Prey

“I'm so glad. I heard you come in but thought I'd wait until this morning before getting a report.”

“Later,” I tell her, knowing there's only one thing to report and I'm still sorting it out.

Mom picks up my dress from the floor. “Honey, this dress cost a lot. Don't leave it wadded up this way.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

She takes it to my closet and hangs it on the back of the door, fluffing and smoothing the shimmery fabric. “You and Ryan looked so good together last night. I've already downloaded the digital photos Dad took onto the computer. When you come down, take a look. You were glowing. Did Ryan have a good time?”

I can't tell Mom the truth—our date was a bust. That's what happens when you get your hopes up. A burst bubble. Ryan was bored. I was confused. All I could think about was Lori Settles and her necklace. Ugly thoughts. Hateful ideas. “You'll have to ask him,” I say.

Mom stands beside my bed, and I feel her gaze on my back. “You feel all right?”

“I'm fine. Hungry.” I toss back the covers. No use making Mom wonder what's going on with me. She has the instincts of a hawk, and wheedling power to boot.

“I saved you some pancake batter.”

“I'll be right there,” I say.

When she's gone, I crawl into sweatpants and a sweatshirt, find a scrunchie and pull my hair into a ponytail. I don't look in the mirror because I know what I look like—I'm big-boned and oversized and I have smudges of last night's mascara under my eyes. The real Honey Fowler. Across the room, the dress hangs on a padded hanger, sapphire blue and feminine, a curse from the night my dreams crashed and burned. I'll never wear it again.

I have to know the truth. It takes me a week to devise a plan. I wait for an afternoon when I know Ryan's not at home, when his dad's on the road, when their housekeeper is almost ready to finish her chores for the day. I ring Ryan's doorbell. When Mrs. Gomez opens the door, I say, “Hey there. Remember me— Honey Fowler?”

“Yes, Ryan's friend.” She gives me a big smile. “Ryan's not here.”

“Rats!” I act disappointed. “Listen, I really need a favor. He's got some material I need up in his room for a project I'm doing at school and it's due tomorrow. Can you please let me in so I can go up and find it? I promise I won't take long.”

I see her hesitate.

“We can phone him on his cell,” I say, hoping she won't call my bluff. “He's in the library, so he may not have it turned on.”

She gives me a smile and steps aside. “I am sure this will be okay.”

“Thanks!” I rush up the stairs and into his room, my palms sweating and my heart racing. Liar, liar! I hear my conscience shout.

His room is neat as a pin. A place for everything, and everything in its place. No velvet box in sight. He could have put it anywhere. I can't quite stoop to opening the dresser drawers and pawing through his things. Nothing on his desk, either. Just his computer. I go to his computer, remembering that it's password protected. I pray he hasn't changed the password since fifth grade, when we played computer games together.

He hasn't. I call up his e-mail program. I rummage through his inbox, outbox, deleted messages. Nothing. I hear Mrs. Gomez start the vacuum downstairs. Hurry, I tell myself.

Minutes later I find a subfolder inside a saved folder marked WORLD HISTORY with a list of e-mails from carnivaldaze. The folder is large and organized by date. Just like Ryan, I think. I choose one and read it, and almost go into shock. It's graphic, sexual and explicit. And Ryan's replies to this person's e-mails leave nothing to the imagination. I feel sick.

Below, the vacuum stops and Mrs. Gomez calls out, “Are you finished, Honey?”

“Almost!” I shout back. “Just five more minutes.”

I find a stack of writable CDs on a shelf next to Ryan's computer. My fingers have lost all feeling and I almost drop the blank CD that I pick up. I slide it into the machine and copy the entire subfolder.

Back home, I run upstairs and lock my bedroom door, turn on my computer and with shaking hands insert the copied CD into the disk drive. When the list of files flashes onto the screen, I read them, starting from the earliest date to the one from as recent as the day before. I see the entire history of Ryan's relationship with carnivaldaze. He addresses her by name in several of the e-mails: Lori. No doubt remains in my mind that Lori Settles, Ms. Settles, is carnivaldaze and that she and Ryan are having an affair.

Bile rises into my mouth and I fight off the urge to vomit. Ryan and Lori. Student and teacher. Boy and woman. Friends with benefits. Lovers.

I exit the program, remove the CD and stash it between two books on a shelf. I wish I could wash out my brain and rid myself of the pictures the e-mails have imbedded in my mind. I wish I had never snooped. Too much information.

The pain is unbearable, the sense of betrayal stupefying. When I left Ryan's room an hour ago, I left my romantic notions behind, my idea of sex as something beautiful and meaningful between two people who love each other. I also left behind my hopes, my dreams, and my heart.

Honey

It feels as if worms are crawling around in my brain. I've read the e-mails about a hundred times over the past few days, and I'm convinced that Lori Settles is a monster and that Ryan is despicable. Worst of all, knowing what's going on between them has pulled my life out of shape and turned me into someone I don't like.

The secret I'm carrying around is eating me alive. I can't sleep. I've lost interest in school, and I blew our final game of the season so badly that Coach took me out at halftime and made me ride the bench. I don't care. I just want the pain inside me to stop.

“What's going on with you?” Jess asks after cornering me in the hall at my locker.

“Nothing. I've just had a lot on my mind.”

“Everything all right at home? With your brother?”

“Cory's fine, and the parents are all right too.”

“Then what? It's like you're off on a distant planet.”

“Two huge papers due,” I say.

Jess looks worried. I think about telling her what I know, but don't. I want to tell someone but don't know who to tell, or how.

“You just look so unhappy,” Jess says. “I miss my friend.”

Tears bubble up into my eyes. “I'll get on top of things,” I tell her. “Back to normal soon.” But it's not true. I don't even know what normal is anymore. My thoughts are torturing me. My feelings are overwhelming. I want to do something. I have to do something.

Cory comes home for Easter and I realize I've missed him. I envy him too, because the world he lives in isn't as complicated as mine, at least not when it comes to emotions. We're outside tossing a ball when Ryan and Joel drive by in Joel's car. They stop, come across the front lawn. Just seeing Ryan makes my stomach all queasy. I recall a time when it was jumpy every time I saw him—a time when every nerve in my body was lit up because he was near me. Knowing what I know now, I just feel sick.

Joel sits on the front step and gets on his cell. Ryan walks up to me and Cory.

“Hey, buddy,” Ryan says to my brother.

Cory recognizes him, but he doesn't offer himself to be hugged. Autistic kids are that way—sometimes they want you, sometimes they don't. Sort of like Ryan, I think.

Cory walks away. “How's he doing?” Ryan asks me.

It's hard for me to speak to him, but since it's about Cory, I say, “He's doing good at that school. They think he can mainstream into third grade next year.”

“That's great.”

Cory wants me to toss him the ball. Ryan picks it up and rolls it to him. Cory lets it lie at his feet. “He wants me to do it,” I say. I go, pick up the ball and hand it to Cory. He waits until I'm several feet away and rolls it to me.

“Guess I'm not his favorite pal anymore,” Ryan says.