Chapter twenty-one

The next morning I ate my breakfast with a sense of dread hanging over me, as I chewed each morsel languidly in an effort to prolong the time between now and when I would be forced to spend two hours in Tori's oh so pleasurable company. Simon, on the other hand was consuming food with renewed strength and an inordinate amount of gusto. Of course, I knew what he and Chloe had been up to last night, nothing untoward is my bet. Chloe doesn't seem like that type of girl, but I'm sure their secret meeting was entertaining for them both and rather than quell his partiality to her, the more time he spends with her it seems the more he likes her. This could work in my favour.

"So did you learn anything interesting?" I ask only half bothered; Simon's eyes are shining as he taps out a rhythm with a spoon. He's smiling and cheerful again: the Simon I'm used to. Funny, his high spirits never used to be dependent on a girl, well not a girl singular, but until his tryst with her yesterday he had been sullen and ratty.

He grinned wide and laughed, "Yeah, she thinks you're beating me up on a regular basis. She thinks I'm scared of you," he snorted, mirth dancing in his vivid light brown irises. Clearly this is a source of amusement for him, the idea is laughable. I would never ever hurt Simon, I would die for him whether he would do the same for me or not and I don't know why. Generally we get along, but there are times we can't stand each other and always seem to rub each other up the wrong way, but even so protecting him is my first instinct. Dad says it's the wolf, but I think that part of my make-up is me, Simon and Dad are all I have, all I need, keeping them safe is imperative. Needless to say I am quite displeased of the image she has of me and portrayed to Simon. She doesn't know me at all, but that's hardly surprising.

News of Chloe's "relapse" reached me inadvertently, her Aunt Lauren, pretty, blonde, stuck-up hurtled into me very distressed and then glared at me like I was filth.

"You should watch where you're going," I say calmly before turning away, I can hear her gasp of outrage behind me. She means well, I guess, she protects Chloe in the same way I protect Simon. Trouble is she is shit at it, I would do a better job than her and judging by the evil brother-bashing monster Chloe believes me to be that is truly saying something.

I overheard a few snippets of conversation, waiting for Dr Gill's office to clear so I could get this ridiculous punishment over and done with. "N-n-no, I wasn't seeing ghosts. I was just c-confused, it was like I was dreaming of ghosts, it was all really . . . abstract." Chloe's timid voice and rubbish lie were totally transparent.

Shaking my head I left them to their own devices. I wanted to see if I could find Liz again, or discover some way of proving that wasn't her. I was still fairly certain she was alive. What reason would they have to kill her? Wait. Kill her? Why would I think that? If she had died, it could have been in a completely unrelated incident: a collision with another car, taken hostage by some escaped prisoner, swept up in a hurricane.

It had to be the stress I was under, or side effects to the useless medication they have me on. Paranoia is always so welcome.

"Derek, what are you doing? Go to Dr Gill's office, I have taken the liberty of providing you both with lined paper and a pen, Tori is already there. Two hours and I want a well-thought out essay on all the negatives of swearing." Mrs Talbot frowns with disapproval at my loitering; I drag my feet to Dr Gill's office. Chloe and her obnoxious relative are long gone; Tori's curled up in the apple green chair a gloating grin on her glossed lips. I sit as far away as I can but she still tenses and shoots me an unwelcoming look.

I pick up the pen and start writing. Three sides should do it, it's nothing earth-shattering, just some drivel about how swearing is vulgar and uncouth, common of the lower classes and considered bad manners. As I only write good essays, I introduce the counter argument i.e. swearing also shows the range and command of one's vocabulary and can in some ways be a creative outlet, profanities are in the dictionary for a reason etc etc. Done . . . and I have approximately ninety minutes left.

Tori's paper is untouched, she scowls at me, rifling through Dr Gill's things: few silver framed photographs, a Moleskin notebook, a silk scarf. Nothing that would obtain my interest. "Before you ask, yes I am just going to sit here and look pretty, this "punishment" is completely unfair and undeserved, so you can be a good boy but I would rather take a stand." She crosses her legs, seamed purple tights showing an intricate floral design, her denim shirt is ragged but fashionably so. She wears Liz's green jumper, I know because I can still detect her unmistakably fruity scent, a stab of worry crushes me momentarily before I push it aside. She'll be okay. She is okay.

"I bet you've never rebelled in your life, you have the classic principal's daughter attitude, but believe me the novelty will wear off after a bit. If you think I'm going to write your essay for you, you can go to hell."

"I wouldn't want to beat you," she smiles sweetly with sparkling cherryish lips, her dark eyes, almost black, are empty, devoid of any notable emotion, it's quite disconcerting. "The essay is a load of bullshit, being here is a load of bullshit," she punctuates her last statement with a kick to the oak desk. Great, a hissy fit, next she'll stamp her feet. I wait for the increase in her outburst, I hope she starts hurling things and then gets transferred.

"Yeah, I'm sure there are no redeeming qualities here for you," I roll my eyes, her fixation on Simon borders on unhealthy. "You want to know my theory."

"I thought you were supposed to be anti-social. I don't seem to be able to shut you up," she raises her sleek eyebrows. How did Liz do it?

"What can I say? You bring out the very best in me." I grin, completely freaking her out. Excellent.

"A rare occurrence," she mumbles, sniffing the sleeve like it belongs to an old boyfriend or a dead relative. No, not dead, I didn't mean dead. I blink rapidly as she clicks her fingers wildly in front of my face, "Go on then what's your theory, Einstein, is it that I have middle child syndrome because I'm a firstborn, baby," she flashes a wicked smile, taunting. Everyone has the capacity to be nice, God; her mother must be an utter nightmare.

"My theory is that you're obsessed with Simon merely because he said no to you, I bet, other than that you have no significant interest in him," I smirk, "Either that or you're just desperate," she stabs her middle finger up, lips twisted. I lean back, unconcerned, she doesn't bother me, doesn't have any effect on me whatsoever and that is the worst possible thing. Girls like Tori crave a reaction whether it be hate, envy, reverence or spite, she needs something to show that she isn't pointless.

"You really have no qualms about selling your brother short, do you? Maybe, I like him because he's funny and cute and –"

My sardonic smile says it all.

"What do you know about girls?" she tosses her thin arms in the air, thinner than they should be, perhaps I've been eating her share of the food. Oh well, I'm a growing boy. "I bet no one besides Simon has ever gotten close enough to talk to you at least not of their own volition. You see, there's something about your face Derek that's very off-putting," her words are supposed to hurt, they are supposed to be blows for someone with low self esteem but I don't care.

"It must be hard spending all that time reworking what God gave you in the mirror only to find you still don't quite measure up," Tori flinches at my words, she cares, this also meant we spent the last hour in silence, the scratch of Tori's pen filling the room.

The relief I experienced upon leaving the office was not to be believed, I spied Chloe's back, she was setting the table meticulously, I had heard she was well-off, probably from Simon so that would explain how the cutlery were automatically an inch away either side from the plate. I had never been happier to see anyone, a brief smile fluttered about my mouth. It wasn't her per se, it was just the fact that she wasn't Tori, always a good thing. "I'm behind you," I warned, remembering all the different ways she started whenever I was around, of course, even now she spins like I'm the Grim Reaper, eyes wide and sweet. Really sweet.

"I can't win. You're as skittish as a kitten." A simile I've never understood, possibly due to my inability to be around animals without causing a scene. I like snakes though, the really big, poisonous ones that look deadly dangerous like pythons and anacondas, there patterns are mesmerising.

"So if you sneak up and announce yourself, that's going to startle me less than when you tap me on the shoulder?" A mighty bit touchy still then.

"I didn't sneak –" Fuck it, I shake my head and grab two crunch bread rolls, dispersing the ones that remain to hide my pilfering. "I just wanted to say that if you and Simon want to talk, you don't need to do it behind my back. Unless you want to." I added as an afterthought, some girls liked the cloak and dagger stuff, boys too, that's why the quarterback from our last school spent the majority of lesson time in the sauna with his best friend's girlfriend. No I didn't tell anyone.

"We were just –" she's blushing a pale shade of pink like bubblegum. I wonder if something did happen last night, I dismiss the idea immediately Simon would have said, he would have gushed.

"I know what you were doing. Simon already told me. You want answers. I've been trying to give you them all along. You just have to ask." A flicker of irritation sharpened my voice, so predictable. If I tell her she's a necromancer she shrugs it off instantly as fanciful and silly, but if Simon delivers the news she swallows it like her many pills. It could be my accent.

"But you said –"

"Tonight. Eight. Our room," I cut her off speaking monosyllabically, dimly noticing she hasn't once stuttered: improvement. And less annoying. "Tell Mrs Talbot you'll be with me for Math tutoring," that's an excuse that will work, not like her lame I was just dreaming I lie earlier, a smile tugs my lips, it was quite amusing.

"Your side is off-limits? You really think she's going to let me go up there, alone, with a boy?" I scrutinised her carefully to see whether it was being in my room with me that worried her, in that case I would have just left her and Simon to it. Yet she seemed fine, untroubled by my presence.

"Just tell her its for math she won't question it," I answer firmly, about to bite into my bread roll.

"Will that be okay . . . you and I aren't supposed to . . .?" A fair concern but I still got the niggling feeling that she was scouring for any reason not to come. Plus, the mention of what happened the other day brought back some unseemly emotions, remorse drowned my gut. Looking at her now so small and trusting, pretty eyes tracing the walls around the room, she looked as scary as an apple pie. I felt like such a dick.

"Tell her Simon'll be there," He'll look after you, "And talk to Talbot not Van Dop."