Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 38

The house was silent and dark when I slipped out of my bedroom. I’d seen plenty of movies about sneaking out, but I still didn’t know whether I could do it.

I’ll try anyway.

The stairs didn’t creak when I tiptoed down. Briefly, I considered going out the back door, to conform with the cliché, but I dismissed the idea just as quickly. The hinges in the screen door would screech like crazy if I tried it. Dad had meant to oil them forever, but he kept forgetting. The front door would have to do.

The bolt turned with an ominous crack, and I winced and listened for a long minute. No lights came up. I didn’t hear movement upstairs.

Good.

Letting out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding, I opened the door, closed it behind me and started running.

I was still wearing my school clothes, since the whole moping around hadn’t left me time to change. It was a tight skinny jeans and tight wool sweater ensemble, complete with dipping neckline and super long sleeves, and it wasn’t the best outfit to be racing around in at one in the morning. I couldn’t care less. I bolted ahead anyway, out of the best part of the neighborhood and onto Trevor's street.

By the time I reached Trevor's driveway, a knife twisted in my side and my breath came in short, ragged breaths. His window was dark, but what did I expect?

After knocking a few times on his windowpane without getting an answer, I tried to compose myself and put together some excuse for my presence as I mounted the stairs to the porch.

His father is so going to hate me. Everything started after Trevor began to see me.

“Meow.”

I jumped when I heard the mewl right beside me. Sparrow sat comfortably in front of the door and fixed me with his huge eyes. The cat’s voice was matter-of-fact, if that were even possible.

“Hey there, kitty,” I whispered, swallowing thickly.

The cat didn’t say anything. He just moved the tip of his tail, tapping it lazily against the floor, and kept sitting there, as if he were standing guard.

And I must have been more freaked out than I cared to admit, because I could have sworn that there was a certain disapproval in the tilt of those whiskers.

“Why are you outside? Trevor's playing again?” I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t reach out to ring the bell with Sparrow in my path. Not without standing way too close to him. So I talked in hushed tones and hoped that he’d move.

Or that I’d work up the courage to ring anyway.

“Meow.” He held my nervous stare with an unimpressed, cool one and I felt a knot tightening in my stomach.

“He’s not here, is he?”

The huge black cat thumped its tail. It felt eerily similar to a “finally you get it!” statement. And then, mission accomplished, he licked his paw and started washing his face.

I turned around, took a deep breath, and broke into a run once more. I never stopped to consider that I was following directions given by a cat.

Cutting through some alleys that, in normal circumstances, I’d have gone through great pains to avoid, I managed to reach the sumptuous, rich neighborhood. The muscles in my legs were killing me and my lungs felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air anymore, but I was there.

I collapsed on hands and knees on the driveway to the Nightray’s mansion, heaving great gulps of air and trying to hear something, anything, over the ringing in my ears.

There it is.

Faint, yes, but Trevor's guitar playing was impossible to mistake. I knew him too well.

With effort, I made my way beyond the weed-infested lawn. The front door stood open just a crack. Just enough to make me brave the treacherous steps of the porch. I pushed the door and it gave smoothly, as if it had been waiting for me.

Well, I guess it was waiting for someone all right.

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