by West, Tara
“They’re dead!” He yelled. “What do they care?”
Dad bridged the distance between them until they were within punching distance.
I was about to crap my pants.
Puffing up his chest, Dad looked Mr. Thomas square in the eyes. “So let’s just build over all the tombstones in Greenwood, even your late wife’s.”
Mr. Thomas took a step backward, wiping perspiration off his brow. “I don’t know who you are.” He spoke through a shaky voice. “You’ve got no business talking about my son’s mother that way.”
Dad folded his arms across his chest, his face a mask of stone. “And you’ve got no business desecrating a cemetery. There are mothers and fathers here, too.”
Without another word, Mr. Thomas turned and marched back to his car. Barely getting the door shut, he punched the gas and tore out of the parking lot with squealing tires.
Mouth agape, I stood there staring at the retreating dust cloud and then to my dad.
My dad.
This guy in uniform who actually appeared sober and in control of a situation.
From the corner of my eye, I spied Mindy standing in front of the billowing cloud of dust made by Mr. Thomas’s car. It made quite a dramatic backdrop.
She was grinning ear to ear before the camera lens turned on her. Then, she plastered on a grim expression, as if she was about to report World War III.
“Well, there you have it. Mall developer, Cliff Thomas, is in the hot seat today as he faces protesters accusing him of desecrating a burial ground. One of those protesters is his own son.”
The dust cloud inched toward her and she waved her hand in front of her face while choking on fumes. “So much discord in his personal life amid his bid for mayor,” she sighed. “How will this affect his future in politics? Will this stop construction of The Crossover Mall? We’ll keep you posted only here on Seven News, Greenwood’s information connection.”
My heart sank.
Was Mindy right? Had this protest really caused this much trouble for Bryon and his dad? If this interfered with his run for mayor, would he resent Bryon?
Would Bryon resent me?
****
Sitting in my dad’s car, I toyed with a crease in the corner of my ‘Respect the Dead’ poster. I still had a hard time believing I was in my dad’s car, that he’d come to support me and then offered me a ride home. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
My dad’s face had been difficult to read since I first saw him at the protest. He kept his stony gaze on the cracked windshield, both hands on the wheel. “This is important to you.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, not really sure what to say next.
Dad’s response was to squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m your dad. I should be doing this.”
The muscles in my neck and back tensed. Was I his charity case now? I didn’t want a dad who only did stuff for me because he ‘should’. I wanted a dad who really cared. “You don’t have to do things with me just because you’re my dad.”
“I want to, Krysta. I want to be a better father.” Dad stopped at a red light and turned to me, his eyes had softened.
“Okay.” I shrugged, feeling kind of choked up inside.
“You know…” He coughed into his hand and looked at me with searching eyes, like he was trying to find the right words to say. “I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with your other friends.”
“You mean spirits?” I laughed.
“Yeah. Adela used to do this kind of stuff and look what happened to her.” He sounded like he had to struggle to get out those last words.
The light turned green and he focused on the road.
I could tell talking about this was hard for him.
“I’ll be careful.” I tried to reassure him.
“That’s what she said.” He squeezed the steering wheel so hard that it looked like his fingers would snap.
“I can’t just ignore my powers.” I spoke with determination in my voice. If he really wanted to be my father, he’d have to accept me for who I was.
“No.” He shrugged. “I guess you can’t.” His voice trailed off as he kept his gaze firmly on the road.
I knew he was lost in thought somewhere, but at the moment, I didn’t want to know what he was thinking.
“I spoke with Garza,” Dad blurted.
I didn’t know if his change in subject was a good thing.
“What’d you talk about?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.
“He found the gloves. It’s all over for the boyfriend.”
“That’s good.” I exhaled, not realizing until that moment I’d been holding my breath.
I’d been kind of regretting that promise I’d made to my dad not to go back to the lake. Not a day had passed that I didn’t wonder what happened to Sunny. Would she be forever stuck in darkness or would her boyfriend’s arrest force her to accept her death and move on to a better place?
“He’s not contacting you again or he’ll have to deal with one pissed-off dad.”
“He was nice.” I tried to shrug off the dull pain that settled in my chest.
“I don’t care, Krysta. He’ll involve you with more cases—dangerous cases. Once was enough.”
“All right,” I murmured. Setting the poster at my feet, I slumped in my seat, feeling kind of deflated. Even though the thought of working another murder case frightened me, I wanted to see Garza again. He was my mom’s partner and I wanted him to tell me more about her.
We came to a stop at an intersection. I could see the pot-hole filled side street up ahead that lead to our apartment complex.
“I spoke with his supervisor.” Dad’s voice was barely audible.
I jerked, the dull pain in my chest deepened. “Did you get him in trouble?”
“No,” he groaned. Letting go of the wheel, he raked his hair with both hands. “I was asking about a job.”
My heart did a little flip. “You’re going to be a cop again?” I squealed.
“Maybe.” Dad rolled his eyes and flashed a lopsided grin. “I don’t know. It beats the hell out of the pay I’m getting now.” He grabbed the wheel again and accelerated down the road.
“Yeah,” I sighed.
My eyes bulged as we passed Mocha Madness. The lights were out inside. A faded ‘closed’ sign was hanging in the doorway. My heart ached and I wondered if my little escape would ever re-open. I chewed on my bottom lip, hoping I’d never need to get away from my apartment again.
“A teen girl needs a house, not a rundown apartment and she shouldn’t have to starve herself to afford nice clothes.” Dad sounded overwhelmed with emotion.
I had to do a double-take. His eyes were glossy with unshed tears.
“I don’t mind my apartment and I don’t starve myself.” What was up with him? Fine if he wanted to be a better parent, but he didn’t have to accuse me of being too skinny. I got enough of that from my friends.
Pulling into the complex parking lot, he turned off the ignition and faced me.
I didn’t like the look on his face. Kind of like AJ’s mom looked at her whenever she’d done something wrong.
“I know what you do with your allowance. I might be a lousy dad, but I’m not stupid.”
My arms and legs numbed and this car suddenly felt way too small. “I eat every day,” I spoke through a shaky voice.
Why was he doing this? Why wouldn’t people leave my weight alone?
“You don’t eat enough, Krysta.” He shook his head, his voice sounding heavy. “I need to be a better provider.”
“It’s my choice to diet. One day, I’m going to be a model.” But even as the words came out, I spoke them with less conviction.
Leaning over Dad cupped my chin, tears freely streaming down his face. “You grow more and more beautiful each day. God, you look so much like your mother. But, you’re not going to be a model, sweetheart. You and I both know that’
s not your calling.”
Turning from my dad, I flung open the door and rushed to the apartment. I wrapped my arms around my midsection as silent tears streamed down my face.
Modeling had been my dream since before I could remember. Why did he have to burst my bubble? I could be a model and talk to spirits. He’d already said he didn’t want me involved in murder cases, so what other calling could I have? I hadn’t spent the last three years studying every fashion magazine, practicing every cosmetic trick, and starving myself, so I could give up on it now.
I was going to be a model. Wasn’t I?
Wasn’t that my dream?
My heart sunk to my feet as I wiped tear- stained cheeks with the backs of my hands, silently sniffling as I struggled with the jammed door handle and rushed inside the apartment. I could hear my dad’s footsteps behind me, but I didn’t want to face him at the moment.
Running into my room, I locked the door behind me. I fell face-forward onto the bed, tears soaking my worn comforter. For the first time ever, I was having doubts about my modeling future.
Chapter Sixteen
I’d been dreading coming to school all last night and this morning after I’d received a few angry Facebook posts and text messages. Some kids had already given me ugly stares on the bus, but nobody yelled at me about the mall protest. Probably because AJ rode the bus with me and, for some reason, practically everybody at Greenwood was terrified of my best friend.
But AJ had to go talk to her softball coach this morning and Sophie was working on a yearbook deadline leaving me to face Greenwood alone.
Right before I dropped her off at the yearbook room, Sophie had reassured me she wasn’t getting any bad vibes from people in the hallway. That was because only super-geeks hung out in the halls this early in the morning. Everybody who was anybody was still in the cafeteria.
Until now.
“Hey, Krysta!”
Oh, God, not her.
Cindee Sparks, head cheerleader and daughter of the school principal, was very popular, very pretty and very stuck-up.
I despised her, as did most of Greenwood, but for the sake of my social status, I always smiled when she flashed her bleached whites at me.
Now she wasn’t smiling as she stomped in my direction, the entire cheerleading squad at her back. The group collectively marched as a whole, looking like a line of bowling pins with pom poms. By the look of their pinched little noses and twisted mouths, they were determined to knock me down.
“Hey, Cindee.” I spoke through a frozen smile, trying to summon the courage to face down an entire throng of perky pests. “What’s up?”
“What’s the deal with you protesting the mall?” She jerked her head to the side, the springs in her curled blonde ponytail rattled against her hair ribbons, making her sound like a hybrid cheerleader/rattlesnake.
I only hoped the rest of her wasn’t venomous.
A diss from the captain of the cheerleading squad could cause a girl’s social status to go downhill real fast.
I looked her squarely in the eyes. “They’re building it over a graveyard.”
“Are you for real?” She groaned, jutting both hands on her hips.
The rest of the squad mimicked her actions.
I looked from them to her and swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Do you really like driving two hours out of town to the outlet store?” She rolled her eyes.
The other cheerleaders rolled their eyes, too.
I wondered if they thought as one being, kind of like those schools of fish that swim in the same pattern at the drop of a dime.
Despite my nerves, which had twisted a knot in my gut, I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not two hours.”
“Whatever.” She tossed her hands in the air.
I looked behind her, waiting for the others to follow suit. Sure enough, their hands went airborne.
I had to repress a laugh.
“Listen, stick chick, I want that mall!”
My attention was drawn back to Cindee’s beet- red face. I stared at her in dumb silence.
What did she just call me?
“Everyone at Greenwood wants that mall!” She waggled a finger in my face. “So drop this phony protest.”
My vision tunneled. I didn’t focus on the growing crowd of laughing students. I blocked out their fight chants and obnoxious sneers. I only saw her—the stupid little ditz who called me a stick chick.
I said nothing as I glared at her. I was too choked up with rage to speak.
Cindee’s gaze faltered before she turned her stare on me again. Her eyes were losing their intensity. She cleared her throat, fumbling with a dangling earring.
“Hey, Krysta, what’s going on?”
AJ’s voice boomed behind me. In the next second, her hand was on my shoulder.
“Nothing,” I growled.
“Cindee, did you get into a fight yesterday?” AJ was loud enough for everyone in the neighboring hallway to hear.
I inwardly smiled, recognizing the bite of sarcasm in AJ’s voice.
“N-no,” Cindee stuttered.
Folding both arms across her chest, AJ straightened her shoulders. “I don’t know what looks worse, that big hickey on your neck or your botched concealer job.”
My hands flew to my mouth and I inhaled sharply. Why hadn’t I noticed the red and purple splotch before?
Cindee’s palm flew to the bruise and she acted like she was massaging her neck.
“You know,” AJ snorted. “You don’t need to hide it. Ken Hituro already posted on his Facebook page that you let him sneak through your bedroom window last night.”
Cindee’s eyes bulged.
“Oh-mi-god!” she shrieked.
“Yeah, I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about than the mall,” AJ bellowed.
A storm of whispers broke out around us. In a matter of seconds, the gossip was spreading, sounding like a swarm of hornets had descended on Greenwood.
AJ cocked her head to the side, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, by the way, your dad’s looking for you. He mentioned something about ‘grounded for life’. You might want to find out what that’s all about.”
Cindee’s hands flew to her mouth and she ran in the opposite direction, crying. Her groupies followed after her without giving me a second look.
“Thanks,” I spoke to AJ over my shoulder as I tried to navigate through the buzzing crowd. “She called me ‘stick chick’.”
AJ’s eyes danced with laughter. She casually walked through the crowd as students stumbled to get out of her way. “I guess that’s better than being the school bully.”
I ducked under a raised arm and practically leaped at an opening in the crowd. We’d finally navigated into a nearly empty breezeway.
I gasped for air. “Yeah, but it sure helps when the school bully is your best friend.”
AJ’s smile thinned and her gaze softened. Clasping her algebra book to her chest, she leaned toward me and dropped her voice. “So what do you think about being called a ‘stick chick’?”
Grrrr.
Was anybody going to give me a break today? Was my life ever not going to suck?
“I’m fashionably thin, AJ. I don’t get dizzy or faint like you did when you gave up meat. We’ve already gone over this.” I spoke through a hiss, regretting the attitude in my voice. I knew I should’ve been more grateful to my BFF after she saved my butt, but I was sick and tired of people dogging my weight.
The first bell rang.
I couldn’t have asked for better timing.
AJ flipped her sporty ponytail over her shoulder, flashing me a sideways grin, acting like nothing was wrong. Like she wasn’t about to lecture me about my weight. “You’re right.” The tone of her voice was way too agreeable. “I’ve got to get to class.”
She turned without saying goodbye and walked down the hall.
“Bye!” I yelled to her retreating back.
She answered by tossing her hand in
the air, in what was the laziest wave I’d ever seen.
I was a little relieved and surprised AJ didn’t argue with me. It wasn’t like her to pass up a good fight.
I had the feeling she would come back to this argument later. What I didn’t understand was why Cindee would call me a ‘stick chick’. She was head cheerleader, had a great figure, and was always fashionably dressed. She, of all people at this school, should’ve understood my modeling aspirations.
Was I really too skinny? As I passed by the girls’ bathroom, I stopped to examine my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t think I was too skinny. Other than my too frizzy hair and the ever-growing dark circles under my eyes, I thought I looked good. As for the frizz, well, I was still learning how to control it, but the receding black holes were another issue. I knew the cause was stress brought on by mall stuff, Bryon’s issues, my dad’s drinking and dead people waking me up in the middle of the night.
Well, nix the dead people.
Ed and Gertrude hadn’t woken me up in almost a week.
That worried me, which was yet another reason my eyes were growing darker.
Chapter Seventeen
Walking out of the science lab, my heart did a little flip. Bryon was leaning against the lockers across from the classroom door, almost looking as if he was waiting for me.
I was a little relieved to see he was still alive after the scene his dad made Sunday. When he didn’t show up to school yesterday, all kinds of crazy ideas ran through my head.
His dad murdered him. His dad sent him to a boarding school. He ran away from home.
I’d sent him four text messages, but he didn’t answer.
“Hey.” He spoke through a weak smile.
“Hey.” I waved at him, my hand doing this floppy thing like it was made of Jell-O. “How are things with you and your dad?” The words kind of slipped out and I just wanted to slap myself.
Why would I ask such a stupid question?
Things had to be bad, really bad, with Bryon and his dad.
His eyes flashed with something that looked like pain before he turned down his gaze. “We’re starting therapy next week.” He focused on his shoe as he scraped his heel back and forth.
