“I didn’t know you were home,” Stella says, looking like a kid caught sneaking an extra cookie. Yeah, a Xander-shaped cookie. Her two-shades-darker-than-her-hair eyebrows draw into a frown. “I thought you were meeting—”
“I’m not,” I interrupt. She knows exactly where I was supposed to be right now. I don’t need the reminder. I don’t even want to hear his name.
She looks surprised, but doesn’t comment. Smart girl. In my present mood, I’m itching to test my current powers control. She would make the perfect guinea pig. In fact—
“Xander and I were just talking about you actually,” she says, giving him a warm smile and distracting me before I actually try to turn her into a rodent. She is blissfully unaware of how close she came to becoming someone’s pet. “Discussing that exercise I was telling you about earlier.”
I glance at the object of her adoration. He’s standing just inside the door, like he’d rather keep out of the line of fire, with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. Watching me with those unusual lavender eyes, he doesn’t move a muscle. Like a statue. His face remains unreadable.
Typical guy. Keeps everything hidden so you have to guess what he’s thinking. So a girl’s imagination can run rampant until confronted with incontrovertible proof of her suspicions.
“Good for you.” I snap my magazine shut and get up from the couch. If they’re going to be here, giggling and talking about me, I’m locking myself in my room. Figuratively, of course, since my door doesn’t lock.
“Actually”—she glances at Xander—“we could try that exercise with the glass of water—”
“Not,” I say, my pent-up emotion barely contained, “tonight.”
I can practically hear her mouth drop.
She’ll get over it. Or not. Either way, playing counselor and camper is not on my agenda for the night. The last thing I want is to be around people. Solitude and the comfort of my bed are calling. That, and a box of tissues.
I’m almost to my room when I feel a hand clamp over my shoulder.
“Running away isn’t going to help,” Xander says.
“I’m not running away from anything.” I spin around, shrugging off his hand. “I’m going to my room for some privacy, thank you very much.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his brows, like he dares me to lie again. “Denying your feelings can affect your powers.”
“Oh yeah?” I snap brilliantly. “You don’t know anything about my feelings. Or my situation.”
“I know more than you think.” He steps closer, his voice barely a growl. “You mentioned my expulsion earlier. Do you know why I was expelled?”
I shake my head.
“Because three years ago,” he whispers, “I had to take the test.” His mouth is right next to my ear when he adds, “And I didn’t pass.”
My heart thwacks against my chest. Xander is the other student who had to take the test. Xander failed the test. Xander got expelled for a year.
“What did you—” I shake my head and start over. “What happened when you failed?”
He leans back, his lavender eyes completely blank.
“I hope you never find out,” he says. Then he turns and stalks through the kitchen and out the back door.
Stella stares at the door for several seconds, before turning on me. “What did you—”
“You couldn’t have told me earlier?” I snap.
Her cheeks flush and I think, for the first time since we met, she’s actually embarrassed about something. Good.
“You lied,” I accuse. “About your student passing the test.”
“I didn’t,” she insists. “I was Xander’s tutor after he failed. I helped him pass on his second attempt.”
“Whatever.”
I spin and head for my room.
The roller coaster is finally getting to me. Thankfully, I make it to the safety of my room and collapse on my bed before the tears start. I think I’m going through what therapist Mom would call an emotional release. More like an emotional flood. Between the looming test and my dad’s missing record and Griffin, it’s amazing my emotions are holding together at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if they just gave up on me altogether and—
Knock, knock.
Over the pounding beat of my heart, I wipe at my tears and say, “I’m not here.”
Whoever it is doesn’t wait for a response.
“Phoebe?” Griffin asks. “I thought we were meeting at seven.”
His voice sounds perfectly normal.
Of course it does. He doesn’t know what I know—what I saw, what I felt. Why should he even suspect that I know he’s back with his ex-girlfriend? He must think he’s kept it a pretty tight secret.