Uninvited

  UNINVITED

  Amanda Marrone

  First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd,

  Africa House, 64-78 Kingsway, London WC2B 6AH

  A CBS COMPANY

  Originally published in the USA in 2007 by Simon Pulse,

  an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Division, New York.

  Copyright © 2007 by Amanda Marrone Designed by Greg Stadnyk and Tom Daly

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-84738-182-8

  10 98 765432 1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks

  CHAPTER ONE

  I close my eyes, hoping he won’t come tonight. It’s later than usual. I hope he’s given up, or just gone, and I can finally sleep. Cool air blows through the window, and I marvel at my bravery. Or stupidity. It’s opened just a crack, no more than an inch. But until tonight I’ve kept it closed, so I know he’ll be wondering what it means. I listen for some movement in the branches outside, but the leaves are dry and noisy now. I open my eyes — I have to look. It’s better when I see him coming. I put every ounce of energy into listening, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I turn my head, grimacing at the sound of my long hair against the pillowcase. I look out my window, searching the branches, wondering if he’d still come if I chopped down the tree.

  “Jordan, are you awake?”

  My heart races as I hunt for Michael among the branches. His dark form is pressed against the trunk a few feet higher from his usual perch. How long has he been watching me? He drops down, settling in closer to the window, and I remind myself to look for an ax in the morning.

  “Jordan, let me in.”

  “Go away, Michael. I will never let you in.” My voice is steady and calm, without emotion. I’ve said these words a hundred times today, so they’d become automatic. So I wouldn’t change my mind.

  Michael sighs, and I think I see him nodding. He knows I’m not ready to let him in. I suspect he knows I think about it, though. I suspect he knows that a part of me wants to.

  “You don’t know how good you have it, Jo.”

  I don’t like where this is leading. This won’t be a “let’s talk about the future” night. Michael’s missing his old life and he’ll keep me up for hours if I encourage him.

  “Did you go to school today? Did anyone talk about me?”

  I roll my eyes. “This is high school, Michael, you’re old news. People have found better things to gossip about. I mean, dying in the summer… well, your timing was way off. If having people remember you is important, that is. There’s just way too much happening, people move on pretty quickly. Now, if you had died during the school year, that would have made a bigger impact.”

  “God, Jo! This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

  I nod and wonder if his eyes see better than mine. Can he see I’m putting on an act, that every inch of my skin tingles when he sits outside my window? “I’m sorry, Michael, but I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

  “But I miss you, Jo. It’s not like you think. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep at all. I’m awake with nothing to do. Nothing to do but think, and miss you.”

  “I’ll leave some books outside for you tomorrow. Maybe you can accomplish something you never did when you were alive — you can actually read a book. Or, hey, how about this? You can walk into the sunlight and end this all. Have you thought of that? What would happen if you walked into the sun?”

  Michael’s quiet, and I think he may keep it short tonight — until he taps his foot on my window.

  “How’s Steve and Eric?” he asks. “They still playing ball?”

  “Oh God.” I turn my back to the window. “Ask me something I care about. Your stupid friends are exactly the same as they were when you were alive. They live and breathe football or basketball or whatever stupid ball season it is. They still hang out with their gorgeous girlfriends and they still smash mailboxes after a few too many beers. I’m surprised you haven’t joined them. That was one of your favorite pastimes, wasn’t it?”

  He doesn’t answer, and I remember Michael making out with some girl — one hand up her short skirt, pressing her against the lockers — acting like he wasn’t making an ass of himself. I wonder how many guys walking past dreamed of trading places with Michael? I know how often I dreamed of trading places with that girl.

  “So, what, they don’t talk about me? Like, not at all?”

  He’s definitely not letting it go tonight. I think he actually thought they’d worship him forever.

  I turn back to the window, but I remember to move slowly this time. I’ve seen my cat throw itself against the window trying to catch the birds outside in the tree. I sometimes wonder if Michael will lose patience with me and begin to think of me like that, like a bird. Like his prey. So I move bit by bit because I don’t know what I would do if Michael were to throw himself against the glass.

  “I lied before,” I finally say. “Everyone talks about you. They actually talk about you a lot.” I pause and let Michael think what he will. “But they’re not reminiscing. They think you killed yourself.” I’ve wanted to tell Michael this for a long time, but he was such a mess over the summer, it didn’t seem right. But tonight I’m feeling mean, and I won’t baby him. Besides, he doesn’t seem to care about what his visits do to me.

  “What? Who thinks that?”

  “Everyone. Everyone at school. And I’ve been wondering, too.” I bite my lip, deciding if I should go on.

  “I’ve told you what happened,” he says sharply. “You know what I was dealing with. There’s no way I could have stopped it.”

  I’ve been wondering if that’s true, but I can’t tell him that — not yet. “Well, they think you killed yourself and they talk about why you did it. And not just your friends. Everyone.”

  I let my words sink in. I let him mull over the thought of the entire school ignoring his football record in favor of gossip.

  “You wouldn’t believe the theories that went around. Some were really laughable. ‘Michael was bipolar.’ ‘Michael only had one month to live.’ But don’t feel too bad, it was purely defensive. People needed to find the flaws they’d missed when you were alive, because if the great Michael Green couldn’t handle things, how is everybody else supposed to?”

  “Well, at least you know the truth,” he says.

  I’ve wounded him and catch myself before a satisfied smile emerges on my face. I’m long past trying to understand what Michael does to me. Making me wish he were here in my room — in my bed — again, then the next minute making me relish the hurt in his voice. But I won’t beat myself up for bruising his ego. He’s made me his prisoner every night, and I’m glad when I can get a dig in.

  “Damn it!” he growls, startling me. “I’m sick of talking. Let me in!”

  He suddenly shifts his weight and slaps his palms against the glass. I flinch like it’s me he’s hit. I try to shrink away from him and sink into the mattress. God, why did I say those things?

  My mouth dries to paper as I suck in the cold air pouring in over the sill. I make myself as small as possible and freeze into place. So far the window has barred his way. But that damn inch. I imagine him with new cat eyes that can see in the dark, noticing the currents of air playing around the opening. Does he know what I did — can he see? Is that small opening invita
tion enough for him to enter?

  “Jordan,” he croons. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just miss you so much. I just want to be with you.”

  He jumps down to the ground, and I melt into the bed.

  I’m shaking, but I won’t pull up the blanket. I need to feel the cold; I need to feel something besides the ache I get when he leaves me. I hate myself for wanting him, for feeling flattered it’s me he haunts every night.

  Three months now I’ve talked to him through the window. Three months I’ve conjured his face from the time when he was mine. I see his chestnut eyes, his brown curls, his white, white teeth, and full mouth. I put that face on over the shadows and imagine we could start over.

  But the leaves are falling and soon Michael will sit on bare branches. Moonlight will finally find its way to his face, and I’ll see what I know is true: that Michael is a monster.

  I’m just afraid that one of these nights I might let him in.

  CHAPTER TWO

  On the way to school this morning, Rachael asked me if I’ve always been a head case, or if it was more of a gradual loss of sanity. It was a good question, really. It got me thinking. I mean why would a person of sound mind sit back and let Michael Green hold her hostage every night? Shouldn’t I have come up with some sort of plan to get rid of him by now? And, above all, why did someone like me get involved with Michael in the first place?

  Of course, Rachael wasn’t referring to my nightly confabs with Michael. As far as she’s concerned, Michael Green’s dead and buried and, as she was already questioning my sanity, I thought it best to keep my mouth shut.

  I laughed off her “Why the hell are you so scared to pick up the phone and call me, or, more importantly, Danny?” question, hoping she’d drop it, even though I knew better. Ever since she took Mr. Bell’s psych class last semester, it’s been her mission in life to point out all of our supposed issues, and offer helpful suggestions for improvement. She doesn’t seem to realize that taking one psych class and spending the summer in the self-help section in the bookstore doesn’t qualify her to examine the crap out of everyone.

  And why should she care if I blew things with Danny because I was too scared to call him back?

  Lisa understood my phone phobia thing. Lisa didn’t get bent out of shape if I didn’t call. Not that Lisa calls me anymore, but at least when we were friends she’d just make a list of things I could do to deal with my anxiety and consider her part done.

  I wonder what kinds of lists Lisa is making in rehab.

  I wonder if I could call Lisa. I want to tell her what a mess everything is. That I go to school hungover, that I wish I was there with her because I’ve lost control of my life, and isn’t that what rehab is for? To recapture your control?

  I mean, never mind the booze and the pot, just the fact that a part of me gets off on Michael’s visits I’m sure rates me a room at some facility. But did the actual dissolution of my good sense happen when I met Michael, or when he came back? I used to think being Michael’s girlfriend was fate, instead of the dumb luck it really was. And if I d taken that job busing tables at the country club instead of babysitting the twins that summer, it’s doubtful I ever would’ve registered on Michael’s radar.

  How was I to know Michael Green was moving next door to Sam and Ethan? I may be crazy, but I’m not psychic. And I’ve wished a million times I’d let Sam and Ethan stay inside watching cartoons the day he moved in, but I just had to see what the new neighbors’ stuff was like.

  All I can remember now is that when the moving van pulled away, Michael came out and stood there on his front steps, and I swear he was brighter than the summer sky. He looked around his yard, taking everything in, and then he turned to us and waved. I all but froze solid in the heat when I realized he was coming over. He hopped over the hedgerow and walked across the lawn, and the boys ran over to Michael — a complete stranger — and started talking to him like he was their big brother home from college!

  In minutes they had told Michael all about their parents’ work schedule, the prissy eight-year-old girl across the street they were secretly in love with, and that they had six cans of fruit cocktail stashed under their porch in case of an emergency.

  It had taken me two weeks to get more than one-word answers out of them.

  But that’s just the way it was with Michael. He was a person who sucked you into his life the moment you met him, and you felt like you’d known him forever.

  And solemn Ethan — it was like he’d found a puppy to play with and couldn’t wait to show it off. He grinned this huge lopsided grin and dragged Michael to the porch steps while Sam crashed through the gardens looking for a ball, yelling, “Wait! Don’t go anywhere, I know there’s one here.”

  I should have yelled at Sam to stop trampling the flowers. But I didn’t. I wanted him to find a ball. I didn’t want Michael to go, either.

  “I’m Michael. Michael Green,” he said, smiling at me like I was something worth smiling about. “And these two can’t be related to you, not with those incredible blue eyes.”

  I was amazed that in those few seconds he’d noticed my eyes were different from the twins. My cheeks blazed, and I hoped it didn’t show through my already sunburned skin. I remember the overpowering smell of coconut lotion drifting around him, and how I wished I had taken more time getting dressed that morning — how I wished I were wearing coconut lotion, too.

  “I’m Jordan, and these hyperactive nine-year-olds are way too coordinated to be related to me. I’m just watching Sam and Ethan for the summer.”

  I couldn’t believe how calm I sounded when my heart was racing. How could I talk so easily to this gorgeous creature I didn’t even know? I asked myself this question later, but I knew the answer. It was all Michael. He was magic.

  “Yeah.” Ethan laughed. “We were hoping we’d get some boy to watch us.”

  Sam jogged up the steps next to Michael. “Yeah, she sucks at throwing a ball!” He tossed the muddy football he’d found over his head and Michael leaned over and snatched it with one large hand.

  “Go long!” Michael barked. He barely moved his arm, but the ball sailed in a straight line all the way over the hedges and crashed into the far side of Michael’s yard. “That’ll keep them busy for a few minutes,” he said, laughing as the twins ran screaming after it.

  “So,” he said, getting up, “I’ll teach you how to throw a pass if you’ll show me the hot spots around here.” He winked as he picked my book up off the porch swing and sat down next to me. He flipped through the pages, and then tossed it carelessly onto the wood floor. “Do you go to North Shore?”

  The swing was small, and my skin burned where his leg pressed against mine. The coconut smell filled my head.

  “Um, yeah. I’ll be a junior.” Any sense of calm I’d felt was totally gone. I mean, his leg was right there wedged up against mine, and the pressure was revving my heart and scrambling my brain.

  “Cool. I’ve got a car, but I’m in need of a tour guide. Wanna go for a drive later? You could show me around town, or we could just hang out with your friends.”

  He pushed his feet against the porch, gently moving the swing into motion. I was grateful for the small breeze cooling my face as I weighed his invitation.

  How could I have Michael meet my friends? Rachael, with her short black skirts and black stockings, even in the ninety-degree heat. She d fawn over him and tell him all about whomever she was sleeping with — what they were doing in bed, or the backseat, or wherever. I could picture her running her fingers through his thick brown hair.

  And Janine and Gabby? Did I really want to subject Michael to one of their drunken sing-alongs to Rent? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would appreciate a slurred performance of “Seasons of Love” — or any Broadway song, for that matter.

  “My friends work nights. Well, Rachael doesn’t, but she’s, you know… caught up in a new romance. But I could show you around. I get off at fiv
e-thirty.”

  It wasn’t a total lie, really. I hadn’t seen a lot of Rachael lately — not since she’d hooked up with that loser. I mean, what kind of normal twenty-year-old wants to hang with someone who’s sixteen? And Janine and Gabby were busy working at the country club. I just didn’t mention that we usually met after hours on the club’s fourteenth hole to drink whatever Gabby swiped from the bar.

  “Okay, great.” He smiled and rubbed his hand down my thigh. “Just you and me.” He jumped up suddenly and caught the football before it slammed into the house.

  The twins thundered up the steps, jumping all over Michael and trying to snatch the ball out of his hands.

  And that was it. I fell in love with him that day — it was so easy. Everything about Michael was easy. He had this electricity around him. God, he dazzled me — blinded me. I didn’t see what was coming. How could I not see what was coming? It should have been obvious from the start that Michael was too big for someone like me.

  But I didn’t see it, and I spent two months with him; two glorious months that I’m paying for now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I guess the key to regaining my sanity lies in excising Michael from my life again. I know now — well, deep down I’ve always known — that these visits of his are not akin to winning the lottery. They’re a nightmare, and they’re messing with my head. They’re making me contemplate things I could very easily have kept in the dark shadows of my mind without ever bringing them to light.

  And I can’t trust myself not to open the window some more.

  So I’m going to make a list. Lisa would be proud. Well, maybe she’d be proud if the list had more to do with the top ten ways to improve my looks, and less about deep-sixing Michael.

  Offing your dead ex-boyfriend? Isn’t that redundant, Jordan? Not to mention messy! And you have more important things to worry about, you know. No offense, but have you spent any time in front of a mirror lately? I know you don’t want to hear it, but your mom and I still think you’re a bit too casual about your appearance, and a list of the top ten cosmetics you should be using would be way more appropriate than tangling with a former prom king! Do you still have that list I made you in seventh grade?