Anyway, what Tess considers nice, and what I consider nice, are surely different things.
I decide on a black jumper with a long-sleeved white shirt underneath, some black and red kitten heels with very subtle werewolf faces on the toes, and a black denim jacket. Since I really am trying here, I remove most of the pins on the lapels before heading downstairs.
Parrish is in the kitchen, but Tess is nowhere to be seen.
He looks up and spots me there, taking in my outfit with a single, sweeping glance. I notice that he presses his butter knife against the bread so hard that when he goes to spread the mustard on it, it sort of breaks into pieces.
“Is Tess around?” I ask as he watches me, shoving the remainder of the ruined bread into the trash compactor and then grabbing the half-gallon of milk instead. A different teenage face stares back at me with the same headline: MISSING CHILD. Way to rub it in universe, thanks. Yeah, I remember who I am alright.
My worries seem small though in comparison to that missing boy’s. There is still a serial killer haunting the Seattle metro area. Shit, that dude is likely dead, just like the others. There are a lot of them, too, enough to get multiple agencies involved in the investigation.
Twelve teens dead; no clues of any worth.
I know more than I want to, thanks to Parrish and Chasm and their obsession with that Emerald City Murder Podcast. Gross.
Parrish shakes his head in a tacit response to my question, lifting the milk to his lips. My eyes find his throat as he swallows, watching the muscles contract with each gulp. My jaw tightens in response, and I tear my gaze away, glad to see that the sofa is empty and Kimber is nowhere to be seen. I can stand up for myself, but it gets tiring after a while, especially since, even after a month and a half, she won’t lay off.
“We’re having breakfast at the club,” I say, because it feels suddenly awkward in here. There’s just something about being alone with Parrish that makes me uneasy. And not uneasy in the way it should. Uneasy in a ‘butterflies in the belly and sweaty palms’ sort of a way. Nothing’s happened between us since the last time we kissed, but I noticed that as soon as Parrish was aware that Chasm was tutoring me, he started leaving his door open so he could spy on us.
“Always fun,” he replies succinctly, frowning as he sets the milk down on the counter and drags his arm across his full, pouty mouth. His pants are far too low on his hips, and as per usual, he isn’t wearing a shirt. It’s like he expects the rest of us to feel privileged for being allowed to see his art. Maybe he should sell tickets?
I roll my eyes, and he narrows his in response.
“Parrish,” Tess says when she appears from the direction of the pool area. “I’m getting tired of telling you to use a glass. And to put on a shirt. You have teenage sisters in the home, and they shouldn’t have to look at your nipples all day, every day.”
Parrish’s gold-flecked eyes light on my face, as if in challenge, but he just grabs a wadded up black t-shirt from the counter and yanks it over his head. It strains across the muscles in his upper chest as he tugs it into place, leaving it to gather just above his belly button, so I can see a tantalizing bit of skin between the tee and his pants.
“Whatever,” is his response as he takes the milk and moves past me toward the staircase. A shiver takes over me, but since Tess is standing right there, staring at me with that intensity that makes me so damn uncomfortable, I don’t react—even though Parrish smells like clovers and clean linen.
My hands fist in the legs of my jumper as Tess looks me over.
Me and my hideous nose, right?
My mouth twitches, but I refuse to let it turn down into a frown. Sometimes, people hurt others without meaning to. If I don’t tell Tess how I feel, she won’t know or understand. I resolve to do just that during breakfast.
“Shall we then?” she asks cheerily, dressed in a short-sleeved beige suit jacket and matching slacks. With her hair coiffed and her makeup subtle but expertly applied, she looks like a senator or something. I can tell by her facial expression that she isn’t happy with my outfit today anymore than she was happy with the one from my first day here.
God.
It’s only been five and a half weeks since I arrived on a plane to SeaTac airport, situated in business class beside a woman who was a virtual stranger. Who still is a stranger. I feel like I know Parrish better than Tess. My first time on an airplane, and it wasn’t for any of the reasons I’d dreamed.
“Shall we take your car?” Tess asks me cheerily, plucking the key fob from the hook in the hall and giving me an overly bright smile. She’s trying too hard. Or maybe I’m not trying hard enough. There are no advice columns for how to deal with a situation like this. Trust me: I Googled it. The only things I found were articles about Alexis Manigo aka Kamiyah Mobley—a girl with nearly the exact same situation as me—and a book titled The Face on the Milk Carton.
Neither of those things helped.
I still feel alone and weird when I’m at home. School isn’t so bad now that I have Danyella and Lumen. Since neither of us has any real dating prospects—Parrish does not count as one, even if I were inclined to want him to be—Lumen and I have let the rumor that we’re going out hold tight. It keeps my social status up so that people generally leave me alone. And by people, I mostly mean Parrish.
“Sounds great,” I reply back with as much carefully calculated perk as I can manage. Together, we get into the BMW and Tess proceeds to give me a quickie driving lesson. After that, we leave the garage and I’m disappointed to see that the reporters are back, although substantially less in number. The best thing for drama is to remove the kindling from the fire. People get bored quick and move on just as fast.
As we drive, I play with my phone, just so I don’t have to absorb the awkward silence in the car.
There’s a text from an unknown number.
You got a B on your Japanese test, huh? Not bad, Little Sister.
A smile tilts my lips before I get control of it. Tess keeps flicking her eyes my way, like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how. I’d rather not try to find a way to explain that I’m grinning at a text from Kwang-seon ‘Chasm’ McKenna.
I program Parrish’s BFF into my phone and then try to think up a witty reply. When nothing comes, I send a meme that shows a girl perched on a boy’s chest like he’s a computer chair, her mic on and her screen showing a record number of kills.
He responds with a string of skull emojis and a pic of himself giving the middle finger.
I’m not entirely sure where we’re at as far as friendship goes, but this is better than the quips we were throwing at each other for the first few weeks. I guess he is sort of a nice guy, when he isn’t being hypocritical and trying to kiss me by a lake that he seems to own. Grr.
Turning the volume down on my phone, I very quickly pull up Parrish’s TikTok just to see if the video he made about me is still there. It is, and I frown, closing the app quickly. I’m not entirely sure why I thought he’d remove it, but I’m disappointed anyway.
“We could shop for things for your room today,” Tess suggests as I wonder why shopping is the only thing she seems to want to do with me. I’m not much for hikes, but I’d prefer if she asked me on one. Or we could watch a movie together. My grandpa and I always cooked together, but … it seems like that’s not Tess’ thing. Nor is gardening, another activity I enjoyed doing with my family. We could hang out in the pool together. Hit up a brick-and-mortar bookstore. Or do ‘the Kindle thing’ that Maxine and I still do together: pick a genre of book and set a fifteen-minute timer. We have to come up with five new titles we’ve never seen before, and then we each get to pick what the other person is reading and come up with a review. “I saw some really cute things at Pottery Barn Teen.”