Part 16 (2/2)
Dad's fork clanged as he dropped it on his plate. ”There it is again.”
”What?” I was surprised by his sharp tone.
”That look on your face that I've been catching now and then around the house. You're worried. Something's wrong.”
”There's nothing wrong, Dad.” Nothing you can help me with.
”Are you being bullied at school?”
”No, Dad. It's nothing like that.”
”So what is it?”
I looked up into his hazel eyes, the same as mine. The protectiveness I felt for Colby was the same as what my dad felt for me. But at least I knew the problem I was dealing with. Dad was in the dark and that might be even worse. Maybe....
I sucked in a deep breath and took a chance. ”Do you believe in ghosts?”
Dad raised his eyebrows. ”Where did that question come from?”
I'd been pretty sure Marie hadn't told him about our little talk, but from the shocked look on his face I was now positive. She'd kept her word.
I gave a shrug. ”I was just curious.”
”No, I don't,” he said warily.
”You've never seen, heard, or felt anything weird?”
”In our house?” he asked.
”Anywhere.”
He picked up his knife and fork and began cutting the chicken. ”Well, sure, weird stuff happens, but I a.s.sume there are real explanations for it. A noise is the house settling. That sort of thing.”
I dropped my gaze and started twirling another forkful of spaghetti around and around. Even if Dad had experienced anything in the house, he was such a skeptic by nature, he'd never believe it was something supernatural. Plus, he'd spent the least amount of time in our house out of all of us. What had I expected? That he'd confess he thought the house was haunted, too? That I could share what happened to Colby with him and he'd have some miraculous solution to our problem? There were only two solutions I could see: move - which Marie would never allow - or find Kayla's killer and put her ghost to rest.
”There's another reason I don't believe,” Dad added in a softer voice. ”If ghosts did exist, Josephine would have come through.”
My heart skipped a beat at my mother's name. He barely spoke it anymore. I understood why he brought her up, though. She'd been my first thought, too, after I'd realized this ghost stuff was real.
”Maybe we've never heard from her because she's at peace,” I said. As opposed to Kayla, who was clearly not.
Dad's shoulders tensed. He spoke quickly. ”I just think if any of that were real and there were any possibility, she would have found a way to come through. To at least say good-bye.” His voice was rough, but etched with grief. ”And I don't want to talk about this anymore.”
He dug into his food and I figured something out for the first time. He still wasn't over her. Not any more than I was. He just hid it better.
28 and I had a fight today. The usual. I said a few choice words to 11 as we headed into cla.s.s. 28 told me that was unnecessary. I reminded him that it was. That 11 and I were neck and neck for valedictorian so I liked to throw her off her game before a test. It's no different than athletes trash-talking between plays.
But 28 got this sort of disgusted look on his face. He said, ”Every single thing you do is calculated.” And then he ignored me the rest of the day.
We made up - also as usual - but I was a little worried that this would be the time I couldn't fix us with a smile and a kiss. And then I was mad at myself for worrying about this. I'm Kayla Sloane. I could have another guy within five seconds. And I've never given a moment's thought to what anyone thought about me before. Why do I care so much about what he thinks?
I loved the art room in the early morning quiet. Before people started arriving and the school stirred to life - lockers slamming, people rus.h.i.+ng, bells ringing, the day starting once again. But for now, it was only me.
”Hey.”
And Donovan.
My stomach fluttered at the sight of him. He wore what I figured by now were his favorite dark jeans and a blue tee with a cool swirling pattern on it. I realized, after a moment, that I'd been staring. ”I like your s.h.i.+rt,” I said.
He pulled on the end, straightening it out. ”Thanks. I designed it myself.”
He dragged a stool next to mine and sat down. ”How are things in the house?”
”Eerie now and then. Nothing as crazy as what happened at the party.” And what happened after to Colby, which I still didn't want to share with anyone.
”Do your parents know?”
I shook my head. ”My dad is a huge nonbeliever. I tried to tell my stepmom and she accused me of lying.”
”Things are rough with her, huh?”
”Now they are. But we don't usually fight much. Mostly because I hate confrontation, so I tend to keep negative feelings inside and deal with them by way of silent snark.”
He grinned. ”I've heard that works well.”
”It's one tactic.” I smiled. ”What about you? Divorce? Stepsiblings?”
”No, I'm an only child. My parents are cool. They get along great. My home life is actually pretty nauseatingly functional. It's my life outside of home that's a mess.”
His gaze settled on me and I would've given anything to know what he was thinking. Did he feel the same attraction to me that I felt toward him? Or was he still hung up on Kayla? Was he just using me to help him clear his name? Or was he using Kayla's death as an excuse to get close to me? I wished I had the guts to tell him how I felt. I wished I were the type of girl who could come right out and ask him if he was interested, instead of playing all these guessing games.
I opened my mouth, hesitated a second, and said, ”So let's talk about Kayla.”
Something - disappointment? - flashed across his face. ”Okay, where do you want to start?”
”You probably knew her better than anyone. Tell me what she was like.”
He paused for a long moment. ”Driven. Ambitious.”
”At my party, you mentioned that the day she died ... you broke up with her?”
He picked up a dry paintbrush and ran his finger over the bristles. ”Yeah.”
”Why?”
He shrugged. ”That's not relevant.”
<script>