(FREE TO READ) Bad Moon

Chapter 8; Phillip

"You 'ate éclairs'? Is that code for something?" Tisper's cell phone slipped from her shoulder and she caught it with her free hand—the other far too occupied painting he toenails the fleshy color of a ripe peach.

"Yeah," Jaylin said on the other end. "It's code for we ate éclairs. Alex told me to come by after work, so I did and...he was just kinda there."

"Alex Sigvard?" Tisper replied. "I thought he was the dictionary definition of a richling. Like, Richie Rich rich, minus the dog."

"He was. Or he looked like it in those photos, but he's weird now. That kid, the one at the back of the bus the hides in his hood the whole ride. Maybe it was Anna."

"What about Anna?"

Jaylin was chewing on something. Probably cereal—he was always earing cereal. "The dead part?" he said with a mouthful.

"Wait, Anna's dead? Since when?"

"I know about as much as you do." He sighed and the sound was harsh against the speakers. "It's not like I could just ask Alex."

"Jay, you work in a library for shit's sake, do some research."

"I would," he groaned, "if Matt wasn't always distracting me. He's trying to win you back, you know."

Tisper clicked her tongue, lathering the last toe in paint. "Remind me to fetch him a participation trophy."

Just as she was screwing the cap back onto her nail polish, a gentle sound tapped at her door. She hopped to her feet, carefully curling her toes up as she crept along the cream-beige carpet—one already spoiled with stains from the night Jaylin drank himself into a sloppy, clumsy stupor and spilled his vodka cherry-cola and then soon after, the contents of his stomach.

"He's a good guy, Tis. He just made a mistake."

"No, I made the mistake," she said, unlatching all four locks. "By thinking he was anything but—"

As the door swung open, the phone nearly slid from Tisper's hand. It was like staring in a mirror. Same height, same heart-shaped face, same dark freckles in his eyes. Her own past was alive before her, tapping out a cigarette on the stoop of her apartment. He took one long look at her, dark locks windswept along his forehead, and there was a glisten of conviction in his eyes—one Tisper latched onto long after the man had traded it for a smile.

"Hey," he said.

Tisper crossed her arms, rubbing her skin like it was cold. It wasn't, but the chill bumps told another story. She stepped aside, her mouth still ajar, searching for words or sounds or something to fill the silence.

He gave her a hesitant look, seeking permission to enter. Tisper could only slouch back a step and let him stroll in, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Nice place."

Tisper, still rubbing at her arms, looked to him briefly. Then away again. "Phillip, why are you here?" Then she remembered that Jaylin was still on the line. She brought the phone up and said, stuttering, "Jay, I'll call you back." Tisper didn't wait for a response. She hung up, and dumped her cell into the front pocket of her shorts.

Phillip took a slow spin around, smirking at the decorative posters and pink décor. But the way he smiled fondly seemed nothing short of forced. "Work. We're looking to open a place up here. Seattle's the millennial hotspot. We need all the young, brilliant minds we can get."

"So you're...staying?" Tisper managed.

"No. Not until we open our first office in Washington. We're doing well enough in San Francisco—don't see why it'd be a problem. Our financial team's prepared. Handful of developers are ready to make the transfer. Just need some new recruits is all, then yeah—I plan to move the family back up here." He talked like he owned the company. And maybe it was some kind of feat to be throned Development Lead fresh out of college, but Phillip's new social networking game was nothing more than a glorified dating app with VR capabilities. And it wasn't hard to get places with the silver spoon of nepotism that had been thrust in his lap at birth. His own silver spoon and the one that had been stolen away from her.