Inner Demons

19. I Won't Have You Associating With Those Girls

The second I got home that afternoon, I pulled out the photocopies I'd made in the library. I went through them all, year by year. My mother got more and more beautiful as she got older. She was in a lot of the candid shots of the football games and pep rallies. I went through all of the pictures, and I identified her and as many other people as I could.

That's when he caught my eye.

At a pep rally in 1993, sitting near the top of the stands all by himself, was Jackson Hunt.

My heart skipped a beat. But that wasn't possible. In 1993, he would have been a tiny baby. I held the picture up close to my face. The boy in the picture definitely looked like Jackson Hunt. Same basic style. Same haircut.

It couldn't be him.

I searched through the rest of the photographs, trying to find another picture of the guy, but there were no others. He certainly wasn't on the football team or in any of the sports groups. It was just lucky that the shot of the pep rally had captured him up on the bleachers.

Part of me wanted to go knock on his door and demand an explanation. The more I thought about it, however, the more I realized I didn't have much to go on. The picture could be his brother or a cousin or something.

I wanted answers, but I had no idea where to start or who to trust.

I stared down at the scattered photos on my bed and made a decision. I might not be able to trust her, but I had a feeling Morgyn Baker could help me with some answers.

**

Morgyn lived in a small yellow house on the other side of the bridge. It wasn't hard to find her address. Her grandmother was the only Baker in the phone book. After cheer practice on Tuesday afternoon, I headed straight over to her house on my bike. With practice running so late every day, Ella Mae had started letting me ride my bike to school.

As I pulled into her driveway, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out to see who the text message was from. Drake. I should have known.

Haven't I suffered long enough? Please call. We need to work this out.

I hit ignore, then propped my bike on its kickstand. Morgyn's house was a far cry from the houses I'd visited so far in Peachville. Instead of a mansion estate, she lived in a small boxy yellow house with peeling paint and an old washing machine in the front yard.

The weather had turned colder. I pulled my sweater close and turned my face against the wind. At the front door, I knocked lightly on the wood and waited. After a short time, the knob turned and a woman with dark auburn hair answered the door. She took me by surprise. I was expecting an older, white-haired lady, but this woman was young. She didn't look a day older than forty. More like Morgyn's mother, not grandmother.

It took me a second to find my tongue. "Excuse me," I said, unsure of myself. "I was hoping to talk to Morgyn. Is she home?"

The woman narrowed her eyes at me. "And you are?"

"Harper," I said. "Harper Madison. I'm new-"

"You're a cheerleader," she said. Her voice was curt and biting. She made no move to open the screen door that separated us. "Morgyn's not home."

"Really?" I glanced around. "Because that's her car, isn't it?"

I pointed to the old green Toyota in the driveway.

The woman pursed her lips. "What do you want with my Morgyn?"

There was some rustling behind her, then Morgyn's voice soared through the room. "Grandma, who is it?"

I smiled. "There she is now," I said.

"It's one of your cheerleader friends," she said through clenched teeth.

"You know I don't have any cheerleader friends," Morgyn said. She came to the door with a smile, then her expression fell. "Oh, great, it's you."

"Look, I just want to talk to you for a few minutes," I said. "Please."

She seemed to consider it, but her grandmother shook her head. "Absolutely not," she said. She turned to Morgyn. "I won't have you associating with those girls."

Her grandmother slammed the door in my face, and I opened my mouth in shock. What the hell did she do that for? I knocked on the door again, a little louder this time. There was no answer.

Frustrated, I walked back to my bike. My phone buzzed again, and I sighed. It was going to be one of those days. I pulled the phone from my pocket, knowing full well who the message was from.

Only I was wrong.

Meet me in the school parking lot. Five minutes.

There was no caller ID, but I knew exactly who it was from. I looked up at the small yellow house and smiled.