Need by Carrie Jones Page A

but I’ve been all over the Web and I can’t find anything else that would explain this guy.”
    “And why is he following me?”
    “That’s a good question,” Devyn says. “When did you first see him?”
    I do not want to think about it. I have been actively not thinking about this for four months, but Is and Devyn stare up at me with these wide-open, trusting eyes and I just plunge ahead, ignore the ache in me. “After my dad died.”
    Issie and Devyn look confused.
    “You saw him when your dad died?” Issie says.
    Then I remember. This morning there were little glitter sparkles by my car. Dust. Pixie dust. No, it can’t be that. But maybe it’s something else-a calling card, some sort of serial killer hallmark.
    “What?” Devyn asks, wheeling closer. His chair hits a copy of _People. _”What did you just figure out?”
    “How do you know she figured something out?” lssie asks.
    “She has a look.”
    I close my eyes. I open them. “I’m not sure if I believe the whole pixie thing…”
    “But?” lssie straightens herself up, waiting.
    “But,” I continue, “I am pretty positive that the man I saw when my dad died is the same one at the high school. I am pretty damn sure, actually, and I want to find out who the hell he is.”
    lssie tries again. “What if he’s a pixie?”
    I almost laugh. “I don’t think he’s actually a pixie. Maybe a stalker or something.”
    lssie’s eyes light up. “You mean he read the Web site and he’s modeling his behavior?”
    “Yeah. I don’t know. But if he’s just some normal psycho how can he get everywhere so quickly? It makes no sense. It might just be a big coincidence.”
    “You don’t believe that. You’re just trying to fool yourself, to not be scared,” lssie says.
    I swallow. She’s right. I am.
    “What about the dust?” Devyn urges. “There’s not a lot of it, but it’s there. I saw it.”
    “I don’t know about the dust. Maybe he plants it, like some sort of creepy calling card,” I say, checking my watch. “I’m sorry. I have to go get the car registered before they close.”
    It’s true, but I’m really trying to leave because I just want a second to myself, a second to figure this out.
    When I get to the door, lssie puts her hand on my wrist, gently. “You’ll be careful, right?”
    I nod.
    “You don’t believe us?” Devyn asks, pivoting the chair so he can look at me.
    “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know. The whole pixie thing is weird, but I mean, it’s also weird that I’m here in Maine.”
    “And that he followed you,” Devyn adds.
    ‘“That’s not just weird,” Issie says. “It’s creepy. Really creepy.”

Amaxophobia
fear of riding in a car
    This is a fear I’ve never had. Until now.
    “I am amaxophobic!” I announce to the steering wheel. I half hug it to make the point.
    The steering wheel does not hug back.
    There should be a rule that says you can’t get too settled into things because something bad will happen. Oh, I think there is. It’s called Murphy’s law, and it’s about expecting things to go wrong.
    I’ve only driven about three miles from Issie’s when the Subaru tires make this horrible noise. The whole car just slides off to the right. The car angles itself toward the woods.
    “Stop!” I yell. I slam the brakes. The car slows. It stops at a forty-five-degree angle in the breakdown lane.
    “Okay. Stay calm,” I tell the steering wheel. “No need to panic.”
    The wheel does not panic.
    “This is my karmic payback for not figuring out the whole psycho-stalker thing sooner, right?”
    I try to move the car back onto the road and its tires skid. Smoke flies up from beneath them.
    “Okay, little car, you are protesting roads. They are death traps for animals. They are environmentally unsound impervious surfaces that cause runoff. I understand this. But could we protest in the summer?”
    I try to back up again.
    One of my tires falls into the gutter thing on the side of