CHAPTER 58
1108 Words
Sucking in a deep breath to prepare herself, Calla opened the door and leaned
against the frame. Vincent stood on her front porch, a sheepish look on his face and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, which still had the remnants of bruising beneath
them. He looked like he'd just come back from the locker room, his athletic bag
slung over one shoulder, dressed in only shorts and a tank top that left
approximately nothing to the imagination. He didn't seem fazed by the cold at all.
"Hey," he said, shifting from foot to foot. "Mind if I...?"
"Sure." Calla stepped aside to let him in, glancing into the kitchen. "Mom? Mind if I
bring company to my room?"
"Sure, sweetheart," her mother called from the living room, her voice drifting from
around the kitchen corner. She sounded completely distracted, the TV volume on
blast.
She probably thinks it's Cooper, Calla thought, shutting the door behind Vincent.
Vincent followed her down the hall to her room. For all his bulk, he barely made a
sound, moving with a surprising level of grace. She put a finger to her lips to
emphasize the need for stealth as they escaped to her room. And then she locked
the door, bracing her back against it.
"So," she murmured, taking care to keep her voice low. "You said you wanted to
talk?"
He dropped his bag on the floor and took off his hat, rubbing his hand through damp
hair. "Yeah."
He glanced around her room, trying and failing to be surreptitious about it. He did a
quick spin, soaking in the empty walls. "Not big into decor, huh?"
She pointed to a corkboard over her shoulder, next to the bedroom door. It was the
only ornamentation in the room. He leaned forward to examine the pictures pinned
there—mostly a tribute to Rachel, including a polaroid of the two embracing the first
day of freshman year.
He stepped away and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed he'd intruded on
such a personal part of her life. "So..."
"So?" Calla sat on the edge of her bed. Dull afternoon light filtered in through her
half-shuttered windows. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she was
wearing her rattiest pair of sweatpants. "What's up?"
"Well...ah. This was a lot easier in my head," he mumbled, at a loss. He began
pacing, his long legs taking him across her room in just a few steps. "Hold on."
"Take your time," she drawled, tilting her head to the side, a smile playing on her
lips.
He wasn't as amused. He shot her a look and found his voice. "Are you and
Cooper...?"
"No," she said simply, shrugging.
He stopped pacing and turned to face her, crossing his arms—which was far more
distracting than she'd anticipated. "Oh?"
"Uh, yeah." Calla forced her eyes to stay up. "He's not my type. I'm flattered you're
jealous, though."
"I—no one said I was jealous!"
She gave him a significant look. "Then why are you avoiding Cooper?"
He leaned back against her doorframe, flustered. Color had risen to his cheeks, and
his dark eyes darted around the room. "I'm not."
"Vincent," Calla complained, deciding to tell the truth without giving away the whole
game. "He won't stop badgering me about you! Just talk to him, okay? Cooper and I are not a thing."
"You two hang out all the time now," Vincent grumbled, bitter. "And you're both
so... secretive about it. He doesn't tell me anything anymore—"
"We're friends now. Kind of," she explained, tilting her hand back and forth in an iffy
gesture. "Remember that talk we had last semester?"
He was surprised at the sudden change in topic. "Yeah?"
His answer pleased her, which was odd. What should it matter if he remembered
anything about their first real conversation?
"You got me thinking about how Coop and I used to be close," Calla admitted,
pulling the explanation straight from her ass. It took every ounce of technique she'd
learned over the years not to roll her eyes. "You were right. Things were different
when we were little. And ever since Rachel...well."
Vincent looked stricken. He began to pace again, not knowing what to do with his
hands. Shove them in his pockets? Run them through his hair? He did both, growing
more agitated by the second.
"I didn't mean...I get that. But you two coulda just...just told me that," he burst out.
Calla gave him a warning look and he winced, glancing at her closed door.
Yeah, we totally could have told you all about our hunt for a serial killer. Because, oh! I
started this whole thing when I killed Tracy. Whoopsie.
Calla sighed, pushing her hair out of her face. She'd forgotten to put it up earlier, her
thoughts consumed by Cooper and Vincent and Cory and—
Christ. When had boys become such a problem in her life?
"Look," Calla murmured, putting a measure of softness in her voice. "We didn't think
to tell you because nothing is going on. It never even crossed our minds to give you
a heads-up because we're—just—friends. Just friends."
"Well..." Vincent sighed, flushing. He turned his head to the side to try and hide his
embarrassment as he leaned against her bathroom door. "I'm an ass, huh?"
"Yup."
He sighed again.
"Come here."
He glanced at her, surprised, as she patted the spot next to her on the edge of the
bed. He rubbed his jaw
courtesy of Gareth Walker.
"Well?"
He pushed off from the wall and plopped down next to her. "So we agree that
maybe I...overreacted?"
"Just text Coop, will you? I'm tired of his melodramatic whining."
He smirked. "That does sound like Coop. Sorry 'bout that."
Calla hugged her knees to her chest, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "I
have a question for you now."
Don't go down this path, Calla, she reprimanded herself. Don't make things more
complicated than they need to be.
I'm not being complicated, another part of her argued—the part of her that was still
stuck in that empty hall, wrapped in fire. I'm just asking a simple question.
"Oh?" Vincent laid back on her bed, suddenly at ease, and crossed his arms behind
his head. He looked happier than he had in weeks, as if a weight had been lifted
from his shoulders. A droplet of water ran down the side of his neck. Calla felt a
strange urge to reach forward and brush the skin there.
- Writer
