Never-Contented Things by Sarah Porter

Author:Sarah Porter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

why did you send me to die?

By the time I get in the house Kezz has vanished—probably in her room, slumped on her bed and scowling into empty space—and the bitch of it is, we still need to go to their party tonight. We should probably eat dinner first, and I should really try to clean her up and get her into some kind of cuter outfit. Even though Kezzer just said the meanest, most destructive things possible, as if she’d spent weeks refining the calculations for how to maximize hurting me. Even though she’s in a vile mood too, and she’ll bring all that attitude along with her. Which, okay, Prince and them won’t mind, because they think that Kezzer’s worst tantrums are adorable, and they probably even prefer her in a rage. But she can still ruin my night.

You know what? I’m not cooking for her. I’ll eat by myself.

I’m just dumping some leftover stew into a pan when I hear it: footsteps, sounding really definitely human, creaking across the ceiling right over my head. Would I recognize the sound of Lexi’s steps? I listen as hard as I can, and I try to call up one of Prince’s brain-movies so I can see what’s happening, but it doesn’t work. It could be her. But I’m not positive. And either way, it is just grossly, horribly not-okay that somebody is violating our space.

I storm to the foot of the stairs. There’s nothing but darkness up there, same as always. “Hey!” I yell. “This is private property!”

The footsteps stop dead, but that’s the only answer I get. I don’t usually believe in violence, but sometimes you have to make an exception, and all at once I’m ready to literally kill whoever it is up there—if I can get my hands on them. It’s a tricky thing to do, though, when the stairs will throw me halfway across the room if I try anything.

“Why don’t you come down and talk?” I call up. “This doesn’t have to get ugly. Are you hungry?”

No answer, but I get the sticky, draggy sensation of somebody listening hard, and wondering hard, there in the dark. Maybe I can make out the sound of breathing, right at the top of the staircase?

God—I didn’t even think about a weapon. Now, that was an oversight. I slip back to the kitchen and get the biggest, sharpest knife we own, hyperalert all the time for any tiny groaning-floorboard sounds, then dart back to the stairs. I keep the knife behind my back, because whoever it is—Lexi, Lexi, Lexi, or, well, probably—can see me, right?

“So, are you coming down, or what? Because this is getting ridiculous.”

Silence, or maybe a faint shuffling. And—does it even make sense to say this? But I’m getting less sure that it’s Lexi’s silence. Like, the tone seems wrong. It’s meek and sad and pitiful, and maybe I don’t know Lexi as well as I thought, but I know some things she isn’t.

Then, really softly:

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