Double Dare(122)

“But why? For what?” pressed Mindy when a vice-principal came in to explain the absence to us. “Did he do something bad?” she said while shooting a meaningful look my way. I nodded at my friend gratefully. There was no way I had the courage to ask the question myself, holding my breath, almost unable to breathe.

But Ms. Henley dodged.

“Mr. Phillips had some disagreements with the administration,” she said firmly. “He’s been put on leave until the issues are resolved.”

That was a non-answer if I’d ever heard one, but no amount of prodding or poking could get anything more.

“Why?” whined Caroline Berman. “He was going to help me study!”

Mindy and I exchanged a shocked glance. Was Stone helping a bunch of female students with their classwork? Caroline was a plump blonde with generous curves, fat lips and a dull smile. What the hell?

And Ms. Henley shot Caroline a sharp look.

“Again, Stone Phillips has been placed on administrative leave and that’s all I can say at this time,” she said smoothly. “Now if you’ll let me introduce your substitute, Luther Wizener taught biology for thirty years in a neighboring school district before retiring last year.”

And the new sub stepped forward, a wizened old man who looked about ready to keel over.

“Thank you, Ms. Henley,” he wheezed, pausing with a hand on a desk to catch his breath. “Let’s start at meiosis. That’s where Mr. Phillips left off, is that right? Cell reproduction, my favorite.”

And I was frozen for the rest of the period, unable to focus, take notes, even pretend I was paying attention.

When Chip tried to talk to me after class, I just shot him a half-hearted smile before fleeing, promising to call him later. But instead, I walked the few blocks to Mr. Phillips’s apartment building.

“Hi,” I said to the doorman. “Evie Jones for Stone Phillips,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster.

And the old man shot me an inscrutable look, stiff in his red and blue uniform.

“Mr. Phillips isn’t available,” he said politely, turning back to his newspaper.

“But you didn’t even call upstairs!” I gasped. “How do you know he’s not available?”

The doorman just shot me another impenetrable look.

“This is the end of my shift,” he said coldly. “I’d know if Mr. Phillips was home.”

I gasped. It was four in the afternoon, where could my lover be? But try as I might, I couldn’t wring any answers out of the doorman.

“Please,” I begged, close to tears. “Just tell him that Evie dropped by, okay?”

And the old guy finally relented a little, nodding reluctantly.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “I’ll give him the message.”

And I trudged to the front door, letting myself out onto the sidewalk, Manhattan suddenly grey and featureless. Where was Stone? He’d been missing for days now, suddenly unavailable, and I was unable to reach him in the only ways I knew how. I was almost resolved to camping out in front of his building except that it seemed too pathetic. Besides the doorman already hated me and was staring at me menacingly through the glass-paned windows. So I took a deep breath and forced myself to start walking, placing one foot in front of another, sightless, numb. Where was my lover? We’d had an incredible time together, our minds connecting, our bodies attuned to one another like two halves of a whole. But where was he now? Why was he inaccessible? My heart filled with dread and I shivered uncontrollably although it wasn’t cold out. I just wanted to know where my man was … and if we could be together going forward.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Evie




A year later …

Chip slung his arm over my shoulders, almost squashing me.

“Heya, big girl,” he said nuzzling my hair fondly. “Ohhh, you smell good.”

And I smiled wanly. Because we’d both matriculated at State and Chip was my wannabe boyfriend. He wasn’t my boyfriend, I couldn’t go that far and made sure he knew it.

“I can’t Chip,” I’d explained halfheartedly one night. “I just can’t.”

“Is it me?” he’d asked, pained, his hulking form awkward on a small dorm couch. “Is it something I did?”

And I shook my head miserably.

“No, it’s me,” I choked. “I’m just not ready.”

Chip had perked up at that.

“Well no worries, that’s nothing that time can’t fix,” he said eagerly, sitting up straight. “If we hang out a lot together, I’m sure you’ll feel more ready as the year goes by,” he said, a hopeful look in his eyes.