by M. Kircher
I know I'm babbling, and I can tell by the expression on his face that Gabe is far from convinced. He opens his mouth to disagree with me, but Mom's muffled voice comes echoing up the stairs and saves me from whatever point he's about to make.
"Emmmiilly!" she calls. "Evan's leaving, and I think your friend should probably go home too. It's about time for dinner."
A relieved breath whooshes out of my lungs. Mom has actually saved the day, for once. "You heard her." I move back toward the door, glad to put some distance between our two bodies. I twist the doorknob and gesture for Gabe to walk through.
"But…" he protests.
"But nothing," I interrupt before he can come up with a reason to stay. "You don't want me to get in trouble do you? Here, take the pod." I shove the device into the pocket of his leather jacket and hand the jacket to him as he heads down the hallway. Gabe shrugs it on and digs his own pod out of the back of his jeans. His super tight jeans, I can't help but notice, yet again. Double gulp. I can't let myself think about his attractiveness right now, I have to focus.
"Okay, fine. I'm leaving. But something's going on here, Em. And I'm going to figure out what it is."
"Sure, sure, whatever you say." I push him down the stairs and lead him back through the white-tiled hallway to where Mom and Evan are waiting by the front door.
"And I promise I'll have those late pages to you by the end of the week," I hear Mom telling him as Gabe and I approach. Good, at least she's buying us some time on that front. The last thing I want to worry about right now is her manuscript. I make a mental note to finish the pages as soon as I get a handle on our current crisis.
"It was nice to meet you, young man," she says awkwardly to Gabe as he passes by. She gives him a tight smile. I can tell by the creases of worry on her forehead that her chat with Evan didn't go so well. Great, that makes two of us.
"You too, Mrs. Dal Monte," Gabe answers, and his cheeks go red. Oh good grief, does every guy have to fawn all over her?
"All right, enough of the pleasantries. Time for everybody to go," I mutter and shoo both of the guys out of the door. Somehow Mom and I manage to get both of them off down the steps and wave them toward the trees. Evan turns back to Mom just before he disappears around the bend and gives her an enthusiastic little wave. But when he does, his glasses slip down his nose. He catches them before they fall to the ground, but then his foot gets tangled up in a shrub, causing him to lose his balance and crash into Gabe.
"Bye now!" Mom calls out, as Gabe shoots me a grin and helps Evan regain his footing. And then, thankfully, both of them disappear into the trees.
Chapter Eight
The next morning I head to the grocery store because our pantry is sickeningly empty. I grab one of the price scanners and a basket and start to pick out things I know Mom will like.
Ugh. The broccoli is so squishy, it must be more than a week old. Both Mom and I prefer our veggies crisp. I drop the bunch I'm holding and run my hands over the rest of the green bulbs. Great, all of them are soft.
"Guess we won't be having broccoli for dinner," I murmur and reluctantly head for the green beans, trying hard to concentrate on produce instead of the giant fight I'd had with Mom last night. It had been one of the nastier ones, where I'd allowed myself to lose my temper at her. I hardly ever let myself go like I did, but she had pushed me to my limit.
* * * *
"You don't understand!" Mom had wailed at me, her blue eyes full of tears as she tore at her blond hair. "I have to find him! I can't live without him."
"And what about me?" I yelled back. "You can live without me?"
"You're not being fair, Emily, and you know it." She started breathing hard then, her eyes wild. "I can't—" She'd clutched her chest. "I just can't…"
I could never stand to see her so out of control, even when I knew she was wrong. It wasn't her fault Dad had died and she'd loved him so much. She needed him, and he was gone. I got it, even if she didn't think that I did.
So, like the adult she should have been, I had calmed her down and convinced her that not finding Dad in her dreams had probably been a fluke. I left her at the house sifting through old photos of him, while I went out this morning to do the shopping.
"To bring his memory closer," Mom had sniffled as she bent over the stack of photographs scattered all over the carpet of her bedroom. She didn't even notice me leave.
* * * *
"And here I am, picking out green beans," I mutter to myself and toss a handful into a plastic bag, twisting the top shut. Mom doesn't take care of things like grocery shopping anymore. It's always up to me to make sure we don't starve.
This is one of the many odd things about us, all the women on my mom's side of the family who can dreamwalk. Every female passes it down to her daughter, who passes it down to her daughter, and so forth. I can't say exactly why the gene works this way, but after we stay asleep for as long as we want, we wake up famished, like a bear coming out of his long winter's nap. Mom needs food before she goes back to sleep, whether her depressed self wants to eat or not.
I pick up a red tomato, testing its firmness, when a voice pipes up over my left shoulder. It startles me so much I drop the tomato onto the floor.
"Emily!" the voice exclaims enthusiastically. "Such good luck to catch you here."
Oh no. My heart drops right down next to the tomato. It's Mr. Thorne, Southern's overly interested and overly enthusiastic principal. The man is literally a thorn in my side, and I'm starting to run out of excuses as to why Mom is always unable to make the many 'parent-principal' meetings he seems bent on scheduling.
"Mr. Thorne," I say sweetly as I pivot around and plaster a bright smile on my face. "How unexpected." I clench my teeth and keep my smile wide.
"Yes, it is," Thorne affirms, looking pleased with himself. I'm used to seeing him in the three-piece suits he wears to school every day, so it's a shock to encounter him now in a red shirt, jeans, and loafers. He seems almost like a normal person.
"I was thinking the old fridge seemed a bit empty," he continues, and I realize I'm staring. I quickly go back to the big grin. "So I decided to try a new store today, just for fun. One does have to eat, you know." Thorne proudly holds up a bag of groceries for me to praise. I count five cans of creamed corn, a package of hot dogs, and one sad-looking bunch of radishes inside.
"Oh," I stammer and try to seem impressed. "It all looks so…er…delicious. Well, don't let me keep you, Mr. Thorne. I'm sure you've got a girlfriend, or mother, or someone back home who's just dying to get their hands on all your yummy purchases."
Good grief, Em. Think you're laying it on a bit thick?
Thorne shifts his eyes away from mine, examining the bag, and then he lets it drop to his side with a deflated whoosh.
"Ah, no," he chuckles uncomfortably. "There's no girlfriend." And for a second, I sort of feel bad for bringing up the subject. "But," he continues, brightening back up, "I'm excited to chat with your mother next week at the college meeting. We have lots of options to discuss for you. I hope she'll be able to make it this time. I know how busy her schedule is."
Crap, I groan inwardly. The meeting has totally slipped my mind. It's a kickoff to this whole program at Southern, called "Futures." Every school has it; they just use different names. At the beginning of the year, each graduating senior and their parents go through a series of tests and interviews. They're supposed to evaluate which college or trade school you're best suited to, but the government just places you where they want, no matter what you score. The whole thing is rigged.
"Uh yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about Futures for a while now," I hedge, and try not to stare at the bald spot on the top of Thorne's head.
"Oh?" he says. "I hope there isn't any kind of problem. This meeting is quite important, Emily. It determines your future, after all." He punctuates the last word with an enthusiastic wave of one thin, pasty finger.
"I know, I know," I assure him hastily. "The thing
is next week Mom's traveling. She has a new book coming out and has to hammer out these crazy little details with her publisher who's all the way in New York. It's sort of hush-hush. I'm sure you understand."
Despite the gleam that comes into Thorne's eyes when I mention my mother, he schools his features into a disapproving frown. My stomach knots. I can tell he's going to fight me on this one.
"But," I continue quickly, and I wave an avocado in front of his face. I'm totally improvising here. "My grandfather is going to come in her place. Yeah, I just forgot to tell you. He's so excited to discuss all the possibilities that are…um…possible." Oh please let Gus be willing to fake it for one night, I pray silently. He so owes me too, after the whole Evan and Gabe debacle. Now I all need is for Thorne to buy my story.
But Thorne's frown just deepens. "Grandfather? A meeting with a grandparent is highly irregular, Miss Dal Monte. It's always the student's parents who attend Futures, because they have been directly involved in your life and can help guide you in making the right decision."
Shoot! He's already switched from Emily to Miss. I've got to pull this thing together.
"Yes, but I'm sure you'll agree having Lily Dal Monte for a mother is highly irregular," I cajole in a syrupy sweet voice that makes me feel as though I'm the world's biggest idiot. I put my hand on his arm and actually flutter my eyelashes. It's disgusting. "Couldn't you make an exception? Just one more time? Mom is always talking about you. How kind you are, and how willing you've been to understand her crazy, famous life." I try to emphasize the famous bit. "There aren't many people who'd be so in touch with her specific needs."
Thorne's frown starts to fade a little, and he puffs out his chest. Yes! The flattery seems to be working.
"She says I'm in touch with her needs, does she?" He shoves his hands on his hips, the creamed corn in his grocery bag hitting his legs with a thump. "Lily Dal Monte talking about me? What a wonder!" He seems to have forgotten I'm standing right in front of him and stares off into the lettuce with a dreamy expression on his face.
I clear my throat, and Mr. Thorne is startled back to reality. "Yes, yes," he stutters distractedly and actually pats me on the head like I'm a child. "I can't wait to meet your grandfather." And before I can even thank him, he's wandered off in the direction of the cereal aisle. I let out a relieved breath, but my relief is short-lived.
"Lily's traveling?" a familiar voice rumbles out at me from behind a stack of lettuce. "That's so odd," the voice continues, "because I just saw her yesterday."
I should have just let Mom starve, I think wryly to myself. The voice belongs to Gabe. I know this even before I see his dark Mohawk sprout up out of his hiding place, followed by the sneaky jean-clad rest of him. The rat! How much of my conversation with Thorne did he just hear?
"Are you following me everywhere now?" I whisper angrily and peer around to make sure no one's watching. I don't want to draw any attention to us. "You know that's called stalking, right? I should have you arrested."
Gabe picks up a tomato and tosses it into my basket. "Been arrested before," he says shrugging, as if it's something one does every day. "Not a fan of it. Showing up at your house? Okay, maybe I'll admit that was a bit stalker-ish, even though your gatekeeper practically invited me in. But happening to shop at the same grocery store? I'm not stalking you, Em. This is just a happy little coincidence."
My eyes narrow. "I seriously doubt that."
"What I find curious, Miss Dal Monte," Gabe continues in this serious voice he has going on right now, as he examines a head of lettuce in his hand, "is I happen to know your mother isn't traveling — not now and not next week. At least, that's what she told Evan when he tried to get her to come with him to New York." He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and raises his pierced eyebrow. "Oh, she didn't tell you about his offer?"
She didn't, of course. But that's neither here nor there. I clamp my lips shut and fume inwardly at both of them.
"So I'm wondering why don't you want your mom showing up at Futures? Why are you trying to keep her away from everyone?"
"You're despicable."
"But I'm right about keeping her a secret, aren't I?" Gabe pounces on my weak answer, stashing the lettuce back on the pile. "Admit it, Em. There's something weird going on with your mom. Why won't you tell me what it is?"
"Why can't you just leave us alone?" I ask angrily, and I can't help raising my voice, I'm so upset. I quickly realize, though, that yelling is not the best idea when I catch a couple of people in the grocery store staring at us. I smirk dismissively and twist away from them, so that the only thing they see of me now is the back of my head. I lean in toward Gabe and lower my tone. "And why do you care so much? You didn't even know I existed a week ago, and now you're determined to pry into every nook and cranny of my life? Why?"
To his credit, Gabe does have the decency to look slightly ashamed. But the rebel in him must be stronger than this transient sensitivity, because he scrunches up his eyes at me and grins.
"I'm bored," he divulges, like it's some big secret.
I stare at him, all six feet of eyebrow piercings and ridiculously tight jeans. "You're bored?"
"Yes."
"This is the reason you've decided to make my life a living hell…because you're bored?"
Gabe shrugs, the metal studs on his jacket almost touching his earlobes. "Yeah, pretty much. I'm actually kind of a genius," he explains, and this makes me 'kind of' feel like punching him in the face.
Violence isn't allowed and there are government cameras everywhere, so instead of decking him, I clutch my shopping basket close to my chest and mentally aim sharp things at his brain.
Gabe doesn't seem to notice how angry I am because he keeps on talking. "My parents thought private school was giving me an ego, or something," he continues, "so when they got new jobs here at the Lab on 12th Street, they decided public school would be a nice change of scenery. Put me in my place a little. Didn't work, of course." He appears to be slightly embarrassed at this part. "I'm an A student with parents who are always at work. There's no one to talk to at home, nothing to do here in this boring suburb. Even your city is lame. And then I meet you. You're beautiful and interesting. Your mom is famous, but you make yourself into this loner and lie about everything. So now I'm interested. I want to know what's going on."
"Well…" I tell him, ignoring the 'beautiful' comment, even though my traitorous heart is doing jumping jacks. He thinks I'm beautiful? No, Em. Concentrate. "You can take your bored, genius self elsewhere, because I have no interest in being a little bit of spice to relieve your tedious days. Besides, I wasn't lying. Mom decided to go with Evan to meet with the publisher in New York," I fib. I'll say anything to get him off my back. "And they're leaving in the morning. Sorry to disappoint you, Gabe."
"I don't believe you, Em." He leans down so our noses are almost touching. "And if you're not going to let me in on whatever little secret you're trying so desperately to keep, then you won't mind me making my way over to the cereal section. I'm sure Thorne would love to know Lily is going to be home tomorrow morning. Just long enough to squeeze in a parent-principal powwow." He makes quotation marks with his fingers when he says powwow. "I can even give Thorne your address. You know, in case he wants to make a house call. 'Cause I'm betting the address on file at school is fake."
I scowl at him. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, I would."
"You can't do that, Gabe!" I clutch his arm, and my stomach flip-flops. Things are slipping way out of control.
"Why, Em? Why do you have to hide her away?"
I can't believe what I'm about to do, but I can't see any other way. Gabe's trapped me, and he knows it. I yank hard on the arm of his leather jacket and pull him back behind the stacks of lettuce.
"Fine!" I whisper fiercely. "You win. I'll tell you what you want to know." Gabe plasters a smug smile on his face, and I can feel anger and fear bubbling up inside of me. What have I gotten myself into? "Wi
pe that stupid smile off your face," I snap and gaze around to make sure no one is listening in on our conversation. "I'm not going to tell you anything here; it's too public. And you have to swear to me that you'll never breathe a word of anything I tell you to a living soul. Especially your parents."
Gabe holds his hands up. "I swear, Em," he whispers and I can tell he thinks this is all some sort of neurotic girl thing. He's not taking it seriously. But what choice do I have? If I don't tell him, then Thorne will find out, which is a much bigger problem than just Gabe knowing. At least, I think it is. Who knows if he'll keep his mouth shut once I tell him what Mom and I can do?
