging on me all the time with her silly girlfriends.

“Where's your mom?” one of them asks. “Why didn't she come with you?”

Karen elbows the nosey girl in the ribs. “Shhh. I told you, he doesn't have a mother.”

The girl turns beet red and I grit my teeth but smile at her anyway. “No mom to nag me,” I say.

“Lucky,” the girl says.

All I think about is getting back to Lori. She wasn't very happy when I told her I was leaving, the night before Dad and I flew out. “But what about our Christmas?” she said. “I bought you presents.” Her apartment was decorated and there were fresh logs in the fireplace.

“We'll just have to wait until I get home.”

“You should have told me sooner. Why didn't you say something before now? We e-mail every day.”

“No freedom of movement when my dad's in town, and I didn't want to tell you in an e-mail. But as soon as school starts again, he'll be heading to the Midwest for a five-day medical sales convention. I can stay over. I saved it as a surprise.” Lori has been asking me to spend a whole night with her, and now I can.

That made her smile. “Maybe I'll forgive you.”

I sneak her an e-mail from my aunt's. I'm so bored and craving contact with my real life that I e-mail Honey, too. Lori doesn't e-mail me back, but Honey does. She writes a long story about Cory and their Christmas turkey that makes me laugh out loud. I've forgotten how funny she can be. I realize that I miss her and promise myself that once I'm home, I'll reestablish contact.

Dad takes me and the cousins into D.C., where we visit every historical landmark in the city. Or it feels as if we do. Honey sends me a text message to say hello to the president, and I text back that if I can get past the Secret Service and into the Oval Office, I will. Keeping in touch with Honey helps me feel grounded. The girl's a real lifeline.

When we're in the Smithsonian gift shop, I remember that I don't have a Christmas gift for Lori, so I poke around and finally settle on a necklace from one of their ancient-history collections. A good move, I figure, because she's into history and it's real silver but doesn't cost a bundle.

Two other things happen while we're in Balti-more—I don't get a car for Christmas, and I turn sixteen. Aunt Debbie bakes a cake and everyone sings and Dad keeps saying how important family is and I try to act as if I care. By the time we fly home, I'm about ready to jump out of my skin. The first person I contact is Lori.

She asks, “When can I see you?”

“Two days. Dad's leaving on Tuesday.”

“I don't want to wait that long.”

This makes me feel really good, but tonight Honey, Joel, Jess and a few more of my friends are coming over. I've been looking forward to seeing everyone again. I want Lori bad, but I know we'll have more time if we wait a few days. “I can't help it,” I tell her. “I'll see you in class tomorrow.” The holidays are over and it's back to the salt mines.

There's a long pause on my cell, so long that I wonder if she's still on the line. “Lori?”

“I'm here. Just disappointed. I thought you'd want me.”

“I want you like crazy. I have a hard-on just hearing your voice.” She says some things that make me hot and I almost fold. “Two days,” I say. “It'll be even better because we have to wait. Anticipation can be a good thing.”

She hangs up and a jolt of fear goes through me. What if she blows me off? Being with Lori is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Before I can decide what to do, Joel shows up with Jess. Honey arrives and so do Taylor, Peter, Kevin and his girl. It's good to see them all, talk to them and hang out, so I shove Lori to the back of my mind. We head downstairs to my rec room to listen to tunes and dance.

Honey

Hanging out with Ryan and all our friends is the best part of my holidays. I love being with everyone; it's like old times, before we all started high school and drifted apart. I linger after the others leave. Mom's going to yell because it's late and tomorrow school starts up again, but I don't care. Being with Ryan again, even as a friend, is worth any grief I get from my mother.

“Let me see what you brought home from D.C.,” I say when we're alone.

“In my room.”

We go upstairs. His room is neat as a pin. Same old Ryan. “My room looks like a campground for the homeless,” I say. “How do you do this? More to the point, why do you do it?”

“Habit. I hate messes,” he says, pulling out his desk chair for me. He hands me a clear container full of brochures. “My Christmas vacation in a box.”

I sort through the pile. “Is there any place you didn't go?”

“I didn't make it to the Oval Office,” he says with a grin. “Don't tell Dad, but the Smithsonian was pretty cool. You should have seen the aviation room and the gems rooms. One diamond was this big.” He holds his thumb and forefinger apart.

Just then, his cell rings. He glances at the display, looks at me, then down at the ringing phone. “I have to take this. Old friend.” I could swear he's nervous.

“Should I leave?”

“No…I'll take it in the hall. Stay put.”

I sit alone, wondering why he's acting flustered. I don't care who calls him…. Okay, maybe I care just a little. But it's odd. We've just spent an evening with all our friends. I sigh, set the container on the floor and cruise the room. I feel good being with him. He's more like the old Ryan, my friend from years past.

As I pass his dresser, I see a small black velvet box, the kind that usually holds jewelry. Back off, Honey, I tell myself. But I don't. I grab the box and open it. Inside is a necklace, a chain of hammered silver with a twist of curved silver strands dangling from the center. Where have I seen this before? Somewhere…Inside the lid is printed SMITHSONIAN GIFT SHOP in old-English-looking type.

Then it hits me. This is one of those Celtic love knots like the girl on the street was selling on the day Jess, Taylor and I went shopping. But why did Ryan buy something like this in Washington as a souvenir? A sick feeling hits my stomach—the slap of rejection mingles with the burn of jealousy. Does he have a girlfriend? One he's never told me about? I rack my brain, trying to imagine who it is. I come up blank.

I hear him heading down the hall. I snap the lid shut and drop the box where I found it. I'm back in the chair when he returns.

“Sorry,” he says, coming into the room.

“No problem,” I say, knowing it's a lie. I have a problem. A big problem. I want to know, what's going on in Ryan's life?

Ryan

When I enter Lori's classroom on the first day back, I'm shocked. She's dressed like a character from
Little House on the Prairie
—a white blouse buttoned to her neck, a skirt to the floor and weirdlooking old-lady shoes. She's still pretty, though.

One of the girls asks, “What's up, Ms. Settles?”

“Canada, Alaska, the North Pole,” Lori says, making everyone laugh. “Do you mean my new wardrobe?”

“Yeah,” another girl says.

“Glad you noticed.”

I'm staring but keeping my mouth shut.

“Request from the front office,” Lori says.

Kids groan. “Can they do that? Make you change the way you dress?” someone asks.

“They can send any of you home if you arrive dressed against their rules, can't they?”

A grumble races through the room. “But you're a teacher. You're a grown-up.”

“If they can do it to you, they can do it to me,” she says.

“It sucks!” yells some guy in the back.

“Rules are rules,” Lori says. She's vented to me in private, so I know how she feels about the administration and Mrs. Dexter—“the old hag”—and how much she's hating this. It must be hard for her to act as if she doesn't really care. “Now, let's get to work.”

I think about the rules we're breaking, she and I. What would the principal say if she knew what Lori and I were doing right under her nose?

Once class is over and I'm going out the door, Lori says, “Ryan, can I see you a minute? About that special assignment I gave you?”

Two people waiting to walk with me look curious. I wave them on and go to Lori's desk. My heart is thumping like a drum. For safety's sake, she always steers clear of talking to me after class.

Her eyes laser into me. “Is your special assignment on target?”

Code for “Is your dad out of the house?”

“On target,” I say. The room is empty and we're alone.

“I'll pick you up at the bus stop. The one near your house.”

“I can ride.”

“I don't want to wait,” she says. Her voice is tight and sharp.

“All right.”

“And bring your things,” she says. “For the night.”

There's a bitchy bossiness about her that turns me off, but I nod anyway. And when I think about spending a whole night with her, I breathe hard.

Our clothes come off the minute we walk into her place, and our sex is wild and fast. When it's over, Lori dresses in a silky robe. She pops the cork of a bottle of champagne and pours two glasses. I've never drunk champagne but don't want to tell her that. I'm a beer guy. Joel and I got into my dad's bourbon once when we were in seventh grade. I felt great, all spaced out and soaring, until I got sick and tossed it all on the bathroom floor. Dad was better about it than I thought he'd be. He said, “A rite of passage, but don't do it again until you're legal.” I got grounded for two weeks, and a lock went on the cabinet, but he didn't go postal the way Joel's mother did when she found out.

“I've saved these for you,” Lori says, handing me a stack of presents.

I'm surprised because there are so many boxes. “I—I only got you one thing.”

“That's not what it's about. I want you to have nice things. I want to show you how much I care.”

I open boxes of cool shirts, a leather Harley vest, CDs by the hottest artists on the charts and, finally, an iPod. “Wow,” I tell her. “I've been wanting one of these. Thanks.”

“I'm glad you like it.”

I'm blown away but try not to show it. I retrieve my backpack and pull out the black velvet box. “Sorry it's not wrapped.” I feel like a miser, offering her one tiny present.

“Not to worry.” She opens the box and I see her eyes light up. “A Celtic love knot! I love it.”

“You know what it is? I didn't. I had to read about it.” Relief goes through me.

“Put it on me.” She hands me the necklace, turns and lifts her dark hair, showing me the soft tight white skin of her neck. The sight arouses me. I ease on the necklace, and she turns back toward me. Her hand slides down my body and I shiver. Her mouth ignites me. She slips off her robe and pulls me on top of her, wearing only my necklace until we're finished.

Ryan

I've always slept by myself, never shared mattress space with anyone. I sleep hard at first, but when I wake up, the room is dark and I don't know where I am. I panic. Then I remember. I'm at Lori's. I drank too much, but not enough to get sick. Already learned that lesson.

I touch the place beside me in the bed, but Lori isn't there. I hear a noise from outside the bedroom, find my jeans on the floor and tug them on. I come out into a brightly lit room and squint, a headache exploding my brain. “Lori?”

“In here,” she answers.

I go to the kitchen and she's down cleaning the floor with a sponge. Weird!

“What are you doing?” I look at the stove's digital clock and read 3:00 a.m. “Did you spill something?”

She stands up. “No. I have trouble sleeping.”

“So you're cleaning?” Weirder!

She drops the sponge in the sink and comes to me, loops her arms around me. “A lifelong problem. Don't think about it. When I wake up and can't go back to sleep, I just get up instead of lying in the dark. Tonight, I decided to clean. See? No damage from our party for two.”

The place is spotless. “I would have helped.”

“You were sound asleep.” She nuzzles my neck. “You're pretty cute when you're asleep.”

I hear that tone in her voice that says, “Let's get it on,” but right now, my head hurts and I'm not in the mood for another round of burning up her sheets. “Let's just go get some sleep,” I say.

She pulls back, a pout on her mouth. Under the overhead light, I notice the lines around her colorless lips and at the corners of her eyes. The last girl I was this close to was Janey Smythe, at an eighth-grade dance. She didn't have any lines on her face, just clear smooth skin, luscious enough to lick. Fortunately I didn't.

I back away from Lori, yawn and stretch. “I'll be in the bedroom.” I say it in a way that doesn't offer her an invitation. All I want is to go to bed and get some sleep.

“I'll be in later,” she says, her voice cool.

“Whatever,” I say, and leave her standing alone in the kitchen.

•••

“You look rough,” Dad tells me a few nights later over dinner.

“Been staying up late, studying,” I mumble. In truth, I hustled home this afternoon after three nights at Lori's, threw in a load of wash and made the place look as if I'd been living here.

“Those teachers shouldn't work you so hard.”

No work involved, I think. “You warned me that high school wasn't a cakewalk.” In dealing with parents, it's a good idea to feed them back the lines they've used on you.

“That's true, especially if a student has his sights on college.”

“Like I do,” I say. I haven't thought about college or homework or anything except Lori for months. The only reason I'm keeping up is because she helps me with my assignments. I almost blew a test before Christmas, but my other work was good enough to help me skate by.

“Where'd you get the iPod and new clothes?”

Dad's question comes out of left field. Adrenaline pumps, turning my brain to mush. “What?”

“I saw the stuff stacked on your bed. Just wondering where it came from.”

Stupid! In my hurry to get other things done, I left Lori's gifts lying out in the open. “Gifts from my friends,” I say.

“Pretty generous friends.”

“The iPod is Joel's old one. He got a new one for Christmas.” My brain finally wakes up. “Honey gave me the shirts.”

“All of them?”

“What can I say?” I shrug, bury my face in my dinner plate.

“But you don't like this girl.”

“I like her. Just not for a girlfriend.” Dad's staring hard at me. I try not to squirm.

“You do like girls, don't you, son?”

My jaw drops and I look to see if he's ribbing me. He isn't. “Are you asking me if I'm gay?”

His expression is somber. “You're secretive. You don't seem to have your friends around much these days. I've spoken with Honey's mother and she said you never come over anymore. At Christmas, your aunt Debbie and I talked too.”

“And for this you think I'm gay?” If he only knew how far from gay I am!

Dad's face gets red. “Look, I'm not condemning you. If you're gay—”

His broad-mindedness is laughable. I've heard him make jokes about gays. He wouldn't be so tolerant if I really were gay, no matter what he's saying now. And to think of him and Aunt Debbie sitting around her kitchen table discussing my sex life makes me crazy.

“How would you know what I do, where I go? You're always gone.”

“I know what's going on in my own home, Ryan. Just because I'm not here a lot doesn't mean I don't keep tabs on you.”

This causes my stomach to knot. What does he really know? “How? Reports from the housekeeper and cook? The lawn people?”

“Certainly Mrs. Gomez tells me that her workload is lighter than normal. And I can see that you hardly touch the food in the freezer. The neighbors talk to me too. You come and go a lot.”

“You spy on me?” Now I'm shaking. Darn glad I've password-protected my computer.

“Don't make this about me,” he says. “I'm your father and it's my responsibility to make sure you're safe, that you have a home, food—all the things you need.”

“I need a car.”

He waves me off. “You're not ready for a car. Not until I know what's going on with you.”

“Nothing's going on with me. I'm just trying to get through high school. I have friends and I have a life.”

He looks tired, and I see that he's trying to control his temper. “I care about you, son. I'm a single father who's doing the best I can. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. There's only one of me to parent you.”

“So now it's my dead mother's fault?”

“Watch your mouth.”

We never talk about Mom and I don't want to now, but I was hoping to make him tell me what he knows and who the nosey neighbors are who are reporting to him. “I just don't like being spied on.” My head hurts and my eyes burn. I push back from the table, scraping the chair across the floor, leaving a black mark on the tile. “I'm going to my room.”

“We should talk this out.”

“Why? I already know what you think of me.” If I were reading a story in English class and my teacher asked me to give an example of irony, this would be the perfect one. I'm sleeping with one of my teachers and my father is asking if I'm gay. For a moment, I want to spew out the truth:
I'm banging a gorgeous woman who wants me all the time. Who can't get enough of me!

“Come back here. I'm just trying to have a conversation with you. Make some connections and know you better.”

I turn at the door. “Well, for the record, trust me when I tell you, I'm not gay.”

I take the stairs to my room, two at a time.