Lindsay closed the door quietly. She grabbed the binoculars and went up to her room.
Lindsay stood next to the window seat, adjusting the binoculars, focusing on the window of the house next door, but she didn’t see the boy. The light was out in his room and not so much as a shadow moved. After a few minutes, she felt like a perv, and hid the binoculars under the green cushion before logging onto the web. She surfed around for a while, but the long day had exhausted her, and soon enough she turned off her computer and crossed the hall to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Ten minutes later, she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The house was so quiet she could hear music playing next door. It was strange. It sounded New Agey, with the muffled chime of bells and a small drum being rapped beneath a moaning melody like chanting. Maybe the kid’s grandparents were hippies or something. Her friend Trey’s grandparents were like that. They wore headbands and said things like “groovy,” “peace,” and “far out” a lot. They really liked a place called Woodstock and a band called Happy Dead or something like that. Of course, Lindsay had no idea what that band sounded like. They might be just like the odd monotone voices she was hearing, punctuated by chimes and drums. They probably were.
Don’t let it be his music, she thought. How sad would that be? A hot guy who listened to decaf tunes? That would be tear-worthy.
The moaning chant rose in volume, sounding deep and ominous.
Then a cry pierced through the muffled music. It sounded like someone was in pain. And it didn’t seem to be part of the drum and chant song. Lindsay looked at the window, worried. Did someone outside need help?
Is it part of the song?
Afraid, Lindsay curled up tightly under the covers. The sound didn’t come again, though she strained to hear. After a while, the music stopped and the night grew silent. Then she rolled over, faced the wall, and waited for sleep to come.
3
Lindsay woke to sunshine, the fear of the night forgotten. A wedge of golden light fell through the window, cutting a swath across the room and the end of her bed. Her parents moved around in their room at the other end of the hall. She heard their footsteps and their voices. Her mom giggled, and her dad made a growling noise. Lindsay did her best to ignore them. She felt great. Rested. Clear-headed. She wanted to pretend she was alone in this house and shared the beach with no one but the boy next door.
Lindsay rolled over and snuggled deeper into the quilt. He would be hot, she decided. No way did he listen to that hippie music. He would be young and cool and totally into extreme sports. A guy didn’t get a body like that by playing video games all day. He was probably at the beach to surf. So cool. And he wouldn’t be one of the immature guys she met at school. He’d be an adult, but not too old. He’ll be perfect, she thought. Just perfect.
When she finally left her fantasy behind and got out of bed, she powered up her laptop and cast a glance out the window. No one moved in the yard or behind the windows of the rundown house. Disappointed, she grabbed her robe and put it on. Downstairs she found her parents in the kitchen again, only this time they weren’t macking all over each other. That was a relief.
They exchanged good mornings and her dad, still smiling, asked if she’d slept well.
“Pretty good,” she replied, heading directly for the coffeepot.
“It’s the sea air.”
“Mmmm,” Lindsay replied, already deeply involved with her first cup of bean.
“I’m fixing pancakes,” her mom said.
“Mom,” Lindsay said, “you know I don’t eat breakfast.”
“You’re on vacation.”
“Try to convince my thighs,” Lindsay said. “Thanks anyway. Coffee is fine.”
She took her coffee upstairs and carried it to the window seat. After getting situated with her computer in her lap and her coffee next to her hip, she opened her email, but the house next door kept distracting her. She read a line of one of Trey’s messages, looked down at the window, read another line. Kate sent an email telling her that Nick Faherty—only the hottest guy at school—was definitely going to be at her party and…OMG, do you believe it? He’s bringing his older brother who looks just like Tom Welling. I wish you could come. I’m going to be a total head case.
Yes, you will, Lindsay thought. She looked through the window, thought she saw movement across the way, but the boy didn’t appear.
Lindsay clicked the Reply button so she could tell Kate how happy she was for her. Nick and Ian Faherty were quite a party coup. It was epically unfair that Lindsay wouldn’t be there to hang with them.
Before writing the note, she again looked out the window and was startled to see two men looking up at her from the backyard of the unpleasant house. The sight of them was unnerving. They just stood there, staring. But what really got to her was the fact that they were the same guys she’d seen at the grocery store wearing black parkas and holding huge umbrellas.
Today they wore black T-shirts and gray shorts. Both men seemed to be several years older than her dad but in infinitely better shape. The day before, she thought they were exact opposites, one skinny and one fat, but now she could see their muscle through their tight shirts. The short one was so buffed it looked like his shirt would tear open if he moved his arms at all. The tall one was narrower but ripped.
Lindsay looked away, hoping she hadn’t stared too long. It was freaky enough to have them looking at her; she certainly didn’t want to get caught staring back.
A thought began to emerge as she gazed at the blank email template on her screen. Maybe the boy next door had two fathers. He was the son of a gay couple. How cool would that be? Her friend Rachel had two moms, and they were really nice.
Maybe the boy was adopted. That made him even more exotic. Another thought tried to creep in—a thought about the boy being something other than a son to these two men—but she pushed that away quickly. Life just couldn’t be that unfair.
She threw another quick glance outside. The shorter man was pointing at the base of the house and talking to the taller man, who stooped to hear. The tall guy nodded his head. In the window, thirty feet from where these men examined the rundown house, the boy appeared.
Lindsay’s heart raced, and she looked away to her computer screen. Let him see you first, she thought. Don’t let him catch you staring. He’ll think you’re a major freak. Just be cool. Pretend he isn’t there and write back to Kate. Flip your hair just a bit, but don’t look out the window. Smile like you’ve just thought of something brilliant. Drink some coffee. Hold the mug at your chin for a moment. Look up like your brilliant thought is totally deep. Put the mug down. Casually look out the window, and…
The boy was gone. The two men in black T-shirts stared up at her from the backyard. Both looked pissed off.
Feeling uncomfortable under their gaze, Lindsay lifted her laptop and carried it with her to the bed so she could write back to Kate.
Lindsay waited for her parents to leave for the flea markets before taking her shower and cleaning up for the day. She stood in front of the chest of drawers looking at the tops and the shorts she’d packed and didn’t like any of them. All the clothes looked like something a little girl would wear, all pinks and yellows and whites. This always happened to her. Every time she needed to look good, she just couldn’t find anything to wear. Most of her clothes were brand-new, but somewhere between the store rack and her uncle’s house they’d lost their appeal. None of her outfits looked special enough. What if she ran into the boy outside? She didn’t want to look like some Hicksville teen. Crap. These things were all she had, though. Something from the drawer would have to do. Finally she chose a pair of yellow shorts and took a white blouse from the closet.