T.M.I.

Three

Despite what movies and trashy teenage novels tell you, getting caught spying on someone is not a whimsical way of building interhuman relationships.

It's weird, illegal and scary as fuck.

Marisa Delterre has the greenest eyes I've ever seen.

And she's frowning. Because the rumor is true and she's not a braindead idiot. She's a person with sense who sees how wrong it is for someone to be in her yard, up a fucking tree, and looking through her window.

My skull still screaming in pain, I ease back on the branch, towards the trunk. The dizziness makes my moves clumsy and slow, so I put more effort into not falling. Breaking something would be the end of me.

"Hey!" She opens the window and screams at me. Her voice is authoritative, nothing like the normal sing-song she uses at school.

I don't listen. It's dark and I have my hoodie on, I'm not about to give myself away. My butt hits the trunk and my legs wrap around it.

"Stop right there. I saw you!"

Fuck off, you have no idea who I am. I wrap my arms around the trunk and twist so that I'm out of sight before I start climbing down. She shouts more warnings, but I block out her words because only idiots freeze and reveal themselves. My boots hit the soft grass with a silent thud.

Adrenaline races through my veins and I hardly contain myself from knocking my head back and laughing. It was a close one.

"Adrienne!"

I freeze. Against my better judgement, I look towards Marisa's window. Her hands are pressed on the windowsill and she's leaning her torso outside, looking straight at me. I'm wondering how well she can see from up there. And how does she even know my name?

It doesn't matter. It will all be a rumor she will fail to follow up on and maybe tell her ditzy friends who would laugh and assure her that it was actually a hot sad boy trying to steal her underwear or something.

"Take another step and I'm calling the police."

That gets my attention. Her tone has lowered to make sure the neighbors don't hear, so she obviously means it. Just the thought of policemen swarming inside my house sends my stomach into a jolt and nausea up my throat.

Marisa takes advantage of my lack of movement and crawls out her window and into the tree I just used to spy on her. She's not as good as me when it comes to climbing down, but she does it. In less than a minute, she's standing on the grass, five feet from me. She's not even panting.

"Come inside," she says.

I take an involuntary step back.

"I mean it. I'm calling the police if you bolt. Or better yet, tell the entire school you're behind TMI."

"I'm not." The lie leaves my lips easily because I've been training myself to deny it ever since I started what I'm doing.

"Of course not." From her tone, I can't tell if she believes me or is just humoring me. All I note is the lack of sarcasm. "Let's go in. My parents aren't home." And just like that, she walks towards the entrance of her house.

I follow, not sure what's happening, but taking the chance to avoid more rumors and drama. As I walk to her door, my hand tightens around the swiss army knife I have in the pouch of my hoodie. I hope I won't be forced to use it, but I'm not beyond it.

"Don't take your shoes off," Marisa says, holding the door for me.

The moment I'm in, she shuts the door behind me and starts up the stairs, her own scarlet converse still on. I have sneakers like that at home, an identical pair I haven't worn since I started stalking people.