Page 99 of Wicked Dreams

My cheeks burn. “Right.IfI can go?—”

“Of course,” Lenora blurts out. “We don’t want to restrict your social experience, especially now as you’re making more?—”

“Thanks!” I lean away from Caleb, shooting Lenora a look that I hope translates to,Please don’t embarrass me.

She smiles sheepishly.

It’s such a startling mom-daughter thing to do, I almost pause. But I shake it off and race back to my room. I change from my uniform skirt into fishnet tights, then black jeans with big rips in the legs that show off the fishnet. I pair it with Caleb’s sweatshirt that he never took back, and belatedly realize we’re going to match.

You’re dressed to support the football team. Of course we’re going to match. Us and five hundred other people.

After the locker room incident at lunch, which I was able to clean up with a lot of paper towels and cold water, I almost showered as soon as I got home.

But then I got talking to Robert at the base of the stairs, and by the time I remembered to ask them about going to the football game, Caleb was arriving.

I touch up my makeup and yank on my boots. When I get downstairs, I find Caleb and Robert discussing hockey. They both look over at me.

“Ready?” Caleb asks.

I bite my lip and nod. This screams of being a trap, or a nasty trick, but anticipation swirls through me. I’m going to the game because he’s giving me something I want.

No, need.

I’m going to get to see my home again, and it’ll be more than just a glance.

He puts his hand on the small of my back, propelling me out of the house toward his car. “I like that you wear my sweatshirt. But I can’t help but consider that you’re up to something.”

I lift one shoulder. “Not sure what you mean?”

I get in the passenger seat and close the door in his face. I’m not up to anything except wanting to go see where my life splintered into pieces.

My life and my memory.

He doesn’t confirm where we’re going, but soon enough he’s pulling into the driveway of his house, then aiming for the narrow path beside the garage. He stops in front of the house we lived in, exactly where my father used to park.

My stomach cramps. Nausea-inducing snakes in my belly won’t settle.

We approach the door that I burst through in a mad rush last time. Slower now. More in control. Except, I canalmostsmell my mother’s cooking.

There’s grime on the windows, weeds and vines crawling up the siding. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now its state is clear.

It has been abandoned.

Just like me.

Even sitting in Caleb’s family’s backyard, a stone’s throw away from their back door, my old home has turned into a graveyard of memories.

He unlocks the door to my old childhood home and then steps aside. “The past isn’t a happy place. Why don’t you want to leave it buried?”

He’s been tormenting me because ofthis. Because of a past that only he seems to understand. It doesn’t make sense—shouldn’t he want me to remember?

“Why don’tyou?” I counter.

He exhales and shoves the door open. “After you.”

Stepping inside now hurts worse than before.

Before was shock. Spikes of pain. Relief that I remembered things the way they were.

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