and his hair is sticking up straight at the very top, kind of like a Mohawk. Gagging, I grab my shirt and hold it over my chest as he drawls, “Hey, you.”
“What are you doing in here?” I shout. “Get out of here!”
He’s running his tongue around his mouth like it’s his toothbrush. He eyes me like he’s got something on me. “Why were you … Who was out there?”
I turn back to the window. Jack is gone. In that instant, everything I was doing just seems so stupid. What was I doing? I’m starting to blush, something I don’t want Hugo to see, or else he’ll know. He’ll know he’s gotten to me. So I grab my hairbrush and hurl it at him. “Get out!” I scream.
He ducks away and it smacks against the wall near the door, leaving a crescent-shaped dent in the plaster. “Ice Girl my ass. More like Psycho Girl,” he calls behind me.
Psycho Girl, I think, as I put on my new T-shirt and jeans, carefully looking out into the darkening forest every so often. But Jack never returns. Maybe he was never there in the first place. I’d hate for Hugo to be right, but this time, he probably is.
I’m lacing up my hiking boots when Angela comes into the room. Her hair is damp, so she must have showered. “Hi, Lucky Charms,” she says. “How’s your ankle?”
“Hi, um …” I think Angela spends most of her free time trying to think of new cereals to call me, but this time, I’m blank. “Trix?” There’s a cereal called that, right? “Much better.”
She collapses on the bed next to me. “What’re you up to?”
I blush deeper, thinking of what I was up to. I don’t want to talk about it. So I say, “I’d rather find out what you were up to.”
She sits up and her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“Last night. I saw you and Hugo getting cozy.”
“Oh,” she says. “Nothing. He’s kind of annoying. And creepy.”
I cringe, thinking of him watching me through the open door. But Angela … Angela doesn’t think badly of anyone. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, he went through everyone’s stuff to get the vodka. Who in their right mind would do something like that?”
“I know. He read my journal,” I say, shuddering.
“Ew, he did? And he always seems to say the wrong thing. I just—he’s not my type, you know?”
Finally, she comes to her senses! “So, what is your type?” I ask, but the thing is, I know. She tells me this all the time. Someone more like her. Someone more like … my boyfriend.
This time, though, she doesn’t say it. She leans back and stares at the ceiling. She’s unusually thoughtful. Maybe being in the wilderness unleashes her quiet, pensive side. Maybe she is at one with nature. Then she opens her mouth and the last thing I’d expected comes out. “Prom’s tonight.”
“It is?” For the past couple of days, I haven’t thought of myself in ice-blue satin at all, but it’s always been in the back of my mind, despite all that has been going on.
She sits up and pinches my cheek like I’m three. “I know you wanted to go.”
“I never said I wanted to,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” she singsongs. “You’ve been one of my best friends for ten years. I know.”
I shrug. “But this is …” I’m searching for a word, but every one I can think of to describe the time up here is negative. The longer I pause, the less real I sound. Finally, I choke out, “Fun, too.”
She titters a little, back to the Angela I know and love. Still, there’s something wrong with her behavior, but I can’t tell what it is. She’s so jumpy, like a spring, yet guarded. She’s hiding something. She’s terrible at keeping secrets, almost as bad as Justin. “Sure it is. Anyway, The River Wild is all they ever play up here. I’ve seen it a hundred times. You’d think they could play something different for once.”
I shrug. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, it’s okay. But I just wanted to tell you, I think I’m staying in.”
Okay, there’s definitely something going on. Angela loves darkened movie theaters and big containers of popcorn. I raise my eyebrows. “You’re staying in? With Hugo?”
“Ew. He refuses to shower even though he smells,” she groans. “There’s a zombie movie marathon on tonight and a can of SpaghettiOs with my name on it in the pantry. I’ll be