Page 14 of Dream House
I nod because even though I didn’t look like she does when I kicked Brody to the curb, I know exactly what it feels like to be done taking shit from someone.
“I want to help you—”
Nina shakes her head so vehemently I’m sure it must make her eye throb. “I don’t want help.” She reaches into the pocket of her startlingly short shorts and pulls out a crumpled wad of cash. “I can pay for the room.”
I open my mouth to respond, and Pen grips my elbow.
“Can I just have a word with you?” she asks in that voice that sounds so artificially casual there’s nothing casual about it.
I glare at my best friend. She glares back.
I turn to Nina. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”
Still gripping my elbow, Pen practically frog marches me across the foyer, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. It’s still empty, just like we left it, with all the waterlogged recipe cards laying out like sunbathers at the beach. SpongeBob’s highly annoying smoke alarm laugh blares from Tyler’s room, but for once, I’m grateful Maisy is occupied.
“What?”
Pen gives me her incredulousWTFface. “What are you doing?”
I point across the house. “That girl needs help.”
She blinks at me. “That girl’s aura is so gray it’s almost black.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“Um,” Pen jabs her fists onto her hips and gives me her most sarcastic sneer. “Gee. I don’t know. Maybeimminent death?”
My stomach pitches. “She’s going to die?”
“I don’t know,” Pen hisses, “and I don’t want to find out.”
“Pen.”
She wags a long finger at me. “Don’t give me that disappointed look. I’m here to help you and part of that job means protectin’ you.” Her amber eyes are practically sparking. “Whoever did that to her face ain’t done with her. Not by a long way.”
“Maybe she needs our help.”
“So gray it’s almostblack,”Pen stresses.
I nod. “Then she definitely needs our help.” I turn on my heels.
“Stel-la!”
I wheel back around. “Don’t you dare.”
Pen takes every opportunity to channelA Streetcar Named Desire.She used to get us in trouble in the middle of the night during our sleepovers. I can’t count how many times her mom, my mom, or Nanna scolded or even grounded us for those antics.
She purses her mouth, and I know it’s a sign of peevish amusement.
“If you’re worried about whoever hurt that girl coming around here, do something about it.” I flap my hand in every direction. “Burn some sage. Cast some kind of protection spell. Bury your crystals in the yard—”
“Don’t you make fun of my crystals—”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Sorry. Sorry. But I’m offering her a room.”
“I thought you said they weren’t ready.” She crosses her arms over her chest and the pout she gives me makes her look about thirteen years old.
“I’ll get it ready.”
