Watching You, Watching Me

Watching You, Watching Me
Chloe Rayban

There are two sides to every story and this new series, BACK-2-BACK, is designed to attract both boys and girls. Teenagers will love to read what she really thinks about him and what he really thinks about her!Natasha’s story – she’s 15 and still at school and lives across the street from super cool Matt who’s just moved in. He’s into blading and he’s going out with a stylish girl from his college and plays loud music the whole time. And does he even notice she exists?Matt’s story – he’s 17 and is not as cool as he’d like to be, and college is pretty rough. Music is his real passion and getting some DJ work at the club is great. He really likes the look of the cute babe in the house opposite, but he always seems to be in trouble with her parents, and she turns away whenever they meet…

BACK2BACK

watching

you, watching me

Tasha’s side of the story …

CHLOË RAYBAN

with grateful thanks toJames Ross, Felix Milton, Molly Milton and Leo Bearfor their help with the music and club scene

CONTENTS

Cover (#ue07a3080-ed67-5e91-b883-dc672b822bdd)

Book One Title Page (#u78cb6353-5f2f-5509-85e0-3f33ae2b024e)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Also by Chloë Rayban

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One (#ufbc92d8e-ce70-57ff-8971-011421628926)

There it was again. That creepy feeling in the small of my back. I swung round and looked back down the road. I could feel someone watching me. But where from? The street was deserted, not even a car coming down it. I scanned windows for twitching nets, and my gaze settled on number twenty-five.

Number twenty-five had been boarded up for ages, years. Ever since Mr Copps, the old man who’d lived there, had died. There’d been some sort of legal battle about who was meant to inherit it, and until this was settled it couldn’t be sold.

Jamie and Gemma called it ‘the spook house’, and I must admit that on occasions, when they were being a real pain while I was baby-sitting, I’d made up ghost stories about it to keep them quiet. Jamie had woken up screaming with a nightmare one night, so Mum had put an end to that. She was livid.

Number twenty-five looked pretty spooky, as a matter of fact, on an overcast afternoon like today. It was a tall terraced house like the others in the street, but the windows, with their rough covering of weathered boarding, gave it a blind, desolate look. Paint was peeling off the window frames and weeds had grown up through the front path. There was a row of house-martins’ nests under the eaves — slowly nature was taking over.

I shook myself and continued down the road. I decided to put the whole thing down to an over-active imagination. My own fault really for making up all those stories.

It was later that evening, when he was meant to be getting ready for bed and was hiding from Mum behind the curtains in my room, that Jamie suddenly let out a whimper.

‘Tasha!’ He ran and clung to me.

‘Hey … what is it?’

They’re there … they’re really there …’

‘Who are where?’

‘At number twenty-five — the spooks’

‘Don’t be silly. ‘Course they’re not. No such thing as spooks. You know that, don’t you?’

‘But there are. They’re there …’ He dragged at my sleeve. ‘Come ‘n look … There’s lights moving around in the house.’

‘Rubbish,’ I said. But I could feel the little hairs on the back of my neck rising in spite of myself. ‘You’re making it up.’

‘No honest … There are … Look.’

I let him lead me to the window, and we crouched in the dark part between the curtains and the windowpane, staring out.

‘Where?’ I demanded. This was typical of Jamie, always blowing up the most trivial thing into a drama.