Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles) Read online

  “I got madd rapping skills. . . Yo,” Jade countered with a serious face. She held it for about five seconds, and then we all burst into laughter. I was having a great day. There had been no nasty comment this morning as I flipped my hair and walked to my new car. Byron just stared. Apparently my car hadn’t just been the envy of Chase. Henry smiled and waved as they passed me, and Bea glowered, giving me an added satisfaction.

  “Ooh, now that we have wheels, we should go to Broad Ripple and shop tomorrow,” Tasha proclaimed. Broad Ripple was for Indianapolis what I imagined the Village was to New York City. It was full of trendy and bohemian shops. We loved going there but didn’t get to go as often as we wanted to. Now we could definitely go anytime. When we arrived at school, I found a spot as a few boys gawked at my car. That wasn’t the response I’d expected, but it was acceptable.

  If it could go right, it did. I aced a pop quiz and didn’t acquire any new bruises or stubbed toes. I was growing fond of my contacts and actually appreciated them. After school, I worked for my parents and earned a small fresh stash of cash big enough to go shopping with my friends on Saturday. I knew it would take me a long time to build up my savings again.

  As I was leaving my dad’s office, I received a text with an address from Chase. I called Tasha and told her that I would be a little late, went home and packed for the sleepover, then put the address in my phone.

  Fifteen minutes after driving country roads full of corn and soybean fields, I found a subdivision out in the middle of nowhere. It was full of large custom homes and winding new roads. I pulled up to a large brick home with a three-car garage, and a driveway that circled the front and went down a hill beside the house. It had to be sitting on a half-acre or more, as were most of the houses in the addition. There were a lot of nice homes in Brownsburg, but this could have been in the nicest one in the nicest neighborhood. I wondered if he was breaking into the place or something. I parked on the circle in front and cautiously walked up to the door and rang the bell. A man in his late thirties answered the door. He could have been Chase in twenty years. He wore a white thermal shirt under a blue work shirt and designer jeans and boots. His hair was the same shade of brown as Chase’s with a shaggy, messy wave. I’m sure my eyes were the size of saucers, but he smiled at me politely.

  “You’re Lacey, right?” I nodded. “I’m Mike, Chase’s dad. Chase is in the basement. Just go through that door there.” He led me to the kitchen and pointed to a door. I followed his directions and found Chase on a tan leather sectional couch with his guitar in his lap, watching ESPN on a huge flat panel TV. He looked strange lounging comfortably with his bare feet up on the coffee table. He looked up at me momentarily and returned to the two men yelling at each other on TV. I leaned against the wall, taking in my surroundings. There was an entertainment room and a kitchenette. It had large sliding glass doors from the walk-out basement to a patio with a stone fireplace and patio couches. On the other side of the patio was his Mercury. Behind the kitchen was a closed door and behind me was a hall leading to two more closed doors. “You live here?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the basement is mine. My dad thinks I need my own space. We hang out and stuff, but it’s not so bad down here. Sit down; you’re making me nervous.” I came around and sat at the end of the couch and checked my phone.

  “Do you have a hot date or something?” he asked, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Standing date,” I said, pausing to pull a very important string out of my hoodie. When I looked up, his eyes were hard on me. “Jade and Tasha—we spend every Friday night together.”

  “Then we need to get to work.” He rose and carried his guitar with him down the hall. I followed him. Chase opened the door to one of the rooms. It looked like a professional recording studio. The equipment was a little old, but besides that it was a really cool room. It even had a glass partition between where the instruments were recorded and everything. I sat down in the leather chair and looked at all of the dials. They were so intimidating.

  “I need to re-record the riff for track 9, “Losing You.” I don’t like the old one, and I couldn’t do it by myself.” He quickly showed me what button to push to record and how to balance the sound. Then he left me alone and went into the other room on the other side of the glass, sat on the stool, and pulled the microphone down in front of his guitar. “I’ll count down. When I signal, press record.” I nodded. He played part of the song perfectly, and I leaned on my hand, watching his fingers move. I wondered what it would be like to make something move the way his fingers moved, and then I thought about the sound; just to make that sound would be amazing. “Five. . . four. . . three. . .” I was alert now as I watched his fingers signal from two to one. I pressed the record button, and he began to play. I barely moved the dials, making the guitar sound crisper and smooth. He finished, and I ended the recording. “One more time for good measure.” I gave him the OK signal and waited for his countdown. This went on for almost two hours. I was beginning to wonder how many times he could play the same song. Finally, he stood and came out. “I think we got it that time,” he sighed.

  “You are nothing short of a perfectionist,” I smirked. He just shrugged. “Do you need anything else?” I asked after a long deafening pause.

  “I’ll walk you upstairs.” He led me out of the room and down the hall. I grabbed my purse as I walked upstairs behind him.

  He walked me out to my car. “Do you have plans tomorrow? I was thinking we could go over what you’ve done on the website.” He slouched with his hands in his front pockets. He looked out of place standing there on the driveway barefoot.

  “I’m going to Broad Ripple tomorrow; how about Sunday?” I asked.

  “Yeah, any time will be fine; you can pull around back. I’m always in the basement.” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Did he want me to park in back so no one knew I was here? I crossed my arms, daring him to imply anything else. He looked up at the darkening sky. If he noticed me, he didn’t let on.

  “Fine, whatever,” I said, taking my keys out of my purse. He didn’t say anything else; he just stood there. “I’ll see you Sunday,” I said for lack of anything else. He gave me a two-finger salute sending me on my way. I got into my car and pulled through his circular driveway. I watched him grow smaller in the rearview mirror, confused why he got so deep under my skin.

  I arrived at Tasha’s house and found them in the great room watching The Craft and eating pizza. They looked so comfortable in their pajamas under all the piles of blankets. I don’t think I could count the number of times we’ve watched this movie. We all had it memorized, so I didn’t feel bad interrupting to fill them in on Chase’s house and my evening with him. After they drifted to sleep, I logged into Farrah’s account on Status Quo. Henry’s picture had a blue glow around it letting me know he was online. I IM’ed him.

  Farrah Leevar: Hey.

  Henry Emmitt: Hi. How r u?

  Farrah Leevar: Not bad. What are u doing up so late?

  Henry Emmitt: Waiting for you to come online. What were you doing?

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I stuck with a version of the truth.

  Farrah Leevar: I was just hanging out with friends.

  He seemed OK with that answer, and we chatted for a few hours. Finally, when I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer, I told him goodnight and went to sleep.

  The next morning we got up early, and though I was exhausted, I tried not to let it show. We grabbed drive-thru breakfast and made our way to Broad Ripple. It was a beautiful sunny day, and I relished in the quaint shops. I bought a pair of washed-out, vintage Levis and a pretty hemp top. Jade got a shirt with steel spikes on it, and Tasha got some cute, funky shoes. Then we went to our favorite indie bookstore, bought a few books, and ate lunch in a café with outdoor seating. In the afternoon, we walked along the Monon Trail (a bike/walking path beside the White River from downtown Indianapolis to Carmel, Indiana, a suburb just north of Indianapolis).<
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  “So how much longer are you going to string Henry along?” Jade asked, as we walk to an observation platform over the river.

  “String him along?” I asked.

  “Don’t you think you should let him know that it’s you he’s really talking to late into the night, every night?”

  “I can’t,” I said, as I watched a flock of ducks paddle across the river.

  “The rumor is he’s really into you,” Tasha interjected, as she leaned against the railing.

  “I thought you guys understood why I can’t say anything.” I pushed off the railing and walked to the center of the observation area.

  “I did a week ago, but now it just seems like you’ve taken the joke too far.” Jade turned to face me.

  “It was never a joke.” I looked at them in shock. They knew I was a wreck when we first created the profile.

  “I’m just saying; you spend a lot of time with him online, and he doesn’t even know it’s you. It’s only fair,” Jade offered while I stormed away. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I walked all the way to my car, and I sat on the hood waiting for them. Finally, they showed up, and we piled into my car. It was well into the afternoon now, and I looked forward to some quiet time at home. We drove in silence, our last conversation hanging in the air making it hard to breathe or think clearly. It was as if fog had clouded our brains.

  I dropped them off without apologies from either side, and arrived home to a quiet house and a note on the fridge. Lana was spending the night with Nana, and my parents had gone out to dinner with friends.

  “Good riddance,” I muttered to myself, as I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and retreated to my bedroom.

  Chapter 12

  I had spent the evening working on Chase’s website when a popup box flashed in the bottom of my screen. It said “Henry Emmitt requests a visual. Do you accept? Yes or No.” My heart fell to the bottom of my feet. I looked over at my bedroom window. My blinds were open, and I could see him sitting at his desk with his back to me. If I did this, there would be no turning back. If I did this, he would see my face. How could I do this? How could I not do this? With my heart pounding, I went to the bathroom and grabbed the wig from under the sink, quickly pulled my hair up in a bun, and pinned in the wig. I knew the picture quality wouldn’t be perfect, but I still put on makeup, including lip gloss. I changed into my new top; it had a big scooped neck that fell slightly off the shoulder. I thought it looked delicately sexy. I came back into my room and realized that I couldn’t video chat with him this close. Call me paranoid, but I wasn’t about to risk his looking over and seeing a familiar face. Not that he ever looked over into my window, but again I wasn’t going to risk it. I picked up my laptop and ran down the hall to our guest bedroom. It had a secretary desk in the corner, and I thought it was neutral enough that it could pass as a teenage girl’s bedroom. After I was settled in and set up, I clicked “Yes.” Instantly, a window popped up, and I saw Henry sitting in front of his computer. He seemed to be doing something else and didn’t see me yet. A mirror image of me was in the lower corner of the bigger window, and I surveyed myself briefly as I took a deep breath.

  “Hi,” I said softly and gave a small wave. He jumped and clicked his mouse a few times.

  “Hey, I’d given up on you.” He smiled, then paused, looked at the screen, and added, “Wow!” I felt my face flash hot and hoped he didn’t notice. He looked down shyly.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, ringing my hands in my lap.

  “I was dying to see you and hating the fact that I couldn’t, but then I thought, what’s the next best thing? Besides what else am I going to do on a Saturday night?”

  “Well, here I am in the flesh.” My voice began to shake, betraying my nerves. “So what do you think?” I held up my hands in a shrug. He gave me a big cheesy smile, and we both laughed. After we settled down, he gave me a tour of his bedroom. It was weird seeing it from that angle, and I could see the outline of my bedroom in the background. I was really glad I had left my room. I hoped he didn’t realize I wasn’t returning the favor with a tour of my room. If he did, he didn’t let on. He told me about his day, and I told him bits and pieces of mine. The voice of my guilty conscience whispering in the back of my head drowned out his words; it sounded a lot like Jade telling me Henry deserved to know the truth.

  “So, my friend Stacey has this pool party every year Memorial Day weekend,” he rambled. I nodded, appreciating the fact that I didn’t have say or type anything; he could see my body language. “I was thinking you could come up and go to it with me if you don’t already have plans.” Stacey’s party was a month away. He had a lot of faith in us if he was planning that far ahead.

  “I’ll see what I can work out.”

  “I know what that means. Why are you ashamed of me?” He looked down again.

  “I’m not ashamed of you; it’s just—.” I looked up at the corner where the walls met the ceiling. The plaster was cracked from the house settling. I guess my parents missed that in the renovations. I took a deep breath, and looked at him directly, knowing I’d never have the nerve to look him in the eye if we really were face to face. “It’s just, that you make me really nervous.” His face suddenly lit up.

  “Me too! I thought it was just me.” He threw his hands up in exasperation. Embarrassed, I covered my face and laughed. I peaked at him through my fingers, and he was laughing too.

  “I’m glad we did this,” he said after we had settled down.

  “Me too,” I smiled.

  On Sunday, I awoke to the smell of pancakes filling the house. I rose groggily and stumbled down the stairs. Mom, Dad, and Lana were already eating stacks of deliciousness.

  “Hi, sleepyhead,” Mom smiled at me.

  “Morning,” I mumbled as I sat down at the table. While I fixed my plate, my parents told us all the latest on their friends Bill and Carol.

  “What are your plans for today?” Dad asked. Lana had a school project to work on, and I told them about my plans with Chase.

  “Well, dishes first,” Mom said, as she cleared her place. We both groaned in unison.

  “Not up for discussion.” Dad followed Mom’s lead. They kissed goodbye, and Mom was out the door.

  “I’ll wash; you rinse,” I said, as we cleared the rest of the table. Lana ignored me and stacked plates. I went to the sink and began to fill it. She set the stack of plates beside me, and I began washing. She didn’t even roll up her sleeves as she began running water over the sudsy plates as I stacked them in the other sink. She was wearing the black shirt I’d let her borrow and was getting it soaking wet. “HEY! Push up your sleeves!” I shrieked, as I reached for her arm and pushed up her sleeve. There were little red scratches across the top of her arm as if she’d dug her nails in and scratched. “Wha—”

  “It’s nothing; I fell at school the other day.”

  “And your nails dug into your arm?” She looked down at her arm and then back at me.

  “No, I fell against a tree, and it scratched me.” She watched me as I gaped at her arm.

  “You need to be more careful.” She nodded and looked relieved. “I guess that’s proof you’re my sister, getting a little klutzy, huh?” I asked, bumping her with my shoulder. She exhaled and continued rinsing.

  After my chores were over, I went to Chase’s house a little after noon. I did as he requested, drove down the incline behind the garage, and parked by his car. I knocked on the sliding glass door. The basement was dark except for the natural light seeping in through the door. I stood there for a few minutes and knocked again, a bit louder. I was about to go upstairs and ring the doorbell when the door off the kitchenette opened. Chase came out in gym shorts and no shirt, his hair a matted mess on top of his head. I avoided his eyes because he looked a bit pissed. I avoided looking at his smooth, pale, well-defined chest because something weird was happening to my stomach each time I glanced at him. He unlocked the door and slid it open. He didn’t sa
y a word to me; he just went to the kitchen and opened his refrigerator. I stepped in quietly and slid the door closed behind me.

  “You said whenever was fine.” I defended myself, feeling a little bad for waking him up. He glared at me as he poured milk into a glass and added Hershey’s chocolate syrup.