Part 4 (1/2)

”Yep, but they aren't leaving.”

”Great.” I wondered why I bothered getting out of bed. I was a prisoner in my own home.

With the bacon browned and the eggs sunny-side up, Dad set a plate in front of me. ”I guess I never gave you a chance to explain the billboard.”

I shrugged. ”Doesn't matter now.”

”I'd still like to hear it.” The body shop took only a day to repair the headlights and grill of Dad's truck. With his moving office back in service, he returned to the level-headed, diplomatic father I was used to.

”I was wearing a bikini under the wig, but where it showed, they Photoshopped it out. That's not my cleavage.”

He coughed on a piece of toast. ”Too much information.”

”Did your crew see it?” It made me sad that all the guys who respected him probably thought I was a total sleaze.

”I'm pretty sure they all drove down Main Street this week, but none of them said a word to me.”

I laughed, my mouth full. ”If they value their lives or their jobs.”

After breakfast Dad balanced his books and made another hundred phone calls. I went upstairs and soaked in a hot bath. The cameras robbed me of the emotional high I felt after hanging out with Erik. I closed my eyes and tried to hear his voice in my head.

My fingers turned into white prunes, but the water was still warm, so I stayed there rewalking the trail, repeating my questions until I was nearly dozing with my head against the side of the tub.

”Psyche.” Dad rapped on the door and startled me from my daydreams. ”The phone is for you. It's a boy.” His voice sounded strained by that last part. ”He says his name is Erik.”

I splashed out of the tub, scrambled to get myself covered in a towel and nearly knocked down the door trying to get the lock to release. Opening the door a mere three inches, I held out my hand palm up.

”I could have him call you back,” Dad offered.

”No!” I waved my hand frantically. ”Just give me the phone.”

When he set the receiver in my hand, I pulled it into the bathroom and slammed the door. I sounded out of breath as I said, ”h.e.l.lo?”

The reply was that chesty chuckle that drove me wild. ”What exactly were you doing?”

There's no way I would admit I was naked in the bathroom dripping wet. It wasn't a mental picture I wanted to encourage. ”How did you get my phone number?”

”It's in the phonebook. Right next to your street address.”

”You have a phone.” I didn't mean to say it aloud. I was trying to figure out how normal he was while also trying to dress. Mult.i.tasking generally wasn't difficult, but my mind went a little haywire at the sound of his voice.

”I'm not a complete moron. I can function in your world as well as you can.”

I apologized, thoroughly embarra.s.sed. ”I didn't mean to insult you.”

”It takes more than that to insult me,” he replied. ”I'd like to see you today.”

I peeked out the window at the unwanted vans on the north end of the street. ”I'm kind of trapped at home.” I began toweling off my hair, keeping the phone balanced on my shoulder.

”Tonight,” he replied unmoved.

”I don't think I can sneak out.”

”Why would you need to?” He hung up before I could answer.

I dressed in a rush and dried my hair. Then I paused in front of the mirror wearing a pair of cargos I bought last year for school. At the sight of them Savannah had rolled her eyes. ”Could you find anything less flattering?” she'd said.

I dug through the dresser, but it was all pretty much the same. Jeans, cargos and more jeans. The second drawer held T-s.h.i.+rts and hooded sweats.h.i.+rts. All of them were baggy, and most looked worn. At the bottom was a s.h.i.+rt with a wrap bodice and three-quarter sleeves that Grandma Dee had sent me. I pulled it on over a tank. That was as good as it would get.

Hours pa.s.sed. Dad didn't want to leave me home alone, so he had his crew foreman bring a stack of DVDs to our house. Dad stretched out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and started the first movie. I slumped on the loveseat growing depressed. How was I supposed to see Erik tonight? He couldn't ring the doorbell and come inside. He couldn't drive up on the motorcycle then turn invisible as soon as he stepped in the doorway.

It was silly to be miserable over an invisible guy from an unknown world. I needed to get a grip-possibly some antipsychotic meds.

No sooner had I decided he wasn't coming, than I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I jumped and let out a squeal.

Dad furrowed his brow at me. The movie had barely started. No one had died yet.

”I'm not in the mood for movies.”

”Plenty of left-overs in the fridge if you're hungry,” Dad said.

Erik squeezed my arm.

”Starving.” In the kitchen I dished a double helping of enchiladas and set them in the microwave. Returning the pan to the fridge, I asked, ”Anything else look good?” An apple climbed off the shelf and into my hands. I poured a large gla.s.s of milk and grabbed a bag of pretzels from the cupboard. Then I stood at the bar with all that food and wondered aloud, ”How am I supposed to carry all this to my room?”

Inexplicably the apple and the bag of pretzels disappeared. I offered forks to the air and they disappeared, too.

Upstairs with the door closed I could still hear the soundtrack of the movie playing. We could talk without being heard. The apples, pretzels and forks reappeared in mid-air and settled onto the dresser.

”Explain the disappearing fruit,” I said.

”I put it in my s.h.i.+rt.”

”Your s.h.i.+rt is invisible. It shouldn't hide a perfectly visible apple.”

”No, that is the second rule of veiling. Items covered in a veiled substance become veiled.” He opened the bag of pretzels and drew one out. It seemed to float in the air. ”Now I'll close it in my hand.” The pretzel vanished and reappeared a moment later.

”Does the same rule apply to food you put in your mouth? Because I don't want to see stuff getting chewed up and swallowed.”

”Same rule applies.” The pretzel disappeared with a crunch. ”Those enchiladas smell really good.”

I put a fork on the plate and offered it in his general direction. ”Help yourself. They're hot.” I watched as the fork took off a chunk of cheesy tortilla and chicken, lifted into midair and the food disappeared. He ate three more bites before he gasped. The fork clanked onto the plate. The gla.s.s of milk rose into the air and was completely drained in a matter of seconds. ”I warned you,” I said.

He whistled quietly. ”I thought you meant temperature. Are you hungry? Do you mind if I finish these?”

There was a whirlpool in my belly, but it had nothing to do with food. ”You'll need more milk,” I answered.

In the kitchen I filled the gla.s.s to the top and had to walk carefully not to spill. My thoughts were already upstairs, where the plate of enchiladas was empty when I returned. ”I suppose you need this?” I held the gla.s.s of milk in front of me and watched as it was lifted from my hand.

”Thank you.”