Feeling sick, I stare up the street yet again, hoping against hope that I will see his dark outline appear. My pathetic hope fills me with a surge of shame. He’s not coming. I must look so stupid waiting here on an empty street. My face goes hot, and I dash back to the house. I can’t get inside fast enough.
As I head upstairs, I hear Mom’s voice.
“Cass? You’re back?”
My promises of sweet, cheerful behavior taste like salt on my tongue. I want to yell at her. I want to act out. I want her to know I’m in pain. But I swallow the words down.
“We’ve decided to meet another time,” I call, trying my best to sound normal.
“Oh.” Mom’s voice is unbearably gentle. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I’m going to go to bed.”
“Okay… Good night.”
I don’t respond. I drag myself up the stairs to my room and push the door closed.
Chapter 5
Cassandra
I feel inexplicably calm when I wake in the morning. Maybe “numb” is a better word for it. Either way, I’m absolutely determined not to waste another ounce of emotion or thought on Lawrence Foster. I glide down to breakfast with my head high. I am calm. I am relaxed. I am unmoved.
As I approach the table, the glance Mom and Frank exchange does not pass my notice. Is that a glint of pity I see on Mom’s face? I sigh and flop down at my seat. Even Eddie seems to be tentative as he munches his sugary cereal. There’s only the sound of hesitant chewing. I roll my eyes.
“Mom,” I say calmly. “I have a request.”
“Sure, dear,” she says overly cheerfully. “What’s up?”
“Let’s do something. Something that will take up the whole day. Something fun.”
Frank sets a hand on my shoulder. “Anything you want to talk about, Sassy—”
“Nope. Not even remotely.”
“Right,” Mom says. “I know what we can do. Shopping. Shopping fixes everything.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” I say in a swift, defensive way that negates what I actually said.
Mom plays along anyway. “Let’s go shopping. And take the convertible.”
I lift my glass of orange juice. “Cheers to that.”
• • •
My diversion plan works perfectly. It’s not as if it’s hard. Lawrence was an intriguing (and okay, fine, very good-looking) guy that I knew for about three seconds. Nothing more. The sting of humiliation passes fairly easily.
Or so it seems. The crack in the facade comes two days later. Eddie and I are playing catch in the backyard while Mom and Frank clean up after a barbecue. Project Cheer Up Moody Teenager has included all manner of diversions. And I’m not complaining. In fact, I kind of love my family for it.
I help Mom and Frank finish cleaning. They bring in the last of the plates, and I’m going out to make sure we haven’t left any watermelon rinds for the yellow jackets to swarm over when Eddie runs up to me, dismayed.
“Cassie! I can’t find my football!”
With an eyebrow raised, I point to the red toddler-sized football in his hands, and he sighs with exasperation.
“My green one, Cassie. I lost it!”
I ruffle his curly, little mop top. “Easy, kiddo. I’ll help you find it.”
Mom’s voice drifts out from inside the kitchen. “Who wants ice cream?”
Eddie’s eyes brighten like twin comets. I can’t help but laugh. The kid has got to be the most easy-to-excite human being on earth.
“Go get some ice cream,” I say. “I’ll find your green football.”
He trundles off, nearly falling over in his eagerness. Shaking my head with a smile, I survey the lawn. It takes a minute of looking before I spot it. A small, neon-green football sitting near the back hedge. Right by the path to the beach.
I exhale. Walking calmly to the path, I keep my thoughts firmly in check. This is not giving in. I’m just grabbing Eddie’s toy. I have no intention of…
As I bend to retrieve the toy, the smell of salt and sand brushes past me on the wind. The soft pound of surf whispers in the distance. My throat feels dry all of a sudden. Standing, I tilt my head to peer down the narrow, overgrown corridor. I can see blue. The ocean. The sand. And I’m pulled toward the beach.
It’s beyond insane, but he’s sitting on the sand. Just sitting there on the beach, reading a book.
In a single moment, a series of emotions fly through my mind in rapid succession. First, a tangible thrill at the sight of him. Then confusion at how he could possibly be here again. Then shame, the desire to turn and run before he sees me and can laugh in my face. Then rage. Pure, trembling rage.
I stomp out, and he whips around. His eyes go wide. He springs to his feet.
“I don’t believe it,” he says, his face ashen.
Rage still has a hold on me.
“Seriously. Seriously? You’re really showing up here again? You’re either a bigger jerk than I could have imagined, or you’re secretly a bum and don’t have anywhere else to sleep at night.”
He shakes his head. “How did you…”
“Why are you here?” I demand. “To gloat? To mock me? Are you secretly recording this all on your cell phone so that you can make fun of me to all of your snobby friends?”
“Cassandra—”
“I want you to leave, Lawrence. I have nothing to say to you.”
He takes a step toward me. “Why are you acting like this?”
I laugh, incredulous. “Why? Hmm, gee, that’s a good question. I don’t know… Maybe because you stood me up.”
“What?”
“I waited for twenty minutes, which is, I’m sure, exactly what you wanted. You probably would have preferred a half hour or forty-five minutes for optimum humiliation, but hopefully the twenty minutes will satisfy you.”
Lawrence stares at me, blinking, as if I’m speaking incomprehensible words. He takes a breath.
“Cassandra,” he begins slowly. “I waited for you for a solid hour on that street.”
The sincerity, the anger in his tone throws me for a moment.
“Don’t lie,” I say. “There wasn’t a living soul out there. It was just me and the fireflies.”
Lawrence throws up his hands. “I’m telling you, I waited for an hour. I would have rung you on the telephone, but I don’t know where you live. I don’t even know your last name. I have no idea how to contact you.”
I put my hands to my temples. “What are you talking about? Of course you know where I live!” I jab my hand toward my house. “Hello?”
Lawrence scoffs. “Is this some kind of joke? That house?”
“Umm, yes. That house right through those bushes. You came to our party. You’ve been swimming on my beach. I’m going to have a hard time believing that where I live somehow slipped your mind.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “My Uncle Ned’s house is through those bushes, Cassandra.”
“Not this again!” My voice raises, bordering on shrill, but I don’t care. “What are you talking about? I’ve never even heard of this Ned guy. Look, I don’t care who lays claim to this town or who owned the land a thousand years ago or whatever. This is where I live. This is the house my stepdad is renting, fair and square.”
“I’m trying very hard to figure out why you’re acting this way.”
“It’s not complicated. That’s my house.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” he asks with a frustrated growl. “That house. This beach. It’s all Ned’s. How could you be mistaken about that when the only way to get here is through his front door?”
“You’re crazy.”
And then it dawns on me. What if he really is genuinely crazy? Gorgeous but crazy. Maybe Ned is a manifestation of acute schizophrenia.
“I have no
idea who this Ned guy is, but he certainly doesn’t live here.”
“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”
“I don’t think so.”
“This house belongs to Ned Foster,” he says, his anger now matching my own. “He built it three years ago.”
I stare at him. “Seriously, you’re insane.”
“I’m starting to think you are, lady.”
“Brush up on your history before you try and lie. The house was built in the twenties.”
“Exactly,” he says. “Nineteen twenty-two.”
“So…you’re bad at math then?”
“What?”
“Uh, nineteen twenty-two was a little more than three years ago, wouldn’t you say? More like ninety-three.”
He gives me a blank look. “Ninety-three…”
“Years ago. Nineteen twenty-two was at least ninety years ago.” I repeat.
“This is nineteen twenty-five, Cassandra,” he says, speaking slowly as if I’m the crazy one. “How could ’twenty-two be ninety years ago?”
I nod with exaggerated interest. “Oh, it’s nineteen twenty-five, huh? That’s fascinating.”
He says nothing. Only stares. And I’ve officially had enough.
“That’s it. I’m not going to stand here and play games. I’m leaving.”
“Cassandra,” Lawrence calls as I stride back toward the house. “Wait.”
He runs up behind me, but I refuse to turn around. He falls in step with me as I stomp up the beach.
“It’s like you’re a character in some play,” he says, scraping a hand through his hair. “You show up at my birthday party and now at my house without an invitation. You wear the strangest, most daring clothes. And now you’re telling me nineteen twenty-two was ninety-three years ago…”
I push through the bushes. “I don’t know what role-playing game you’re trying to get started here, but—”
As I turn to shoot him my most imperious parting glare, the words halt in my throat.
His face, his whole body is…fuzzy. I blink, but he’s still covered in blur. It’s like someone has thrown a thin muslin screen around just him. As if I’m seeing him through a lens with a smudge over the exact place he’s standing. I smash my fists against my eyes and look again. But he’s looking at me funny too.
“Cassandra?”
I back away, still blinking to get the crazy blur out of my eyes. Is this an early symptom of a heart attack or something? Am I going blind thanks to some sudden, undiagnosed vision problem?
He walks toward me, speaking, but I only hear a muffled garble of words. And if possible, he’s getting even more transparent. He’s blending in with the bushes, the ocean, the sunset behind him. Speechless, I retreat, stumbling onto the back lawn.
Lawrence sets a foot on the grass. I see his almost translucent lips form my name, and then he’s gone. Dissolved into the background.
Chapter 6
Cassandra
I stare at the spot where Lawrence disappeared. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t have happened. I must really be going blind. Or I’m having a stroke.
Maybe I’m dying. Or dead.
I move closer to the lawn where Lawrence had been standing.
One step.
Another.
And then a faint haze of color takes shape in front of the bushes. My heart is beating against my rib cage as if it’s trying to escape. I move closer and the colors darken a shade. The shape takes a recognizable form. Human. A dull mumble reaches my ear.
“Lawrence?” My voice shakes.
I run toward the bushes and push past the scratchy branches lashing my skin. The shape ahead of me grows darker and more vivid with each passing second. The mumble becomes strained, like bad reception on a cell phone.
“Cassandra?”
“Lawrence!”
I push past the final, overgrown hedge. My foot touches sand. And I run smack into Lawrence’s chest.
My eyes meet his. He grips my arms, his face pale as a sheet.
“Cassandra!”
I can’t get a good breath. I pull out of his grip, staring at him, terrified. “What was that? What. In the world. Just happened?”
He says nothing, his eyes wide.
“What happened?” I demand. “You disappeared. You vanished. You…”
“Dissolved into the background?” he asks, his voice trembling.
“Yes…”
“I didn’t disappear,” he says. “You did. I was shouting your name. Didn’t you hear me?”
“I did until you melted into nothingness.”
He shakes his head, dazed. “I was here the whole time.”
“So was I!”
“Then what happened?”
“I don’t know!” I shout. “I have no idea. I’m freaking out here as much as you.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, breathing hard and waiting for the other person to figure this all out. Lawrence looks toward the hedges, and I follow his gaze.
“Maybe it was an entirely random event,” he says. “A heat wave. A pulse of energy.”
He starts toward the bushes. I grab his hand. “What are you doing?”
“I want to see…”
“Don’t get too close!” I insist, pulling him back.
He taps his fist to his mouth, his brow furrowed with concentration. “What if…what if we try it again? See if the same thing happens?”
“Are you crazy?”
“It’s worth a try.”
“No,” I say firmly. “What if you disappear, only this time you don’t come back?”
Lawrence considers this. Then, without answering, he steps toward them again.
“Don’t!” I shout.
“I have to see.”
His hands brush along the coarse leaves. He bends to examine the trunks and roots, grinding a pinch of sand between his fingertips.
“It looks normal to me,” he says. “I think we need to try again.” He stands and holds out his hand. “Come on.”
“You’re insane,” I say, folding my arms. “I’m not going anywhere near that path.”
“So you’re planning to spend the night on the beach? We have to go through there sooner or later. We might as well try it together.”
I shake my head, but somehow my feet move toward him. This is stupid. This is Russian roulette. Something seriously weird is going on, and we’re asking for a second helping.
“One test,” I say. “And we come right back to the beach if anything weird starts to happen.”
He nods, taking my hand. His palm is sweaty. His eyes glint with nervousness and excitement. I don’t know why he’s so eager to dematerialize again.
“On three,” he says. “This is crazy. You are crazy.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand.”
For as long as your hand exists. “We’re crazy.”
“One…two…three.”
The pathway ahead of me blurs as we step through the narrow corridor. Within three steps, Lawrence starts to go fuzzy. I gasp. “It’s happening.”
“Do you feel anything?”
“Why would I? You’re the one disappearing.”
“Keep going,” he says, though his voice is becoming more muffled.
“We should stop.”
Even though he’s fading before my eyes, I can still feel his grip on my hand. He pulls me toward the lawn.
“Lawrence, I’m freaking out. I want to go back.”
“Keep going!” His voice is garbled and faint. Vanishing.
I stumble into the yard, pulled by the fading shape in front of me. His grip lightens, like sand sifting through my fingers. My pulse is pounding in my head. My ears are ringing.
“Stop!” I shout. I make out the slightest suggestion o
f his silhouette before he’s gone.
“Lawrence! Go back to the beach! Hurry!” Frantic, I smash through green branches until, gasping for breath, I collapse onto the sand.
What is happening? I’m losing it. I am legitimately losing it.
Or maybe I’m not. Maybe this is the end of the world. Not a big bang but a whimper. Everyone just vanishes. It would make a fantastic sci-fi novel.
Two hands clamp down on my shoulders. “Cassandra.”
Screaming, I whirl around. Lawrence is on his knees before me, panting and pale but flesh and bone.
“Did you see Ned?” he asks.
“What?”
“Ned.”
I blink. “What are you talking about?”
“Ned was on the back lawn. You didn’t see him?”
I stare at him, my brain unable to handle all of this. I feel sick, light-headed. I bend forward to keep from throwing up. Lawrence’s shoulders rise and fall with his breath. His eyes scan my face, as if searching for answers embedded somewhere in my eyes.
“Are you a ghost?” he whispers.
“What? No! What are you—? Of course I’m not!”
He cocks his head, unsure. My jaw sets. “If I were a ghost, would you feel this?” I punch him in the arm.
“Say!” He rubs the spot, grimacing. Then his eyes narrow. “It could be a trick. I’m not familiar with the supernatural.”
“I’m not a ghost, Lawrence.”
“Well, neither am I. So what’s the explanation?” He taps his fist to his mouth, deep in thought. “What if it’s the pathway that’s haunted?”
“But we’ve both walked it a hundred times and nothing strange has ever happened,” I say. “Whatever is going on, it has something to do with you.”
“Or you.”
“Or us together…”
Our eyes meet. Lawrence pushes his fingers into the sand, absently carving a line as he thinks. Then he looks up hesitantly.
Until We Meet Again Page 5
