Every other day(43)

There are some benefits to being bitten.

As Zev’s words echoed in my head, I realized how very close I was standing to Bethany. How fast her heart was pounding. How hungry the thing inside me was. I was fast and strong and more than I’d been two days before—and the chupacabra wanted blood.

Twenty-one hours and nine minutes.

“You can’t come in,” Bethany snapped, bringing me back to the present.

“Evidence would suggest otherwise,” Skylar commented, following my lead and stepping into the house.

“Get out.”

“Nope.” Skylar grinned. “I want to see Château Davis. You’ve been dating my brother for six months, and you’ve stolen my tampons twice. The least you can do is give me a tour.”

“Skylar,” Bethany said, her voice cracking. “Please, both of you, just get out.”

“Bethany?”

I half expected to run into Bethany’s father, but instead, the voice that had issued that query was clearly female.

“You guys need to go,” Bethany said again, her voice low and urgent.

“Bethany, dear,” the voice called from the other room, “have you seen Tyler?”

Bethany flinched. A moment later, her face was a blank canvas, flat and unreadable. She plastered on a smile and turned around, just as a woman wearing heels and a white silk bathrobe stepped into the room. She had long, wavy hair that straddled the line between blonde and red. Her eyes were wide, her smile inviting.

“Oh dear,” she said. “I didn’t realize Bethie had guests.”

“They were just leaving,” Bethany said.

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. They should at least stay for breakfast. Have you seen your brother? It’s omelet day, and you know how he feels about those.”

Bethany stood up a little straighter, and her face softened.

“Okay, Mom. Okay.”

I wasn’t sure what Bethany was saying “okay” to, but it seemed to satisfy her mother, who ran a smoothing hand over the white silk robe.

“I ought to get dressed,” she said absentmindedly. “Something’s not right.”

“Everything’s fine,” Bethany said. “I promise.”

Her mother nodded, and a second later she was gone, leaving the three of us in the foyer, silent, the air thick with all of the things we weren’t saying.

“She’s the one you’re helping,” Skylar said. “Your mom. What did your dad say he’d do for her if you kept your mouth shut about what happened out on the highway this morning?”

In my mind, I rephrased Skylar’s question—what did he say he’d do to your mother if you didn’t?

“It’s none of your business,” Bethany said, her voice low and full of warning. “You never saw her. She’s fine.”

I couldn’t shake the look in Mrs. Davis’s eyes, the singsong tone to her voice. I’d seen her before, at university functions. She’d seemed fine.

Normal.

Like Bethany, only older.

What’s wrong with her? I wondered, but that wasn’t the kind of question you asked out loud.

So instead, I asked something else. “Who’s Tyler?”





Bethany left us in the foyer. She didn’t say a word, didn’t respond to the question. If I’d had more practice with the whole “friend” thing, maybe I would have known what to say or do next, but I didn’t.

“She’ll be back,” Skylar said. I wasn’t so sure, but up until now, Skylar’s instincts had been right on point. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to turn her focus from Bethany to me. “Bethany wasn’t wrong,” she said slowly. “Was she? About you going through the windshield, about your broken neck?”

Don’t tell her.

This time, I didn’t object to Zev weighing in or the advice he was dispensing. That was how I’d always gotten by, how I survived. By not opening my mouth. By keeping people at arm’s length.

“My neck isn’t broken,” I said stiffly. “I’m fine.”

“People only ever say they’re fine when they’re not.” With those words, Skylar’s eyes went from my face to my stomach. Even clothed in the tank top, I felt naked. I felt like she could see straight through me.

I don’t know what would have happened next, if Bethany’s mother hadn’t interrupted our little standoff. All smiles, she came back into the room garbed in a twin set and jeans, every inch the suburban soccer mom. For a moment, I thought she was going to offer us lemonade or something, but instead, she fixed her gaze on a spot about a foot in front of Skylar and me.

“Tyler,” she said, in one of those mom voices—halfway between exasperation and indulgence. “Stop pestering Bethany’s friends.”