Chris Green - Only the Good Die Young

Forget the pool house for now , I thought. My bad feeling told me that I should go to that room.

When I got to Wendy’s door, I shuddered. Bad feeling times a million.

I threaded under her door, hoping that she wasn’t on some schedule where she strutted around in a towel with her curtains wide-open every morning, cluelessly putting on a regular show for the pool guy.

But after I eased into her room, I merely saw her near—not in front of—the wide expanse of glass, the sun streaming in behind her to light over her long, dark pink-streaked hair, which was still wet from the shower. She was wearing torn black sweats that slumped down one of her shoulders, ’eighties-like.

Behind her, hanging on the closet, was what looked to be her prep school uniform, all-plaid skirt, white linen shirt, and slim tie, and she was holding a clarinet in her hands, carefully cleaning it and then putting it into a case that rested on a window-side table.

Up close, I could see more about the artwork on the walls now: round-eyed comic book characters with big, sometimes spiky hair. Some of them even had schoolgirl outfits a lot sexier than hers.

As Wendy coughed a couple of times—she sounded only slightly sick—I inched over to the window, wanting to know if the pool guy was still watching.

Yup. He was near the guesthouse in a stealthy spot, cleaning his net, still looking up here every so often.

Did he have a thing for teenage Wendy? Young Asian girls? In life, my guy friends had joked about the last one every so often, confessing to certain fetishes, so I knew that it was a male fantasy for some. But wasn’t Wendy just fifteen?

I’d been so focused on Pool Guy that I hadn’t noticed Wendy had her arms crossed over her chest and was looking around.

She’d already felt me.

I backed off from her, but I couldn’t just let her be a sitting duck for the pool guy’s eyes, and when the air kicked on, I decided to do her a favor and pass the curtain, very casually, fluttering it enough so that it came loose from the teak holder that held it back, and drawing her attention to the window.

She must’ve thought I was the air, because she went to the curtain, like she was going to put it back in place, then peered down at the pool.

She made a small, impatient sound and tugged the curtains shut without any more fanfare.

Did the pool guy see her up here every day? Had she caught on to his peeping?

Just then, her newfangled phone dinged from where it sat on the bed, the screen lighting up.

She rushed to it, clearly forgetting all about the cold spot in her room. Even so, I tried to keep my distance as I looked over her shoulder while she accessed what Amanda Lee had once told me was a “text message.”

I’ll call school to clear your absence. Had early business. See you later, though. Bringing home chicken soup from deli that you like.

The name at the top of the small screen said GAVIN, and I noticed that there were previous texts from Wendy telling him that she wouldn’t be going to her classes today.

I could feel energy leak out of her as her shoulders slumped. She plopped down on the bed, sadness pulling down on her mouth. She rubbed her arms, still cold, then typed into her phone with her thumbs, coughing more as I positioned myself to see again.

I hoped u’d wrk hre and hang out with me, she’d answered.

When Amanda Lee had told me about texts, she’d also mentioned that they were the downfall of the English language. I was starting to believe her, because Wendy seemed much smarter than her spelling.

Amanda Lee. I was thinking about her too much. Wondering when I should go back.

Wondering if I wanted to.

Gavin had responded by now.

Meetings with game script writers and staff. Dinner this weekend instead?

Wendy made like she was going to throw her phone, but she pulled back and hatefully typed Whatevr. No huge thng.

Then she did toss it away, giving in to a moment of teenage drama and falling back on the bed, where she coughed once more and then closed her eyes.

Well. At least I knew that Gavin had gone in to work. She didn’t move from the bed, even when her phone dinged again with a message from Gavin, telling her to get well. And when another message came a few minutes later, she only kicked the phone away and crawled up to her pillows, burying her face there.

Like a nosy-nose, I looked at the last message. It was from Farah.

Gavin told me ur sick. Constanza will check in on you.

And that was it from big sis.

I marveled at that. Farah was just downstairs and she couldn’t be bothered to come up and tell Wendy this in person? Wow, they were really close.

Soon enough, Wendy gave in and glanced at the phone, seeming totally unimpressed with the messages. She only grabbed a remote from a wicker nightstand and flicked on her huge space-age TV, arriving at a channel that was playing cartoons that had characters just like the ones in her wall art.

It occurred to me that I had an opportunity to actually study my poltergeist agent, if I chose to go that route. So I stayed, even when the maid showed up to bring Wendy a tray of breakfast food and ruffle her hair. Even when, after wolfing down her grub, Wendy got some shut-eye.

I took advantage of the situation and poked around her room—everywhere from her open closet filled with holey, edgy clothing and enough boots to make me think she was obsessed with them, to a gaped desk drawer with art materials stuffed into it. Her bathroom was just as boring as Gavin’s, except Wendy had some beauty aids that caught my eye and made me want to be a girl again. I might’ve looked like a slob in my last moments on the earth, but I’d had a weakness for body splashes and lotions just like any other chick.

Hours went by as I also inspected the house again, finding nothing majorly interesting.

It was only when afternoon rolled around that things got good.

I was back in Wendy’s room when a “laptop” computer that sat on a low table near a bamboo-framed couch made a ringing sound.

Sickness forgotten, Wendy bounded out of bed and over to the machine, pressing a key while she sat down.

“Hey,” she said to the screen while she sprawled over the couch cushions.

“Hey,” came an answer from the computer.

Amanda Lee’s computer hadn’t held conversations. I had to see this.

I got nearer, pasting myself up against the wall in back of Wendy, checking out Exhibit A in Tomorrowland.

A girl with big hazel eyes, mousy brown hair, freckles, and the same prep school uniform that hung on Wendy’s closet was on the screen. “You’re sick?” she asked.

“I was, but I’m way better now. I slammed NyQuil and slept all day.”

“I was going to bring you some goodies, like those chewy red cough drops and ice cream. Still want?”

“Thanks, but that’s okay, Torrey. Gavin’s got the sick-girl food covered when he gets here tonight.”

“Got it. He didn’t work from home?”

“No, and I thought he’d be able to swing it.” Wendy huffed out a sigh, her gaze straying from the computer. For a second, her shoulders lifted, like a little of my coldness had traveled down from the wall to the back of her neck. But then she returned her focus to the screen. “He promised he’d try to be home more…”

“Wen, you and your abandonment issues, I swear. He’s not your dad, you know.”

Note to Jensen: Do a computer search on Daddy-O. Amanda Lee had said he was still alive and that he was constantly on trips away from home, but that’s all I really knew about him.

“Don’t tell me—I’ve got issues,” Wendy said, sinking into the couch.

“You’re such a nerd.” Torrey laughed, taking off a headband while she talked into the lens. In the background, I could see a bedroom, pink and frilly. “You’ve always said that your family’s nutty and thank God you were only adopted into it. Why you keep getting depressed when one of them is gone is beyond me.”