Page 70 of Wicked Dreams

A month later, I left the house with my mom to find Caleb playing alone in the backyard.

Her finger pressed into my spine. She did it when I slouched. I snapped my back straight, if only to relieve the pressure.

“Go say hello,” she murmured.

I forced a smile and crossed the lawn to where he was playing with a firetruck.

“Hello, Caleb.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“My mom said I should come talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to a dumb girl.”

I strode forward and smacked his shoulder. “I’m not dumb.”

Strange as it was, Caleb and I became fast friends after that. The way to a boy’s heart is through physical violence, apparently. He still hung out with his friends at school, and I stayed with Amelie and Savannah. On the playground, if their ball sometimes rolled in our direction, I’d be the one to climb to my feet and toss it back to him.

He’d give me a weird, appraising look and mutter a grudging thank you.

He also sat with me on the bus. After the first time driving me to school and registering me, Mom turned me over to their transportation system. Even rich kids have terrible buses, though.

I hadn’t realized how awful it was until he sat next to me.

Everything got better because of it.

We carried on that way until we were eight. At that point, our friendship got a little more immediate. I ate the occasional dinner with his family—prepared and served by my mother. He helped me with my history homework, and I helped him with math.

“I’ll only be friends with you if we play dress-up,” I declared one day. We were sitting in the yard by the pool, tossing grass into the water.

Caleb sighed, loud and dramatic. “Guess I don’t really have a choice then, huh?”

He followed me to his room.

I pointed to the door. “You need a suit.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!” I chucked a shoe at him for good measure, but it soared wide. If he threw it back, he’d probably nail me in the chest. His aim was alotbetter than mine.

He grunted and left the room, and I put on the special dress I had snuck out of the house.

When he came back, he was wearing one of his father’s suit jackets over his school uniform. It’s giant on him, the sleeves extending well past his fingertips.

Still.

He stopped dead. “What is this?”

I smoothed the old white fabric with my hands. I’d been a flower girl only a few months ago. My dad’s cousin got married, and I was apparently the only one eligible to walk down the aisle and throw flowers. The dress was lacy and frilly, with a full skirt and short sleeves.

“What does it look like?” I asked him.

He squinted at me, the tip of his tongue sliding out of his mouth with his concentration.

“We’re getting married?”

I grinned, but was he going to go through with it? He’d either be in or out—with Caleb, you never knew. I figured this was a good way to solve my dilemma of how much he actually liked me.

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