“Uh-oh, was that a laugh?” Yusef says with a chuckle.
“No, you’re hearing things.” I sigh. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”
“Nah. You just need to drink some water and sleep that shit off. But . . . glad you came to the party tonight. You looked . . . happy.”
“Don’t I always look happy?”
“Nah, not really.”
“Damn,” I huff, pressing my lips together. Do I really look that miserable here? “Well, um, thanks for your help.”
“You want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep?”
“You’d . . . do that?”
“Yeah. Just in case he comes in, then I’ll hear you scream. Or just snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
He sucks his teeth. “Quit playing, girl, you know you snore.”
“Ugh. Okay, fine, I snore! But it’s not that loud.”
“Dude, what are you doing?”
Buddy happily licks the toes on my one foot hanging out the bathtub as Sammy stands over me.
“What?” I stir, rolling over. But one look at Sammy, I unfurl from the towels I used as blankets and scramble out of the tub.
“Uhhh, why were you sleeping in the bathtub?” Sammy asks, eyebrow raised.
“I . . . um, wasn’t feeling good. Thought I was going to throw up or something. So I stayed in here.”
Sammy inspects the tub, then shrugs. “Oh. Well, can you get out? I have to pee!”
In the hall, I check my phone. Yusef must have stayed on the call until way after I fell asleep. How . . . sweet of him. Especially for some crazy new girl who calls in the middle of the night, talking about demons.
Oh! The Post-it note!
I burst into my room, excited to see the pseudo love note to myself (or kind of from Yusef), relieved he would be right about the whole silly fiasco. I glance down and the Post-it sits by my bare foot, but it’s not facing the way I slipped it under the door. It’s been flipped, sticky side up. And there’s a drawing, but it’s not in the same pen I used. It’s in marker, bleeding through the paper. My skin goes cold as I grab it. Someone . . . or something drew another face. Not a smiley face, an angry face, the mouth made to look like sharp teeth.
And it’s in childlike handwriting.
PIPER!
Piper is eating her cereal at the kitchen island as I storm downstairs, slamming the Post-it in front of her.
“You think this is funny?” I roar.
Piper nonchalantly glances at the note, then back at me, mouth forming a sly half grin.
“What’s that?” she asks in a cheerful voice, and I want to shove her off the stool.
“Mari,” Mom says, setting her coffee down on the counter to step in between us. “Take it easy. What’s the matter with you?”
“She put this in my room!”
Piper’s face remains stoic. “No I didn’t. Ms. Suga did.”
Mom examines the Post-it, baffled. “What’s—”
“What’s going on?” Alec snaps, standing behind Piper.
“I think Marigold is sick, Daddy,” she says, full of fake concern. “She was sleeping in the bathtub last night.”
Mom crosses her arms. “Why were you sleeping in the bathtub?”
I fix my mouth to tell them about the man in my room and explain the Post-it note, until I look at Piper’s smug grin and realize, I can’t say shit. If I tell them what I saw, it’ll be a major red flag. They’ll use it as an excuse for me to take one of those at-home drug tests Mom keeps in her bathroom she thinks I don’t know about. I’ll fail it, instantly.
Mom stares at me, as if trying to take a read, as if she’s seen this part of me before. I straighten, snatching the note out of her hand.
“Food poisoning. But . . . I’m fine.”
Thirteen
“DUDE, THAT’S SERIOUSLY fucked up.”
Tamara and I are having our weekly FaceTime veg fest, including snacks and music. Mom and Alec took the kids to the movies, giving me a much-needed night alone and some quality girl time.
“Tell me about it,” I groan, sitting cross-legged at my desk. “IDK, maybe it was bad weed that sent me on a trip. And Piper must have overheard me talking to Yusef.”
“I told you to be careful, you don’t know those crazy people. I’ve been reading up on Cedarville . . . it was like a war zone back in the day. Crack had people walking around like zombies. Trust no one!”
That’s Tamara. My own Veronica Mars, she’s good at researching shit. She can pinpoint an address based on an Instagram pic. I told her she should open her own private-eye business. She’d rake in some serious cash and could buy herself a car.
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess you’re right. Clearly, I’m letting this town and their weirdo ways get to me.”
Even though I can’t stop thinking about what Erika told me regarding the Sterling Laws. It’s pretty fucked up and explains what really happened here more than any Wikipedia page could.
“You better get something to flush that shit out your system,” she warns me. “And quick. You don’t want your mama sending you to a farm.”
“Oooh! Good idea,” I agree, and set a new alarm.
11:00 a.m. ALARM: Buy detox kit.
Buddy, chewing on a bone by my bed, raises his head with a sniff. He stares out the open bedroom door, a low, deep growl rumbling from his throat.
“What’s up with Bud?” Tamara asks.
“Nothing. He’s just being a spazz. But seriously, what am I going to do about Piper? She needs to pay for this shit.”
Tamara sighs. “Mari, maybe you should just let it go. Take it easy on her.”
“Are you seriously coming to that little bitch’s defense?”
“Dude, you’re my girl, for real. But Piper . . . is just a kid. A kid who’s been through a whole lot. I mean, she lost her mama and found her grandmother dead after school. You would be seriously fucked up too, if that was you.”
Shame bubbles up, twisting my stomach in knots. Mom told me when Piper came home from first grade that day and found her grandmother unresponsive in her recliner, Piper sat by her feet and watched TV for five hours, until Alec came home. Maybe Piper really is just acting out after all she’s gone through.
“Well . . . when you put it that way,” I grumble. “Ughhhhh. I hate it when you’re right.”
Tamara frowns, leaning closer to the screen. “Hey, I thought you said you were home alone.”
“I am.”
Her face drops, her eyes bulging. “Dude . . . ,” she stutters. “S-s-s-s-omeone just walked by your door.”
I chuckle. “Very funny, asshole.”
But Tamara’s paling face makes my muscles clench.
“Mari, I’m not kidding,” she whispers closer to the screen. “Someone really just walked by your door. Like, for real.”
It takes several seconds for my brain to click into gear. I spin around and stare out into the empty hallway, listening to the silence.
“What did he . . . or she look like?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the door. It’s one thing for me to see something that’s not there. That would be a normal day. But it’s another when Tamara is seeing something too.