“I know,” I grumble. “Low blow, but I’m sick of her shit.”
“You know Ms. Tattletale is going to rat us out, right?”
I sigh. “Yeah. I know.”
Piper sits on the porch steps for the rest of the afternoon, waiting for Alec to come home. Contract workers don’t miss a beat, maneuvering around her like water around a rock, loading new building materials, racing against some imaginary clock.
Mom busies herself in the kitchen, making our favorite: black bean burgers on sweet potato slices with zucchini fries. Mom used to be a meat eater before Sammy was born and we learned he was allergic to the world. She switched gears, studied nutrition, and learned how to make everything from cauliflower crust to vegan butter.
“We should have internet by Friday,” Mom says, grabbing a plate of veggie snacks with garlic hummus from the fridge, laying them out on the counter.
“Best news I heard all week,” I mumble.
“And no wonder Irma’s pushing for it,” she says, scrolling through her phone. “I swear that woman has sent more than a dozen emails and invites. School district functions, board meetings, then a kickoff benefit. I haven’t even written ten words for that New York Times piece due on Friday. Between the move, deadlines, and these contractors . . . Hey, have you seen my zucchini spiralizer?”
“No.”
“Hm. I know I unpacked it. Feels like I’m going crazy, I keep misplacing things.”
I glance at the porch, at Piper sitting upright on the steps, clearly listening in through the screen door.
That little asshole.
I move to slam the front door and see Mr. Watson in the sitting room, packing up some tools. It wasn’t until he shifted the ladder propped on the wall that I noticed the intricate carvings on the fireplace, newly stained.
“Hey, Mr. Watson,” I say, drawn to it.
He glances up, nods, and continues wrapping up his saw.
I trace a finger around the family crest.
Same as in the other house. . . .
If this house was in similar condition to the house on the corner, it would’ve been easier to just demolish and start from scratch. Except they didn’t; they kept it. Almost as if they wanted it to stay the same.
“Mr. Watson, have you worked on all the houses in this neighborhood?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. First time I’ve been over here since I was a boy.”
“Why did they decide to renovate rather than just tear this place down?”
He takes a swig of water, avoiding my eyes. “Don’t know. Took over for Smith, who took over for Davis, who replaced all the pipes that were stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“Yeah, folks like to steal house materials, bring them down to the scrapyard. You can get good money for copper pipes. Davis switched everything to plastic.”
“So, there were three separate contract companies working on this house over the last year?”
“The last four months, actually. There were more.”
“Why so many?”
He hesitates before shrugging and returning to his work.
A new boiler and plastic pipes mean the perfect water temperature for wash day.
As steam swirls, fogging up the bathroom mirrors, I detangle my twist out, examining the welt under my eye. Maybe I could cover it up with makeup, the thick kind I used to use when acne left craters on my face.
The last time I washed my hair was in California water, and the style survived the move. But no telling what it’ll do here. Gonna need to try a few styles before school starts so I don’t end up the butt of some stupid jokes. Bad enough I’m walking in there as the new girl during her junior year. I also want to kick myself for wondering if Yusef will be in any of my classes. Shouldn’t be worried about boys while I’m on the road to self-healing. Boys are nothing but distractions.
Still, he’s nice to look at.
I lift the knob above the faucet. The showerhead hums before water coughs out a steady stream. I step into the tub, pulling closed the shower curtain with a picture of a giant sunflower. Mom chose to decorate most of the house in bright yellows, blues, and oranges to remind us of sunnier, warmer days. My room will remain stark white, light enough for me to check for bedbugs.
The warm cascading water soaking through my hair is heaven on my scalp. That “ahhhh” feeling never gets old. I relish the natural massage with a few deep breaths, and just as I lean my head back and close my eyes, the water vanishes.
“What the hell?”
The knob for the shower is down, water racing out of the faucet, kicking the backs of my heels. I pull it back up and continue with my regimen—two washes with sulfate-free peppermint shampoo, fifteen-minute deep conditioner, then detangling with a wide-tooth comb before a cold-water rinse. I’m elbows deep in suds when the shower shuts off again and a cool breeze hits my neck, making me shiver. Weird. It hasn’t done this before. I lift the knob once more, jiggling it into place.
Just let me get through this last wash. . . .
It stays, giving me enough time to wash the soap out from roots to tip. I stick my head under the pouring water and take another deep breath, wishing it was ocean water instead of Cedarville’s best tap.
Will I ever see the beach again? Do I even want to?
I open one eye to reach for the deep conditioner and see a shadow through the curtain as a shaky hand reaches for the knob.
“AHHHH!”
I reel back, hitting my head on the tile wall, and slip, catching air before landing on my ass. Ooof! Water shoots down on my face, filling my nostrils and mouth, until I scramble onto my hands and knees, shutting it off.
I snatch back the curtain, heart pounding. No one. The bathroom is empty. But the door is wide open, softly swinging into the wall.
Within seconds, I hop out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and rush into the hallway.
Sammy’s back is to me, heading toward his room.
“Hey!”
He swivels, hands loaded with various snacks and an apple in his mouth like he’s a pig about to be roasted at the bonfire.
“That wasn’t funny, Sammy! You scared the shit out of me.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t ‘huh’ me. That prank was hella weak.”
He drops two bags of popcorn on the floor, freeing a hand to grab the apple silencing him. “Prank? Do I look like someone who has time for pranks?”
Soapy suds drip down my hair onto the carpet. My pulse a drum.
“SOMEONE was just in the bathroom. SOMEONE kept turning off the freaking water.”
“Ew. Why would I be in the bathroom with you naked? That’s all kinds of gross.”
“Sammy, I’m serious!”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, what did this someone look like?”
“I don’t know! My eyes were closed.”
“You saw someone with your eyes closed?”
“It’s . . . hard to explain, Sammy,” I gasp, realizing I was holding my breath. I grip my chest, trying to loosen the tightness in my lungs.
Sammy drops the sarcasm and the rest of his snacks, leading me into my room as I pinch my towel together, trying to gather air with a free hand. I sit on the bed, putting my head between my legs, and inhale the lemongrass essential oil I dab on my palm.
Sammy passes my inhaler, shaking his head. “You sure you didn’t just get soap in your eye and freak yourself out?”