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"Don't move," Jacob instructed with what sounded more like disappointment than anger. He shrugged out of his winter jacket and tossed it toward one of the kitchen chairs. It slid to the floor, but it was far enough away that it wouldn't land on the shattered pieces of glass. "Back up onto the rug."
Brook wasn't sure why she listened to him, but she instinctively did as he directed so that she wouldn't cut her feet. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen as he began to pull on his black gloves. The light from underneath the microwave was always left on, and she could see that his cheeks were flushed red from the cold.
"Where were you?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it, but Jacob didn't even hesitate as he walked across the floor in his winter boots to the small closet next to the pantry. He grabbed the handheld brush and dustpan that their mother always had hanging on a nail that stuck out from the back of the door.
"You didn't go to the library earlier, either," Brook said as she leaned back against the sink. She wasn't sure why she continued to talk as if she wasn't afraid of the consequences. Maybe it was because he wasn't answering her questions. He'd all but ignored her as he flicked on the overhead light. Maybe it was the bright illumination that gave her the courage to continue to speak. "Sally said that her brother was there all evening studying for his upcoming SATs. He didn't see you."
Brook had really thought that Jacob would respond to her for calling him out on his lie, but he remained silent as he went about sweeping up the broken pieces of glass. She studied him while he concentrated on getting every razor-sharp shard into the dustpan.
There wasn't any blood on him like there had been the last time.
At least three minutes of screaming electronic silence had passed by before Jacob paid her any attention. Even then, he simply motioned toward the dishtowel that their mom always kept by the side of the sink. Brook warily reached behind her before handing him the blue towel.
She glanced toward the small hallway that served as her only avenue of escape. His reaction to help her clean up the mess had originally gotten her to relax a bit, but now she was debating with herself over whether or not this was some type of stalling tactic.
"Sally's brother was too busy staring at Pamela Murray's tits through her tight pink sweater to even notice that I was two tables over near the back," Jacob replied as he stood with the dustpan in his left hand. The towel and handheld broom were in his right. He tilted his head to the side as he studied her the way that she'd been doing to him. "Did you ever notice that they all think they have perfect, protected little lives?"
"What do you mean?"
Brook cautiously monitored him as he slowly walked back to the closet, which was where they kept the tall kitchen garbage can. His shocking description of Pamela had been practiced with ease, probably in an attempt to throw her off her questioning. He pressed on the black pedal near the bottom and then slowly dumped out the pieces of broken glass inside with a deliberate, smooth motion.
Was he telling the truth about Sally's brother?
There was no way to read Jacob's body language.
Sally had mentioned that Ben had a crush on Pamela Murray, which was the girl that Jacob had liked a couple of years back. He hadn't mentioned her recently, but then again, he didn't really talk to anyone in that fashion anymore.
"Sally and Pamela think the world revolves around them. Even Ben, but he's not worth my time." Jacob secured the handheld broom to the dustpan before hanging them both back up on the nail. "They all think they live these perfect little lives inside their tiny bubbles of personal vanities compared to the rest of us. Take your other friend, Marcie. She knows that life isn't perfect, doesn't she? Sheseesit.Feelsit. She'sawake. More people need to be like her."
Brook swallowed around the lump of fear in her throat.
Marcie had told her just the other day that her parents were constantly fighting over a divorce, her brother had gotten caught shoplifting a bottle of alcohol last month from the corner pharmacy, and that she was failing several of her classes. Brook and Sally were doing their best to try to help her with homework, but Marcie was just too stressed out over her horrible family life to concentrate on school.
How had Jacob known about Marcie's problems?
"I should go to bed," Brook murmured, noticing how Jacob's nonchalant movements had a slight edge to them as he quietly closed the pantry door. "I have to study tomorrow for midterms this week."
"Don't forget to get another glass of water."
Jacob still had the dishtowel in his hands, wringing it between both of his winter gloves. Not in a stressful manner, but more of a subconscious practiced maneuver. The refrigerator chose that moment to go silent, and Brook could swear he could hear her labored breathing.
"I'm not thirsty anymore." Brook kept her arms around her waist as she began to make her way through the small hallway, but she paused near the end of the staircase. She could still see him standing beside the pantry door. "Thanks for cleaning that up."
"Everyone makes mistakes." This was where Jacob should have smiled at her reassuringly, but she wasn't sure that he even remembered how to smile anymore. "You're not perfect, are you, Brook?"
She didn't answer him.
Instead, Brook made her way quickly upstairs to her room, where she quietly closed her bedroom door and turned the small lock on the knob. She stared at the brass button as she listened intently for any sound that her brother had followed her upstairs.
Blood rushed through her ears at an erratic pace.
Jacob had mentioned a few times over the past couple of months how she wasn't perfect, especially when they'd been in front of their parents. As a matter of fact, he'd almost gotten her grounded for saying that she'd been at Sally's house when they'd gone to the mall instead. Brook had quickly explained that Sally's mother had been the one who had needed something, and she'd had no choice but to go along with them since Mrs. Pearson had been driving Brook home that day.
The faint telltale squeak of the floorboard at the top of the stairs had her holding her breath and studying the knob on the door.
What was his fascination with people's lives?
