by Kim Chance
“So,” I asked, eager to keep the conversation going, “do you come here a lot?”
“A couple times a week.” He smiled again. “I help train some of the new guys, and Mike, the owner, lets me work out for free.”
“Oh, so are you like some professional fighter or something?”
“No, nothing like that.” Ty laughed. He got up and walked over to a red Igloo cooler and poured each of us a small paper cup full of water. “It’s just in my blood.” He handed me one of the cups. “My father taught me.”
I took a sip of my water. “And now you can kick butt and take names?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Something like that.”
“Want to show me some of your moves?” I nodded toward the bag.
Ty raised an eyebrow. “What for? You’ve seen me fight.”
“True, but come on,” I prodded, handing him the padded gloves. “Don’t all badasses jump at the opportunity to show off for a girl?”
Ty thought for a minute and then laughed. “Only for the pretty ones,” he said with a wink as he took the gloves from my outstretched hand.
The tips of my ears began to burn, and I gulped down another sip of water to hide the goofy grin on my face.
Jumping to his feet, Ty walked to the corner of the room and grabbed two cotton bands. He wrapped his own hands in record time and strapped the gloves securely to his wrists.
He stepped up to the bag and took a deep breath. He walked slowly around it, almost like an animal stalking its prey, his shoulders tensed in preparation. Then with another deep breath, he struck the bag.
I watched, awestruck, as he moved around it, his arms darting and swinging in perfect precision. His face was a mask of pure concentration, his eyes blazing with intensity. The muscles in his chest and back strained against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. His movements, though clearly practiced and purposeful, were full of power and intensity and looked almost graceful. The intricate patterns of his footwork and the staccato rhythm of his fists making contact with the bag were mesmerizing.
I knew nothing about fighting, what made someone good or bad, but from where I stood, Ty wasn’t just an amazing fighter—he was a force of nature.
I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until Ty delivered a final punch to the bag and whirled around to face me, sweat pouring down his face, his eyes shining and bright.
“Wow,” I managed to force out, snapping my lips back together.
Ty waved his hand in dismissal and walked over to the Igloo again and downed several cups of water.
“No, seriously.” I stood up. “That was amazing.”
He shrugged. “My dad was a good teacher.”
“I can tell. Does he still train with you?”
Ty’s face fell. “No, he, uh . . . he passed away.”
My stomach lurched, like someone had knocked the wind out of me. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“It’s okay,” Ty interrupted. “Really.”
I nodded, though I still felt like a jerk for bringing it up. “I am sorry though.”
Ty sighed and walked back toward the bag, placing his hands tentatively on the fabric, his face pained and thoughtful. I watched him, chewing my bottom lip and silently berating myself for bringing it up. His expression was one I knew well.
I wasn’t sure whether I should say something or just keep my big fat mouth shut. “It’s just my uncle and me,” I finally blurted out.
Ty turned his head, his eyes asking the obvious question.
“Car accident,” I confirmed. “When I was little.”
This time it was Ty who looked sympathetic.
“I don’t remember them much,” I continued softly. “But my uncle says that my laugh is exactly like my dad’s. And that I’m stubborn like my mom.”
A few long seconds passed by.
“He loved corny jokes,” I continued, not really knowing why. “And my mom was a really terrible baker.”
Holy shit, Styles. Could you have made things any more awkward? I looked down at my hands, heat rising in my cheeks. I stood up, trying not to meet Ty’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you that.”
“I’m glad you did.” There was something in Ty’s voice that made me look up again. He was still staring, but there was the hint of a smile across his lips. “My dad had a thing for 90s sitcoms.”
The look on his face resonated deep within my core, and I realized that what I heard in his voice, what I was seeing in his eyes, was something I’d never experienced with anyone before: understanding. I smiled back.
My heart was beating ninety to nothing, and I fanned my face with my hand.
“So the street fighting,” I said, wincing at the shrill squeak of my voice. “Why do you do it?”
Ty cocked his head.
“I mean,” I continued, seeing his confusion, “from what I just saw, you could kick someone’s ass in like five seconds. But back in the alley, you let them think they could win.”
“You think I was holding back?”
I rolled my eyes. “I heard you laughing.”
This time it was Ty’s cheeks that turned pink. “You heard that, huh?” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh . . . would you believe me if I said it was fun?”
I pointed at the punching bag. “That thing made me feel like a million bucks, and while I’ve never done it myself, I can see how smashing someone in the face might be equally if not more satisfying.” I giggled at the sheepish expression on his face.
Ty cocked his head and moved to stand in front of me. “You know something, Lainey? You surprise me.” He quickly held up a hand. “In a good way, I mean.”
My smile grew bigger. I wasn’t offended at all. “I could easily say the same for you.” Flirting was not my forte, but somehow I was managing to hold my own. It made my stomach jump around like a game of double Dutch.
“Here,” Ty said, pulling my bundled hands toward him. “Let me.”
With nimble fingers, he expertly unwrapped the bands from my hands. My heart was already beating fast, but as his fingers skimmed my skin, it began to race.
“Thanks,” I said, when he was finished. “For bringing me here today.”
“Of course.” Ty’s voice was low, and it sent a shiver dancing across my skin. As I drew in a shaky breath, he reached out and carefully tucked a loose strand of hair from my ponytail behind my ear. His fingertips grazed my earlobe, and a sharp jolt of electricity shocked us both.
Ty jerked his hand away, and I reached up to smooth my hair. “Sorry about that,” I said. “Damn static cling.” I laughed, but the sound was all wrong.
Ty looked at me for a moment with wide, almost surprised eyes. Then a shadow crossed his face, and he stalked to the corner of the room where we had stashed our belongings. “I should probably be getting you back to school,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to look at me again.
What just happened? I looked down at my empty hands—the hands that seconds before I had imagined entangled in the dark locks that now swept over his eyes. I was hardly an expert on guys, but I’d felt a connection with Ty, and from the look in his eyes, he felt it too. So what had gone wrong? The emptiness pounding in my fingertips was hard to ignore. Frowning, I shoved my hands in the front pockets of my jeans.
“Yeah,” I replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’ve got some studying to do, and Maggie is probably freaking out right now.”
I wanted to say something, apologize for making things weird if that’s what happened, but I had no idea what to say.
Ty turned to me, what looked like a strained smile on his face. “You ready?”
I nodded and followed him toward the door, my usual stress mechanism kicking in.
Awkward. Adjec
tive. Meaning to feel displeasure or embarrassment; uncomfortable.
Ty didn’t say anything else, so when he held the door open for me, I let out a sigh and stepped into the bright sunlight.
CHAPTER NINE
“Well,” I said, plopping down next to Maggie in our usual cafeteria booth, “I think it’s safe to say this day wins the award for ‘Worst. Day. Ever.’” I groaned and covered my face with my hands.
Maggie gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. “Come on, Styles. It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? Mags, I fell asleep and screamed bloody murder in the middle of my English class.”
“No one can blame you for that. Mrs. Runyan gives everyone nightmares.”
I snorted. “Well, what about the part where I managed to make myself look like a gigantic idiot in front of the really hot guy I don’t want to admit I’m crushing on?”
“I knew it,” Maggie said with a grin. “Honestly, I really wouldn’t worry about it. Clark Kent embarrassed himself all the time in front of Lois Lane and they still managed to make it work.” She waved her hand. “I hardly think anything you’ve done today qualifies as catastrophic.”
I sighed. “Look, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but I seriously doubt there’s anything you could say that would make me even halfway reconsider my plan to go home and stay there until I’m thirty.”
“Well . . .” Maggie leaned forward, her eyes dancing. “What if I told you I had some information about your mystery man?”
My head perked up. “What kind of information?”
“Personal information. Like the kind you would find in—let’s say, someone’s personal file.”
“Personal file? But how would you . . .” My mouth dropped open. “You didn’t!”
Her sheepish grin was the only response.
“Maggie!”
“What? All the office aides do it!” she said with a shrug, not the least bit bothered by the fact that she had broken a rule, much less that there were laws about that sort of thing.
“You could get suspended!”
“I’d have to get caught first. Look, you’re my best friend, and I wasn’t about to let some random—albeit seriously hot—guy come swinging into the picture without digging up some information on him.”
I shook my head. “Maggie, I—”
“I know, I know. You’re welcome. Now do you want to hear this or not?”
I cracked a smile. There really was no stopping her once she got going. “Proceed.”
“Thank you. So his name is Tyler Marek, and he apparently just moved here a few weeks ago. He’s living with a friend of the family—some guy who owns a gym in town.”
“The one he took me to today?”
“I would assume so. And apparently, he hasn’t been enrolled in school for a while.”
“That’s weird,” I said. “Did the file say why?”
“No, but I bet it has something to do with his father’s death.” Maggie leaned forward, her voice no louder than a whisper. “According to the file, his dad was murdered a while back.”
“Murdered?”
“Yep. There was some kind of evaluation report from the counselor.”
Holy shit. It all made sense now. The look in his eyes, the tightened expression. No wonder he looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach when I asked about his dad.
“That’s awful. Was there anything else?”
Maggie shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. His file was pretty sparse. But hey, at least now we know he’s not a serial killer or some kind of psychopath, right?”
“Um, I guess.” I put my head back down on the table. “Although now I feel like an even bigger idiot.”
Maggie gave me another pat on the shoulder. “Like I said, all things considered, it’s not so bad.”
“And what exactly would you classify as bad?”
She thought for a minute. “Well, when Jason Aaron tricked Wolverine into killing his own offspring, that was pretty bad. And when Spiderman gave up his marriage to Mary Jane to the demon Mephisto in order to save Aunt May’s life, I cried for days. Oh! And Tony Stark’s battle with alcoholism—that was awful! And then there was—”
“Okay, okay! Point made!” I said, laughing. “Forget I asked!”
Maggie gave a satisfied smile and took a big bite out of her ham and cheese sandwich. “I also think I might have a lead on your whole ghost thing. What did you say her name was again?”
“Josephine.”
“Well, I think I found a way to get in contact with her.”
I stared at Maggie. “Contact Josephine? Seriously?”
She smiled sheepishly and pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of her messenger bag. She took a breath and slid it across the table.
I scanned the paper. It was an article about the moon’s orbit and its close proximity to the earth. I looked up. “Oh! There’s going to be a Supermoon on Friday.”
“Right! And according to my research, most paranormal activity coincides with some sort of celestial phenomena. Solstice, equinox.” Maggie began to tick items off on her fingers. “Eclipse. I think that’s when the veil between us and the spirit world gets . . . lifted. Or something like that.” She shrugged. “So, it should be easier for us to contact her. I think we should go to the cemetery and give it a shot.”
I blinked. “The veil between us and the spirit world?”
“Yes, the veil. Try to keep up, Styles. We’ve already missed the Autumnal equinox, and Halloween is still two weeks away. I think this is the closest thing we’re gonna get.” Maggie looked at me expectantly. “So what do you say? Are you in?”
I thought about it for a moment. “A good scientist examines the evidence, right? Well, a dead girl attacked me on the road, I’m having visions or dreams about said dead girl, and so far, despite everything I’ve tried, all I’ve figured out is that there’s some connection between her and my mom.” I let out a breath and shrugged. “I need answers. I need to find out why all of this has happened and what is has to do with my mom. This goes beyond logic and reason, so I need to look at the other variables.”
I tapped the paper. “If we’re gonna do this, we better start researching supermoons.”
Maggie squealed and clapped me on the back. “That’s the spirit, Styles!” She laughed. “See what I did there?
Maggie was too busy cracking up at her own joke to notice that I wasn’t laughing.
Someone moved beside me. I had looked up, making eye contact.
Standing a few feet away, and staring directly at me, was Josephine.
The paper fluttered slightly, before landing on my desk. The flash of white startled me enough to erase the image of her face. Even though three days had passed since that day in the cafeteria, Josephine was still everywhere I looked. I would turn the corner, and there she’d be, staring at me with those sad, knowing eyes of hers. It was seriously creeping the hell out of me.
“Just think of it like this, Styles. You’re like that kid from the Sixth Sense! How freaking cool is that?” Maggie had said. She, of course, grew more ecstatic after every new Josephine sighting. I, however, did not.
I glanced at the paper, my eyes slow to focus. It was my latest history essay about the Great Depression and FDR’s New Deal. But the grade circled in red ink at the top right corner was foreign to me. C+. I double-checked the name to make sure I had the correct paper. My stomach flip-flopped at the sight of my name written in my own, curling script. I’d never gotten a C before. Not even close.
I eyed the book sitting on the corner of my desk. Supermoons: Warnings from Beyond the Grave? Several pages of notes stuck out from the corners.
It had been an easy transition for me—throwing myself into the research—and I didn’t realize how much my focus had shifted until now. My Ivy League dreams sputtered t
o life in my mind, but that red “C” glared at me from the corner of the page.
“Damn you, Josephine,” I muttered under my breath, fighting the urge the crumple the paper. A lump was forming in my throat, but I swallowed a few times to dislodge it.
It’s one paper. Don’t panic, the voice inside my head reasoned as I shoved the paper into my binder, the lump growing bigger. Just one paper.
“Yeah, but scientists don’t get Cs,” I muttered, silencing the voice.
When the shrill bell rang signaling the end of class, I stood quickly, eager to escape.
“Lainey?” Mr. Reinhard, my history teacher, called out. He was staring at me over the rim of his reading glasses. “Can you stay for a few moments, please? I’d like to speak with you.”
“Yes, sir?”
Mr. Reinhard trained his eyes on me, his forehead furrowed. “Lainey, about your latest essay. I—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” I interrupted, “but please. I know it wasn’t my best. It’s been a weird few days. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I—” I broke off, not sure how to explain it further. “I’m just off my game right now, Mr. R.”
Mr. Reinhard nodded. “We all have off days, Lainey, but I’m concerned. This week, you’ve seemed really distracted. I’ve never known you to get anything less than an A.”
His voice was kind, but that only made the lump in my throat triple in size. “I know. I’ll try harder.”
Mr. Reinhard raised an eyebrow. “Is everything okay at home, Lainey? I heard about what happened in your English class when you—well, have you considered speaking with someone? Our counselor, Mrs. Fox—”
I shook my head. “It was just a nightmare. Stupid, really. I’m fine. I’ll do much better on the next essay, I promise.”
The lines around Mr. Reinhard’s eyes softened and he sighed. “Just go home tonight and get some rest. Okay? I think you need it.”
