What Ben did next went beyond the world of lunchtime wit. He slowly sank to his knees, slid the boot along the floor, and guided my left foot into it. “Only one maiden in the land will fit this slipper,” he said with mock seriousness. With both hands, he smoothed the material up my calf. I was barely breathing by the time the zipper, and his hands, reached my knee. “Guess you’re the one,” he said, and smiled so I could see his canines, which were just a little sharp in a sexy way. I hope I can steal some more time with her, he Whispered.
My hands were sweating. It wasn’t just my imagination: Ben was Whispering about me, flirting with me, and I wanted him to. I’d never felt like this before. Sure, I’d pined in silence for guys who never noticed me. And with those who did, I’d tried to make a fire without feeling any spark myself. But now I could suddenly understand the hunger, the shared urge, that made two people go ahead and kiss. I could picture myself leaning down, crushing his lips with mine, tasting his soft, full mouth…
Not that I ever would, of course.
I sighed. Parker was my best friend. So I couldn’t be The One.
“Hey.” Ben frowned. “You okay?”
I nodded. Oh, this wasn’t fair. Not only was Ben hot and fun to be around, but he was turning out to be a thoughtful person too. I forced myself to speak. “Maybe…we should get back to the party now.”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. I hope I didn’t just blow it with her.
That’s so not it, I thought miserably. If only you could read my mind.
I didn’t move, and neither did he. I stayed at the foot of Icka’s bed, staring down at my boots (why hadn’t I ever worn them before?), and he sat in front of me, facing the door, where unfortunately Icka had seen fit to hang one of the paintings from her gross insect series. A giant winged cockroach.
“That roach is so…lifelike,” Ben said at last. I giggled. “No, seriously, I didn’t know your sister could paint so well.”
“She can do everything well,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Everything but pass for human.”
“Sounds like my little brother.” Absently, he encircled my booted ankle with his hand, sending tingles of electricity up my leg. “He cuts class and gets stoned every day so he won’t have to deal with life.”
“That sucks.” I blinked. “Wait a sec. Is your brother a really tall freshman named Jamie or James or something?”
“Whoa, how’d you know that?” Ben laughed, sounding embarrassed. His hand was off my ankle. “Williams is a pretty common name, and we don’t look that much alike…do we?” So it was him! Please don’t tell me everyone at Lincoln knows we’re brothers.
Boy, I knew just how he felt; the last thing I wanted was for everyone at school to mentally associate me with Icka. “It was a lucky guess,” I assured him. “He’s in my government class. Well, when he shows up.”
“Which is, let me guess, never.” Ben sighed. “Jamie tends to…avoid places filled with people, you know? Almost like he’s afraid of them.” I nodded. “Part of why we don’t hang out at school,” Ben added. “Or, well, anywhere.”
“I never hang out with Icka.” Ben and I had more in common than I’d ever realized. “She’s not afraid of people. She just hates them.”
“See, I can’t wrap my mind around that,” Ben said. “Hating people or being afraid of them.” Now both his big hands were encircling my ankles, gently massaging them. I was sure he could feel my pulse through the boot’s vinyl. “I’m pro people, myself.”
“Me too.” Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom. Remember Parker, I told myself. “So…you want to get back to the party, where the people are?”
“Not at all.”
“Me neither,” I said.
We both laughed.
I just want to stay right here in this disaster of a room, and kiss you.
He moved up toward me, and I felt my face tilting down toward his. All thoughts of Parker flew from my head as I inhaled Ben’s warm scent. If I’d wanted to lie to myself right then, I could have said I was just responding to a Whisper, granting a wish, like at the eighth-grade dance with Erich Grossman, who slow-danced like a wounded ferret and smelled like Right Guard. But Ben Williams smelled like soap and leather and cotton and also like a guy. His square jaw was a movie star’s jaw. His lips tasted stingingly sweet. I was granting a wish, all right. My wish.
Where did Ben go off to? Hope he didn’t leave or something.
Parker! The sound of her Whisper made me pull back from Ben before our kiss was much more than a peck. He blinked at me in confusion, then the door burst open and Parker’s slinky outline appeared.
“Oh, there you are!” Her eyebrows knitted as she took in the sight of us, me three inches away from her crush. “Both of you…”
9
Parker gazed down on us from the doorway, her beauty cool and composed. Did she know what I’d done? Did she suspect? Terror made me lightheaded as I Listened anxiously for confirmation of my doom.
But all I Heard was I wish this dress was three inches shorter and Ooh, I want to sit next to Ben.
I let myself exhale. Huh. She didn’t suspect a thing.
“Okay, what are we all doing in Icka’s room?” Parker flopped down on the floor directly in front of Ben and leaned back to snuggle with him. I Heard him Whisper, Damn, if only someone hadn’t walked in right then… but after a moment or two he put his hands on her shoulders and began to knead them.
“Joy was in here looking for her shoes,” he said, sounding calmer than I felt. Then again, he wasn’t actually dating Parker—I was the one guilty of betrayal, not him.
Parker glanced at my shiny silver feet and did a double take. “Whoa,” she said. “Vinyl. That’s so not you.”
How do you know it’s not me? I thought, feeling irritation cloud my remorse. If I had it in me to make out with my best friend’s crush right under her nose, then I wasn’t sure I knew what was me anymore.
“Phew, this room reeks like Icka.” Parker turned back and touched Ben’s arm. “Don’t you think?” She gave me a knowing look. “Ben had a class with her.”
I nodded. I was feeling very strange. From the moment Parker had sat down right in Ben’s lap, I’d felt something tighten in my chest. Jealousy—no, possessiveness.
I had no rights to Ben. If I was any kind of decent friend, I’d swear him off right now. Pluck out this new selfish part of me by the roots, like Mom pulled pigweed from her garden. But there was only one problem. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Because kissing Ben was the most amazing feeling I’d ever had. And if I hadn’t been selfish, it never would have happened.
I can’t wait to be alone with Ben, Parker Whispered, and I clenched my jaw, wanting and not wanting to be helpful.
A soft moan escaped Parker as Ben’s huge hands rubbed her neck. She sounded like Scarlett moaning to be let out, I thought, then felt bad. Parker hadn’t done anything wrong; I had. Now I was thinking snarky thoughts about her, on top of everything?
What the hell was happening to me? The contents of my own mind scared me lately. Meanness, selfishness, disloyalty. No wonder Icka claimed to be horrified by my Whispers.
Using the mattress for support, I pushed myself to my feet. I had to get out of here.
“I’m, uh, going to see if Helena’s here yet,” I mumbled in excuse.
The staccato tramp of my heels on the hardwood staircase shocked me. Icka was the one who clomped and stomped down the stairs, not me. In the dim downstairs hallway I heard snatches of loud conversation and Whispers carried from the living room:
“Oh my god, awkward…”
“Watch, this is how Bree dances!”
Dude, I wish he’d stop boring me with his football stories.
Hope she’s not still mad about that joke.
“You two lovebirds or something?”
My party was entering full swing without me. I slipped into the kitchen without being seen.
Mom glanced up from loading the dishwasher. “Honey, what are you doing here? You s
hould be enjoying your party.”
“Mom, where’s Icka? She did come home, right?”
Mom smiled. “There’s no need to worry. Jessica will be home tomorrow, and—”
“Tomorrow?”
“Well, yes, she’s visiting Pendleton U this weekend. Don’t you remember?”
I blinked. Pendleton was a small private art college in Portland. It was the only school that went out of its way to woo Icka, hinting at scholarships and inviting her to shadow a freshman student. “But I thought she told their recruiter she’d rather join the Young Republicans than set foot on a private school campus.”
“She did,” Mom said patiently, “but remember what she said a few days ago at dinner?”
I squinted. Tuning out Icka’s dinnertime rants was an art I excelled in.
“How she might be willing to give it a try,” Mom prompted, “if we’d all shut up and stop pressuring her?”
“Really?” That did sound like something Icka would say…and, if she had to be in downtown Portland, maybe that’s what she was referring to when she said she had to go. “I guess I just haven’t been paying attention lately.”
“Well, you’ve been busy with your birthday plans. But that’s okay,” Mom added quickly. “Birthdays are important. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to today.” She plunked a spatula in the dishwasher with finality. “Now go, have fun!”
Did her voice sound strained? For someone who was promoting fun, Mom didn’t seem like she was enjoying herself much. Her posture was straight as a pencil, her smile was all lipstick and no twinkle. Was something bothering her—being away from her older daughter, maybe? I lingered, Listening for Whispers. “She’s only going to be gone overnight, right, Mom?” But the moment I spoke, the crown of my head suddenly pulsed with familiar pain.
“That’s right.” Mom grinned and snapped her fingers. The sound sent waves of pain through my head, and with it a crunchy noise crackled through my mindscape, on and off like radio static: “Convenient…can’t…party…this year…Go…fun…”
Whoa. What the hell was happening? This was worse than just a headache. “Ma…someth…pening…me…” I could barely hear myself over the static.
Mom’s eyes looked worried as she put her hand on my shoulder. Her mouth opened and closed, but I couldn’t understand her reassurances.
“Help me,” I tried to say. “I can’t Hear you, I can’t Hear anything, it’s just noise.” My palms were now cold and wet with sweat. Icka’s warning ran through my head: “I’ve figured out why you’re getting all those headaches…. You’re about to turn into me.” Had she ever gone through this?
Or had Aunt Jane, when she lost her Hearing? As soon as my mind went there, my heart started booming like I was running wind sprints in P.E. It felt like something truly terrible was happening. I thought of the kiss, my selfishness and disloyalty…maybe I deserved something terrible. “Mom…I did a really bad thing,” I whimpered, feeling as sick and weak as when I had had mono the year before.
But Mom shook her head. “No…tie…rary,” she assured me. “…ain…ear…”
Oh, god, I don’t understand anything you’re saying! I heard my words only in my mind.
Sympathy crinkled the corners of Mom’s eyes. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. “…own…urry,” she said. “Doe…urry…”
Don’t worry. I told my heart to stop pounding. I clung to her words like they were a life raft. I could see Mom’s lips form the word “migraine.” I wasn’t dying, it just felt like it. Though my head still throbbed, the static was becoming more intermittent, fading away. But my pulse just wouldn’t slow down, like my body was still warning me of danger. I choked down two red-and-blue gelcaps, dry.
Mom patted my shoulder. “A little better now?”
I heard her clearly that time.
“Migraine headache,” Mom said grimly. “I’m concerned your stress is getting worse. We need to sign you up for a teen yoga class to help you rela—”
“Was it just another stress headache?” It seemed so much worse. “Headaches can fill your ears with static?”
“Absolutely, they can affect all your senses.” Mom stroked my hair. “It seems like the worst of it’s passed.”
I nodded numbly. Mom must be right. A small part of me understood that I just didn’t have the strength to keep thinking about it, not tonight. I didn’t have room in my panicky, lustful, guilt-ridden, aching head.
I stepped back into the crowded living room, where I filled a glass with pink lemonade, just to have something to do. The static and the pain were gone now, but my head felt sore, tender. I couldn’t help wondering—had static-filled headaches ever happened to Icka? I almost wished she were here right now so I could ask her…but no, wait, I wasn’t talking to her. With good reason. The memory of our fight made my chest feel like it was on fire. Now that I thought about it, if it hadn’t been for Icka’s stupid “warning” bracing me for the worst, maybe a little static wouldn’t have freaked me out of my skull.
Across the room, I spotted Parker and Ben standing next to each other in a cluster of her Youth Service Committee pals. Parker was switched on. Her face glowed as she babbled on about her plans to revive the Lincoln High recycling club. Ben nodded along, but his drifting eyes made it clear to me he wasn’t quite as into glass and aluminum as she was. The new selfish part of me was pleased to see Ben looked bored by Parker’s save-the-world-through-transcript-padding ambitions, though I’d personally always admired her for being so motivated. Every so often Parker would touch Ben’s arm, just for a second. Each time she did it, I felt the same dull ping, like someone was flicking rubber bands at my chest, right below my throat.
Even though the smell of food was starting to make me nauseous, I edged over to the food table…just so I wouldn’t have to watch the Ben and Parker Show anymore.
Joe Rabinowitz turned to slide his bulky frame toward me. “Heeeey, birthday girl!” Somehow Joe’s voice always came out sounding both squeaky and sleazy, but he wasn’t a bad guy at heart. He was passionate and smart, one of those computer geniuses who would one day become cool, in college or maybe grad school, or let’s face it, at age thirty-five. Right now, though, he needed help to carry on a conversation. It was like he expected the whole world to read his mind and draw him out of his shell…which meant he and I got along fabulously.
“Hi, Joe!” I greeted him with my award-winning Sweetest Smile.
He grabbed a jumbo shrimp in each hand and grinned back.
Then we both waited.
After a moment of silence, I realized I was waiting for Joe to Whisper something as he always did at this juncture, and Joe was waiting for me to move our witty repartee along a safe, amusing path, as I always did. And that’s when I first became aware of it: the silence.
Not literal silence; people were still talking. Whisper silence. No one at the party was Whispering. How was that even possible?
Joe stared at me, clearly getting anxious. But I had no idea what was going through his brain. I scrutinized his face. Bobbing square head with black overgelled hair. Dead blank moss green eyes. Game-show host smile, horsey teeth, thuggish chin. Did he always look that creepy and strange? I couldn’t relate to him at all. What should I say?
“So,” I began brightly, “uh, how are you?”
“How am I?” He blinked like I’d just asked the rudest possible question. My heart sank. What did I do wrong here? He just kept staring, slightly shaking his head.
I broke the pained silence after thirty seconds to chirp, “Well, I’m doing really well, myself! Feelin’ great. Good day. Good day for a birthday.”
“Excuse me,” he interrupted my rambling. “I have to go.” And he turned on his heel.
From the corner of my eye I saw Jill Johnson picking at the veggie plate, frowning intently, as if she were searching for something in particular. I Listened in, half expecting the static to return. Instead, silence. Weird. Gah, what was Jill l
ooking for? It was driving me crazy. Her long, pale face, framed by auburn curls, gave away nothing about what was going on inside her head. When you came right down to it, without Whispers, what did you have to go on to understand people? Memories. The past. Suddenly I remembered all the times she’d Whispered about chocolate cravings in the middle of French class. And luckily, the box from Quint in my backpack still had three truffles in it. “Hey, Jill,” I called out, “want a piece of chocolate?”
“Like junkies want heroin.” Jill sighed and held up a baby carrot. “But I can’t do sugar, I’m trying to lose ten pounds.” With a snap, she chomped the carrot in half and added with a full mouth, “Way to rub it in my face what I’m missing.”
I cringed. I was just trying to be helpful. “Sorry.”
Stunned, I fled back into the kitchen. Mom was putting candles on fifteen of the pink-frosted cakes. “Joy, what are you doing back here already?” Did her voice sound a little sharp?
“I can’t Hear anything,” I said. “Any Whispers.”
“Sweetie. Tonight is all about you.” Mom adjusted a candle’s position and covered over the first hole with frosting. “May I suggest you take a break from Listening in to other people so much, just this once?”
“But it’s just so dead quiet out there.” I heard the childish fear in my own voice, but I couldn’t stop myself. “What if…what if there’s something wrong with me? With my Hearing? What if it’s changing or…going away?”
An odd look crossed Mom’s face. Impatience? If so, I didn’t blame her. I was sounding like a real worrywart, as bad as Helena on school picture day. “Sweetheart, I really think you’re worrying way too much.” She was bustling around, fiddling with oven settings. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your Hearing, you just need to relax.”
Whisper Page 8
