Perception Read online

  “Why are you telling me?” I glared defiantly up at him. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  He took a step toward me, closing the space between us. I pushed myself back against the locker, ignoring the pain of the dial against my spine. I’d always thought of Cody as all bark and no bite, but the menacing look in his eyes had me questioning that assumption. My heart sped up as I considered my possible moves. Cody was a huge guy, a football player. If I tried to get away, he’d toss me back as easily as if I were a doll.

  I couldn’t do this myself. I needed help. As he inched closer, his lips set in a sneer, I opened my mouth to scream.

  “What’s going on here?” a voice boomed from an open doorway.

  Cody quickly stepped back and I let out a deep breath.

  Mr. Frederick marched toward us. “The school has a zero tolerance policy for physical violence, Cody.”

  “It was no-no-nothing, Mr. Frederick,” Cody stuttered, probably full of fear that he’d be suspended and miss Saturday’s big football game. “We were just talkin’.”

  Frederick’s eyes slid to mine, and I gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head. He got the message.

  “Just your luck, Mr. Rowe,” he said. “I happen to be supervising detention today. Come on in and join us.” He made a shooing motion with his hand at me. “Move along, Clare.”

  Cody turned to follow Frederick, and I headed toward the exit. As we passed each other, Cody hissed under his breath, “I’m not done with you.”

  Mom was only mildly apoplectic by the time I got to the car. Rather than subject her to the truth, I told her I had to stay after to ask a teacher a few questions about an assignment. Then, just in case she decided to eavesdrop on my brain, I focused on a running list of assignments I had due in each class.

  When we got home, I lumbered up the stairs, not in any mood to start my homework. I shrugged my backpack from my shoulders and tossed it on the hallway floor. As I passed Perry’s room, I heard him talking to someone in a hushed voice. I paused and leaned up against the door.

  “Come on,” Perry said, frustration evident in his voice. “I need answers. I need to know how you came through. And why.”

  I threw open the door without knocking, surprising Perry, who was standing in the middle of his room. Alone.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “I was trying to talk to Ashley.”

  “She’s here?” I looked around the room. As if I could see her if she were.

  “No.” He sank down onto a chair. “I was trying to conjure her. Call her. Whatever.”

  “And it didn’t work?”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he snapped. Though I knew he wasn’t mad at me. He was mad that he didn’t understand what was going on. “Usually, I have the connected person with me or I can go to a place connected with the spirit, but Ashley’s a mystery. There has to be a reason she was able to break through. I just don’t know what it is.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No.” He raised a hand to rub his forehead. “I’m done trying. If it happens again, it happens. I obviously have no control over it.”

  “Okay.” He needed time to himself. I turned to leave. As I reached the hallway, he called out, “By the way, you got a package. I found it on the porch and put it on your bed.”

  I sighed heavily. “Thanks.” Probably more college stuff that I couldn’t even begin to think about yet.

  I trudged into my room, still filled with anger over Cody and with weirdness from how bad I felt for Kendra. Seeing her crying in the same bathroom I’d shed tears in was unnerving. I shouldn’t have cared. I tried to harden my heart, but it didn’t quite take.

  All these thoughts quieted, though, as I approached my bed and saw the package. It was a large rectangular box. This was no college catalog.

  I tore the brown packaging paper off and lifted the lid. White tissue paper covered whatever lay beneath. My heart started to pound. My first instinct was fear. It could be a dead rat or black roses. I lifted the tissue paper.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  It stared up at me from the box. Beautiful, yet menacing.

  The green dress. The one I’d tried on in the store with Mallory.

  Someone had been watching me through the store window.

  And that someone really wanted me to have the dress.

  I hurriedly covered the dress back up with tissue paper, closed the lid, and shoved the entire package under my bed. My feelings, however, could not be hidden as easily. What did this control freak think? That I would be flattered he bought the dress for me? That I would actually wear it?

  Some girls might find behavior like that appealing. The adventure and excitement of a mystery and all that. But I didn’t like it.

  In fact, I thought it was time I did some stalking of my own.

  I got down on my hands and knees and pulled the box back out from under my bed. Then I sat with it on my lap, closed my eyes, and concentrated. I let my fingertips roam over the box, the mailing label, and the packaging paper. To my surprise, a vision started to surface.

  He’d never messed up before. I’d tried using my gift on his note, his card, his photo … He’d always been careful not to leave an imprint. I was so excited that the vision tremored and waned, and I had to force myself to calm down in order to bring it back. I took a deep breath. My fingers tingled. The vision was cloudy at first, then slowly became clear, like a nearsighted person would see as she put on her glasses.

  I saw my house.

  His eyes were glued to my front door as he stomped up the walkway. His footsteps were heavy, as if he were wearing boots. I wanted him to look down at his clothing. I needed some clue as to who he was.

  He clomped up the porch steps, loud and brazen. Didn’t he care if someone heard him? Was he like the worst stalker ever?

  With each step, my worry increased. As soon as he let go of the box, the vision would be broken. I needed something, anything before he put it down. Why didn’t my front door have a freaking mirror on it? That would be helpful right now!

  Then I saw it. The front window. Maybe I’d be able to catch his reflection in the glass. I breathed deeply, working hard to hold on to the image as he reached a finger out and rang the doorbell.

  Wait … he rang the doorbell? What kind of stalker does that?

  Then, as he leaned down to place the package on the porch, I glimpsed a reflection in the windowpane. Not of him, but of his vehicle.

  A UPS truck.

  My stalker hadn’t made a mistake. The only vision the package held for me was that of the deliveryman who’d left it on the porch.

  As the UPS guy let go of the package, the image turned black. Like someone yanked the cord on the TV. I opened my eyes. That’s all I was going to get. Nothing. I pushed the package off my lap and slammed my fists on the floor.

  My eyes narrowed at the overturned box. There had to be more I could do. Maybe some research that wasn’t of the paranormal variety. I pulled the package back onto my lap and squinted at the UPS label. Return addresses were required for these things, right?

  But, apparently, they didn’t have to be correct. He’d used 325 Main Street as his return address. The police station. Very funny.

  I wasn’t ready to give up, though. I could try the dress shop.

  I looked up the phone number and called. It rang six times and I started to wonder if they were closed, but then a harried voice said, “Lorelei’s.”

  I was startled by the sudden answer and the tone of her voice. “Um, yes, I was wondering if you could tell me who bought a particular dress —”

  “I can’t tell you who bought the dress you wanted,” she interrupted, then prattled on like it was a practiced speech. “You should have bought it when you first saw it.”

  She ended the sentence with finality, like she was about to hang up. Great customer service at that place. I yelled, “Wait!”

  The woman sighed audibly. I heard loud chatter a
nd squeals in the background. She was obviously busy. “I can’t give you any information on what girl bought your dress,” she said, not bothering to hide her growing annoyance. “Just come pick out another one.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “Someone bought a dress for me and sent it to me anonymously. I’d like to thank the person.”

  A snarky laugh blurted out of her. “Do you really think I’d remember who bought what? Listen, both Halloween and the Renaissance Fair are in two weeks. I have a dozen customers in here, all demanding my assistance. I can’t help you.”

  I was left with a click and a dial tone, and no further ideas.

  I sank down onto the bed, feeling defeated.

  I remembered the words my stalker spoke on the phone when I asked who it was:

  Good things come to those who wait.

  Maybe it was all leading up to this. Maybe he or she planned on revealing himself the night of the dance, and sending me the dress was their way of ensuring I went.

  Well, I wasn’t going to play that game.

  No one controls me.

  I’d find somewhere to donate the dress. And I’d stay home the night of the dance.

  I sighed, depressed. I still hadn’t solved the problem of deciding who to ask to the dance, but I’d liked having that option. I’d started to think that going might be fun. I figured I could always make a last-minute decision to go stag or with Mallory. But now that choice was taken away from me.

  Then I had a thought that warmed my heart a little bit. I couldn’t go to the dance, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help some other people enjoy it.

  I leapt out of bed and grabbed my phone. I loved this idea. I felt back in control of my life. Like if I focused on getting something done, I wouldn’t be a victim. I’d take the power back.

  I dialed Justin’s cell and he picked right up. “Hey, Clare. Calling to profess your love?”

  I snorted. “Calling to ask a favor.”

  “Yes, I can be there in five minutes to give you a full-body massage.”

  “It involves someone else.”

  “I don’t want to give anyone else a full-body massage.”

  Justin’s flirty banter had already put me in a better mood. I knew I was doing the right thing. I paced back and forth across the room as I began. “I’m not going to the dance.”

  He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Not with anyone or not with me?” I could almost picture him bracing for the answer.

  “Not with anyone,” I answered quickly.

  He let out a deep breath. “Okay. So what do you need?”

  “I have a friend who really wants to go to the dance. Correction: She needs to go to the dance. She’s had a rough time lately and I think it would be good for her. But she doesn’t have a date.”

  “So you’re not going to the dance, but you want me to go with someone else?”

  “Just as friends.”

  “Of course.” He paused. “So who is it?”

  “Mallory Neely,” I blurted.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never even talked to her.”

  “That’s okay. Once you get to know her, you’ll get along great. She’s different, in a cool ‘I don’t care what anyone thinks’ kind of way.”

  “I’m not sure …” he said, though I could tell he was seriously considering it. If he really didn’t want to, he’d have just said no.

  “You’ll have a good time. I promise.”

  “My buddies are all going to the dance, so I did want to go.”

  “I figured as much, Mr. Sociable.”

  He laughed. “Okay, tell her I’m in. But make sure she knows my heart belongs to you.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. She’s not going to throw herself at you. She’s not that kind of friend.”

  I hung up and bounced from foot to foot in excitement. I couldn’t wait to tell Mallory the good news. But first, I had one other person to help. Not a friend, but someone who could use one.

  I dialed Gabriel’s number and he picked up, sounding out of breath.

  “Did I catch you in the middle of a set of jumping jacks?” I asked sarcastically.

  “I was almost out the door,” Gabriel said. “I was coming over to see you.”

  “Oh yeah?” My heart did a little jig.

  “I have something I want to show you. Can I stop by?”

  “Sure. I have a favor to ask anyway.”

  “See you in five.”

  What had started out as a terrible afternoon was starting to look up. I darted over to my mirror to check myself out. Not too shabby. I slicked on some gloss and smacked my lips together, then ran my fingers through my curls. Better.

  I dashed downstairs, and before long, Gabriel’s Jeep pulled into the driveway. I stepped back from the window so he wouldn’t see that I’d been waiting. I let a couple beats pass after he knocked on the front door, then opened it with a smile.

  “Hey.” He rushed in, a bundle of papers in his hand.

  There was no return smile, no “accidental” brushing of my skin. His posture was straight and firm. All business.

  “What’s that?” I asked, motioning to the pile.

  “This is what I wanted to show you.” His face was set in rigid determination. “We’re going to find out who your stalker is.”

  “SHH!” I PULLED GABRIEL BY THE ARM TOWARD THE bottom of the staircase. I heard the clanging of pots and pans, which meant that Mom was attempting to start dinner in the kitchen. I didn’t need her overhearing the word stalker and going into commando-Mom mode.

  “Wait here a sec,” I whispered.

  I darted over to the kitchen doorway and stuck my head in. “Mom, Gabriel’s here. We’re going to hang out upstairs for a bit, okay?”

  She had her nose buried in a cookbook, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Keep your door open,” she said without looking up.

  “Yeah, okay,” I agreed and then returned to Gabriel.

  “Let’s take this upstairs.”

  Perry’s door was shut again. We headed into my room and I closed the door about ninety-nine percent of the way. But not all the way.

  “You haven’t told your mother?” Gabriel asked.

  I led him away from the cracked door and into the center of the room. “She went ballistic over Sierra’s death. I had to promise I wouldn’t help with the case or get involved at all.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or we’d be leaving town until the killer was caught. Which could be never.”

  “So if she knew you had a stalker —”

  “I’d either never be let out of my room or she’d find a way to get us into the Witness Protection Program.”

  He nodded, but said, “I still think she should know.” Then he looked down at the papers in his hands. “And I really think you should read what I printed out.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, my father won’t help me with this at all because he’s too busy on the Sierra Waldman case and he said whoever’s doing this to you hasn’t broken any law. Yet. So I decided to look into it myself.”

  He laid the papers on my desk and motioned for me to sit in the chair.

  But I didn’t want to sit down. I didn’t want to start thinking about the stalker again. “So what did you find?” I asked, standing.

  “I did research and printed out all this stuff on stalker types and the psychology behind them.”

  I shook my head as he spoke. “I don’t want to read that stuff. It’ll just freak me out.”

  “Please?” His eyes were serious, full of concern. “It might help us figure out who it is.”

  “It won’t.” I slumped into the chair and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “He’s too good. He covers his tracks too well. I’m going to just ignore him and he’ll lose interest.”

  Gabriel cocked his head to one side. “Has something else happened?”

  I felt a thickness in my throat as I admitted, “He sent me a dress.”

  “What?” Gabriel blink
ed in confusion.

  “It’s a homecoming dress I tried on at the store with Mallory but didn’t buy. I think the stalker wants me to go to the dance.”

  Anger flashed across his face. “So let’s go. Bait him. We’ll go together, be ready, and trap him.”

  “No. That would be giving him what he wants.”

  Gabriel paced the room, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I’m taking control of this by doing the opposite of what he wants,” I insisted. “I’m staying home.”

  “Okay,” Gabriel said, resigned. “Whatever you want to do.” He stopped pacing and sagged against the wall, his shoulders slumped.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I said. “How are things going with your mother?”

  I was dying to know if he’d made his decision. Or at least which way he was leaning. Ever since the moment I found out he might be leaving, it’d always been in the back of my mind.

  Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t feel like talking about that right now.”

  I desperately wished I’d inherited my mother’s gift. Even though I chided her for eavesdropping on people’s thoughts without their permission, I’d totally do that to Gabriel right now.

  “What was the thing you wanted to talk to me about anyway?” he asked. “When you called?”

  I sighed. I’d been excited before, but now I was all tangled up in multiple emotions again. “Since I can’t go to the dance, I wanted to ask a favor for someone.” I shifted in my seat. “Kendra waited too long and now there isn’t anyone left that she’d like to ask. But I know she’d go with you. She just wouldn’t bother asking you —”

  “Because she knows I’d say no. Listen, dances aren’t really my thing. I’d go with you, but that’s it. I have no interest in taking anyone else. Especially someone like Kendra Kiger.”

  “You don’t know her whole story, though.”

  “And you do?” he asked skeptically.

  “I know enough. Things aren’t as easy for her as I’d once assumed. Her mother’s … well, I don’t want to get into it, but it would really help her out if you’d go with her. As friends, you know. She wants to be eligible for the Homecoming Court and all that.”

  He grimaced. “I’d really rather not.”