I grab a clean T-shirt, bra, underwear, and jeans instead from the dresser, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m a wreck. Didn’t wash and twist my hair yesterday. Guess I’ll be going for the high bun look all week. This is too much chaos for a Monday.
BEEP BEEP.
“Huh? Now what?”
7:20 a.m. ALARM: Pack your calculus textbook.
Oh right, test today. One I absolutely plan on failing since I didn’t study. Another thing I forgot to do. Feeling scattered, I stop to take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. This day is already off the rails and I haven’t even taken a piss. If I skip my run, it’ll give me about thirty extra minutes to look through my notes. I also need to make sense of all the stuff I found out about the Russo family. They’re definitely holding the city hostage. And if they are, the others must be too. But it’s hard doing all the research from my phone. Maybe I’ll stop by the library after school and use one of their computers.
Lotioned up and dressed, I’m battling with my hair when an alarm goes off again.
BEEP BEEP
“Are you kidding me?” I groan, snatching the phone off the dresser.
7:25 a.m. ALARM: Where is Buddy?
Weird. I mean, yeah, I have a bad memory. It’s why I leave little notes with my alarms. But why would I ask myself where Buddy is?
“He’s right here,” I mutter, glancing at his empty spot on the bed—Buddy didn’t sleep with me last night. I went out and left him home. Alone.
The room wobbles, motion sickness tiptoeing in as I set the phone down.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I chastise myself.
He’s probably downstairs with Sammy already. Relax!
Still, I slip on a hoodie as fast as I can. Need to see with my own eyes. Like, I know this is anxiety talking and I’m going to laugh about it later, but when it comes to Buddy, I don’t mess around. Just as I snatch my watch off the dresser . . .
BEEP BEEP
My stomach tenses, staring at the bomb ticking on the desk. I don’t want to pick it up. I’d rather throw it out the window and run it over with a car. But I cross the room, lead weights around my ankles.
7:26 a.m. ALARM: Did you remember to lock the door behind you last night?
I drop the phone as if it combusted and scalded my hand. The hairs on the back of my neck spike with frost and I spin around. Felt as if someone was standing right behind me, breathing down on me. But there’s no one. I’m alone. I’ve been alone all night. Haven’t I?
BEEP BEEP
My body jolts at the now-terrifying sound piercing the air. A hectic and raw ring. Straddled over the phone, I swallow before looking down.
7:27 a.m. ALARM: Someone may have gotten in. Again.
My pulse thumps against my eardrum as I try not to scream. That devil emoji takes me back to the Post-it note. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to regain some sort of composure. Because this isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.
“This is a dream,” I say softly.
BEEEEP BEEEEP
I jump five feet in the air, then snatch the phone up from the floor.
7:28 a.m. ALARM: Did you check the closet?
The closet?
I whip around, breath quickening. The accordion closet door is half-open, and from my angle, there’s nothing but neutral-colored clothes and shoes. If someone . . . or something was in there, I would see them. Still, holding my breath, I gingerly step closer, licking my dry lips, hands clammy.
Ready? One, two . . .
On three, with a quick shove, I push the panel aside, its wood creaking at the force. Empty. I clutch my chest, heart hammering.
“What the fuck—”
BEEP BEEP
The phone, now buzzing in my hand, lights up.
7:29 a.m. ALARM: Did you check under the bed before you went to sleep?
My stomach plummets to the basement, throat too dry to let out a scream. I peer over at the unmade bed. The sheets and comforter askew, the bed skirt . . . unmoving.
BEEP BEEP
7:30 a.m. ALARM: Looks like you didn’t.
There’s someone under my bed!
No way. There’s no freaking way someone is under my bed. Unless . . . there is. Unless this was their game all along.
And if there really is someone, I’ll only have seconds to run. But if there isn’t, I’ll be causing an insane amount of commotion for no reason. I have to look. I have to see.
One step, two steps . . . I creep toward the bed, scanning the rest of the room, which feels so much smaller than before. Grabbing the lamp off the desk, I raise it high, readying myself to smash it down and make a mad dash out the door. Hands shaking, I’m nearly hyperventilating as I slowly bend beside the bed, gathering a corner of the bed skirt with one hand. Heart jackhammering, I still myself.
Ready? One, two . . .
On three, I rip back the skirt and poke my head under. Nothing.
“Ugh. You gotta be shitting me . . .”
BEEP BEEP
The phone lights up the dark space as I read the message.
7:31 a.m. ALARM: Did you check for bedbugs?
At that moment, the scream stuck inside me shoots out.
“AHHHHH!”
The spot on my arm erupts, and I hit my head on the metal bedframe, crawling backward.
“Mari?” Mom’s voice calls from downstairs. “You okay?”
I spray my arms with rubbing alcohol, stripping, scanning my body in the mirror for bites. Black spots gloss over my eyes and I fall onto the floor. My chest is a tightening fist, the room wavy. I gasp for air, scrambling to find my inhaler. With two puffs, I slump in front of the fan, tugging at the bra digging into my sternum, waiting for my heart to ease.
I know I didn’t set that alarm. I wouldn’t be crazy enough to set any of those alarms. But someone did. Someone knew I went out last night. Someone was playing with my phone. Someone was trying hard to scare the shit out of me.
And there’s only one person I know who would be that cruel.
Piper!
Anger injects adrenaline straight into my system. Flinging open the bedroom door, I fly down the steps.
“Morning, Mari,” Mom says, smiling. But I stalk past her, toward Piper, aiming for her neck.
Piper’s eyes widen the moment she realizes and jumps from her stool, screaming.
“DAAAADDYYYYYY!” she shrieks, and takes off running. But I’m already on her tail, close enough to grab a handful of her hair, jerking her back like a yo-yo.
“AHHHH! DADDY, HELP ME!!”
“You little shit! You stupid little—”
“Mari! What are you doing?” Mom shouts, snatching my wrist, trying to shove me off with her shoulder. “Let go of her! Right now!”
But I’m seeing red and out for blood. I yank harder.
“DADDY!”
Piper squirms, squeaking as Alec comes rushing down the stairs.
“Oh my God,” he shouts, yoking Piper. “GET OFF HER!”
But my grip is firm, leaving Piper caught in a brutal game of tug-of-war.
“LET GO! LET GO!”
“DADDY, PLEASE, DADDY!!”
“Mari?”
A shell-shocked Sammy, standing in the living room with Buddy, breaks my concentration. I loosen my grip, and Mom and I fall back onto the floor.
Alec consoles a hysterical Piper, patting her scalp. Mom pulls me to my feet, shaking my shoulders.
“Mari, what the hell is going on?” Mom screams. “And why do you smell like rubbing alcohol?”