Ryan doesn’t talk much on the way except for a few questions: why are the houses all so far apart? Is the town really old because most of the buildings are pretty rundown?
“Abandon has been around for some time. When the town was first built in the 1950s thieves were the majority of the inhabitants. The houses were purposely built far apart and backed by woodland so that the thieves could easily escape if the police came poking around.”
“Did you do a lot of research on the town’s history?”
“I wouldn’t say a ton. I found a detailed book of the town's history at the library. It had two inches of dust, and brittle, yellowed, torn pages.”
I’d found the book by mistake. It was in a pile of decaying books, which I had accidentally knocked over. The librarian told me I could keep the book, but only if I promised to take good care of it, and if I would keep her company for a few hours every day until August when she would go to live with her sister in Manhattan.
“Do any buses for the city ever come through here?”
A small knot of apprehension forms in my stomach when he asks this. Is he planning on leaving already? I might not know him but I’d be sad to see him leave.
“There’s no bus.” He looks slightly disappointed with this answer so I add, “You could always call a cab if you really need to get out of here and have no other transportation.”
“No I’m good. I was just curious—trying to get a feel for the lay of the land.”
Three wooden steps lead up to a small, square platform that is our front porch. Our door seems too fancy for our house. It’s a beautiful light brown wood with white and red stained glass in the middle—the red glass depicting a rose.
I try the handle. Locked. I dig around in the side pocket of my backpack for the spare key and put it in the lock. As I’m turning the key a black head peaks around the side of the house. Realizing who it is, I hurriedly usher Ryan inside. Hoping he didn’t see Dark, I rapidly close the door behind us. Ryan gives a short, low whistle.
“Nice house.”
Beige carpeting is on the stairs and in the living room but ends at the kitchen and dining area, which is pretty much one big room. Separating the living room and kitchen is a low, waist-high white wall. The top is covered with fake dark green ivy that runs along the wall like a spine.
Behind a heavy dark wood door is my dad’s office. I rarely go in it because it’s mostly empty and for me it’s the place where his depression began.
I lead Ryan to the kitchen table and remark, “Mom won’t live simple if she can help it. Sit anywhere. I just have to put my stuff upstairs.”
“Okay.”
Ryan sets down his books, but keeps looking around the house. I force myself to walk up the stairs at a regular pace but my legs felt like running to heaven. Ryan is in my house! Happiness tingles up and down my spine. I try to chide myself for being so giddy, but the feeling is uncontrollable. Plus who am I kidding? I haven’t felt this happy in a long time; I don’t want it to go away. It was like a butterfly feeling the joy of flight for the first time or lava finally breaking free of the confining earth in a staggering eruption.
I walk into my room; okay I kind of skipped, very childish I know. But who cares? Not me. I fling my backpack on the floor and put the food on my dresser. I bend over and watch my fish effortlessly glide through the water. I resist the urge to tell them my good news.
I stand and look out my window. I rub my hands together. Truthfully I’m a little nervous to go back down stairs. What if Ryan changes his mind and wants to leave? Or what if I start rambling and scare him away? Taking a deep breath I grab my books and force my legs to move down the stairs. If Ryan bails on me, I will have to live with it. But I can’t bail on him in my own house. Plus when he’d asked me if he could stay over I thought I could detect another reason buried beneath. Maybe he’ll tell me.
Ryan is sitting at the table, head bent over his book, hair falling into his face. He looks up and smiles as I sit down opposite him. I smile back. We sit in silence as we work.
Our knees have to be about a foot apart, but it feels like a few inches to me. I’ve never felt like this around a boy before. It’s a little scary. The feeling is new—he’s new. He looks at me in a way that no other guy has, like I’m a mystery he wants to solve or like I’m something special. It makes me feel different. We’ve only been around each other a couple times but in those few moments he’s been more kind and respectful than any other boy. And I have a feeling that if I get to know him better, I’ll only find more things to like.
I glance up at him. One hand is against his forehead, the other holding a pencil that is being tapped against a paper. He looks deep in concentration—he probably hasn’t glanced up at me once. I look down at my book. I have to admit, I really like being around him, I like him. But . . . what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I’m just another girl to him and I mean nothing. Grrr. My mind rigorously torments me with these thoughts, chewing over them until they either lose their meaning or it’s confounded.
“I think my brain has gone dead.” Ryan exhales and rubs his face.
Ryan’s voice breaks the thoughts churning through my head. The worry I’d been feeling had started to get out of control. The hurricane starts to subside as I look into his eyes. I blink and look to the opposite wall. What did he say? The question must have shown in my eyes because he says, “I can’t think anymore.”
I glance at the clock. Two hours! Had I really been agonizing over him, my feelings, and what he might feel for two hours?
“Well . . .” I don’t finish because I’m not sure what to say.
“Do you want to get dinner?”
“Yeah. I’m sure we have something.” I start to get out of my seat.
“No I mean go to a restaurant. You’ve already given me enough, the least I can do is buy you dinner.”
“Oh . . . yes,” I say even though I’m not hungry. Darklily! She’ll be so upset if I don’t talk to her today. Maybe I can get rid of Ryan after dinner. Not the most appealing idea, but I always keep my word. Dad says that a good way to tell whether or not someone will make a good, trustworthy friend is if they keep their promises.
“I saw a small restaurant in town. We could eat there,” he suggests.
“Barton’s Restaurant. It’s pretty cheap but the food is good enough.” I should tell him that I can pay for my own dinner; he shouldn’t spend his money on that restaurant. But my money is strictly locked up in savings.
“Perfect.”
I look away from Ryan’s eyes, which are promising something more than a meal, searching for something more than a dinner. Could I really say no to them? “You’ll have to let me pay you back in some way.”
Ryan’s eyes sparkle. “If you insist.”
“Uh oh,” I say with fake dread.
Ryan laughs then stands, following me to the door. “This is going to be a long walk,” I warn.
“The longer the better. It’ll boost our appetite,” he adds after a pause, making me wonder what he was really thinking.
I would walk to China with Ryan if he asked me to. Not that we’d be able to walk all the way because we would have to take a boat to get across the ocean—no. For once I am going to relax and not logically think myself to death.
* * * *
Ryan opens the door for me again. I duck through quickly, positive I’m blushing.
We take a booth at the back, tucked in a pocket of shadows. He picks up the menu and studies it. I don’t need to look because I have it memorized.
“You were right about it being cheap. You sure the food is good?”
I think about that before answering. On occasion Dad would take me to a restaurant in Cardinal City. That was years ago, but I can still remember the succulent taste of the food. It's nothing like the food here, but I can’t complain. It could be worse.
“Define good,” I finally say.
Ryan leans a little closer, “Edible.”
I
tip my head. “It is definitely edible, but that’s about it.”
He smiles and goes back to reading the menu.
Great. I groan inwardly when I spot Lexi out of the corner of my eye. I completely forgot that she worked here.
Lexi is wearing the company outfit: a knee-length white dress with a black apron over it and scuffed roller blades. I instinctively sink a little lower in my chair. If Lexi spotted me—no, if she saw me with him, I could be facing her wrath for weeks. I’m not afraid of Lexi, not in the least, I’m afraid of ultimate humiliation. Total annihilation. Please let another waiter get us first, I hope fiercely.
“What are you getting?” Ryan asks then frowns, obviously noticing my change in mood. “What's wrong?”
I quickly sweep away my thoughts. “Nothing. Uh, I think I’ll get the chicken noodle soup. You?”
“I’m thinking the chicken and rice.”
“I wouldn’t. You might put yourself in the hospital if you swallow a sharp bone, and those are not scarce.”
“Okay,” he laughs. “Then is a hamburger safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is what I’ll have.” We stack our menus on top of each other, our hands almost brushing.
“Well, well who do we have here?” Lexi’s sugary voice cuts through the air. I am not going to act like a frightened puppy. I can have dinner with him if I want. He’s not yours. I direct my last thought at Lexi forcefully. Maybe she’ll read my mind and act civil to me for once. Lexi’s wicked smile says otherwise.
“Can I take your order?” she takes out her pad, flips to a clean page and smiles at Ryan flirtatiously.
“I’ll have a hamburger with fries.”
“Chicken noodle soup,” I mutter.
“How would you like your meat, Ryan?” Lexi purrs.
“Well done,” he answers.
“Great, I’ll be back in a sec.” Lexi skates off, rocking her hips, which looks ridiculous to me.
I start to wonder if I’ll be able to enjoy my soup. There’ll be consequences if I eat that soup. I’m sure of it. What can Lexi do to a bowl of soup? Plenty. My brain automatically starts thinking of ways she can ruin my food. I quickly stop at one. Poison. But she can’t poison it can she? No. There was no way she’d get some kind of poison on such short notice.
Lexi skates up to another table and gives the family a big smile. She can change the type of soup but that won’t hurt me. And when Lexi humiliates someone it's never in a small way. Of course she could dump it down the front of my shirt, but that wasn’t Lexi Revenge enough. I watch Lexi through narrowed eyes, concentrating so hard that I don’t hear what Ryan says.
“Huh?”
Ryan looks at me amused. “I said, is she your friend?”
I resist the urge to curl my lip, but my words still have a slight snarling edge. “Lexi is the farthest thing from my friend.”
Ryan holds up his hands. “All right. I’m just asking. You’re just watching her so closely. Like you expect her to do something.”
I do, just something really horrific. Ryan is still watching me, waiting for an answer but I don’t give him one.
“Here’s your food!” Lexi’s cheery, high voice chirps as she places our food in front of us.
“Ryan, fair warning, you should watch your back around her—or should I say: don’t speak a word you don’t want repeated to others.” Lexi shrugs like she’s sorry she had to tell him this. She sets a small basket of bread in front of me and I look up. Her brown eyes are deadly.
Ryan gives me a bewildered look; I’m sure I look horrified.
“What is she talking about?”
I try to laugh but it doesn’t come out. I quickly take a sip of water. “Nothing. She’s just trying to stir up trouble.” I can tell Ryan doesn’t believe me, but he still accepts the answer.
My soup looks fine. I stir it slowly.
Ryan looks at me curiously when I don’t touch it. “Something wrong?”
I want to say, “yes it could be poisoned” but after Lexi just hinted that something is wrong with me I can’t.
“No.”
Ryan hungrily digs into his hamburger. I carefully taste the broth. Nothing tastes off so I eat it.
Before we leave Ryan says he has to go to the bathroom and I tell him I’ll wait outside. Taking a deep breath of fresh air I almost scream when Trevor speaks.
“I guess you finally found a boyfriend.” Trevor is leaning lazily against the restaurant’s brick wall, staring at me intently. Am I imagining it or is there a hint of accusation in his eyes?
“Ryan’s not my boyfriend. We were studying and he asked me if I wanted to get dinner,” I say, forcing my voice to sound steady instead of jittery.
Trevor’s expression remains impassive. He looks to the sky and it jogs an old memory of us lying in my backyard on warm nights, picking out constellations. Every star seemed to shine its brightest just for us. Orion has always been Trevor's favorite. He said it was because he would imagine Orion as his father grinning in the black sky, battling starry beasts.
“You should be careful around him. You don’t know him,” he tells me.
I glimpse Ryan heading my way through the window. “Am I supposed to know you? Because the old Trevor would’ve let me in instead of pushing me away.”
“Things change.”
“Apparently they do,” I say. Trevor doesn’t argue. Ryan comes out the door and Trevor slips away without a word.
* * * *
I watch Ryan’s departing back until the smoky blackness takes over and I can’t see him anymore, then I head inside. Dad is sitting at the table eating, his eyes staring out into the back yard. His plate has a partially eaten steak seemingly forgotten. I gently rest my hand on his shoulder. “Daddy?”
“Hey Licorice.” Dad’s voice is tired and soft.
Mom tells everyone that Dad has some type of degenerative disease. But I know better and I am more than convinced that its depression. Whatever things happened in Dad’s past, people left behind, opportunities not taken, paths not chosen because he was afraid of the outcome; those things are catching up with him. And this is the way he chooses to deal with it. I’ve tried to help Dad uncountable times, but the problem is this: I am not his solution. I did not live in his past and therefore have no way of untangling the web it has created that has become his life. I cannot take away the threads that are hurting him, I cannot soothe the taunt threads into something more bearable, and I cannot unscramble the threads to make things clear for him so that he can again understand and believe in what’s important. All I can do is be by his side. I just hope that’s enough.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he sighs.
I register his voice. Right now it sounds like he’s at a two. Over the years I have created a scale that scopes from 1 to 5 for determining his depression. One is the best. It’s when he’s my dad like he had been before. Five is the worst. When I can say anything I want and he won’t register or hear me at all. I think he knows I’m there he’s just not there. He lives in his head. I think I know what it’s like. When I found myself without friends I’d buried myself in books. I wouldn’t be reading the book I’d be living it.
Dad once told me that I have a very powerful imagination. At night it’s the worst thing ever. I could convince myself there are monsters crawling to my bed. I could feel clammy hands wrapping around my wrists to pull me out. I could never step down from bed in the dark for fear of being devoured by the invisible monsters. I’ve gotten over it now that I’m older. Kind of. But I’ll never admit that to anyone.
“You sure?” I ask again.
“Who was that boy you were with just now?”
I can feel myself immediately grow hot. I hadn’t seen Dad by the window or known he was watching. Did he see us come up the driveway or—even more embarrassing—watch how long I stood there looking after Ryan?
“His name is Ryan,” I say softly. I watch him carefully. I’m uncertain of how he’ll
react—I’ve never had a boy bring me home before.
Dad takes the last bite of steak, gathers his dishes and stands.
“Ryan,” Dad repeats just as quietly. “I’m sure he’s a good person but be careful, okay?” He plants a kiss on my forehead then says, “Good night Licorice.”
“Good night,” I repeat. Dad gives me a gentle pat on my shoulder before slowly walking up the stairs to their room.
I stand by Dad’s empty chair for a few minutes. I shut my eyes and try to ignore the small headache that’s starting to form. I fall into bed and soon I can feel myself slipping into sleep, but not before I hear my door close and I sense feet treading softly on the thick carpet.
A hammer in my dream that won’t stop pounding on a nail wakes me up. I have a gigantic headache. The heaviness starts lifting from my eyes and I open them gradually. Out of habit I look at my clock. When I read the time I sit up on my elbows. 1:25 A.M. I squint my eyes and look out the window. It’s dark. I groan. I had hoped sleeping would keep the headache from getting worse. Maybe there’s something in the kitchen that will help with the pain.
I turn my bedside light on then slip off the bed only to fall on my face, a screech filling the air.
“Could you watch where you’re stepping?” Darklily lay at the side of my bed, crossness shimmering in her eyes and the fur on her spine straight up.
“How would I know you were there?” I cry then add warily, “How did you get in?”
Darklily cocks her head. “The same way you did. I didn’t know you had to push it as well as turn the sphere, but I figured it out. Then I followed your scent to your territory,” she purrs.
“It’s called a room.” I lightly touch my racing head. “You did shut the door, right?”
“Room.” Darklily chews on the word then says, “Door?”
I slap my forehead. Ow. I’d better go check. I stand. Dark follows me to the top of the stairs. Before I can go down the door opens then slams shut. Good the door wasn’t sitting open. I start to head downstairs but Mom’s whispered voice stops me dead. Mom never whispers, which means something is up. I scramble back to the top and sit.
Shift (The Pandorma Adventures Book 1) Page 5
