Better Late Than Never

by Marilyn Kaye

  Somehow, she made it through her last class without having to pay too much attention. The second the bell rang, she was out the door, and in minutes she was at the other end of the school building. There was an exit just outside the gym from which Ken would undoubtedly emerge, and she stationed herself around the side of the building. She'd see him come out, he'd pass without seeing her, and she could follow him from a safe distance. Behind her and down a small slope was the playing field, and as she waited, she could hear the soccer team gathering out there for their after school practice.

  She didn't have to wait long. And she was in luck--he was alone. She plastered herself against the wall to make sure he didn't see her when he passed.

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  Unfortunately, he didn't go in the direction that she'd anticipated. He turned and walked right past her. But fortunately, he behaved just as he'd been behaving toward her lately. He didn't even see her.

  He was watching the soccer practice. His back was to her as he stood on the edge of the slope and gazed out at the boys on the field. She couldn't see his face, but something about his posture made her think that he wasn't in a very good mood.

  He'd been the captain of the soccer team, she remembered. Then he'd had some kind of bad accident, and he couldn't play anymore. He probably missed his sport.

  She edged along the wall to get into a position where she could have a better look at him. She wasn't any good at reading faces, and she certainly couldn't read his mind, but maybe he'd notice her and be happy to have some company. Once she could see his face, she knew he was feeling something stronger than simple regret.

  She'd never seen a boy look so sad before. He must have really loved playing soccer. She could almost swear she saw a tear in his eye, which was

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  ridiculous, of course, because cool guys like Ken didn't cry.

  Or did they? Because now she could see the tear trickling down his cheek. Stunned, it took her a moment to react before she scampered out of his line of sight. He'd be so humiliated if a girl saw him crying!

  She gave up on her plan to follow him and started toward home. All the way there, that image of Ken kept flashing before her eyes. What was that all about? She'd heard that guys could be seriously devoted to their sports. Her own father loved golf, and if he couldn't play for some reason, he'd probably feel kind of sad. But he wouldn't ay. Soccer must have really meant a lot to Ken. He'd looked totally depressed.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get that image of him out of her mind. It was funny, in a way. Seeing a guy looking all demoralized like that certainly wasn't a turn-on. It didn't make Ken very appealing as a potential boyfriend. Some girls might like the sensitive type, but not Amanda. Public displays of emotion, particularly by boys, weren't her thing.

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  Lying in bed that night, she couldn't sleep. If she had to write off Ken as a possible way to get back her crown, what were her other options? She could make a huge fuss and demand that her parents get her out of that stupid gifted class, but that could also make things worse. It would be like admitting that the gifted class had been a bad place to be, and it would raise only more questions.

  She tried to think of other actions she could take, but for some reason, she couldn't concentrate. This was truly bizarre, because she never had a hard time thinking about herself---she was her own favorite subject. But her mind kept going back to Ken and his expression while he watched the soccer practice.

  This made no sense to her at all. She'd basically written him off as boyfriend material, so why couldn't she stop thinking about him? As she finally felt sleep begin to descend on her, she knew with despair that she'd end up dreaming about Ken Preston that night.

  But as it turned out, she did more than that.

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  Chapter 8

  ARE YOU NERVOUS?" Tracey asked. Sitting on the bed, Jenna pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  "No."

  Tracey grinned. "Liar."

  Jenna relented. "Okay, but you have to admit, this is all pretty weird. I'm just about to sit down to have dinner with some complete stranger who claims he's my father. Wouldn't you be nervous?"

  "I'd be a wreck," Tracey said. "Something like this could make me disappear again."

  "Wish I could disappear," Jenna grumbled. But since she couldn't, she went the opposite route. Hopping off the bed, she went back to Tracey's dressing table, sat down, and reapplied her makeup. She added more kohl to her eyes and a thick layer of

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  purple stain to her lips.

  "How do I look?" she asked Tracey.

  "Like someone I wouldn't want to run into walking alone through a dark alley," Tracey replied.

  "Good." That was precisely the image she wanted to convey. Whoever this man was, she wanted to make sure he could see she was a tough chick, not some wimpy little girl who was craving a father figure.

  "How come you weren't in class today?" Tracey asked.

  "Because I didn't want Madame asking me how I felt about this Stuart Kelley guy showing up. I'm sure Mr. Jackson told her about it."

  "How do you feel?"

  "Tracey!"

  "Okay! Sorry."

  "Did I miss anything thrilling?"

  Tracey shook her head. "Martin gave his career report. He said that with his special gift, he'd like to be a mercenary."

  "He wants to be a soldier?"

  "Not exactly. He thinks people would pay him to beat up their enemies."

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  "What about Ken? Maybe he could conduct seances to put people in contact with their dead relatives. That would make Emily happy."

  "Ken wasn't there either. Emily said she could be a TV weather reporter, and Charles said he could hire himself out to couch-potato types so they'd never have to get out of their comfy chairs for another bag of chips. Madame suggested that he could help people who were like him, who couldn't get around easily, but he said he thought couch potatoes would pay more."

  Jenna grinned. That was very Charles. She was enjoying this conversation--it kept her mind off the upcoming dinner. "How about Amanda? What does she think she could do with her gift?"

  "Madame didn't call on her today, which was probably a good thing. She was looking even blanker than usual."

  The sound of a doorbell made Jenna stiffen. "Uh-oh! Here he is. Whoever he is."

  "You could always read his mind and find out."

  Jenna nodded. That was exactly what she planned to do when the right moment came around. She took

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  a deep breath. "Okay, let's go."

  The Devon Seven, already fed and bathed, had been banished to their room with their babysitter so that the others could have a real grown-up dinner. When Tracey and Jenna arrived in the living room, they found Mr. Devon fixing cocktails and Mrs. Devon holding a huge bouquet of roses.

  "Jenna, look what your father brought us!"

  Refusing to smile, Jenna nodded. "They're very pretty."

  "Tracey, would you find a vase?"

  Jenna gave her friend a fierce don't-leave-me look, but Tracey took the flowers from her mother and went off toward the kitchen.

  "Hello, Jenna." The stranger was smiling at her.

  "Hi," she murmured.

  Now that she'd recovered from the shock she'd felt in Mr. Jackson's office, she could get a good look at this man. He was definitely what Emily had predicted--tall, dark, and handsome. He was dressed neatly in a suit and tie, and he looked perfectly at ease, as if dinner with a long-lost daughter was an ordinary everyday event.

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  Tracey returned with the vase of roses, which her mother placed in the center of the dining table. Then she passed around a tray of crackers with squiggles of something on them.

  "What do you think of your daughter, Mr. Kelley?" she asked gaily.

  "Please, call me Stuart." He looked at Jenna. "I think she's beautiful," he said simply.

  The squiggle on the c
racker turned out to be cheese, but that wasn't what Jenna choked on. She stared at the man in disbelief." What?"

  Mr. Devon laughed jovially. "I'm sure all fathers think their daughters are beautiful. I know I do--all eight of them."

  Stuart Kelley nodded, but his eyes were still on Jenna. "And very special."

  "Well, these two certainly are," Mrs. Devon said. "You do know about their special gifts, don't you?"

  "The school principal did say something about Jenna having deep insights into people."

  "I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Mr. Devon said. "My daughter can disappear."

  "Dad!" Tracey interjected. "We're not really

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  supposed to talk about this."

  Her father brushed that aside. "Mr. Kelley-- Stuart, I mean--is one of us. A gifted parent."

  Stuart shook his head. "Hardly that, considering I've been missing from Jenna's life. I don't know how I'm ever going to make it up to her."

  The Devon parents looked at each other. "We understand," they said in unison.

  The way he was looking at her with that adoring expression was getting on Jenna's nerves. "Why did you come looking for me now?" she demanded.

  He sighed and took a small sip of his cocktail. Jenna noticed that he'd barely touched it. At least he wasn't an alcoholic--that was something.

  "I've been a coward," he said. "I always wanted to see you. I wanted to see your mother, too, but I assumed she'd slam the door in my face. She certainly has the right to do that. I treated her terribly."

  "You sure did," Jenna blurted out. "You walked out on her when she was pregnant. No wonder she started drinking."

  "Jenna," Mrs. Devon chided her gently, "people make all kinds of mistakes in their lives. At least your

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  father is trying to make amends now."

  It dawned on Jenna that they were all talking as if it was an absolute certainty that Stuart Kelley was her real father. Including herself--she'd just accused this man she'd never seen before in her life of walking out on her mother. Maybe now was the time to do a little mental exploration and try to find out who this guy really was.

  But Mrs. Devon chose that moment to call them all to the table, and there was no opportunity for Jenna to stare at him and concentrate. The next few moments were taken up with accepting portions of roast beef and scooping green beans onto plates.

  Jenna might not have been able to read his mind at the moment, but she hadn't finished asking questions. "Why did you just show up at the door on Monday? Why didn't you call first?"

  "I couldn't find a telephone number," he replied.

  That was a good point. The phone had been disconnected ages ago because the bill hadn't been paid.

  "Besides," he continued, "I assumed your mother would just hang up once she knew who

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  was calling."

  "And she would have slammed the door in your face if she'd been home," Jenna countered.

  "True," he admitted. "She certainly had every reason to. I just thought I'd have a better chance of talking to her if I came in person."

  He probably thought he was so good-looking that she couldn't resist him, Jenna thought sourly. Unfortunately, he was probably right. He was exactly the type of guy her mother liked.

  "Have you spoken to her at all?" Mrs. Devon asked.

  "No. She's not allowed visitors or phone calls at the hospital. When does she come out, Jenna?"

  "A week from Sunday."

  "I'm very anxious to see her."

  "Why?" Jenna asked bluntly.

  He had a dazzling smile. "This might be hard to believe, Jenna, but I was very much in love with your mother. Even when I left her."

  Tracey gazed at him curiously. "Do you think you might still be? In love with her, I mean?"

  "Tracey!" Jenna glared at her. "Isn't that a little personal?"

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  Stuart Kelley laughed gently. "It's all right, Jenna. And who knows? All I can say is that I've never stopped thinking about her. And you, Jenna."

  Jenna didn't say anything. A new thought had come to her. This man was planning to stick around and see her mother when she came out of rehab. Barbara Kelley might have a foggy memory after all those years of drinking, but she wasn't stupid. Surely she'd know her own ex-husband.

  Jenna looked at him now and tried to imagine him as her father. Maybe ... maybe this wasn't quite as far-fetched as it seemed. An image flashed across her mind: a family, made up of a mother and a father and a daughter, living in a real house, having a normal life ...

  With effort, she pushed the picture out of her head. She was not optimistic by nature, and she wasn't going to start looking on the bright side of everything now.

  There was an uncomfortable silence at the table. Stuart Kelley must have felt it, because he changed the subject. "So your father said you can disappear, Tracey?"

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  Jenna almost smiled. She liked the way he had said it conversationally, the way someone might say, So your father said you play the piano? He wasn't acting like they were freaks, the way some people would have.

  "I used to,"Tracey said. She looked at her parents, both of whom suddenly became terribly interested in what still lay on their plates. Jenna couldn't blame them--they must have felt awful about how they'd treated their daughter. Tracey was nice enough not to go into the whole story for Stuart.

  "I'm practicing now," she went on. "What I need is to be able to feel invisible, and it's not so easy for me anymore. But I'm doing these meditation exercises, and they're helping." She turned to Jenna. "Right?"

  Jenna agreed. "You were practically translucent last night. I could see the glow from the lamp behind you."

  Tracey nodded happily. "We're in a special class, Jenna and me," she told Stuart. "And we're learning how to get in touch with our gifts and control them. Use them wisely."

  Stuart turned to Jenna. "Is that working for you, too?"

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  Jenna shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

  Mr. Devon was looking at her with interest. "How deeply can you read minds, Jenna?"

  She shrugged again. "I don't know."

  "I mean, can you go beneath the surface?" he continued. "Or can you just read what people are clearly thinking?" He turned to his wife. "Just think of the benefit to therapy. People wouldn't have to be analyzed for years to find out what's going on in their subconscious minds. Jenna could tell them!"

  "Let's try it right now," Mrs. Devon said excitedly. She turned to Stuart and explained, "I've been in analysis for years, and we just had a breakthrough last week--an event that I'd buried in my subconscious. Let's see if Jenna can tell me what it was!"

  "Mom!" Tracey moaned. "Don't ask Jenna to do that--it's embarrassing!"

  Jenna could feel her face turning red. She was embarrassed, but how could she say no to the woman who was providing her with a home at the moment?

  Tracey hadn't finished. "Besides, Madame says we should never exploit one another's gifts, and that includes the parents of the gifted."

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  "Who is Madame?" Stuart asked.

  "Our gifted-class teacher," Jenna told him. "She says we have to be very careful about revealing our gifts. She tells us there are plenty of bad people out there who might want to use us for their own nasty purposes."

  "And she's absolutely right," Stuart said firmly. "I don't know what kind of benefit people could get from using your mind-reading skills, but I'm sure they'd think of something." Turning to Tracey he said, "And someone might try to force you to rob a bank for them. I think it's best not to let too many people know what you can do."

  "I agree," Mr. Devon said. "Just keep it in the family."

  "That's right." Stuart looked at Jenna. "Keep it in the family," he repeated.

  Jenna suddenly became aware of a rush of feeling filling her up. Was this happening? Could this be real?

  "You're absolutely right," Mrs. Devon declared. "In fact, I'm ashamed of
myself for asking you to show off your gift, Jenna."

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  "That's okay," Jenna mumbled.

  Mrs. Devon raised her wineglass. "Let's toast our gifted daughters and vow never to take advantage of their gifts."

  Stuart raised his glass, and so did Mr. Devon. "To our daughters," they intoned.

  Tracey looked at Jenna, but Jenna averted her eyes. She suspected that Tracey knew exactly what she was thinking, despite not having any mind-reading skills.

  Which reminded her of what she'd planned to do to Stuart Kelley. When Mrs. Devon went into the kitchen to get the dessert, Tracey left to help her, and the two men began talking about some movie they'd both seen. It was a good moment to try a little mind reading.

  Since the men were talking, their topic of conversation would probably be the uppermost thing on Stuart's mind. But this would be a good opportunity to try what Mrs. Devon had suggested--to see if she could get below the surface thoughts to something deeper.

  Her father's--she corrected herself--- Stuart's back was to her, so she had no problem staring. First, she

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  blocked out their voices, the music coming from the stereo, the sounds from the kitchen. Then she concentrated on piercing Stuart's mind.

  But she couldn't. She tried again and again, but she couldn't even pick up the superficial thoughts about the movie they were discussing. Was he able to block her, like Emily? No, it was probably Emily's own weird gift that made her unable to be read. This was more like what happened when she tried to read her mother's mind. The family thing . . .

  She caught her breath. Then she started coughing.

  Mr. Devon poured her some water while Stuart patted her on the back. "Take deep breaths," he ordered. She did, and when the coughs died down, she drank the water.

  "Are you okay?" Stuart asked.

  "I'm fine," she assured her father. And in her mind, she added, Maybe more than fine.

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  Chapter 9

  AMANDA HAD NOW HAD 24 hours to practice being a boy. Well, not exactly being a boy--other than using the toilet, she hadn't really clone anything boyish. But she'd had a day to get used to feeling like a boy. Which wasn't long. So she still felt very, very strange.

  When she'd realized, the morning before, that she was now inside Ken Preston's body, she'd been pretty stunned. Even though that had been one of her original plans, she hadn't been aware that she'd been feeling sorry for Ken. But apparently those feelings she'd had after seeing him on Tuesday were real sympathy and pity, not simply distaste at seeing a boy cry.