Page 78 of I'll Be Waiting

“Patrice? If I’ve done something—”

She spins so fast I jump.

Fever-bright eyes fix on mine. “I don’t know.Haveyou done something?”

“If I did, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t you. I know who it was.” She looks over my shoulder. “Traitor.”

“What?” I say.

Patrice resumes walking. I fall back to Heather and lower my voice. “Does she know about the mushrooms?”

“I think you’re right, Nic,” Heather says, voice hardening. “This is all bullshit. An act.”

“Are you going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?” Patrice says. “He’s the one who started it, but you’re blaming me. Your guy messes around with me, and I’m the one you cut loose while he gets off scot-free.”

Heather’s face scrunches up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Has everyone lost their fucking minds?” I look between them as my mind races. “Is this about Cody? Heather, did you and Cody have a thing before—”

Her look of disgust answers before she says, “Absolutely not. I seriously have no idea what she’s talking about.”

Something cracks in the forest. Heather wheels toward it.

“Did you hear that?” she says.

“Roddy,” Patrice whispers.

“It isn’t Roddy,” I snap. “We’re in the forest, and that’s a goddamn forest animal. I want to know what the hell you are going on about, Patrice.”

Patrice ignores me and resumes walking.

I seethe and turn to Heather. “What is this bullshit?”

She flails a wild shrug. I want to storm out of this forest. Say to hell with both of them and their drama because, seriously? Something is very wrong with Patrice, and they’re sniping aboutboys?

Unless Heather is right. Unless nothing is wrong with Patrice. Unless this is part of the drama. Patrice likes a boy—presumablyCody, though the thought makes my skin crawl. She thinks Heather has been messing around with him, so she’s pulling some weird séance shit to scare us.

If that’s it, I’m done. I don’t have time for this bullshit.

But am I leaving right now? No. Keith is the uber-responsible one, but whatever he was taught, I was taught too. I might rebel, but at heart, I know the right thing and I do it.

My gut says that the right thing is to see this through. Play referee. Make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. If these two are at each other’s throats—even over a boy—I need to stick around.

We reach the spot. Heather yanks out the blanket and slaps it down, along with the chalices. She sloshes in wine and then—as she sprinkles harmless mushroom powder on hers and Patrice’s—she looks at me, her jaw set.

What the hell is that look for? Defying me to say the mushrooms are just regular fungi? I don’t give a shit. In fact, if anythingiswrong with Patrice, it’s in everyone’s best interests for Patrice to think the drugs are real. The power of suggestion. We are repeating the ritual exactly, and that will “fix” her.

I am so done with this fucking bullshit.

I drop to the ground hard, and if I’m scowling like a toddler, I don’t care. So is Heather. Patrice just keeps glaring at her, and Heather glares back, and fuck my life. Really? Keith should be here to see this, get a laugh out of his little sister needing to be the mature one for once.

“Well, go on,” Heather says to Patrice. “Summon the ghosts or whatever. If you’re not toopossessedto do that.”

Patrice only looks at her, and it’s less glare than stare now. A stare so cold it curdles my anger and has me rubbing down goose bumps.

She starts her incantation, but this time, I can’t make out what she’s saying. I struggle to concentrate on words so garbled, it’s like she’s talking through a mouthful of marshmallow.

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