Hush, Hush Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3
COACH MCCONAUGHY STOOD AT THE CHALKBOARD droning on and on about something, but
my mind was far from the complexities of science.
I was busy formulating reasons why Patch and I should no longer be partners, making a list of them on
the back of an old quiz. As soon as class was over, I would present my argument to Coach.
Uncooperative on assignments, I wrote. Shows little interest in teamwork.
But it was the things not listed that bothered me most. I found the location of Patch’s birthmark eerie,
and I was spooked by the incident at my window last night. I didn’t outright suspect Patch of spying on
me, but I couldn’t ignore the coincidence that I was almost positive I’d seen someone looking in my
window just hours after I’d met him.
At the thought of Patch spying on me, I reached inside the front compartment of my backpack and
shook two iron pills from a bottle, swallowing them whole. They caught in my throat a moment, then
found their way down.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Patch’s raised eyebrows.
I considered explaining that I was anemic and had to take iron a few times a day, especially when I was
under stress, but I thought better. The anemia wasn’t life threatening … as long as I took regular doses
of iron. I wasn’t paranoid to the point that I thought Patch meant me harm, but somehow, my medical
condition was a vulnerability that felt better kept secret.
“Nora?”
Coach stood at the front of the room, his hand outstretched in a gesture that showed he was waiting for
one thing—my answer. A slow burn made its way up my cheeks.
“Could you repeat the question?” I asked.
The class snickered.
Coach said, with slight irritation, “What qualities are you attracted to in a potential mate?”
“Potential mate?”
“Come on now, we haven’t got all afternoon.”
I could hear Vee laughing behind me.
My throat seemed to constrict. “You want me to list characteristics of a … ?”
“Potential mate, yes, that would be helpful.”
Without meaning to, I looked sideways at Patch. He was eased back in his seat, one notch above a
slouch, studying me with satisfaction. He flashed his pirate smile and mouthed, We’re waiting.
I stacked my hands on the table, hoping I looked more composed than I felt. “I’ve never thought about
it before.”
“Well, think fast.”
“Could you call on someone else first?”
Coach gestured impatiently to my left. “You’re up, Patch.”
Unlike me, Patch spoke with confidence. He had himself positioned so his body was angled slightly
toward mine, our knees mere inches apart.
“Intelligent. Attractive. Vulnerable.”
Coach was busy listing the adjectives on the board. “Vulnerable?” he asked. “How so?”
Vee spoke up. “Does this have anything to do with the unit we’re studying? Because I can’t find
anything about desired characteristics of a mate anywhere in our text.”
Coach stopped writing long enough to look over his shoulder. “Every animal on the planet attracts
mates with the goal of reproduction. Frogs swell their bodies. Male gorillas beat their chests. Have you
ever watched a male lobster rise up on the tips of his legs and snap his claws, demanding female
attention? Attraction is the first element of all animal reproduction, humans included. Why don’t you
give us your list, Miss Sky?”
Vee held up five fingers. “Gorgeous, wealthy, indulgent, fiercely protective, and just a little bit
dangerous.” A finger went down with each description.
Patch laughed under his breath. “The problem with human attraction is not knowing if it will be
returned.”
“Excellent point,” Coach said.
“Humans are vulnerable,” Patch continued, “because they’re capable of being hurt.” At this, Patch’s
knee knocked against mine. I scooted away, not daring to let myself wonder what he meant by the
gesture.
Coach nodded. “The complexity of human attraction—and reproduction—is one of the features that set
us apart from other species.”
I thought I heard Patch snort at this, but it was a very soft sound, and I couldn’t be sure.
Coach continued, “Since the dawn of time, women have been attracted to mates with strong survival
skills—like intelligence and physical prowess—because men with these qualities are more likely to
bring home dinner at the end of the day.” He stuck his thumbs in the air and grinned. “Dinner equals
survival, team.”
No one laughed.
“Likewise,” he continued, “men are attracted to beauty because it indicates health and youth—no point
mating with a sickly woman who won’t be around to raise the children.” Coach pushed his glasses up
the bridge of his nose and chuckled.
“That is so sexist,” Vee protested. “Tell me something that relates to a woman in the twentyfirst
century.”
“If you approach reproduction with an eye to science, Miss Sky, you’ll see that children are the key to
the survival of our species. And the more children you have, the greater your contribution to the gene
pool.”
I practically heard Vee’s eyes rolling. “I think we’re finally getting close to today’s topic. Sex.”
“Almost,” said Coach, holding up a finger. “Before sex comes attraction, but after attraction comes
body language. You have to communicate ‘I’m interested’ to a potential mate, only not in so many
words.”
Coach pointed beside me. “All right, Patch. Let’s say you’re at a party. The room is full of girls of all
different shapes and sizes. You see blonds, brunettes, redheads, a few girls with black hair. Some are
talkative, while others appear shy. You’ve found one girl who fits your profile—attractive, intelligent,
and vulnerable. How do you let her know you’re interested?”
“Single her out. Talk to her.”
“Good. Now for the big question—how do you know if she’s game or if she wants you to move on?”
“I study her,” Patch said. “I figure out what she’s thinking and feeling. She’s not going to come right
out and tell me, which is why I have to pay attention. Does she turn her body toward mine? Does she
hold my eyes, then look away? Does she bite her lip and play with her hair, the way Nora is doing right
now?”
Laughter rose in the room. I dropped my hands to my lap.
“She’s game,” said Patch, bumping my leg again. Of all things, I blushed.
“Very good! Very good!” Coach said, his voice charged, smiling broadly at our attentiveness.
“The blood vessels in Nora’s face are widening and her skin is warming,” Patch said. “She knows she’s
being evaluated. She likes the attention, but she’s not sure how to handle it.”
“I am not blushing.”
“She’s nervous,” Patch said. “She’s stroking her arm to draw attention away from her face and down to
her figure, or maybe her skin. Both are strong selling points.”
I nearly choked. He’s joking, I told myself. No, he’s insane. I had no experience dealing with lunatics,
and it showed. I felt like I spent most of our time together staring at Patch, mouth agape. If I had any
illusions about keeping up with him, I was going to have to figure out a new approach.
I placed my hands flat against the table, held my chin high, and tried to look as if I still possessed some
dignity. “This is ridiculous.”
Stretching his arm out to his side with exaggerated slyness, Patch hung it on the back of my chair. I had
the strange feeling that this was a threat aimed entirely at me, and that he was unaware and uncaring of
how the class received it. They laughed, but he didn’t seem to hear it, holding my eyes so singly with
his own that I almost believed he’d carved a small, private world for us that no one else could reach.
Vulnerable, he mouthed.
I locked my ankles around the legs of my chair and jerked forward, feeling the weight of his arm drop
off the back of the seat. I was not vulnerable.
“And there you have it!” Coach said. “Biology in motion.”
“Can we please talk about sex now?” asked Vee.
“Tomorrow. Read chapter seven and be ready for a discussion first thing.”
The bell rang, and Patch scraped his chair back. “That was fun. Let’s do it again sometime.” Before I
could come up with something more pithy than No, thanks, he edged behind me and disappeared out
the door.
“I’m starting a petition to have Coach fired,” Vee said, coming to my table. “What was up with class
today? It was watereddown
porn. He practically had you and Patch on top of your lab table, horizontal,
minus your clothes, doing the Big Deed—”
I nailed her with a look that said, Does it look like I want a replay?
“Yeesh,” Vee said, stepping back.
“I need to talk to Coach. I’ll meet you at your locker in ten minutes.”
“Sure thing.”
I made my way up to Coach’s desk, where he sat hunched over a book of basketball plays. At first
glance all the Xs and Os made it look like he’d been playing tictactoe.
“Hi, Nora,” he said without looking up. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to tell you the new seating chart and lesson plan is making me uncomfortable.”
Coach kicked back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I like the seating chart. Almost as
much as I like this new mantoman
play I’m working on for Saturday’s game.”
I set a copy of the school code of conduct and student rights down on top of it. “By law, no student
should feel threatened on school property.”
“You feel threatened?”
“I feel uncomfortable. And I’d like to propose a solution.” When Coach didn’t cut me off, I drew a
confident breath. “I will tutor any student from any of your biology classes—if you will seat me beside
Vee again.”
“Patch could use a tutor.”
I resisted gritting my teeth. “That defeats the point.”
“Did you see him today? He was involved in the discussion. I haven’t heard him say one word all year,
but I put him next to you and—bingo. His grade in here is going to improve.”
“And Vee’s is going to drop.”
“That happens when you can’t look sideways to get the right answer,” he said dryly.
“Vee’s problem is lack of dedication. I’ll tutor her.”
“No can do.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “I’m late for a meeting. Are we done here?”
I squeezed my brain for one more argument, but it appeared I was fresh out of inspiration.
“Let’s give the seating chart a few more weeks. Oh, and I was serious about tutoring Patch. I’ll count
you in.” Coach didn’t wait for my answer; he whistled the tune to Jeopardy and ducked out the door.
By seven o’clock the sky had glowered into an inky blue, and I zipped up my coat for warmth. Vee and
I were on our way from the movie theater to the parking lot, having just watched The Sacrifice. It was
my job to review movies for the eZine, and since I’d already seen every other movie showing at the
theater, we’d resigned ourselves to the latest urban chiller.
“That,” Vee said, “was the freakiest movie I have ever seen. As a rule, we are no longer allowed to see
anything suggestive of horror.”
Fine by me. Take into consideration that someone had been lurking outside my bedroom window last
night and compound it with watching a fully developed stalker movie tonight, and I was starting to feel
a little bit paranoid.
“Can you imagine?” Vee said. “Living your whole life never having a clue that the only reason you’re
being kept alive is to be used as a sacrifice?”
We both shuddered.
“And what was up with that altar?” she continued, annoyingly unaware that I would have rather talked
about the life cycle of fungi than about the movie. “Why did the bad guy light the stone on fire before
tying her down? When I heard her flesh sizzle—”
“Okay!” I practically shouted. “Where to next?”
“And can I just say if a guy ever kisses me like that, I will start dry heaving. Repulsive doesn’t begin to
describe what was going on with his mouth. That was makeup, right? I mean, nobody actually has a
mouth like that in real life—”
“My review is due by midnight,” I said, cutting across her.
“Oh. Right. To the library, then?” Vee unlocked the doors to her 1995 purple Dodge Neon. “You’re
being awfully touchy, you know.”
I slid into the passenger seat. “Blame the movie.” Blame the Peeping Tom at my window last night.
“I’m not talking about just tonight. I’ve noticed,” she said with a mischievous curve of her mouth, “that
you’ve been unusually crabby for a good half hour at the end of bio the past two days.”
“Also easy. Blame Patch.”
Vee’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. She adjusted it for a better look at her teeth. She licked them,
giving a practiced smile. “I have to admit, his dark side calls to me.”
I had no desire to admit it, but Vee wasn’t alone. I felt drawn to Patch in a way I’d never felt drawn to
anyone. There was a dark magnetism between us. Around him, I felt lured to the edge of danger. At any
moment, it felt like he could push me over the edge.
“Hearing you say that makes me want to—” I paused, trying to think of exactly what our attraction to
Patch did make me want to do. Something unpleasant.
“Tell me you don’t think he’s goodlooking,”
Vee said, “and I promise I’ll never bring up his name
again.”
I reached to turn on the radio. Of all things, there had to be something better to do than ruin our evening
by inviting Patch, albeit abstractly, into it. Sitting beside him for one hour every day, five days a week,
was plenty more than I could take. I wasn’t giving him my evenings, too.
“Well?” Vee pressed.
“He could be goodlooking.
But I’d be the last to know. I’m a tainted juror on this one, sorry.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can’t get beyond his personality. No amount of beauty could make up for it.”
“Not beauty. He’s … hardedged.
Sexy.”
I rolled my eyes.
Vee honked and tapped her brake as a car pulled in front of her. “What? You disagree, or roughandroguish
isn’t your type?”
“I don’t have a type,” I said. “I’m not that narrow.”
Vee laughed. “You, babe, are more than narrow—you’re confined. Cramped. Your spectrum is about as
wide as one of Coach’s microorganisms. There are very few, if any, boys at school you would fall for.”
“That’s not true.” I said the words automatically. It wasn’t until I’d spoken them that I wondered how
accurate they were. I had never been seriously interested in anyone. How weird was I? “It isn’t about the
boys, it’s about … love. I haven’t found it.”
“It isn’t about love,” Vee said. “It’s about fun.”
I lifted my eyebrows, doubtful. “Kissing a guy I don’t know—I don’t care about—is fun?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention in bio? It’s about a lot more than kissing.”
“Oh,” I said in an enlightened voice. “The gene pool is warped enough without me contributing to it.”
“Want to know who I think would be really good?”
“Good?”
“Good,” she repeated with an indecent smile.
“Not particularly.”
“Your partner.”
“Don’t call him that,” I said. “‘Partner’ has a positive connotation.”
Vee squeezed into a parking space near the library doors and killed the engine. “Have you ever
fantasized about kissing him? Have you ever stolen a peek sideways and imagined flinging yourself at
Patch and crushing your mouth to his?”
I stared at her with a look I hoped spoke appalled shock. “Have you?”
Vee grinned.
I tried to imagine what Patch would do if presented with this information. As little as I knew about him,
I sensed his aversion to Vee as if it were concrete enough to touch.
“He’s not good enough for you,” I said.
She moaned. “Careful, you’ll only make me want him more.”
Inside the library we took a table on the main level, near adult fiction. I opened my laptop and typed:
The Sacrifice, two and a half stars. Two and a half was probably on the low side. But I had a lot on my
mind and wasn’t feeling particularly equitable.
Vee opened a bag of dried apple chips. “Want some?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
She peered into the bag. “If you’re not going to eat them, I’ll have to. And I really don’t want to.”
Vee was on the colorwheel
fruit diet. Three red fruits a day, two blue, a handful of green …
She held up an apple chip, examining it front to back.
“What color?” I asked.
“MakemegagGrannySmithgreen.
I think.”
Just then Marcie Millar, the only sophomore to make varsity cheerleading in the history of Coldwater
High, took a seat on the edge of our table. Her strawberry blond hair was combed into low pigtails, and
like always, her skin was concealed under half a bottle of foundation. I was fairly certain I’d guessed the
right amount, since there wasn’t a trace of her freckles in sight. I hadn’t seen any of Marcie’s freckles
since seventh grade, the same year she discovered Mary Kay. There was threequarters
of an inch
between the hem of her skirt and the start of her underwear … if she was even wearing any.
“Hi, Supersize,” Marcie said to Vee.
“Hi, Freakshow,” Vee said back.
“My mom is looking for models this weekend. The pay is nine dollars an hour. I thought you’d be
interested.”
Marcie’s mom manages the local JCPenney, and on weekends she has Marcie and the rest of the
cheerleaders model bikinis in the store’s streetfacing
display windows.
“She’s having a really hard time finding plussize
lingerie models,” said Marcie.
“You’ve got food stuck in your teeth,” Vee told Marcie. “In the crack between your two front teeth.
Looks like chocolate ExLax
…”
Marcie licked her teeth and slid off the table. As she sashayed off, Vee stuck her finger in her mouth
and made gagging gestures at Marcie’s back.
“She’s lucky we’re at the library,” Vee told me. “She’s lucky we didn’t cross paths in a dark alley. Last
chance—any chips?”
“Pass.”
Vee wandered off to discard the chips. A few minutes later she returned with a romance novel. She took
the seat next to me and, displaying the novel’s cover, said, “Someday this is going to be us. Ravished by
halfdressed
cowboys. I wonder what it’s like to kiss a pair of sunbaked, mudcrusted
lips?”
“Dirty,” I murmured, typing away.
“Speaking of dirty.” There was an unexpected rise in her voice. “There’s our guy.”
I stopped typing long enough to peer over my laptop, and my heart skipped a beat. Patch stood across
the room in the checkout line. As if he sensed me watching, he turned. Our eyes locked for one, two,
three counts. I broke away first, but not before receiving a slow grin.
My heartbeat turned erratic, and I told myself to pull it together. I was not going down this path. Not
with Patch. Not unless I was out of my mind.
“Let’s go,” I told Vee. Shutting my laptop, I zipped it inside its carrying case. I pushed my books inside
my backpack, dropping a few on the floor as I did.
Vee said, “I’m trying to read the title he’s holding … hang on … How to Be a Stalker.”
“He is not checking out a book with that title.” But I wasn’t sure.
“It’s either that or How to Radiate Sexy Without Trying.”
“Shh!” I hissed.
“Calm down, he can’t hear. He’s talking to the librarian. He’s checking out.”
Confirming this with a quick glance over, I realized that if we left now, we’d probably meet him at the
exit doors. And then I would be expected to say something to him. I ordered myself back into my chair
and searched diligently through my pockets for nothing whatsoever while he finished checking out.
“Do you think it’s creepy he’s here at the same time we are?” Vee asked.
“Do you?”
“I think he’s following you.”
“I think it’s a coincidence.” This wasn’t entirely true. If I had to make a list of the top ten places I would
expect to find Patch on any given night, the public library wouldn’t make it. The library wouldn’t make
the top hundred places. So what was he doing here?
The question was particularly disturbing after what had happened last night. I hadn’t mentioned it to
Vee because I was hoping it would shrink and shrivel in my memory until it ceased to have happened.
Period.
“Patch!” Vee stagewhispered.
“Are you stalking Nora?”
I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Stop it. I mean it.” I put on a severe face.
“I bet he is following you,” said Vee, prying my hand away. “I bet he has a history of it too. I bet he has
restraining orders. We should sneak into the front office. It would all be in his student file.”
“We are not sneaking into the front office.”
“I could create a diversion. I’m good at diversions. No one would see you go in. We could be like
spies.”
“We are not spies.”
“Do you know his last name?” Vee asked.
“No.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“No. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Oh, come on. You love a good mystery, and it doesn’t get better than this.”
“The best mysteries involve a dead body. We don’t have a dead body.”
Vee squealed. “Not yet!”
Shaking two iron pills from the bottle in my backpack, I swallowed them together.
Vee bounced the Neon into her driveway just after nine thirty. She killed the engine and dangled the
keys in front of me.
“You’re not going to drive me home?” I asked. A waste of breath, since I knew her answer.
“There’s fog.”
“Patchy fog.”
Vee grinned. “Oh, boy. He is so on your mind. Not that I blame you. Personally, I’m hoping I dream
about him tonight.”
Ugh.
“And the fog always gets worse near your house,” Vee continued. “It freaks me out after dark.”
I grabbed the keys. “Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t blame me. Tell your mom to move closer. Tell her there’s this new club called civilization and
you guys should join.”
“I suppose you expect me to pick you up before school tomorrow?”
“Seven thirty would be nice. Breakfast is on me.”
“It better be good.”
“Be nice to my baby.” She patted the Neon’s dash. “But not too nice. Can’t have her thinking there’s
better out there.”
On the drive home I allowed my thoughts a brief trip to Patch. Vee was right—something about him
was incredibly alluring. And incredibly creepy. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced
something about him was … off. The fact that he liked to antagonize me wasn’t exactly a news flash,
but there was a difference between getting under my skin in class and possibly going as far as following
me to the library to accomplish it. Not many people would go to that much trouble … unless they had a
very good reason.
Halfway home a pattering rain flushed out the wispy clouds of fog hovering above the road. Dividing
my attention between the road and the controls on the steering wheel, I tried to locate the windshield
wipers.
The streetlights flickered overhead, and I wondered if a heavier storm was blowing in. This close to the
ocean the weather changed constantly, and a rainstorm could quickly escalate into a flash flood. I fed
the Neon more gas.
The outside lights flickered again. A cold feeling prickled up the back of my neck, and the hairs on my
arms tingled. My sixth sense graduated to high alert. I asked myself if I thought I was being followed.
There were no headlights in the rearview mirror. No cars ahead, either. I was all alone. It wasn’t a very
comforting thought. I pushed the car to fortyfive.
I found the wipers, but even at top speed they couldn’t keep up with the hammering rain. The stoplight
ahead turned yellow. I rolled to a stop, checked to see that traffic was clear, then pulled into the
intersection.
I heard the impact before I registered the dark silhouette skidding across the hood of the car.
I screamed and stomped on the brake. The silhouette thumped into the windshield with a splintering
crack.
On impulse, I jerked the steering wheel a hard right. The back end of the Neon fishtailed, sending me
spinning across the intersection. The silhouette rolled and disappeared over the edge of the hood.
I was holding my breath, squeezing the steering wheel between whiteknuckled
hands. I lifted my feet
off the pedals. The car bucked and stalled out.
He was crouched a few feet away, watching me. He didn’t look at all … injured.
He was dressed in total black and blended with the night, making it hard to tell what he looked like. At
first I couldn’t distinguish any facial features, and then I realized he was wearing a ski mask.
He rose to his feet, closing the distance between us. He flattened his palms to the driver’sside
window.
Our eyes connected through the holes in the mask. A lethal smile seemed to rise in his.
He gave another pound, the glass vibrating between us.
I started the car. I tried to synchronize shoving it into first gear, pushing on the gas pedal, and releasing
the clutch. The engine revved, but the car bucked again and died.
I turned the engine over once more, but was distracted by an offkey
metallic groan. I watched with
horror as the door began to bow. He was tearing—it—off.
I rammed the car into first. My shoes slipped over the pedals. The engine roared, the RPM needle on
the dash spiking into the red zone.
His fist came through the window in an explosion of glass. His hand fumbled over my shoulder,
clamping around my arm. I gave a hoarse cry, stomped the gas pedal, and released the clutch. The Neon
screeched into motion. He hung on, gripping my arm, running beside the car several feet before
dropping away.
I sped forward with the force of adrenaline. I checked the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t
chasing me, then shoved the mirror to face away. I had to press my lips together to keep from sobbing.