Krysta's Curse

by West, Tara

  “No.” He spoke in a strained voice.

  He was keeping something from me. I knew it. Why wouldn’t he tell me?

  I nearly stumbled over a tree root. After catching up to his backside, I drew a deep breath. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.” His answer came on a growl. “She used to visit you when you were a baby.”

  She did?

  It didn’t make any sense that she’d visit me when I was an infant and not during my teenage years when my power was strengthening and I needed her more than ever. “Why doesn’t she visit me now?”

  The clearing to our car had come into view. Dad stopped so suddenly that I nearly ran into him.

  I gasped when he faced me.

  Tears flooded his reddened face. “Krysta,” he spoke on an exhale. “I can’t talk about your mom anymore.”

  ****

  Private Facebook Rant/ Too tired to care what time it is

  Adela, where did you go?

  Why can I communicate with people over a hundred years old and rude waitresses but I can’t even talk to my own mom?

  I’ve been holed up in my bedroom, crying for what seems like hours. My chest hurts so bad that it feels like it’s going to crush my heart.

  I need you now, more than I’ve needed anyone. Where are you? In a dark place like Sunny? Every time I think about you lost and alone and cold, I cry harder.

  Garza said you loved me.

  If you still do, then please…please come back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to another study session. My brain was so muddled from lack of sleep the night before, I hardly realized I was accepting his text invitation before it was too late. After Dad had finally paid the bill and allowed me to use my phone again, I had so many messages to answer, I hardly remembered which ones I’d replied to, let alone what I’d written.

  I had way too much to do instead of wasting my time at Bryon’s house, like really studying for this test tomorrow or organizing the protest at the mall site this weekend. Okay, so maybe there wasn’t that much to organize. A few text messages to AJ and Sophie and the ‘so called protest’ was scheduled for Saturday morning.

  The protest was another reason I shouldn’t have accepted his invite tonight. This was the house of the enemy, even though Bryon probably viewed his dad as more of an enemy than I did. How would he feel if he knew I was protesting his dad’s career? I was afraid to know the answer.

  And now here I was, sitting across from the cutest and most complex guy in the school, having the most nauseating feeling of déjà vu.

  The maid tried to force-feed me soda and cookies. Bryon and his dad had yet another fight at the table. Now, he was pouting instead of studying and we were getting nowhere with a test tomorrow.

  I should have been mad at Bryon for wasting my time, for making me feel totally uncomfortable while he argued with his dad. But Sophie’s words echoed through my brain.

  He’s feeling a great sense of abandonment. And anger.

  I sensed the anger part, but who abandoned him? Did his father have something to do with it? Was that why he was so angry?

  Despite the way he treated his dad, he was always nice to me and I couldn’t forget the way he stood up for Sunny that night at the café. I thought about the friendly way he spoke to Mrs. Jackson and the other kids in class, even to Grody Cody Miller, the kid who’d crapped his pants on the bus. Bryon was a nice guy, a sweetheart. There had to be a reason why he hated his dad so much.

  One thing I did know, we weren’t going to get any studying done when he was so busy fuming over his dad—with all this tension hanging between us. Maybe if I got him to open up about his problems, he’d release some of his pent up anger.

  I swallowed hard, thinking how best to approach the subject. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?” He mumbled, too lost in his own thoughts to glance in my direction.

  I decided the best option was to be blunt. “Why do you hate your dad?”

  He jerked, dropping the pencil as his wide gaze darted to me.

  My heart melted.

  At first I thought I’d angered him, but I read only hurt in his glossy eyes.

  “He cheated on my mom.” He spoke through a shaky lip before turning his gaze downward.

  The whole abandonment thing suddenly made sense to me. His mom walked out on the family just as my fake mom did and he blamed his dad.

  Bryon coughed once into his hand and then picked up his pencil, scribbling something on his notebook.

  He wasn’t fooling me. I knew his mom leaving was hard to talk about. I also knew, from a very personal experience, he couldn’t go on with all this hate in his heart.

  For his own good, I had to make him talk about it. “Is that why she left you?”

  His eyes shot up again, narrowing. This time he clutched the pencil so tightly his knuckles turned white. “She didn’t leave me,” he spat. “She divorced him and took me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured, feeling like a complete idiot.

  “It’s not your fault.” He smiled weakly, but the slight turn of his mouth wasn’t enough to mask the pain in his eyes. “My step-dad abused her.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Bryon’s issues were way deeper than I’d imagined.

  Bryon shrugged, his arms and shoulders looking kind of limp with the effort. “And then one night he…”

  His voice cracked and he said no more. Wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, he stood and walked to the kitchen counter. Grabbing a cookie, he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, chewing while staring blankly at the wall.

  Bryon didn’t need to say any more. I knew his step-dad killed his mom. Now I understood why he was so protective of Sunny that night. Why he’d gotten so emotional over her death when he hardly knew her. I also knew why he hated his dad. If Mr. Thomas hadn’t cheated on Bryon’s mom, they might still be married and she’d be alive.

  It was easy to see Bryon’s hatred for his dad was consuming him, cutting into his study time and his social life. He couldn’t ever be happy with so much rage in his heart.

  I needed to make him understand. “Do you think it’s good for you to hate your dad so much?”

  Bryon swallowed his cookie, looking me over with a sneer. “You don’t know what I feel. Your mom wasn’t murdered.”

  “Actually…” I tilted my chin, meeting his angry gaze “…she was killed by drug lords.”

  His shoulders fell, his entire frame turning inward. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be an ass.”

  “That’s okay.” I shrugged. “You didn’t know.” How did he go from enraged teen to pitiful puppy in a split second? I suspected he didn’t know how to deal with his emotions after his mom’s death. I wondered if his dad had been there to comfort him or if he just wanted him out of the way.

  Bryon absently popped another cookie in his mouth while staring at the wall behind me.

  Leaning forward, I splayed both hands on the table, clearing my throat until he caught my gaze. “My dad and I have issues, but I don’t hate him. He’s the only parent I’ve got left.”

  Bryon shrugged, reaching for yet another cookie. “Not me and my dad.”

  I shook my head, realizing his issues were way worse than mine. “Maybe you two should go to therapy or something.”

  “He doesn’t want to do therapy.” He rolled his eyes while throwing both hands in the air. “He’s too busy with this stupid mall project.”

  “Yeah,” I cringed, “about that mall.”

  Bryon laughed. “I can get you the gift cards. He’s got a drawer full.”

  “I don’t want any gift cards.” I vigorously shook my head, hardly believing those words came from my mouth. “My friends and I are protesting the mall this weekend.”

  His mouth fell open, cookie crumbles dropping to the floor. “What?”

  “They’re building it on an old cemetery.”

  His features sharpened
, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes. “They are?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “They should respect the dead.”

  His lips contorted, making him look like he was either frowning or masking a smile. “My dad’s gonna be pissed.”

  My mouth had suddenly gone dry, my whole body feeling as if it would crack in two. I really didn’t want Bryon to hate me for this. Even if he didn’t like his dad, I was sure he liked the money that came with his dad’s job. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He broke into a grin that nearly stretched from ear to ear. “What time’s the protest? I want to go.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tossing my book bag on the floor, I sank onto my lumpy mattress and mindlessly stared at the stain-splattered ceiling.

  I was tired and disoriented, probably from too little sleep and too much stress. Groaning into my palms, I tried not to think about my chemistry exam score.

  Mrs. Jackson had my exam graded in a matter of seconds. Fifty elements correct out of 103. My teacher must have thought I was a total waste, more interested in make-up than in school. Luckily, she’d agreed to let me redo the test next week. I was determined to pass, and that meant plenty of study time—alone.

  No Bryon, no drama, no ghosts. Well, the ghosts weren’t so much the problem anymore and I was wondering, even a little worried about where they went.

  A light breeze blew against my skin, hardly worth noticing unless you were someone like me. I recognized the slightly tingly sensation, like fairy dust was falling on me from above.

  Looking up, I smiled at their hovering forms. “Hey, you two; where’ve you been?” I squinted, having to do a double-take as I looked into the pale faces of Ed and Gertrude. I didn’t know if it was possible, but their apparitions looked even more translucent.

  Ed’s entire face was a mask of stone, even his crazy eye stilled. “We’re slippin’, Emmy.”

  “What?” I choked, as a rush of fear shot straight to my heart. I sat up, leaning my tired bones against the headboard.

  Gertrude splayed both her hands wide, pointing at the floor with her fingers. “We’re losing the only thing tyin’ us to this earth.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked through a shaky voice, already afraid I knew the answer.

  “We’re fading, Emmy.” Ed shrugged, his eyes reflecting a resigned sense of despair. “After they finish diggin’ next week, we’ll be gone.”

  “No!” I shouted, my limbs shaking with rage.

  How could the developers do this to two harmless souls? Didn’t they know that by desecrating their graves, they were destroying their spirits?

  “We didn’t want ta have to tell you this.” Gertrude smiled, her lips trembling with the movement. “That’s why we’ve been keepin’ away. We know it’s not your fault.”

  My back rigid, I came up on my knees, leveling them both with a determined stare. “My friends and I are protesting the mall tomorrow. Just try to hold on.”

  “You’re a real good girl, Emmy Jane.” Ed floated down to my level, his lower body disappearing beneath my bed. “We want you to know that…just in case we don’t make it.” He made a gesture of squeezing my shoulder.

  Looking into his weird, but tender gaze, my resolve was hardened even more. “You will make it. I’m going to fight for you.”

  ****

  Oh-mi-god.

  I’d never been so scared in all my life. No ghost or ghoul or bump in the night even came close to the terror I felt while staring into the lens of the television camera.

  This was no way to begin my career in fashion. Models had to smile for cameras all the time.

  Thank God Sophie and AJ were with me. They stood at my back while Mindy Mays from Seven News applied her lipstick. I should have felt comforted with my two BFFs behind me, but I was so nervous, my ankles wobbled in my mid-calf boots.

  Breathe, Krysta, Breathe.

  I didn’t want to dwell on the fact that all of Greenwood would soon know I was trying to sabotage the mall. Looking around me, I tried to remember this place as a cemetery. We were standing on the top of a gentle grassy slope, so the people on the road could get a good view of the protest. I imagined the giant oak tree was once on this slope and Ed and Gertrude were buried beneath me. At the bottom of the slope, closer to the road, was a makeshift, gravelly parking lot. Probably where the developers parked their luxury cars.

  The reporter, with big buggy eyes that looked drawn in with permanent marker, turned her penetrating gaze to me. “Ready kid?”

  My mind went blank. “I…I…”

  Without waiting for me to answer, she turned to the lens. “Mindy Mays here at the future site of Greenwood’s first mall, The Crossover. I’m talking to a ninth grader from Greenwood Junior High, Krysta Richards, who is protesting the mall development. So tell me Krysta, what made you decide to protest?”

  Her wide gaze focused on me and I wanted to squirm out of my skin. I tried to swallow a lump in my throat that would not go down, making me feel like I had a banana in my windpipe.

  After averting my gaze from the reporter, somehow I found the courage to look sideways into the lens. “They’re building it over a graveyard.” My voice sounded strange, like it came from some small child.

  “Yes, but it’s centuries old.” She motioned to the old crumbled tombstones behind us with a flick of the wrist. “No one in Greenwood has claimed ancestry here.”

  Her casual attitude was annoying. I knew who was buried there, but I couldn’t tell her that. Still, that shouldn’t have mattered. “That doesn’t mean we should disrespect the dead,” I huffed, summoning courage to raise my voice.

  She flashed a wide smile with what looked like miles of white teeth. Then the reporter laughed while leering at me through lowered eyelids. “What makes a fourteen-year-old girl take such an interest in the city’s history?”

  This woman had me unhinged. Not only was she condescending, she was just plain annoying.

  And I was so angry, I couldn’t think to speak. “I- I just…”

  “She just believes in doing what’s right!”

  The unmistakable tenor of Bryon’s booming voice echoed from somewhere behind me.

  I gasped when I turned and saw him standing on top of a parked tractor. Wearing a tombstone shaped ‘Stop the Desecration’ sign around his neck, Bryon was dressed in a black and white skeleton leotard.

  My stomach did a little flip at the sight, compelled by a strange mixture of nausea and pride.

  Thank God he didn’t paint his face, too. That would have been creepy overload.

  Mindy Mays gawked at Bryon and then turned back to me. For an eternal second, she was speechless.

  Looking into the camera lens, she wore a grim expression. “Well you heard it here first on TV Seven at Five. Local girl puts morals before the mall.”

  A deafening roar erupted from behind the camera man.

  Mindy yelped.

  I shuddered at the sight of Bryon’s dad charging toward us like an enraged bull.

  “Wait!” Mindy waved at the camera man to turn to Bryon’s dad. “I think that’s Cliff Thomas coming this way. Mr. Thomas just announced his candidacy for mayor and is also the leading developer for The Crossover.”

  Stomping up to Bryon, he grabbed him by the arm and jerked him off the tractor.

  Bryon shoved his dad, but Mr. Thomas held his ground, then leaned over and grumbled something into Bryon’s ear.

  Even though I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I got the feeling it wasn’t good.

  Pulling Bryon by the elbow, Mr. Thomas marched him down the slope, making a wide circle around the camera crew.

  Mindy chased after them; like an idiot, I chased after her.

  Waving her arms, Mindy’s heeled feet bent awkwardly as she tried to maneuver the grassy terrain. She looked like a deranged chicken.

  “Mr. Thomas, may we have a word with you?”

  “No,” he barked. “Not today.”

 
She was undaunted. “Will this protest effect construction of The Crossover?”

  “This is not a protest!” He screamed, his pale face taking on the color of an overripe apple. “It’s just a kid’s prank gone too far.” His angry gaze shot straight to me, his cold eyes narrowing before he turned back to the reporter. “If you will excuse me, I have a personal matter to attend.”

  The anger in his eyes shocked and scared me. I looked at Bryon for some reassurance.

  He only stared at his feet, mouth turned in a pout as he allowed his dad to lead him away by the elbow.

  Mindy Mays chased them again as they headed toward the parking lot. “Mr. Thomas, is this protester your son?”

  “Turn the camera off!” Anyone within a ten mile radius could have heard Mr. Thomas yelling at the reporter as he shoved Bryon into the passenger seat of his car.

  Bryon slouched in his seat, covering his face with his hands.

  I just wanted to sink into the dirt and disappear. This protest was a total disaster and now I’d caused an even bigger rift between Bryon and his dad.

  Mindy Mays straightened her shoulders and looked at the camera, her eyes animated with excitement. “Well, you saw it first on Seven. A very angry Cliff Thomas, mayoral candidate and mall developer, has just hauled a young man, who is protesting the mall development, into his car. I’m assuming the boy is a relation, possibly even his son. Tune in while we keep you posted on this developing story.”

  I groaned as I wondered just how this story would develop.

  ****

  “Home.” I breathed the word while propping my knee on the paint peeled doorframe, fumbling in my purse for the key.

  Even if it was a dingy apartment, it was my apartment and was far away from cemeteries, television crews and irate dads. All I wanted to do was sink into my lumpy mattress and pretend this day never happened.

  Flinging open the door, I was startled by the site of my dad’s latest flavor of the month, April, sprawled out on the living room floor. The small gray sofa with rips in the cushions and Dad’s recliner with the broken handle, which made the chair permanently recline, were pushed against the side wall. Our coffee table with the super-glued leg was weighing down the cushions of the sofa, looking ready to crash to the floor. April had completely rearranged the furniture in our living room, all so she could watch my Yoga DVD and use my Yoga mat.