I Knew You Were Trouble - Cassie Mae Page 0,21
had when my dad wasn’t such a case. We’d go out there and kick it off the bottom of the truck just to stomp on it with our boots, leaving rough prints behind.
“Sludge shows signs of life.” A slight smile hits her lips, and her eyes start to light up. She must be reliving things, too. At least they’re pleasant ones. “Whenever there is a snowfall, and I catch animal tracks all across the ground, it’s like this huge relief. But when it’s just smooth and untouched?” She makes a gagging sound. “It’s terrifying.”
“Do you ever paint with white?” Can’t believe how fascinated I am by this conversation, and how her irrational fear seems, well, rational.
“Yes. But using white on a palate next to all the colors is leagues different than sitting in an all white room.”
“Has that ever happened?”
“Only in my imagination. And my nightmares.”
“You probably can’t handle blank pages then, either.”
“Nope.”
I smirk and let my eyes fall to the colors of the blanket. Now her choice in décor makes a lot of sense. There was a house I remember growing up that was in the snob nob of our neighborhood, and the entire thing was monochromatic, and their color scheme was white upon white upon white. It did feel unwelcoming, almost as if life wasn’t allowed in it.
Her blanket alone has all the colors imaginable. Red, green, orange, brown… Wait. That brown spot is moving.
“Oh shit.”
She tilts her head. “What?”
“I found him.”
She follows my gaze before I can tell her to not freak out, but her eyes widen and the scream of a banshee rocks my eardrums. The blanket flies over my head, and she’s off the couch in the same second.
The spider is probably in my hair now, and I whip the blanket off and get up with her, searching for the little guy who is definitely not from Australia.
“He’s there, there!” Candace shrieks, pointing directly by my bare feet, but I don’t see anything. I search my body, swiping a shaking hand down my front. I’m not a fan of spiders either, but I don’t want her seeing me unable to handle it.
“Where?” I say, spinning in a circle. She lunges for one of my muddy boots and slams it down to the floor. She repeats the action, whacking the floor with thick thuds. Chunks of dried mud fly every which way, my shoelaces whipping around and nearly catching her in the eye.
After the tenth hit, she freezes, her chest heaving. She slowly rises from the floor.
“You killed it.”
Her wide eyes lift, my muddy boot clutched in her hand. Her mouth pops open in absolute horror and shock, and damn if it doesn’t make my heart take a few extra beats to compose itself.
“Guess I am just an… an…”
“You don’t have to say it.”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Okay.”
The boot falls from her fingers, landing to the floor with a loud thud. She swallows so hard that the sound echoes over the crackling fire.
“Um… Guess you’ve earned your money, teach.”
“Huh?”
“Twelve hundred, right?” She moves around the couch, her hands still shaking as she digs into her purse resting by the coat rack. She briskly walks to me, a chunk of cash in her hand. “Half now, half after, right?”
“Right.” I shake my head, taking the money. Silly me. I was having so much fun, I completely forgot that the cash is the whole reason I’m here.
Candace
I’m working every day this week, including Saturday and Sunday nights, so Pete and I are going to have to figure out how the heck we’re going to do bad girl lessons.
I weave through shoppers and head to the clothing section, my face nose deep into my phone. I’ve got the Wheel Zone Wednesday and Friday with Tanner, the bowling alley tomorrow with Aislynn, and the 3D Zombie Killer on Thursday and Saturday with Josh. I am working with Pete on Sunday in the Laser Zone, but that’s not going to be enough.
I nibble the inside of my bottom lip and scroll through everyone’s zones to see who I can trade with—or who will be willing to trade, anyway.
Timing my lessons over a holiday may not have been the smartest idea.
Let it Snow plays over the store’s intercom, the jingle bells in the accompaniment tinkling as I bounce to a rack of ripped jeans.
What is the point of these? If I’m buying clothing, I want them to be intact, no matter the style. I pull out a pair in my