by West, Tara
This new girlfriend was probably no older than twenty-five. I’d asked my dad her age more than once, but he claimed not to know. I had a feeling he didn’t care how old she was, as long as she was legal.
I tried to push back the rising tide of irritation that twisted a knot in my gut. I shouldn’t have been annoyed by her presence. So far, this flavor of the month had been nice to me. Besides, she wasn’t hurting my mat. Although, she might sweat all over it.
Gross.
Then I noticed her over-bleached, dried out hair was pulled back with one of my headbands.
I suppressed a growl.
“Hi, Krysta,” she half-squealed in that high- pitched whine of hers.
I cringed. Her voice affected my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
“Aren’t you going to say ‘hi’?” Mouth twisted in a pout, she looked at me from between her legs in a very awkward ‘down dog’ position.
I didn’t want to be the one to tell her that her butt was sticking up way too far. “Hi.” I shrugged my purse to the floor, looking around the room. “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s in the bedroom getting ready for work.” She moved to a meditative pose, grinding her butt into my mat.
I only hoped her sweats were clean.
My eyes bulged at the top she was wearing with the sweatpants. The shirt was way too stylish for Yoga and the whole ensemble looked weird.
Judging by the fine trim on the sleeves and collar, I knew the shirt was expensive.
“Nice shirt.” The words froze mid-air as they slipped off my tongue. A little pulse in my neck jumped as I glared at the square cut bottom with a tapered waist.
“Thanks.” She shrugged with a flick of the wrist. As if the shirt was nothing special.
As if.
Folding my arms across my chest, I narrowed my gaze. “I have one just like it.”
She matched my glare with one of her own, a smug smile plastered across her face. “I know.”
“Is that my shirt?” Pressure built at the back of my eyeballs and I felt ready to explode.
Her smile widened and she batted painted eyelids. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I saved up for a month to buy it,” I growled, feeling steaming jets of rage pummeling my brain.
Laughing, she rolled her eyes. “I won’t ruin it.”
“You could have asked,” I hissed through clenched teeth. I wasn’t buying her act. She was pretending that stealing my stuff was no big deal, but it was to me.
“And you could be nicer.” She jumped to her feet, rolling her head like she had some major attitude. “I’m the one who is stuck babysitting you at nights.”
“What?” I nearly choked. “I don’t need you to babysit me!”
My mind raced, my heart plummeted. Had my dad gone demented? Fourteen years of neglect, and now he turns me over to some brainless trailer trash?
April gave me the head-to-toe once over, twisted her lips into a scowl and then hollered over her shoulder. “Andy! The kid’s starting with me already!”
Just then, my dad came out of his bedroom door, adjusting the collar on his security guard uniform.
“What’s going on here?” he grumbled.
Without looking at my dad, April pointed at me with an obnoxious smile. “She walked in the house with a chip on her shoulder.”
Gawd, was she my babysitter or my new big sister? She couldn’t have acted any more immature. What was my dad thinking? I was so angry. I felt like crying, but I didn’t want to give April that satisfaction. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fourteen!”
“Krysta.” Dad nodded to April while he straightened his tie. “You need someone to look after you.” His tone sounded way too stern, like he was suddenly a father in control.
My jaw dropped, my vision tunneling on this guy who was wearing my dad’s clothes. His hair was cut and combed and his face was smooth. No nicks and clumps of shaving cream stuck to his neck.
Who was this guy? Did he think I was dumb enough to fall for his sudden transformation? If he was going to act the part of the responsible parent, he’d have to find me a better role model than some girl he dragged home from the bar.
I blew out an irritated breath. “And you think April is mature enough to be my babysitter? She’s like twenty.”
“For your information, I’m twenty-four and you’re not going to sneak out to the lake on my watch.” She turned up her chin, a triumphant smile stretched across her annoying face.
I just wanted to slap her—and my dad. “You told her?” My heart plummeted and I felt terribly betrayed. Had he told April I spoke to the dead? I’d thought that was our secret. Not all of the years of his neglect could even compare to the pain I was feeling.
“Of course, he told me.” Her voice took on an even more grating tone as she waggled her head like one of those bobble-head dolls. “Sneaking off to the lake to meet your friends. I don’t know what you kids do at the lake at two a.m., probably drugs.” She made this weird snorting sound, like her nose was choking on boogers.
My anger abated slightly as short sigh of relief wheezed through my clenched teeth. So Dad hadn’t told her what I was doing at the lake. I’d rather she think I was a user than know the truth.
“April.” Dad sighed, glaring at her from the corners of his eyes. “I told you my daughter doesn’t do drugs.”
She walked up to him, jabbing a finger in his chest. “Andy, you have to stop being so trusting.”
Trusting? What was so ‘trusting’ about taking clothes without permission?
“She didn’t even ask if she could wear my shirt.” I cringed at the whining sound that had slipped into my own voice. This was pathetic. I felt like I was stuck in a really bad reality show.
“Krysta,” Dad groaned, throwing both hands into the air. “Can April wear your shirt?”
“No.” Folding my arms across my chest, I tried to keep my voice even, controlled. Let Dad see who is mature and who is not. “That’s my most expensive shirt.”
Looking from me to his girlfriend, Dad took a deep breath, bringing his hands to his sides. “April, take off the shirt.”
She gasped, her lips turning in a pout. “Andy, whose side are you on?”
Dad’s face showed no emotion as he casually shook his head. “I know what’s best for my daughter. I’m not listening to you anymore.”
“Fine.” Stomping her foot, she made a very dramatic sweep to Dad’s bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Dad turned to me with a soft smile, fatigue clearly showing in the deep lines around his eyes. “Sorry. You okay?”
I shrugged one shoulder while jutting a hand on my hip. “As soon as I get my shirt back.”
Dad had the nerve to laugh.
I didn’t know why his laughter annoyed me, but it did. I guess I had grown comfortable with him ignoring me, not taking my side in an argument and then asking if I was okay.
Weird.
His new attitude would take some getting used to. Luckily, I had planned to camp out somewhere else tonight. “Can I spend the night at AJ’s?”
His smile dropped before he plastered on another one. “Yeah, what do you girls have planned?” Dad looked down at his shirt, adjusting cuffs that were already in place.
What was going on with him?
“We’re making bigger protest signs. They’re building The Crossover Mall over a cemetery and we’re protesting again tomorrow.”
His jaw slackened, eyes widening. “Have you gone crazy? You love shopping.”
Yeah, I did love shopping, but I didn’t think my dad ever paid attention to my passion. Up until recently, I hadn’t thought he’d paid attention to me at all.
I couldn’t refrain from smiling. “I think I am crazy.”
He cocked a brow. “Let me guess, a couple of ghosts convinced you to do it.”
“Something like that.” I half shrugged and turned away, not wanting him to see how his attention was affecting me.
I felt so
strange. Kind of bubbly inside. All because my dad was interested in my life. I used to wonder if he’d miss me if I never came home. How long would it take him to notice if I ran away? I’d always felt like a fly on the wall in his world and now he was finally acting like a parent.
“What time’s the protest?” Dad’s voice sounded strained. Then he made a strange rumble like he had something stuck in his throat.
“At two.” Keeping my eyes focused on the puke green fridge in our compact kitchen, I answered without turning to look at him.
“Do you need a ride?”
“No.” I shrugged, focusing my attention on a speck of dirt under my nail. “Mrs. Dawson…”
“Yeah, I should have guessed,” Dad groaned. “Other people are always looking after my kid.”
“I thought you liked it that way.” I spoke, barely a whisper, as my throat tightened with emotion.
I heard something fall behind me. Turning on my heel, I saw Dad on his knees, fighting with the broken leg on the coffee table. The splintered wood would not go back into the slot. Swearing, he threw the leg across the room.
What was up with my Dad? He looked ready to cry.
Just then, April stormed out of the bedroom and threw my shirt at Dad. Jerking open the front door, she flung herself through the doorway like a true drama queen and slammed the door behind her.
The poor rusty hinges practically screamed in protest.
Dad looked at me with a huge goofy grin.
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
Dad stood up and tossed the shirt to me. “I’ve got to get to work. Come on. I’ll give you a ride to AJ’s.”
After I grabbed my overnight bag, I hurried to meet Dad in the apartment parking lot. I had no idea what was going on with him, or why he was suddenly this new person. Even though this afternoon was totally awkward, I still hoped my new dad would stick around for a while.
But I wasn’t holding my breath.
Too many years of neglect had taught me not to hope for anything.
Chapter Fifteen
Once again, I felt like I was stuck in the middle of a really bad dream. My friends and I had been touting protest signs for over an hour.
Sunday traffic wasn’t heavy, but those who did drive by didn’t seem to notice us. I didn’t know why I had this crazy idea onlookers would sympathize with my noble cause and join the protest.
The air was hot and humid, making my hair frizz even more than usual. Dark clouds overhead threatened rain. I silently prayed some of the wet stuff would fall on my head and weigh down my dandelion-do.
The flimsy sign I held over my head was feeling like a dead-weight. AJ and I had slept in this morning, but for some reason, I was still bone-tired.
That’s when I saw the Channel Seven van pull into the gravelly parking lot.
Great. They had to wait until the weather zapped my hair into a ginormous, magnetic frizz- ball.
Mindy walked across the gravelly road in her heels and business suit. Hadn’t she learned anything after last time?
AJ snorted out loud and Sophie squealed into her hands when Mindy fell over. Her whole body tumbled down like a crumbling tower of wooden blocks.
Her camera man rushed to pick her up and she managed to make it to the grass by holding onto his arm.
You don’t have to be a fashion diva to know grass and stilettos don’t mix, like sinking toothpicks through quicksand.
With each step, Mindy made this little high pitched squeaking sound, as she inched her way toward me.
When she finally arrived at our protest sight, I could tell she wasn’t amused by AJ’s gloating grin.
I shot AJ a warning look. I needed this woman on my side if I wanted to win my cause.
After Mindy glared at AJ, she applied fresh lipstick and then the camera was rolling.
“Mindy Mays reporting for Seven News where we’re live at Greenwood’s future site of The Crossover Mall for day two of a protest initiated by junior high student, Krysta Richards. Until recently, many Greenwood residents weren’t aware that The Crossover is also the site of an early pioneer burial ground. No one from Greenwood claims ancestry to the residents of this decrepit graveyard, but that hasn’t stopped Krysta Richards, who says the dead must be respected.”
I inwardly groaned at the tone the news reporter used when quoting me, as if this was all some big joke.
“Joining me now are Krysta and her friends, other Greenwood Junior High students.”
The camera briefly turned on AJ and Sophie. They smiled and waved their signs. Sophie squealed like a mouse. AJ was hooting and hollering like she was trying to distract the rival pitcher in a softball game.
Mindy waved her hand at them, like she was shooing away a cat. I guess she wanted them to be quiet.
They both took the hint, but only after AJ stuck her tongue out at the camera.
I wanted my own stilettos, so I could sink into the ground and hide.
“Krysta, have you gotten any response from the mall developers?”
The camera was back on me and I wondered if all my hair fit in the picture.
“No,” I sighed. “Not really.”
“Why should we respect these gravesites?” She swept her hand across the expanse of grass behind us. “No one even knows who’s buried here.”
Okay, now I was angry. “Why should that make a difference? We’ve all got family members who’ve died. We wouldn’t want anyone disrespecting their graves.”
Just then, I heard some commotion behind me. I turned to see Bryon high-fiving AJ and Sophie. My heart swelled. How did he get here? After he didn’t answer my texts last night, I was sure he was grounded.
Mindy rushed over to him with her wobbly- legged chicken walk. “I see another protester has joined the group. Could you tell us your name, young man?”
Bryon grinned at me and then looked directly into the camera. “Bryon Thomas.”
Mindy licked her lips, her eyes taking on a feral glare. “Are you related to mayoral candidate and mall developer, Cliff Thomas?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged.
Poor Bryon was Mindy’s lamb on the slaughter. I knew she was only interested in Bryon because his dad was running for mayor. Suddenly, I realized why she’d come back to my pathetic little protest—it wasn’t to dig up dirt on the cemetery. No, she was after a bigger story.
Heat filled my chest and flamed my face. I had the most awful feeling of being used.
“In what way are you related to Mr. Thomas?” Mindy had shoved the microphone so far into his face, Bryon was close to choking on it.
“He’s my dad.” Bryon grimaced, pushing away the mike.
Her eyes were alert. Her features sharpened. If she were a wolf, she would’ve been howling. “How does your dad feel about you protesting the mall?”
I could tell by the deep mar in his forehead and his twisted scowl, Bryon was unhappy with her questions. “You should ask him.”
She was unfazed. “Why are you out here, Bryon?”
For a moment, he looked like he’d walk away from the camera. So many emotions crossed his face at once that I couldn’t gauge his mood. His eyes glossed over and I knew he was on the verge of crying.
“My mom is dead. I wouldn’t want anyone tearing up her grave.”
“I see.” Mindy’s voice dropped, her mouth turning in a heavy pout. After what sounded like a forced sigh, she paused long enough to appear sorry for Bryon’s loss. “And here comes Cliff Thomas right now. Zoom in on this. I can tell by the look on his face, he is not pleased with this protest.”
I looked beyond the camera and past the gravelly parking lot. A luxury car had come to a screeching halt. Mr. Thomas bounded out, and in a few long strides, came storming up to us.
“Mr. Thomas!” Mindy crowed.
“Not now,” he growled, turning his back on the camera. “I’m just here to collect my son.” He scowled at Bryon and with a rigid arm, pointed toward the car.
Bryon wasn’t look
ing at his dad.
His pale puppy dog gaze was focused on me.
I wanted to melt at the look of anguish in his eyes. He was such a nice guy for doing this and I felt so bad for him. I couldn’t imagine having Mr. Thomas for a dad. What it must be like for Bryon to live with him. For once in my life, I actually felt grateful for my father.
Tossing up his hands in an apologetic gesture, Bryon slanted a crooked smile in my direction before he turned and shuffled his feet toward the car.
His dad stormed off behind him.
Mindy followed.
Rolling my eyes, I swore under my breath as my feet propelled me forward.
Here we go again.
“How do you feel about your son protesting your development?” Mindy called.
Mr. Thomas swung around, almost going nose- to-nose with the reporter. “I said, not now!”
She jerked her head back and I could see her limbs visible shaking. Then she chased them again. “Will this have any effect on your run for mayor?”
This woman was nuts.
Bryon had already taken a seat inside the car. He slouched down while he fumbled with the buttons on the stereo.
“Turn off the camera,” Mr. Thomas growled as he swung open his car door. “Please respect my privacy.”
“Like you’re respecting these gravesites?”
A strangely familiar, deep male voice rumbled behind me.
I swung around, half-believing who I saw.
“Zoom in on the cop,” Mindy squealed.
Dad, still in his security guard uniform, walked down the grassy hill toward us holding up AJ’s ‘Respect the Dead! Preserve their Past!’ picket sign. He threw the sign to the ground, pointing to the gravely drive. “These people deserve a proper resting place. Not crushed tombstones and a parking lot.”
Bryon’s dad actually slammed his car door and walked up to my dad.
My heart thumped so loudly in my chest, it threatened to explode my eardrums.
