Bad Creek, page 9
Gum didn’t know what to think. He was about to implode from the indecision.
Iris flipped through the book. “Looks like an old Bible.” She stuck her hand into the box again, pulling out a hairbrush with hair included. Not Iris’s, that was for sure. When Gum looked closer at it, the hair was fine, blond. Next, she revealed a golden pin, shaped like a flower, and a wrinkled black-and-white photograph.
“Probably some time capsule,” Aidan suggested. He probably expected Gum to back him up, but Gum was too busy trying not to hyperventilate.
The photo looked torn from a high school yearbook. The subject had a big, toothy smile like an old Hollywood actress, with fluffy blonde hair framed around her pointy chin. Her eyes were intense, light with heavy lashes. She wasn’t as decayed in this version. Wasn’t as empty yet. But it was still her. The girl from the bathtub.
Gum wanted to puke.
“I saw her,” he admitted.
Aidan looked at him as if betrayed, but rationality wouldn’t help them anymore. How could Gum’s brain invent this girl before he saw her photo? Aidan pretended he was more mature because he was the second oldest. Because he was from the West Coast where everyone was more “cultured.” But he had it wrong. He had it so wrong.
It wasn’t that Gum was picking Iris’s side, anyway. He was on Glory’s side. They all should be on Glory’s side, trying to solve what happened, to get closure. To move on.
Iris snapped a picture of the symbol on the tree and started to stash the stuff into her backpack.
“Maybe you shouldn’t take anything,” Aidan told her.
“You think it’s haunted?” Iris asked with a little too much excitement.
“Thought you didn’t believe in that stuff,” Gum added.
Aidan shrugged. “I don’t, it’s just . . . Whatever. Do what you want.”
As they trudged back through the meadow, Iris demanded details. How did the bathtub girl look, sound, smell? Awful, thanks for reminding me.
“I don’t get why you’re the one who saw her,” Iris said after the barrage. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve seen a ghost before, right?”
“No,” Gum said automatically. Once the lie was out, he couldn’t put it back in. Iris wouldn’t want to know what Glory had become. He was doing her a favor.
There was no name on the photograph. No date. They didn’t know whose house it was. But it had to belong to that girl. She’d died—maybe drowned in her bathtub—and was stuck rotting along with the place.
So if this girl was a ghost, then Glory was too. But Gum saw Glory all over Bad Creek; she wasn’t trapped in one spot. Why was she determined to show up at the worst times? Why was she acting so weird?
And why, of all people, was she haunting him?
Chapter 11 Iris
No one said a word as they rode home, the sun beginning to peek through the trees. Their soundtrack became bike pedals and the chorus of mourning doves. They stayed together until they reached the trailhead, then Aidan turned and left them without saying goodbye.
Only a few souls were awake in the Landings. Fishermen filling their boats with gasoline. The Richardsons patrolling on their golf cart. Iris had pulled an all-nighter but only now realized she was exhausted. Gum dragged his bike with his eyes down, like the rising sun was too much for him. It was so bright, it looked like the lake was on fire.
Apparently Gum had seen a ghost. A real, whole specter, more than a flicker in a mirror or invisible sensations. He’d sounded terrified, but Iris couldn’t help but envy him. It wasn’t fair at all. She was the one who cared the most about the unseen world. She religiously watched every season of Dark Unknown. She’d been the last of them to still believe in fairies and mermaids and Bigfoot. Her neck was still tender. She could even have bruises. But for some infuriating reason she wasn’t allowed to see what had caused them.
On the positive side, now that Gum had a paranormal encounter, he was one hundred percent on board. They just needed to make sure Aidan was along for the ride. That could wait for a few hours, though. Iris craved her bed, even though it wasn’t the usual bunk bed. She would take anything at this point. All she had to do was avoid the wind chimes and stay light on her feet.
Iris dismounted the red bike and leaned it against the boathouse. A few hours ago, the streamers had been sun-bleached white, crinkly and delicate. Sometime since then, they’d become a shiny rainbow. It could be because their color had never completely faded. The darkness from last night had been playing tricks on her eyes.
Or . . .
It was a sign. A good one, for once. It said: things would return to how they ought to be.
“Well, good morning.”
Iris heard her before she saw her. Joanna was sitting on the front porch, coffee in hand, stirring it like it was a potion.
At home Joanna would wear funky patterned pants and flowy blouses expertly layered with a jacket that shouldn’t match but did. She’d wear chunky heels and platform sneakers, black lipstick and blue eyeliner and a slicked bun. In Bad Creek, she was makeupless, in hoodies and athletic shorts and French braids. In Bad Creek, Joanna looked like the photos of her teenage self.
“Nice of you to join us,” she added.
So she was in a mood.
Gum gave Iris a sympathetic look and went inside Cabin 3. His dad wouldn’t be mad at him as long as his weird grandfather didn’t hear about it. Iris usually could depend on her parents to be chill. Her moms didn’t do discipline. That was only for their students.
It’s always harder with someone else’s kids, Joanna would say. But not your own. Not when they’re just like you.
“We just went on a bike ride,” Iris said. The proof was all there. Joanna could see the boathouse from Cabin 4. She’d probably watched her get rid of the bike.
Her mother sipped out of the cheap gift shop mug with the crack on the handle. “I would just like to be in the loop, ya know.”
Iris had to stifle a laugh. Joanna hadn’t let her be in the loop about anything lately, and she wasn’t just hiding secrets from Iris. When April had come inside last night, Joanna had dropped the argument with Paul. Whatever their beef was, her wife wasn’t allowed to know.
“It was kind of last-minute,” Iris said.
“Where’d you go?”
Was this an interrogation? Iris hesitated to answer, then remembered what Gum had told her was scribbled on the wall upstairs. “Your old hideout. The house in the woods.”
Joanna’s eyes flicked up from the mug. “Pardon?”
Joanna had recounted every detail from her summers in Bad Creek. She’d kept journals and passed down stories orally like they were ancient legends with cultural significance. She wouldn’t simply forget.
“You know, the abandoned house, right off the trail? ‘Disasters’ was literally spray-painted in it.”
“Ohhhhh.” Joanna waved her hand. “Yeah, that was just Rex’s old place. Before he bought the Landings.”
Iris thought that Rex only existed in the Landings. She’d never seen him anywhere else. If that was his old house, who was that girl Gum saw? The one who might have tried to strangle Iris? Did Rex know her?
“It wasn’t really a hangout for us, though,” Joanna continued. “We only went once.”
“How did you find it?”
Joanna’s mouth twitched—the same twitch she got when she was nervous but tried to hide it. Like when a waitress took her order without writing things down.
“Clavey twins found it,” Joanna finally answered.
A smart lie. Iris couldn’t exactly ask Beth or Bruce for more intel.
Bruce broke away from the Disasters sometime between their parents’ last teenage summer and Iris’s birth. The Garrens were still friendly with the Claveys, but that wasn’t by choice. Everyone had to be friendly with the Claveys; it was a mandatory tax. Still, Joanna gave eye rolls at the patriotic bumper stickers on their cars. They earned no friendly waves or chitchat. And the most obvious proof: Bruce’s kid was never one of the Disasters.
They’d dodged that bullet.
Beth remained a sore spot, though. Joanna was still not over what had happened to her. It must have made what happened to her daughter years later even more traumatic. The lake had tried to take her best friend and succeeded with her daughter.
“Promise me you won’t go back there.” Joanna’s tone was serious now, like she talked to her students. “You know, old places like that probably have asbestos. And the foundation can’t be safe anymore. There’s got to be termites.”
Her mom was being a hypocrite. She wanted her kids to be mini-Joannas, but somehow, Iris’s first act of rebellion was going too far. You and your friends did whatever you wanted on vacation when you were my age, she wanted to scream. You guys were smoking weed and chugging moonshine and setting off fireworks in parking lots. And I’m wrong for some light trespassing?
“Yeah, it was gross anyway,” Iris said, but she didn’t intend to keep that promise. Glory had been there. Glory was the only one she owed.
Joanna nodded, pleased her remaining daughter was a good egg after all. “It’s gonna be great weather for the tourney today.”
Oh shit. The volleyball tournament had slipped her mind.
She retreated into her room, closing the bedroom door behind her. She wished, for the first time, that it had a lock on it. She stuffed her discoveries under the floorboard along with Glory’s sketchbook. The hairbrush, a Bible, a brooch, and the photo. She left her backpack, jacket, and shoes on the growing pile on the floor, then collapsed on the unmade bed. The open window let in all the sounds from the Landings—golf carts, boat engines, and the ting of the windchimes. She had to try to get a nap in. She only had a few hours before volleyball. The blankets were all tangled under her, creating an uncomfortable lump on her butt. She groaned and repositioned them, then remembered what she had in her pocket.
She pulled out the wallet. There was a wad of crumpled cash in there, amounting to forty-two dollars. She could still try to find the owner, but if she was going to be a rebel, she might as well keep the money. Or at least split it with the boys. She checked the ID anyway. It didn’t look ancient like she expected. When she saw the photo, her heart stopped.
Bad Creek’s frat-boy-in-training, Hudson Clavey, grinned smugly back at her.
Chapter 12 Iris
Joanna Garren founded the Landings Volleyball Tournament in 1993. She’d pitched the idea to her friends in Bad Creek, and they had come up with the name for their team: the Disasters. Paul wasn’t the most athletic, but he’d tried his best. Beth had played volleyball in school, so she had all the technical skills. Her brother Bruce had difficulty following the rules but no problem with aggression. Joanna had made them all work together. She’d made them a team.
After the popularity of the first year’s tournament, it had become an observed holiday in the Landings. Everyone who didn’t participate would spectate, lining up their lawn chairs to watch. The winners would be hailed as heroes at the Fourth of July party three days later. Each match was four-on-four, which meant the Disasters were down a player, and their best, at that.
After Iris got a grand total of forty-five minutes of sleep, she put on the same baggy T-shirt she’d worn yesterday, then searched through her drawers for her tie-dye bandanna. She glanced at her dresser mirror. Vacation wasn’t even half-over and her body was worn from this place. Her hair was all frizz, and her arms were more mosquito bites than skin.
She tied the bandanna around her head, which made her look like she had bunny ears. Glory had somehow pulled off that look, but not Iris.
Besides, there was no reason for Iris to look pretty. Not here, at least. There wasn’t anyone to impress. The regulars at the Landings had already seen Iris go through every awkward phase imaginable. Glory was one who had put in an effort. She had a whole curl routine, and an endless collection of skin care products. No one would notice how Iris looked playing volleyball, even if the crowd didn’t have a better-looking Garren girl to gawk at anymore. Iris was supposed to be the tomboy who wouldn’t dream of donning mascara in ninety-degree weather. She was supposed to be unbothered and defiantly confident even when she couldn’t find a dress in her size while homecoming-shopping. Even when she watched Glory try on endless perfectly fitting options.
“You’re gonna sweat it off,” Iris had told Glory last year. They were almost late to the tournament because Glory had decided to put on makeup.
“This is waterproof,” Glory said.
“I don’t think Aidan would even notice.”
“You know, it’s not bad to want attention.” Glory had capped the mascara tube and leaned close to the mirror to brush off the excess with her finger.
“Well, I don’t want that kind of attention,” Iris had said.
“You will in a few years.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Good, more for me, then.”
Even with the mascara, Glory hadn’t missed a serve.
In the end, Iris gave up looking presentable. She couldn’t stay in her room any longer. She tied the bandanna like she did every year—double-looped around her ponytail—before sending a text in the Disasters’ group chat, suggesting they meet on the sand court in twenty minutes. That should be long enough for Aidan to get there.
Iris still hadn’t solved today’s first problem. They needed an additional player. Joanna considered herself retired; April abhorred physical activity; Paul was more of a watcher than a doer these days. That didn’t leave them many options.
She sent the invite to Savi Traxler before she could second-guess herself. Savi responded right away with an enthusiastic, yasssss. When Iris was putting on sunscreen on the front porch, Gum emerged from Cabin 3, a candy cigarette dangling from his mouth, his matching bandanna tied around his forehead. “Are you sure Aidan’s coming?” he asked, stealing the sunscreen from her.
“Yes.” Okay, so that was a lie. Aidan hadn’t answered any of her texts that morning. But he wouldn’t miss volleyball; that was their parents’ favorite tradition. “I asked Savi to be our fourth.”
“Oh God . . .”
“Hey! She’s actually super-nice.”
“You know we’re gonna get our asses kicked, right?”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
But she won’t be as good as Glory. The truth was in the air between them. It didn’t matter who else they invited. It wouldn’t be Glory. This game, this day, the whole week was pointless.
No. Iris corrected herself. She’d find the truth. She’d get justice. And the Disasters would stay together through it all.
The was a sharp wail on the water. Iris tensed up, but it was just a motor. The Dirty Diana was pulling up to the marina. Paul called out, “Ahoy!” while Aidan silently tied the boat to the post. Iris felt instantly lighter. He’d come. He wouldn’t abandon them.
Though he didn’t look happy to be there. He seemed even less happy when she told him about their new teammate.
“Savi, really?”
Aidan had never displayed much tolerance for Savi’s Pomeranian energy. Some people read her peppiness for fakeness, even after she’d grown out of her lying phase in elementary school. Really, there was nothing wrong with Savi Traxler. She just wasn’t Glory.
“We don’t need someone short and annoying,” Aidan said. “We already have Gum.”
“Hey! At least I know how to jump serve.”
“Can’t touch the top of the net, though.”
“Well, it’s Savi or forfeit,” Iris told them, and forfeiting wasn’t an option. She’d already pissed off Joanna for sneaking out. She wouldn’t add “ruining the Disasters’ legacy” to her rap sheet. Besides, volleyball was the least important thing on the docket today. She explained to the boys what Joanna had told her about the house—and what she hadn’t told her.
“Sounds like she doesn’t want you to get hurt,” Aidan said.
“It’s more than that. I have to show you guys something.”
Iris didn’t know how they would react to Hudson’s wallet being found in the house, if they would think it’s another random detail. She could imagine Aidan finding a way to sever all the connections she found.
It’s a small town, he’d preach. Probably everyone’s been to that old house. What if we’re the only losers who took this long to find it?
Instead, once Iris slipped the ID out, he got serious, leaning in a little closer to whisper, “Hudson was there, that night.”
“At Savi’s party?” Iris asked.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he was.” Aidan pressed his hand to his forehead, like thinking about it physically pained him.
“And now,” Iris said, “we know he’s been to that house.”
A theory was already bubbling inside of her. Practically every person into girls liked Glory at some point. What if Hudson had a crush on her? What if he had been hiding his infatuation? What if he’d happened by that house in the woods, and flirted with her there? Glory wouldn’t be into him, but she’d like the attention. And then Hudson could have witnessed Glory fight with Aidan at the party and taken that as his chance to make a move on her.
If Hudson had cornered her, Glory could’ve denied his advances. And then he would have gotten angry. Iris knew the type, the entitled boys who were used to getting their way. A rejection from Glory would have set him off. And she wouldn’t have backed down. There would be an argument, and then an “accident.” After realizing what he had done, Hudson would have called his daddy to get him out of the mess.
They couldn’t talk about that now, though; the Ladybug had pulled up to Cabin 4.
Savi Traxler was dressed more like she was going to play a game of tennis at a country club than sand volleyball, wearing a pleated skort and matching halter top. Layers of jewelry adorned her neck; rows of diamonds studded her ears.
