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6
RAMSAY
The house was big and creepy when it was dark and my mom wasn’t here. But it was the closest place to my cousins that we could find for rent. And we had a backyard. If we got a dog, bonus for the furry baby. I liked the house because of the space—lots of space in the kitchen and living room. There was a back patio, and the backyard had a sidewalk that connected to a back alley. The public beach for the river wasn’t far. I’d heard from my cousins that the river was the place to have a home.
The only con was that the house was old, but I figured maybe there would be ghosts, and I’d try to befriend them in my head. Maybe not so creepy then?
Creak!
Nope.
Still so creepy!
Also, we needed better curtains. The ones we had were ragged and thin, with holes in them and the ends frayed. Since the house was set back from the road a little, I wasn’t too worried about someone being able to see inside. Still, though—ten o’clock at night, and I was locked in my room because the creaks wouldn’t stop.
I was starting to think my whole ghost theory wasn’t just a theory.
Knock! Knock!
I screamed, a full-body, hair-raising, bloodcurdling scream.
Gasping, I saw a hand at the window, then a wave.
I knew that hand.
Cursing, I lunged for the curtain, whisked it back, and glared at Clint. “Are you serious?”
He only grinned and nodded to the window. His voice came through muffled. “Let me in.”
“How are you—” I cut myself off, unlocking the window and trying to push it up.
Oofta. The frame was made of solid wood, and I didn’t think anyone had tried sneaking out of it since it’d been made. I got it up an inch, and that was it.
Clint watched me, an eyebrow raised and a sneer on his face. “You serious? You used to be tough. When’d you get weaksauce?”
Well . . . I sent him a withering glare, reached forward, and slammed the window right back down. “Thanks for stopping by.”
His mouth fell open. “Are you serious? Come on!”
I threw the curtains closed again, but he could still see me because they were hella thin.
He snorted, and I heard that loud and clear. “You weren’t answering downstairs, and you took off all day. I came over because I was worried.”
Oh.
Man.
Now I felt stupid.
Standing, I motioned for the door. “Can you get back down? You won’t fall and break your legs?”
Now he glared at me. “Such weaksauce.”
I taunted him, grinning, “I’m not the one who broke his nose because he turned and ran smack dab into the telephone post right behind him.”
He growled, but he’d already turned, and I knew he’d get down just fine.
I went to meet him, turning on all the lights because it was still creepy. I unlocked the back door and Clint came in, brushing off some paint chips that had fallen on his shirt. He stopped just inside, looking all around. “Where’s Aunt Chris?”
“Working. Double shift. Ailes knows you’re here?”
Ailes was Aunt Aileen, my mom’s sister.
“No clue. She’ll call if she realizes I’m gone.” Clint shrugged. He followed me to the kitchen. “You get in trouble for ditching?”
I shook my head. “She understood.” I was downplaying it because, while she did understand, she also mentioned finding another counselor for me to talk to. I almost regretted ditching when she said that, but I was hoping to convince her I didn’t need to talk to someone.
I’d handle it. I’d have to.
Clint gestured around the place. “I’ve never been in this house. An old guy used to live here.” He grinned at me. “I heard he bit it in here too. You had any ghostly encounters?”
“Shut up.” I shoved him to the side. “That’s not even funny.”
“Even? Don’t know why you added that word. I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was going for scary since you’re scared of the supernatural stuff.”
I growled low in my throat, before going to the freezer, grabbing a pizza, and turning on the oven.
“You’re making pizza?”
I stifled a laugh and pulled out a pan.
Clint looked through the cupboards and pulled out two glasses. “You got soda in this bitch? Or we drinking wine?”
I was cutting off the packaging but paused and gave him the side-eye.
He was waiting, a small grin on his face, and I just sighed.
He knew the answer.
“Right on!” Clint continued his search through the cupboards until he found the wine. Grabbing the sweet stuff, the one with the twist-off cap, he laughed. “You and Aunt Chris have the coolest and weirdest relationship ever. She doesn’t drink this shit, you do, and she buys it for you. My mom would flip a lid if we asked her to do something like that.”
I glared as I put the pizza in the oven. “You’re a douche.”
