Carrie Jones - Need

"And why is he following me?"

"That's a good question," Devyn says. "When did you first see him?"

I do not want to think about it. I have been actively not thinking about this for four months, but Is and Devyn stare up at me with these wide-open, trusting eyes and I just plunge ahead, ignore the ache in me.

"After my dad died."

Issie and Devyn look confused.

"You saw him when your dad died?" Issie says.

Then I remember. This morning there were little glitter sparkles by my car. Dust. Pixie dust. No, it can't be that. But maybe it's something else-a calling card, some sort of serial killer hallmark.

"What?" Devyn asks, wheeling closer. His chair hits a copy ofPeople. "What did you just figure out?"

"How do you know she figured something out?" lssie asks.

"She has a look."

I close my eyes. I open them. "I'm not sure if I believe the whole pixie thing…"

"But?" lssie straightens herself up, waiting.

"But," I continue, "I am pretty positive that the man I saw when my dad died is the same one at the high school. I am pretty damn sure, actually, and I want to find out who the hell he is."

lssie tries again. "What if he's a pixie?"

I almost laugh. "I don't think he's actually a pixie. Maybe a stalker or something."

lssie's eyes light up. "You mean he read the Web site and he's modeling his behavior?"

"Yeah. I don't know. But if he's just some normal psycho how can he get everywhere so quickly? It makes no sense. It might just be a big coincidence."

"You don't believe that. You're just trying to fool yourself, to not be scared," lssie says.

I swallow. She's right. I am.

"What about the dust?" Devyn urges. "There's not a lot of it, but it's there. I saw it."

"I don't know about the dust. Maybe he plants it, like some sort of creepy calling card," I say, checking my watch. "I'm sorry. I have to go get the car registered before they close."

It's true, but I'm really trying to leave because I just want a second to myself, a second to figure this out.

When I get to the door, lssie puts her hand on my wrist, gently. "You'll be careful, right?"

I nod.

"You don't believe us?" Devyn asks, pivoting the chair so he can look at me.

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know. The whole pixie thing is weird, but I mean, it's also weird that I'm here in Maine."

"And that he followed you," Devyn adds.

'"That's not just weird," Issie says. "It's creepy. Really creepy."

This is a fear I've never had. Until now.

"I am amaxophobic!" I announce to the steering wheel. I half hug it to make the point.

The steering wheel does not hug back.

There should be a rule that says you can't get too settled into things because something bad will happen.

Oh, I think there is. It's called Murphy's law, and it's about expecting things to go wrong.

I've only driven about three miles from Issie's when the Subaru tires make this horrible noise. The whole car just slides off to the right. The car angles itself toward the woods.

"Stop!" I yell. I slam the brakes. The car slows. It stops at a forty-five-degree angle in the breakdown lane.

"Okay. Stay calm," I tell the steering wheel. "No need to panic."

The wheel does not panic.

"This is my karmic payback for not figuring out the whole psycho-stalker thing sooner, right?"

I try to move the car back onto the road and its tires skid. Smoke flies up from beneath them.

"Okay, little car, you are protesting roads. They are death traps for animals. They are environmentally unsound impervious surfaces that cause runoff. I understand this. But could we protest in the summer?"

I try to back up again.

One of my tires falls into the gutter thing on the side of the road.

My whole body shakes. I try to move the car. It lurches to the side.

Okay. Two of my tires are now in the gutter on the side of the road.

"Yoko! Do not do this to me!"

Wait. I've named the car. Why Yoko? I have no idea. Yoko was always there for John, unlike the way the Subaru is here for me.

"Come on, Yoko. Let's imagine there's no gutter. It's easy if you try. No empty air below your tire.

Above it only car."

I put it in reverse. I put it in forward. I try to rock the stupid car back and forth. I shut off the Green Day. Maybe Yoko doesn't like Green Day?

"I hate Maine!"

I smash my fist against the steering wheel.

The horn blares, probably scaring all the little squirrels in the woods. I don't care. I hit it again.

"Stupid, stupid Maine," I mutter and bang the steering wheel another, time and then another until red marks start showing up on the sides of my hands.

Things areso not good. The sun is going down. It's freezing out. My car is all stuck and tilted like everything in the world is somehow horribly skewed and wrong, which I guess it is.

I mean, I am in Maine in a car stuck on ice.

I am beating up Yoko, which is just so wrong.

And I can't use my cell phone.

Why? I forgot to charge it.

Could life be worse?

I try to move again. The car lurches but slides right back.

The air screams of burned-rubber smell.

How ridiculous.

"I hate ice!"

I smash my head against the steering wheel and that's when I start to cry, bawl really. I cry and cry and cry. Because I'm stuck on the ice and my dad is dead and my mom sent me here, without her, where there are people who seem normal but are capable of suddenly believing in pixies, and I miss Charleston and warm air and flowers and roads thathave no ice on them.

I used to be the type of person who was always in motion, always doing things, writing letters, running through the streets, laughing with my friends, moving. Always forward. Moving.

Then I got stuck. My dad died and the only words I hear aredeath, deadly, stillness. To never move.

No forward. No backward. Just stuck. Gone forever, like my dad, a blank screen on the computer, an old photograph in the hall with no spirit in it, an ice patch on a road to nowhere, nothing. Just gone.

The sun is setting and it's only five o'clock.

How do people live here? It should be against the law to live anywhere that the sun sets so early. If I were a dictator I would totally make that law. Since I am not a dictator, I stumble into the cold with one of the flares from Betty's emergency kit and light it. I check out under the tire. I get back in the car.

Someone knocks on Yoko's window.

I jump in the seat and scream. I probably would have hit the ceiling but I'm wearing my seat belt. I cover my face with my hands, horrified. Someone raps on the window again. Finally, finally I get enough nerve to look.

Nick Colt stands next to my car, all casual, like standing in the ditch is part of his everyday routine. I put down the window.

Cold air rushes in. I shiver.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, stunned. He saw me scream. He looks like he thinks it's all funny, his cheek twitching like I'm some big joke.

"Is that any way to greet your rescuer?"

He smiles. His smile is perfect.

"I'm sorry. I'm just- Oh, I don't know what's wrong with me." I shake my head. "I'm freaked out. I'm sorry."

"Obviously." His voice is steady and low.

I wipe at my face. "I've never driven on ice before. Back home I'm a perfectly good driver."

"I'm sure you are."

"I am. I am a very competent person."

"I'm sure." He has a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles.

I force myself to look away from the cute boy, look away from the dimple. "Really. And I don't usually scream when people knock on my window, either."

I start to open the door but he puts out both his arms to hold it shut.