Glass Houses

“You’re crazy.”

“Hey, prove me wrong. Unless you think you can’t.” He didn’t look at her as he said it, but she felt it sting, anyway. “Maybe you’re just not up to it.”

She shut her Calc II book, picked up the controller, and watched the colorful graphics load up on the screen. “Show me what to do.”

He smiled slowly. “Point. Shoot. Try not to get in my way.”

He was right. She’d always thought it was kind of creepy, hanging out in front of a TV and killing virtual monsters, but damn if it wasn’t…fun. Before too long, she was flinching when things lunged out of the corners of the screen, and whooping just like Shane when some monster got put down for the count.

When it ended for her, and the screen suddenly showed a snarling zombie face and splashes of red, she felt it like an ice cube down her back.

“Oops,” Shane said, and kept on firing. “Sorry. Some days you’re the zombie, some days you’re the meal. Good try, kiddo.”

She put the controller on the couch cushions, and watched him play for a while. “Shane?” she finally asked.

“Hang on—damn, that was close. What?”

“How did you get on Monica’s—”

“Shit list?” he supplied, and drilled a few dozen bullets into a lunging zombie in a prom dress. “You don’t have to do much, just not crawl on your belly every time she walks in a room.” Which, she noticed, wasn’t exactly an answer. Exactly. “What’d you do?”

“I, uh…I made her look stupid.”

He hit some control and froze the game in mid-scream, and turned to look at her. “You what?”

“Well, she said this thing about World War II being about the Chinese, and—”

Shane laughed. He had a good laugh, loud and full of raw energy, and she smiled nervously in return. “You’re feistier than you look, C. Good one.” He held up a hand. She awkwardly smacked it. “Oh, man, that’s sadder than the video game thing. Again.”

Five hand smacks later, she had mastered the high five to his satisfaction, and he unfroze the video game.

“Shane?” she asked.

This time, he sighed. “Yeah?”

“Sorry, but—about your sister—”

Silence. He didn’t look at her, didn’t give any indication he’d heard a word. He just kept on killing things.

He was good at it.

Claire’s nerve failed. She went back to her textbook. It didn’t seem quite as exciting, somehow. After half an hour, she bagged it, stood, stretched, and asked, “When does Michael get up?”

“When he wants to.” Shane shrugged. “Why?” He made a face and narrowly avoided getting his arm clawed off on-screen.

“I–I figured I might go back to the dorm and get my things.”

He hit a button, and the screen paused in midshot again. “What?” He gave her his full attention, which made her heart stutter, then pound harder. Guys like Shane did not give mousy little bookworms like her their full attention. Not like that.

“My stuff. From my dorm room.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said. Did you miss the part where the cops are looking for you?”

“Well, if I check in,” she said reasonably, “I won’t be missing anymore. I can say I slept over somewhere. Then they’ll stop looking for me.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it isn’t. If they think I’m back in the dorm, they’ll leave me to Monica, right? It could be a few days before she figures out I’m not coming back. She could forget about me by then.”

“Claire—” He frowned at her for a second or two, then shook his head. “No way are you going over there by yourself.”

“But—they don’t know where I am. If you go with me, they’ll know.”

“And if you don’t come back from the dorm, I’m the one who has to explain to Michael how I let you go off and get yourself killed like a dumbass. First rule of horror movies, C. — never split up.”

“I can’t just hide here. I have classes!”

“Drop ’em.”

“No way!” The whole thought horrified her. Nearly as much as failing them.

“Claire! Maybe you’re not getting this, but you’re in trouble! Monica wasn’t kidding when she pushed you down the stairs. That was light exercise for her. Next time, she might actually get mad.”

She stood up and hoisted her backpack. “I’m going.”

“Then you’re stupid. Can’t save an idiot,” Shane said flatly, and turned back to his game. He didn’t look at her again as he started working the controls, firing with a vengeance. “Don’t tell them where you were last night. We don’t need the hassle.”

Claire set her jaw angrily, chewed up some words, and swallowed them. Then she went into the kitchen to grab some trash bags. As she was stuffing them into her backpack, she heard the front door open and close.

“A plague upon all our houses!” Eve yelled, and Claire heard the silver jingle of her keys hitting the hall table. “Anybody alive in here?”

“Yes!” Shane snapped. He sounded as mad as Claire felt.

“Damn,” Eve replied cheerfully. “I was so hoping.”

Claire came out of the kitchen and met Eve on her way up the hall. She was in plaid today—a red and black tartan skirt, black fishnet hose, clunky patent leather shoes with skulls on the toes, a white men’s shirt, suspenders. And a floor-length black leather coat. Her hair was up in two pigtails, fastened with skull-themed bands. She smelled like…coffee. Fresh ground. There were some brown splatters on her shirtfront.

“Oh, hey, Claire,” she said, and blinked. “Where are you going?”

“Funeral,” Shane said. On-screen, a zombie shrieked and died gruesomely.

“Yeah? Cool! Whose?”

“Hers.” Shane said.

Eve’s eyes widened. “Claire—you’re going back?”

“Just for some of my stuff. I figure if I show up every couple of days, let people see me, they’ll think I still live there….”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, bad idea. Bad. No cookie. You can’t go back. Not by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“They’re looking for you!”

Shane put the game on pause again. “You think I didn’t already tell her that? She’s not listening.”

“And you were going to let her just go?”

“I’m not her mom.”

“How about just her friend?”

He gave her a look that pretty clearly said, Shut up. Eve glared back, then looked at Claire. “Seriously. You can’t just—it’s dangerous. You have no idea. If Monica’s really gone to her Patron and tagged you, you can’t just, you know, wander around.”

“I’m not wandering,” Claire pointed out. “I’m going to my dorm, picking up some clothes, going to class, and coming home.”

“Going to class?” Eve made helpless little flapping motions with her black-fingernailed hands. “No no no! No class, are you kidding?”

Shane raised his arm. “Hello? Pointed it out already.”

“Whatever,” Claire said, and stepped around Eve to walk down the hall to the front door. She heard Shane and Eve whispering fiercely behind her, but didn’t wait.

If she waited, she was going to lose her nerve.

It was only a little after noon. Plenty of time to get to school, do the rest of her classes, stuff some clothes in a garbage bag, say enough hellos to make everything okay, and get home before dark. And it was after dark that was dangerous, right? If they were serious about the vampire thing.

Which she was starting to believe, just a teeny little bit.

She opened the front door, stepped out, closed it, and walked out onto the porch. The air smelled sharp and crisp with heat. Eve must have been cooking in that coat; there were ripples of hot air rising up from the concrete sidewalk, and the sun was a pale white dot in a washed-denim sky.

She was halfway to the sidewalk, where Eve’s big car lurked, when the door slammed behind her. “Wait!” Eve blurted, and came hurrying after with the leather coat flapping in the hot wind. “I can’t let you do this.”

Claire kept walking. The sun burned on the sore spot on her head, and on her bruises. Her ankle was still sore, but not enough to bother her that much. She’d just have to be careful.