I rolled up my sleeve and returned the glass to its spot next to the sink.
Then I turned back to the tub.
The water was perfectly level with the top again.
Okay, no.
I stepped closer and peered down into the bathtub.
A face peered back at me — pale, with dark circles under the eyes. A slack, sullen mouth. A halo of short curls.
Not my face —
That is not my face.
I jumped back, slamming into the wall behind me — and the light switch — flooding the room with bright light. For a second, I searched my reflection in the mirror, praying I’d see dark circles, lips sullenly parted, a hint of curl in my hair. Anything to convince me that the face I’d just seen had been my own … and not the face of a stranger.
It didn’t work.
Forget this. You’re beyond tired. You’re completely lacking any sense of judgment.
I started to back out of the bathroom. I should never — never ever ever — have come in here. And I never ever ever planned to do so again.
I pulled the office door open.
A shadow blocked the doorway.
I shrieked and stumbled backward, losing my balance and crashing to the floor, nearly taking a table lamp with me.
When I looked up, the shadow was directly over me, like a monster about to destroy its cornered victim.
“Willa?”
The voice did not belong to a monster. It belonged to Jonathan.
He flipped on the lamp and stood watching me, his expression wary. My mother hurried to his side. “Willa? What’s going on? We heard someone walking around.”
I shielded my eyes from the sudden brightness. “I heard something dripping.”
Jonathan had his arms crossed, waiting for me to get to the part about why I was in his office.
I sat up and dusted my hands off on my pajama pants. “I checked all of the other bathrooms first — but I could tell it had to be coming from in here.”
“How could you tell that?” Jonathan asked.
“With my ears.” I hadn’t meant it to sound disrespectful, but judging by the way Jonathan’s brow furrowed in annoyance, I knew it had come out that way.
“Did you find anything?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “And it’s weird.”
I thought it would be easier if they just looked for themselves, so I pointed to the bathroom. They filed in, Jonathan first.
I got to my feet and listened for their exclamations of surprise.
But there was silence.
“Willa?” Mom asked. “What is it? What did you find?”
Some part of me knew, as I came around the corner and peered through the doorway, that something was wrong.
The bathtub was perfectly empty and dry.
Words probably needed to be said, but none presented themselves. I felt like I had a mouthful of dirt.
“Where’s the leak?” Jonathan’s dark eyes flashed. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he carried himself with so much authority that he seemed to loom above me like the monster I’d mistaken him for.
For the second time in a week, I found myself scrambling to cover my tracks.
“That’s it,” I said. “I found … nothing. And that’s weird, because I definitely heard something.”
“You heard something,” Jonathan said. “Here. In my office bathroom.”
I nodded.
“Behind the closed door,” he said. “From all the way across the house.”
“Yes,” I said. “I swear.”
My mother inhaled. I waited for the exhale, but it started to seem like she was going to hold her breath forever.
I decided to break the silence. “How was the movie?”
“Not bad,” Mom said.
“Terrible,” Jonathan said. “Painfully derivative.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well … I guess I’ll go back to bed.”
I led the way back to the hall, and they followed behind me, like my own private security detail.
“Good night,” I said, starting to duck into my room.
“Hold on,” Jonathan said. “Please.”
I turned around. They stood at the top of the stairs, shrouded in shadows.
“In the future,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t go in my office without permission. There are sensitive papers in there. Confidential.”
“Right.” My voice came out as a puff of air. “Sorry.”
“No harm done.” His voice sounded easy and relaxed, but his body language was rigid. “We’ll call a plumber tomorrow to check things out.”
I nodded and watched as he and Mom went downstairs together. Mom clutched his arm like she could hold on to him and keep him from bolting out of our lives.
I went into my room and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, for hours.
And the house was silent the whole time.
Saturday afternoon, my phone buzzed with a text from Marnie: Hey Connecticut. Hangsies today? 2ish? Your house?
I’d spent the morning hiding out in my room, avoiding Mom and Jonathan. In spite of my resolution to swear off, um, hangsies and live a miserable, isolated existence for the good of everyone around me, the boredom was already getting old.
So I replied, Sure.
A half hour later, Marnie steered a pale blue convertible BMW into the driveway. The top was automatically closing itself over her head as I came out to meet her.
I was curious to see what she’d wear outside of school. Based on what little I knew of her, I’d imagined her to be an all-black-and-combat-boots type. But she was wearing skinny jeans and a ruffly white tank top with flip-flops. Her sunglasses were sparkly blue. I was a little disappointed, to be honest — I’d expected something more dramatic.
She checked out my outfit, too, which had to be a huge bummer for her. I had on an olive-green long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of overalls my mom had owned since the early ’90s. My hair was in a low, sloppy bun. My feet were bare, but during my time alone that morning, I’d painted my toenails bubble-gum pink.
So I had that going for me, I guess.
Marnie hugged me, then stood back. “You look like a boy,” she said. “Not in a bad way. A cute boy.”
My mother, whose plans for the day consisted of making some crazy-elaborate dinner, was in the kitchen when we went inside. Mom seemed to like Marnie, but she also seemed a little thrown by her cynical vibe. Mostly, my mother seemed relieved I’d made a friend — that I wasn’t doomed to life as a shut-in chasing around imaginary dripping sounds in the night.
Jonathan, thankfully, was off scouting a location for a movie, so I didn’t have to deal with that potentially awkward interaction. I gave Marnie a quick tour of the house — she didn’t seem impressed, though she did say that the pool was “decent, if you’re into that kind of thing.”
I actually found it comforting, the way Marnie scoffed at things. It was like she knew the world was messed up, so what was the use of trying to pretend it wasn’t?
We hung out in my room for a while and Marnie filled me in on all the major Langhorn gossip, starting back in eighth grade. She was happy just to have an audience, and I was happy just to listen. She didn’t ask any hard questions about my life in Connecticut or how I was adjusting to California. It was so much easier than having to conceal what I was really thinking.
For a moment, I actually considered confiding in her. I could start by casually mentioning that the house was a little spooky, and I heard strange-ish sounds sometimes — I even thought I’d seen something in the pool. But where could I go from there? Would I really tell her about the visions and voices? It was such a small, slippery slope from strange-ish to crazy. And Marnie was my only friend.