Chapter IV: Stalkers Don't Go Unpunished

"Ashton!" I screamed at the top of my lungs very early Sunday morning.

I was currently standing in the guest bedroom, looking out the back window in horror. What had led me to this? Quite literally, I had followed a trail of green beans up the staircase, into the bedroom, and the rest of the way to the window.

Why was I screaming? Well, it had a little something to do with the disastrous array of floating objects covering the Savvonskis' swimming pool. Though it was a bit of a jaunt from the second floor to the pool, I thought I could make out paper forks, spoons, wood chips, and some other shiny silver things. And there were hundreds of them.

"Ashton!" I yelled again, this time turning to slam my palm against the wall between us.

At first there was nothing, but then I heard a muffled laugh coming from the adjacent room. Unable to contain myself, I screamed in fury and stomped one foot hard against the wooden floor. I wanted to barge into his room and shake him, but I instead raced out of the room and down the stairs, taking them three or four at a time.

Then, doubling my pace, I charged out of the house and around it to the back where the dreaded swimming pool lay in wait. It didn't even register that Ashton had followed me. No, I was too preoccupied with heatedly storming across the deck toward the pool and debating how to scoop out all the objects without completely drenching myself in the process.

I briefly considered trying to find some kind of net to do the job, but thought against it, mostly because my anger didn't have the patience for any of that meticulous thinking. I yanked off my glasses and left them on a deck chair. I guess I'll just have to get wet.

That thought didn't stop me from pausing at the edge of the pool, stooping down, and leaning over to snatch some of the paperclips—the shiny objects I'd noted earlier. I had probably picked up about eight of them, when his voice interrupted me.

"Don't you think a net would work better?"

Jolting in surprise—and hating myself more for it—I, still clutching the paperclips in my hands, rose to my feet abruptly and spun around to confront the butthead. He was leaning against the back wall of the house, but he pushed himself away from it the second I turned.

I was surprised and somewhat alarmed to see the dangerous smirk on his face as his lips opened to form three dreadful words, "Good morning, stalker."

I felt my heart stop for two full seconds, and I ceased breathing. Any plans I'd had for confrontation had suddenly been flipped in my face.

Does he know? How could he know? Is it just an assumption?

I opened my mouth to reply with what I hoped would be the redeeming words I needed, but all I got out was a pathetic, "I'm not a stalker."

Smiling sadistically, Ashton returned with, "Yes, you are. And in my house, stalkers don't go unpunished."

My eyes widened as he took three threatening steps toward me and I retreated two steps back. Meanwhile, my brain was trying desperately to form a coherent thought that would sum up what was happening and why, but it unsurprisingly came up blank.

And then it didn't matter anymore, because my left foot hit the rim of the pool. It all seemed to happen instantaneously—before I could blink, Ashton's hands shot out and collided with my shoulders. Then I was flying backwards, filling a moment of a rigid and sinking stillness before the ultimate crash.

Suddenly my back was harshly hitting the cool water, and then I was sinking, with two walls of water climbing above me on both sides. My arms were wrenched upward by the resisting water, and my nose and mouth were filled.

It was only after I was entirely underwater that I finally recovered from the shock and jerked into action. Flailing my arms clumsily, I was urged by my oxygen-deprived lungs to reach the surface. My head emerged a second later, and just as soon, I found myself to be a spitting, wheezing, and coughing mess.

After I had rid my throat and nose mostly of water, I, with purpose, made my way to the edge of the pool where I hoisted my dripping self onto the deck. My eyes squinting, I angrily searched for the culprit, and when I spotted him standing not three yards away, I leaped to my feet.

Not hesitating for one second, I advanced toward him and shouted, "You stupid jerk! Why would you—and I—I am not a stalker!" Okay, so technically I am, but he really doesn't need to know that.

Ashton didn't seem at all perturbed by my reaction—although I probably looked half-crazed—and he responded evenly, "Not a stalker? Then why again are you here, working for me?"

"Again, I work for your parents, not you!" I corrected, before lying, "And for the thousandth time, I got the job because I needed the money! Besides, I didn't think I'd have to deal with you that much."

"Oh, so now she admits it," he replied, a triumphant expression on his face. "You did know I live here, but you denied it when I called you out on Friday.���

Glaring at him irately, I let out a loud breath. "All right, fine. Yes, I knew you lived here, but that's not why I took the job. And I only lied to you then because I knew you'd be like this and assume that I was a stalker—which I'm not, for your information!"

Ashton stared at me with narrowed eyes for a prolonged moment as if he were trying to figure out some kind of puzzle, and in my face was the answer. I squinted at him, trying to make out the brown of his eyes in order to decipher what he was thinking, but my blurry vision wouldn't allow it. And, a moment later, I realized that I would never know whether he solved the puzzle or not, because he had moved on.

I knew that he had moved on because his gaze dropped from my face to my disheveled form, and a smirk appeared on his lips.

"Nice bra," Ashton said, appearing as if he were on the verge of erupting into laughter.

Looking down, I gaped in horror at what met my eyes. I had thought nothing of it this morning when I'd slipped a Mickey Mouse patterned bra on under my white T-shirt. But now that the water had soaked my shirt completely through, I had definite regrets.

Part of me was embarrassed to be standing there in nothing but a soaking, see-through shirt, but the other part was just angry. Reflexively, I brought my arms up to cover my chest and shot Ashton a look of contempt. "Pervert."

Apparently that was funnier than Mickey Mouse, for Ashton lost it and burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as if he were about to explode. I would have preferred if he had exploded.

"Ashton Savvonski, I hate you!" I hollered, before abruptly reaching out and grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt.

It didn't matter that he was twice as strong as I was or that he was a foot taller than I, because I had caught him off guard. And it took only five seconds for me to grab him, twist us around, and shove him with all my might into his swimming pool.

I hated swimming pools. I hated Ashton Savvonski. It only seemed fitting that the two ended up together. So why was it that, just as I was pushing him in, I found myself crashing into the water for the second time?

Apparently I shouldn't have kept hold of his shirt for so long—for it had given him a second longer to snatch my wrists and yank me down with him.

This time though, I went down face first, and found my fall cushioned by Ashton. It took me only a second to see that I was at an advantage. From my position, I had all the power—even as I flailed somewhat to regain my footing. I swore I wouldn't let this chance slip through my fingers.

When Ashton started to lift his head from the water, I reached out and shoved him back down. I had to put a good deal of effort into holding him down, but I had the upper hand. I figured I'd hold him down until he turned pink—then I'd let him go. Lofty plans.

Ashton's hands groped in the water until they found my waist, and then the party was over, for with his hands around my waist, all he had to do was twist me around and I was wrenched under.

Squirming in his grip, I let go of his head and instead slammed my palms against his shoulders. To my dismay, this had little effect against his strength. At a glance, he wasn't monstrously buff, but he was definitely athletically built, and I was quite small in comparison.

Once again, he made me feel pathetic.

My frustration growing, I turned to my last resort when he wouldn't release me. The water slowed any movements I made, but it couldn't prevent me from lifting my foot and kicking Ashton directly in the groin.

And just like that, I flew back out of his grip and heard a howl of pain ricochet across the water. In fear of retaliation, I stumbled a few more feet away from him as soon as our heads emerged from the water. Then I whirled around to behold his reaction.

For a good ten seconds, he just leaned over and clutched his pants, his eyes squeezed shut in a wince. Then, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. All to glare so fiercely at me, I credited my shivers to his gaze instead of the cool water.

To appear brave, I traded my shivers for a similar glare.

So there we were, standing two yards apart, staring each other down so crossly, we probably looked a mite ridiculous.

Probably the most freakish part of it was that, when I finally spoke, he did too. And we said the same exact thing. "I hate you." Well, that's probably the only thing we can agree on at this point.

The next thing I said, which was, "Butthead," was instantly overlapped by his retort, "Dumb nerd."

I glared at him. He glared back. That is, before a sharp old voice knocked us out of our mute battle. "What's going on here?"

Ashton and I jolted from our glaring contest to look almost guiltily at the stranger—she was a stranger to me, at least. The stranger was an elderly, slightly hunched over woman with a wild perm and energetic eyes. In her wrinkled hands was a tray of what I imagined to be cookies.

Perhaps the most puzzling detail about this old lady was that she did not appear perturbed in the slightest by the scene she had come upon.

I briefly wondered if she were blind, but dismissed the thought just as quickly when I saw her gaze pass easily back and forth between me and Ashton. She did not look disturbed, only expectant—waiting to hear an explanation. Weird, I thought, she must really not care that Ashton is in the water with some scantily-clad girl. Is this normal here?

Ashton apparently didn't see it that way, for he hastily swam to the edge and, placing his hands on the rim, pulled himself out. In a second, he was beseeching the lady. "Honestly, Daphne, it's not what it looks like."

The woman—'Daphne' apparently—lifted her chin to look up at him and shook her head slowly, a knowing smile stretching across her lips. "Oh, I know, Ash. Your mother told me all about her newly hired hand."

I took that as my cue to somewhat hesitantly approach the edge of the pool and climb out, my eyes glued downward the whole time. Dressed in my see-through top, I felt unnecessarily responsible for whatever 'scene' Ashton and I had just made in front of Daphne, although I knew that it was the fault of us both. Still, I kept my head slightly lowered even when I entered the woman's peripheral.

She turned to me abruptly. "Well, dear, I suppose we should go get you cleaned up," she spoke in a matter-of-fact voice that I found myself immediately appreciating.

That didn't stop me from being surprised though, and I lifted my head quickly to look her in the eye. "Really?" I asked. Ashton immediately elbowed me in the ribs, and I hastily corrected, "I mean, thank you, umm, Daphne."

The old woman smiled brightly at me, provoking the wrinkles around her eyes to congregate together, and she replied, "You're most welcome, dear. I know how my Ash over here can be a pain, especially when it comes to nice girls like you."

Blinking, I found myself smiling back at this refreshing lady. Then I said out of curiosity. "Your Ash? Is he your—"

"Grandson?" Daphne filled, and I nodded my head. "No, but he still calls me 'Grammy.'"

"Really?" I enunciated, a laugh threatening to erupt from my lips.

It got even better when Ashton cleared his throat, and, shooting his 'Grammy' a look, interjected, "That was three years ago, Daphne."

"I don't care," she replied, that same knowing smile on her face. Then she refocused her attention on me. "Let's go get a towel for you—what's your name, dear?"

"Maine."

"Maine? What a unique name," Daphne mused. I shrugged, about to explain that it was an abbreviation. Ashton beat me to the punchline.

"In other words," he jumped in eagerly, "the term 'nerd' will suffice."

I had to suppress a chuckle when Daphne, without hesitation, wacked him on the side of his head, and scolded, "Ashton Savvonski, that is not how you treat nice girls!" He looked slighted, but she offered no sympathy. "Now, clean that mess up! I know you made it."

With that, she motioned for me to follow her, and began making her way back across the deck. Ashton didn't follow us, although I had a feeling that he watched us until we were out of sight.

As I walked side by side with Daphne into the kitchen, I finally got the nerve to say, "Daphne? Is it all right if you keep this whole thing under wraps? I'd really rather not lose my job."

Without responding, she simply set the cookies down on the table and turned to me, her eyes telling me to continue. I didn't particularly want to divulge the details, but something about this old lady gave me the feeling that she could be trusted.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I spoke finally. Starting from the green beans on the staircase, to the mess in the pool, I ended with, "He pushed me in, and then I pushed him in."

Daphne laughed. "He pushed you in first?" I nodded. "Well, dear, since my boy has yet to learn his manners, I'm going to let this off as self-defense. Mrs. Savvonski doesn't have to know."

I let out a breath of relief, a thank-you on the tip of my tongue, but then Daphne added, "Although I must ask: why are you dressed like that?"

Glancing down, I once again took in the dreadful sight of my Mickey Mouse bra under my see-through top. Cheeks flushed, I looked back up at her. "Oh, that... I swear you couldn't see my bra when I got dressed this morning. I wasn't exactly planning on getting tossed into a pool." Thinking about it made me scowl again. "Ugh, I despise that kid."

"If you dislike him so much, then why, may I ask, did you take this job?" Daphne inquired as she handed me one of the cookies from her tray.

I pretended to think about that question for a couple of seconds as I bit into my cookie. But I ended up giving the same unoriginal explanation I'd given everyone else. "I don't know. I guess I just needed the money that much."

I felt pretty bad for all the lying I'd been doing lately. I used to pride myself in my honesty, but now I seemed to be making a habit of lying. That was why I was at least partially relieved when Daphne didn't buy it.

"I don't believe you," she voiced, and I, without much conscious thought about it, let out a thankful breath. Daphne laughed, and I felt that it would only be fitting for me to explain the reason for my gratitude as well.

So I said guiltily, "Ever since I got this job, I've been doing a degrading amount of lying. I'm sorry; I really am." Then, after a pause, I continued, "So I guess now would be the moment where I tell you the truth." And I truly would have told it to her, if it weren't for Ashton's stepping into the kitchen at that exact moment.

My voice died away, as did my confidence, and I purposefully avoided Daphne's gaze. I didn't want her, someone I was growing to like, to be disappointed in me, and I knew that by now she should be. I'd barely met her, and yet I had already been a failure to her.

But then Ashton was right there, between us, reaching out to take a cookie—more like five cookies—and saying, "Thanks for these, Daphers. You're the best."

She still had her eyes on me for a moment longer, I could tell, but then I heard her voice. "What have I told you about calling me that, Ash?"

"I think I was absent that day," he answered blankly, and then I noticed that he was looking at me too, so I self-consciously ducked my head. To occupy myself, I grabbed another cookie and tried to ignore his eyes.

"Oh, quit staring and get her some dry clothes!" Daphne saved me. Again. "And what are you doing in here—I know you haven't cleaned the pool."

"I was just coming in to get a net—sheesh," Ashton shot back defensively. When I looked up at him, though, he was grinning. "The cookies are great, Daph." Then he was looking back at me and beckoning for me to follow him. Still not trusting him, I followed a good safe distance back, but he honored Daphne's instructions by setting out to look for clothes and clothes alone.

It took him barely any time at all to enter his room and then return with a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. "If they don't fit, too bad."

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the clothes from his hands and quickly retreated into the guest bedroom. As soon as the door was closed behind me, I pressed my back up against it and let out a breath. As I heard Ashton's footsteps descending the stairs, I allowed myself to relax for the first time since I awoke that morning. Whatever had gone on so far today, I convinced myself, was unimportant. It was just one big mix up that I felt confident would blow over if I gave it a little time.

Then why do I feel so guilty?

Groaning audibly, I finally pushed myself off the door. Stripping down from my soaked clothes, I traded them for Ashton's clothes. Then, looking down, I had to stifle a laugh. He hadn't been kidding about his clothes not fitting. Well, the shorts fit better than the sweatshirt—that was only because they were old gym shorts from our middle school, and Ashton had clearly outgrown them. I probably had a pair buried somewhere in my dresser at home.

It was the hoodie that got me though. Coming half-way down to my knees, it practically covered the shorts. My hands were so completely lost in the sleeves I had to roll them up three times in order to turn the door knob. Even so, I was already beginning to feel better now that I had warm clothes on.

Regathering my strength, I opened the door of the guest bedroom and cautiously made my way down the stairs back to the kitchen where Ashton and Daphne were standing. Probably the first thing I noticed upon my arrival was the fact that neither of them was talking. No, they were simply standing there, two feet apart, staring out the window together.

It was such a tranquil sight, that I couldn't bring myself to step into the room or alert them of my presence. It was even stranger when Daphne reached over and encircled Ashton's large hand with her small, worn one. That was when I saw it. I saw Ashton's shoulders slump and his head lower, as if there were some kind of internal force weighing upon him, and he was only willing to show it in the presence of this old woman.

And just like that, out of absolutely nowhere, a strange surge of compassion came over me, although that was clearly not something that I was supposed to be feeling. Frowning, I reasoned that it was just a reflex of mine and that I wouldn't feel it for much longer. To my disdain, the sentiment didn't actually vanish until Ashton himself realized I was standing there, watching.

I'd never seen a face as stony as his the second that his eyes connected with my culpable ones. His expression held so much iciness that I automatically took a step back. Why is he looking at me like that? What was I not supposed to see?

"S—sorry," I stuttered, all of the sudden feeling like a deer in the headlights. "I didn't see anything." 'I didn't see anything.' Really? How pathetic is that?

"What?" Ashton's voice interrupted my thoughts, then. I was bemused to find that his expression was no longer steely, but composed. All right, did I just imagine all of this or…?

My lips parting slightly, I just stared at him for a prolonged moment before muttering finally, "Nothing."

Ashton stared back at me for a couple seconds, before saying, "Well, if that's all you've got to say after—after—then I'm going to clean the pool, and then I'm leaving."

There was something in his tone of voice that had me narrowing my eyes. Something about it was just all wrong. Then again, that shouldn't be a surprise, being that it was Ashton. But he just sounded so—

Daphne, whom I had pretty much forgotten was even there, interrupted my thoughts by saying to Ashton, "Oh, no, you won't." That came out of nowhere.

"Sorry?" he snapped, turning to her.

I watched on with curiosity as Daphne crossed her arms and stated sternly, "Ashton Savvonski, you will not be leaving the premises for the rest of today."

I couldn't see his face, but judging by the way his shoulders tensed, he was not happy. "Are you grounding me, Daphne? Really?"

Setting her jaw firmly, Daphne shot back, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

"What am I—five?"

"No, but you're acting like it," she snapped. I almost laughed.

"Okay, seriously, Daphne, where is this coming from?" he questioned, sounding both tired and annoyed.

"It's coming from the call your father got this morning from Jason Moore's father."

I never did get to see Ashton's expression, but I did hear him curse under his breath. I didn't know exactly what had happened, but by the way his fists were clenched, I had an idea. Then Ashton was spewing out words left and right. "That piece of–! He told his dad? Who does he think he is? I can't believe I even wasted my fist on his pathetic face!"

My eyes widened in alarm as Ashton cussed a couple more times. Then Daphne jumped in again with her authoritative voice. "That's enough, Ashton. I don't want to hear another swear word come from your mouth! Your mother's decision is final. Consider yourself officially grounded."

Much to my surprise, Ashton didn't retort this time. No, he simply shut his mouth and turned around, brushing past me on his way to the stairs. My head whipped in his direction, and my eyes followed him as he walked up the steps all too calmly.

Then I turned back to Daphne and couldn't help but ask, "Is he okay?"

"Okay?" Daphne repeated in befuddlement. "For someone who claims to despise him, you seem to care a little about him."

My cheeks flushed, and I quickly defended myself. "I do despise him. It's just that I'm not used to him looking like that, like he's—"

"It's all right, dear," she interjected, stepping forward and placing her hands on my shoulders.

"It's okay to care about him. He needs someone to care about him."

"Don't you?" I said automatically.

Furrowing her brow, she replied, "Well, yes, of course I do. But Ashton needs more than just an old woman to care about him."

Not wanting her to guilt-trip me any further, I quickly continued, "What about his parents?"

"That's a given, dear," Daphne spoke, her eyes boring into mine with just a touch of impartial judgment. "I don't think you understand, though. He rarely sees his parents. You might be just what he needs. Why not at least try to be his friend? I mean, you're going to see him every weekend, right?"

"Well, yes, but—" I tried to think of some kind of excuse, but I could think of nothing to say in my defense that would not disappoint Daphne. So I swallowed down my pride for a couple seconds and managed to consent. "Maybe you're right…but I can't promise anything."

The approving smile on her face a second later made me almost believe that what I'd just agreed to was worth it. So I smiled back.

Come Monday morning, I was flabbergasted to find that I had honestly survived the weekend. In fact, not only had I survived it, but, by the time I was pulling out of the Savvonskis' driveway on Sunday night, I daresay that I had actually somewhat, slightly, a little bit enjoyed it. There was no definitive reason for the working out of the weekend, but I had a sense that it was due to my agreement with Daphne.

Shortly after our little agreement, she'd returned home—which was next door, actually. As it turned out, Daphne was a long-time neighbor of the Savvonskis', and Pam had asked that she come over to check on Ashton and deliver the news that he was grounded. A tray of cookies was just a bonus because Daphne was cool like that.

After she'd gone home, I had set back to house work, hoping to forget everything that had transpired that morning. But when I'd looked out the window that afternoon during a lull in chores and observed Ashton toiling away in the pool, Daphne's appeal had tugged at me so much that I'd relented and gone out to help him.

I really had no obligation to clean the pool—after all, it had been entirely his fault—but the good girl in me was starting to win the battle between charity and revenge. For the time being, I felt it worked to my advantage.

It seemed that this action was sign enough of a truce to Ashton, and we had gotten on without complaints for the remainder of the afternoon. Then, when the job was completed, and I was ready to head home, Ashton actually thanked me and said goodnight like a normal person.