Phantom [h.s]

Eleven

"Get up, lazy."

I groan at my mother's voice, pulling a pillow over my head.

"It's Sunday," I say groggily, not opening my eyes.

"Your father and I are going to the farmer's market, and we want you to come. It's almost eleven in the morning!"

"Exactly, it's too early."

"Jane Alison. Don't be so lazy."

I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. "Do I have to come to the farmer's market?" I make a disgusted face.

"It's locally grown produce, which is fresher and healthier." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Mom."

"We're leaving in twenty minutes," she says cheerfully, grinning widely as she exits my room.

"Uuuggghhhh," I groan when the door shuts behind her.

I drag myself out of bed, knowing I'll never hear the end of it from the positivity power couple that happens to be my parents if I don't accompany them to the farmer's market.

I pull on a pair of jeans, shrugging on a plaid shirt and buttoning it as I walk out of my closet and back into my room.

I jump at the sight of Harry sitting calmly on my unmade bed.

"Shit!"

I pull my shirt closed, rolling my eyes at his cocky smirk.

"Still not used to me, are you?" His tone is teasing.

"Not when I'm getting dressed." I blush furiously and turn around to finish buttoning my shirt.

"Well, that's what closets are for." He grins. When my shirt is sufficiently covering me up, I turn back around and cross my arms over my chest. He still beams teasingly.

I glare at him. "What are you doing here?" I turn toward the mirror and run my fingers through my hair, pulling it into a ponytail.

He shrugs. "I miss having this room, I guess." He points to the wall across from my bed. "Had a TV hung up there, and all my CDs organized on a shelf underneath it." He leans back on his palms. "And my bed was right here." He pats the sheets of my bed, smiling crookedly.

"Where are your parents?" I ask him. "My mother said this house was on the market for a few years, but that doesn't make any sense."

Harry's expression loses all humor. "My parents moved away after my murder case was closed. The real estate company lied about the vacancy period of the house just so it would sell."

"Where did they move?"

"Vancouver, British Columbia. That's where the Styles Petroleum Industries headquarters are, anyway," he says bitterly.