“Well … we can say ‘nice to meet you’ and go our separate ways. Or we can talk.”
Zander thought for a minute. “Let’s talk. You go first.”
“Okay.” I tried to think of something witty or interesting to say, but I was flustered around him in a way I couldn’t remember ever being and what came out was, “I saw you at the hospital.”
Zander looked at me speculatively. “You saw me at the hospital.” He said it carefully, drawing out the words as if trying to extract meaning.
I felt my face grow warm. Idiot. Not how you start a conversation. Not the very first time you talk to this tantalizing guy who looks at you with a gleam in his eye and purposely drew you away from his friends and yours.
Somehow, standing next to Zander, the idea of him at the hospital, him being the father of Demetria’s baby, seemed utterly ridiculous. He could have his pick of girls. Why would he choose a crazy one? What was I thinking?
But the words were already out, so I forced myself to hold his gaze and finish what I’d started. “Right. That’s what I said.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Downtown,” I said. “Vauxhall Hospital. I was visiting a patient and I thought I saw you. At the window.”
“You did, huh?” His eyes were locked on mine. Reaching into the deepest parts of me. It made my throat tighten. And then he shifted his gaze away, idly scanning the crowd around us as if there must be something—anything—more interesting out there. “So?” he said.
“So …” I tried not to stammer or notice how cold it felt to have lost his attention. “So was it you? What were you doing there?”
He turned back to me. “What were you?”
I stared mutely.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his voice teasing but with a sharper edge. “What were you doing there? Vauxhall is a mental hospital. You have friends there?”
“No. I mean, not really. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” I’d lost my footing, backpedaling stupidly to get Zander on friendly ground, though it felt like I’d already lost the chance.
He shrugged. “No. Probably not a fun place to hang out, though.” He turned as one of his friends called to him from across the way. Zander held up his index finger, signaling he’d be right over. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, glancing down at me.
And then he reached out, his hand brushing my shoulder lightly, making me shiver, and plucked at a purple feather stuck in my hair. From that store with trashy handbags and earrings that Hannah’d dragged me into.
Zander freed the feather. I saw it drop lazily to the ground, but his hand still hovered, inches from my face, a few strands of hair caught between the fingers. I stood motionless, my heart pounding. I was afraid to breathe, not even sure I could. Zander twirled my hair lazily, thoughtfully. It felt intimate, like we were lounging on a blanket in a field somewhere instead of standing outside the movie theater at the Willowbrook Mall.
“You have beautiful hair,” he said, his voice low, eyes—definitely bedroom eyes—studying mine. “I love girls with long hair. Don’t ever cut it.” He drew his hand back gently, careful not to pull, letting the dark wisps disengage on their own. He held my eyes for an extra second in a way that made my face burn. “See you around, Cassandra.”
Zander sauntered off, not looking back, but knowing I was watching him. Which I was. I couldn’t help it.
“Cassaahhndrahhh.” Liv mimicked Zander’s inflection as she came to stand beside me. I wondered how much else she’d heard. “That’s sooo sexy. And the way he was touching you—ooo-la-la.”
“Please, Liv.” I hardly had the heart to argue because she was right. I kept replaying the way he’d looked at me, called me by my full name the way no one else did. I was surprised he even knew it.
“I was worried about you guys,” she said with feigned concern. “I thought you might need to get a room.” Liv laughed at her own joke while I blushed hot pink.
She shook her finger at me. Teasing, but not really. “You’ve got it bad for a bad, bad boy, Cassie. Better to stick with your funeral home romance. It might be weird and a little twisted, but it’s probably not nearly as dangerous as getting close to Zander Dasios.”
He’d said the word “love.” I imagined it on his lips, the context different, and knew Liv was right.
But I had a feeling it was too late.
Chapter 8
I couldn’t sleep. An insomniac combination of zombies and Zander.
I thought about texting Jack but I felt guilty, like I’d cheated on him. Even though we weren’t together. Even though I’d done nothing more than stand next to Zander. Let him play with my hair.
The emptiness of Jack’s silence would be too hard tonight anyway. It was so unlike him to hold a grudge, I’d been really surprised and hurt at first when he didn’t respond to my messages. I kept thinking he might. I’ve gone over and over how things ended and I guess I couldn’t have handled it much worse. But even now I’m not sure what I would change. The essential problem is the same: the mark is the mark is the mark.
It was dusk of a warm day in late October and we were at the preserve again, not near our tree, but on the rocks overlooking Miller’s Pond. I’d been trying to keep up the conversation about school and tests, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman with the mark I’d warned a few weeks before, my second since going back to Ashville.
I saw her on my way to school. She was walking with a friend, dressed in sweats—the clean, pressed, matching kind that looked like they never saw any actual sweat. I should have followed them, skipped school and tailed her back to her house, waited until she was alone. But I had a calc quiz that day, one I’d studied hard for. For once I felt ready, sure of a good grade, one I thought I deserved and might need for college.
So I walked right up to her, tried to speak quietly, pull her away from her friend so we’d have some privacy. But she didn’t hear well and her friend refused to take the hint.
She died anyway.
That part was bad, but even worse was her friend. The one who’d listened to everything I’d said. The one who saw me downtown just a few days ago. She’d run after me demanding that I stop. She needed to talk to me.
“… sent, do you?”
It took me a few seconds to realize I was at the preserve. With Jack, who was waiting for an answer. A few seconds too long. “I’m sorry, Jack,” I said. “What did you say?”