He still turned around, to test his blood, then give himself a shot.
“And I thought annual flu shots were bad,” I said. “Do you have to do that every day?”
“Three times for the needle. More for the testing.”
“Three needles?”
He put the pouch away. “I’m used to it. I was diagnosed when I was three, so I don’t ever remember not getting them.”
“And you’ll always have to do that?”
“There’s a pump I can use. Stick it on my leg and it monitors my blood sugar and injects insulin. I got one when I turned thirteen. But…” He shrugged. “I had a deal with my dad, that I could only have one if I didn’t use it as a license to eat whatever I wanted. Too much insulin isn’t good. I screwed up.”
“Too many of these?” I waved the candy bar.
“Nah. Too many carbs in general. I’d go out for pizza with the team, and I wouldn’t want to have only two slices if everyone else was scarfing down six. You get razzed about being on a diet, being such a girl…”
“Now there’s an insult.”
“Hey, I was thirteen. I know it was stupid, but when you’re always the new kid, you just want to fit in. I guess you know what that’s like. You’ve probably been in as many schools as we have.”
“Ten…no, eleven.”
“It’s a tie. Cool.” He took a bite of his apple. “Now that I’m approaching the very mature age of sixteen, though, I’ve gotten over that. Dad and I were negotiating for me to get the pump back again when he disappeared.”
“Simon?” Tori’s voice echoed through the building.
“So much for peace and quiet,” he muttered, then called, “We’re back here.”
Twenty-one
DEREK RETURNED BEARING SHOPPING bags and cash. I’d given him my bank card and PIN, and he’d found an ATM without a camera. My card still worked. He’d withdrawn my limit of four hundred dollars. We couldn’t do this again—every time I used it, the bank would know I was still in Buffalo, and Derek was afraid the Edison Group might be able to find that out.
He handed me the cash and receipt, discreetly folded. Tori snatched the receipt and opened it.
“My God, is this your bank account or college fund?”
I took it back. “My dad direct-deposits my allowance. After fifteen years, it adds up.”
“And he just lets you access it?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Um, because you could spend it. No, wait. Let me guess. You’re too responsible for that.”
“She’s smart,” Simon said.
“Is that what you call it? I was thinking more…” She yawned.
My cheeks heated.
“Enough,” Derek growled.
“Yeah, don’t forget who gave you money for this.” Simon nudged Tori’s shopping bag.
Tori’s jaw twitched. “It was twenty bucks for food and a blanket, and I’m keeping tabs. I’ll pay her back. I’m responsible, too. Just not”—she waved at my receipt—“disgustingly responsible.”
I took my bag from Derek. “So what did I get?” I reached inside. “A backpack. Two sweaters. Thank—”
The sweaters unrolled, and Tori choked on her mouthful of soda, laughing.
I turned, slowly and calmly, to her. “Your choices?”
She lifted her hands. “Uh-uh. I offered to pick something out, but Derek insisted.” She turned to him. “No wonder you were gone so long. Must have had a hard time finding ones that ugly.”
He’d bought me two identical gray hooded sweatshirts, made from the tacky polyester found only in the cheapest discount stores, the kind that shimmers like plastic and picks at your skin.
“What?” Derek said.
“They’re fine. Thanks.”
Tori reached out and caught the tag, then laughed. “I thought so. They’re boys’. Size twelve boys.”
“So? The women’s cost more. I figured it wouldn’t make a difference with Chloe.”
Tori looked at me. Then she looked at my chest and started to laugh.
“What?” Derek said.
“Nothing,” Tori sputtered. “You’re just being honest, right?”
“Tori?” Simon said. “Shut up. Chloe, we’ll grab something else for you tomorrow.”
“No, Derek’s right. These will fit. Thanks.” Cheeks burning, I mumbled something about trying them on and fled the room.
When dusk began to fall, we settled in for the night. It was only eight o’clock and Tori complained bitterly. Derek told her she was free to stay awake, as long as she didn’t use the lantern batteries and could still wake up at dawn. We weren’t living in a world of light switches anymore. We had to use the sun when we could and sleep when we couldn’t.
That was fine by me. I wasn’t in the mood for a slumber party. Simon had tried cheering me up, but that only brought me down all the more. I didn’t want to need to be cheered. I wanted to roll with the punches, bounce back smiling.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Aunt Lauren. I thought of Rae, too, and my dad, but most of all I thought of Aunt Lauren. I could tell myself Dad and Rae were safe for now. The Edison Group wouldn’t bother my father as long as he knew nothing about them. And Rae was well on her way to “rehabilitation,” according to that file. But with Aunt Lauren, I could find no such rationalization for the Edison Group to keep her alive. Every time I opened my eyes, I expected to see her ghost standing in front of me.
Even when I managed to force myself not to worry, the only alternative was more mundane concerns and a general feeling of disappointment.
I’d found the guys. I’d brought Simon his insulin. I’d single-handedly uncovered the secrets of the Edison Group. My reward? Having Tori take potshots at me every chance she got, trying to make me look bad in front of Simon.
If there was any point in my life when I should have been anything but dull and boring, it was now. I could talk to the dead. I could raise the dead. In the last week, I’d plotted and schemed enough to win a spot on Survivor.
Yet all I could picture was Tori yawning.
It was nice having Simon defend me, but it wasn’t any more than he might do for a little sister. I kept thinking of that—the way he’d come to my defense, the way he’d squeeze my hand, the way he’d lean in and whisper to me—and I wanted to read more into it. But I couldn’t.
And so what? With everything that was going on, was I really feeling sorry for myself because a cute guy wasn’t interested in me “that way”? That made me worse than boring. It made me the silly twit Derek seemed to think I was.
Speaking of Derek…and I’d really rather not…had I forgotten what he could be like? No, I’d just forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end. Between him and Tori, at least I’d come out of this with a thicker skin. Or lose every ounce of self-confidence I had.
A night for tossing and turning, lost in nightmares of Aunt Lauren and my dad and Rae. I kept waking up, gasping and sweating, everyone around me sound asleep. I’d gulp cold air and calm down enough to join them only to have the nightmares return.
Finally my sleeping brain found a distraction in the same place my waking brain had: thoughts of the dead body in the other room. No objective, sympathetic examination of his situation this time, though. I dreamed of dragging that poor spirit back to his shell, screaming and cursing me.
Then the dream changed and I was back in the crawl space. The musty, awful stench of death surrounded me. I felt Derek behind me, the heat of his body radiating, as he whispered, “Chloe, come on.”
Come where? I was trapped in the crawl space, with those horrors crawling toward me, cold skeletal fingers touching me, the stink of them making my stomach churn.
Derek shook me, and I tried to push him away, tell him he wasn’t helping—
“Chloe!”
I jerked awake, the dream evaporating. Above me, green eyes glinted in the darkness.
“Derek? What—?”
He clamped his hand over my mouth. His lips moved to my ear. “Are you awake now? I need you to do something for me.”