by Susan Hatler
“You have?” He glanced over at me, surprise clearly written all over his face. But he didn’t laugh or tell me I was crazy or lame, which was kind of what I’d always worried would happen when I told someone. “What’s it about?”
“Four superhero girls, and each has her own power,” I said, thinking of my characters: Beth, Natalie, Amanda, and Laura. Laura’s actually more of the antagonist than a friend (modeled after, ahem, Lindsay Sloan). Then a smile spread across my face. I couldn’t believe I was going to tell him this. “Amanda has the power to be invisible.”
“You’re making that up.”
I shook my head, laughing. “I have years of stories to prove it.”
“I’d love to read them.” His tone was sincere, and so was his expression when he glanced over at me. “What’s the series called?”
“I haven’t named it yet.” I stared at the green EXIT sign we passed as Jonathan drove down the freeway off ramp, and I wrung my hands together. “That’s part of the problem.”
“Why is it a problem?”
“Once I choose the name, then it’s set forever. It’s kind of overwhelming, probably like naming your child.” I swallowed, wondering if writer’s block on the title was from the fear of dropping that manila envelope in the post office box more than anything else. “But I have to give the series a title since the entry form for your dad’s comic strip contest requires it.”
Silence.
“Is that weird that I’m entering his contest?” I asked, thinking maybe it wasn’t a brilliant idea to mention his dad’s work. It was obviously a sensitive subject since it sounded like Jacob Miller’s work on Maisy’s Meow hadn’t left much time for his children. Or maybe. . . “You’re not, like, one of the contest judges or something?”
“No.” He pulled into the parking lot next to the car I indicated was mine, then he set Owen’s truck in park. He leaned back against the headrest, put his arm over his eyes, then sucked in a breath. “It’s just . . . the last time I talked to my dad, we had a huge fight about that contest.”
“I’m sorry.” I chewed on my lower lip. “What happened?”
He dropped his arm, then tilted his head my way. “I’d always tried to be the perfect son, hoping that would make him want to spend time with me. I got straight As in school. I excelled in sports. Acted exceptionally polite to all of their social crowd. Yada yada yada.”
“Wow. My mom would adore you.”
He let out a small breathy laugh. “We were supposed to go on a family trip to Maui for Thanksgiving this year. One week, just the family, and no work. I’d been looking forward to it for months. Finally, we’d all spend time together like we’d done when I was little before my dad’s career took off. But last week he told us he needed to cancel the vacation because of this contest.”
“Right,” I said, remembering the dates on the entry form. “The awards dinner is scheduled right before Thanksgiving.”
“Plus he needs to go through all of the entries for the judging,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s always something with him. The truth is he just doesn’t care about anything besides keeping my mom happy and his work. He probably wishes he never had children. So, I told him I was done being his son.” His voice quavered. “Then I said I was getting rid of the Maisy’s Meow book he’d given me when I was little. And I did.”
I could see the pain written across his face at his admission, and my chest ached for him.
He nudged the corners of his eyes with his knuckle, just like Danielle had done earlier this evening. They seemed like two of a kind. “That book he’d given me was the first copy of his first Maisy’s Meow, and he’d inscribed it to me. I knew what it meant to him so I gave it away.” His voice cracked. “Now it’s gone, forever.”
“You were hurt,” I said, curling into him and resting my cheek on his shoulder. “We all do stupid things when we’re upset. I’m sure he’s not holding a grudge or anything.”
He rested his chin on top of my head, while fingering a loose strand of hair along the side of my face. “I wonder if he misses that book more than he misses me,” he said.
“I doubt it,” I mumbled, but I didn’t know if that were true. I thought about my own dad and how he’d decided to travel the world for his work, leaving me behind in the process. At least now I knew that it wasn’t my pathetic grades that had driven him away. Apparently it didn’t matter if you had perfect grades or dismal grades. Some parents just don’t love their children.
End of story.
“I should let you go home.” He straightened, releasing my strand of hair, so I could scoot toward the door. “I’m going to give Owen his body back. There’s nothing else I can do tonight, anyway.”
“Do you think Owen’s even here?” I paused when Jonathan shrugged, then I glanced around the truck. “I can’t sense anything. If he’s not here, then call me and we can figure out where he might have gone.”
“It’s a plan,” he said.
“Once you’ve solved things with Owen, you’ll be at my house, right?” My voice sounded shaky, probably because I was scared out of my mind that Jonathan might get down again and reconsider going into his ashes. I shuddered. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
He smirked. “If this comic strip interest doesn’t work out, you should consider a career in motivational speaking.”
“Very funny.” I grabbed my purse off the seat, pushed open the door, then turned back around. “I’ll see you later tonight at my house then. Or, I’ll feel you, anyway. Then we’ll work on solutions tomorrow.”
“All right,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, and giving me a weary smile. “Thanks, Amy.”
The feel of his hand against me awakened every nerve in my shoulder.
“You’re welcome.” I tore my eyes away from him, popped out of the truck, then slammed the door shut. I inhaled sharp, stinging breaths before hurrying to my car, unlocking it, and quickly climbing inside. Then I zoomed away without looking behind me.
Yeah, I’d totally rushed out of there. It was good that Owen was getting his body back, but it would’ve torn me apart to watch. Jonathan was going to vacate the only body he had and we didn’t know when or if he’d get another body. Which was ironic, since I could still feel his hand on my shoulder.
****
I glanced at the clock while I drove to my house. Almost ten o’clock at night. My cell phone buzzed in my purse. I picked it up and noticed five missed calls from my mother. Uh oh. She was so going to ground me for life.
I parked in the driveway in front of the third garage door. The inside parking space of mine in the garage had been made into a workout room for my stepdad. Seems they didn’t care that my car got to weather the outside elements while theirs were tucked safely inside.
Lifting my purse over my shoulder, I got out of the car, then strode up the walkway. I opened the front door and was greeted by a pair of crossed arms.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that I’d arrive home at this late hour to find her here waiting for me. Although that did seem to be an entirely new scowl she’d mastered. Scary. “I’m going to, uh, head up to my room and go to bed. Night.”
“Where have you been?” She used her slow, deliberate voice, which meant I was in an entirely new degree of trouble.
“Out with a friend.” I widened my eyes to indicate she shouldn’t have a problem with that. Unfortunately, her scowl deepened. “We were studying . . . math problems.”
Not a total lie. One person minus one body equals zhost.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” She pointed toward the living room. “March in there right now, young lady. We are going to deal with this problem once and for all.”
“Can’t we talk about this later?” I asked, meaning let’s talk about this never. Judging by her blazing eyes, it was safe assume the answer was no. I dragged my legs into the living room, dropped back into the loveseat, and hoped I wo
uldn’t get grounded on top of everything else.
“It’s past ten o’clock.” She pointed to her watch as if it were evidence, then she sat on the sofa perpendicular to me. “On a school night, Amy. What were you thinking?”
That curfews shouldn’t apply when trying to save someone’s life? Instead of actually saying this, I shrugged. “We just lost track of the time.”
“But you didn’t leave a note, and you weren’t answering your cell phone.” She scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Probably thought she looked more intimidating that way, and she would kind of be right about that. “Where were you all this time?” she demanded.
“At the cemetery,” I said, deciding to be honest. I slumped my shoulders as a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Today was finally starting to take its toll. “A friend of mine died.”
Her brows drew together. “I thought you said you were studying.”
My mouth dropped open. I’d just confessed the truth to her and that was the part she was focusing on? It totally figured. I stood, shaking my head. “Forget it. I’m going to bed.”
“Amy . . .” She jumped to her feet, then blocked me from leaving the room. “I’m just trying to find out what’s going on with you. If your friend really passed away, then I’m sorry. That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t call me.”
“I was upset, okay?” I scoffed. Boy she just lived to hammer down on every little thing I did wrong. I’d bet if I did get perfect grades like Jonathan, and got involved with school activities like she was always bugging me to, that I still wouldn’t be good enough for her. “I’ll be sure to pause my grief to call you next time. Can I go now?”
“Not yet.” She moved around me then picked up a white booklet from the coffee table, and handed it to me. She folded her arms across her chest. “I’d like to hear what you have to say about that.”
I glanced down at the piece of white binder paper in my hand. It had a big, red “F” at the top of the page next to the header, “How Hester Prynne Got Screwed.” Mr. Coleman strikes again. My brows came together. “Have you been going through my things? You have no right to do that.”
She sighed, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I found it on the kitchen floor where you’d dropped your backpack.”
Visions of Jonathan tossing my backpack carelessly toward the counter on his way to curb his insatiable hunger went through my head. The backpack had fallen to the floor and burst open, spilling the contents everywhere. Thanks a lot, Jonathan. I could kill him for getting me busted.
If he weren’t already dead, that is.
“Well?” My mom stared at me, through me, as if she had no idea who I was. I totally didn’t need that on top of everything else I’d been dealing with today. “I told you that your grades needed to come up,” she said, waving her finger over the red “F” on the paper. “Now I find this. What am I supposed to think, Amy? Do you just not care?”
“My teacher’s a toad,” I said, pointing out the obvious. I mean, she had personal evidence of this since she had the non-joy of meeting him at the parent/teacher conference we’d had last month about my sucky progress report. “It’s like he thinks his job is to make my life miserable.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, showing just how little she understood Mr. Coleman and the trauma I had to deal with by being one of his students.
“Look, I don’t expect you to understand me or what I’m going through.” I crumpled the paper into a ball, then held it up. “But you’re freaking out over nothing, because this wasn’t even my real grade. He made me write the entire essay over again, just because of one little pen scratch on the paper that wasn’t even my fault. I’ll have a better grade when he returns the new essay to me and then you can get off my back.”
She rubbed her forehead, suddenly looking exhausted. “Academics are important to your future and to getting into college. I’m just trying to help you.”
Right. More like criticize me.
“Then let me go to bed. I’m tired, and it won’t help my academic education if I’m late to school,” I said, sarcastically.
Our gazes locked on each other’s and for a moment I thought she might see me. That she might pull me into her arms and tell me that, even with her new life, she still wanted me.
Instead, she merely nodded. “You can go.”
“Finally,” I said, mumbling. I ducked my head and slipped from the room, fighting the tears that burned behind my eyes. When I approached the stairs, I found my backpack sitting on the bottom step, and it had been zipped up. I snatched it as I hurried upstairs, down the hall, and passed my room.
****
Jimmy’s bedroom was dark, but the door was open as I walked in. I tip-toed over to where he slept, sat on the edge of his bed, and gazed down at his peaceful face. Thick lashes fanned across the tops of his chubby cheeks and his mouth twitched slightly, as if he were smiling in his dream.
I brushed several curls away from his forehead, then pressed my lips against his skin. “Good night, little bro,” I whispered, resting my cheek against his, inhaling the fruity scent of his shampoo. “You drive me bonkers, but I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I exhaled, meaning every word.
I went back to my room, closed the door, then checked my phone. No calls, which must mean that Owen had to be back in his body. But, if so, then where was Jonathan? I couldn’t feel him in the room. In the dark, I lifted my blinds and peeked out my window, wondering where he could be. I didn’t even want to think about the possibility that he’d given up.
No. He’d made a promise to me. I had to believe he would keep it.
I changed into my pajamas, turned on my nightstand lamp, then opened the Maisy’s Meow I’d pulled from my backpack. Conflicting emotions rolled through me as I pulled out the postcard I was using for a bookmark. My dad had sent it from Tanzania and it the postmarked date was from three months ago. It read:
You’d love watching the zebras run wild here in Africa. They always were your favorite. Remember all of our trips to the zoo? Love, Dad.
Yeah, I remembered the life I had before he and my mom got divorced—when we’d been a family. Unlike now. I tucked the postcard back in my book, set it on my nightstand, then turned off the lamp. Beyond exhausted, I pulled my zebra blanket up to my chin, and my heart squeezed. My eyes welled.
I wished my dad had never left me, but he did. I wished my mom hadn’t started a new life without me, but that’s what she’d done. And I wished, more than anything, that there would be one person in this world who wouldn’t let me down.
I stared at the ceiling, at the darkness around me, hot tears tickling down either side of my face. Then something changed, thickened in the room. Warm air flowed over my arms, across my chest, then melted through me like a hot bath. The heated energy pulsed to the same beat of my heart, pounding rhythmically against my chest.
My mouth curved into a smile. “Good night, Jonathan,” I whispered.
Then I finally fell asleep.
Chapter Eight
After a fitful night of sleep, I drove to school the next day, determined to recruit Owen to help Jonathan. Let’s face it, the geek king was the smartest person I knew. He was bound to have some insight on how we could fix Jonathan’s bodiless predicament.
On the upside, Owen knew first-hand that Jonathan’s spirit really existed, so there would be no wasted time convincing him of that. On the downside, I’d called Owen’s cell phone several times this morning and he wasn’t picking up. Then I dialed his home number. His mother answered, confirmed that he’d be at school, but said she was very sorry to have to say that Owen was breaking up with me. What the . . .?
Even though the rumor that I’d been dating Owen was laughable, I hoped that it didn’t get back to Brynne. So beyond far-fetched. I’d liked Alex, not Owen. And now I realized that I had only liked Alex on the surface. I hadn’t really known him. Not in the way I was getting to know Jonathan, who made my
tummy do flips just by thinking about him.
I had to track down Owen as soon as possible, and talk him into helping.
Owen managed to avoid me all morning at school, but thank goodness we had U.S. Government together. Not that he would look at me. He also ignored all of the texts I sent him during class, then rejected all of the hand-written notes I’d passed him by having the girl next to him send them back unread. Annoyingly, the note-blocker was Lindsay Sloan, who, if her smirk was any indication, seemed to take great pleasure in the task.
After class, he bolted out the door and, unfortunately, I had to blow off Brynne to chase down the hall after him. Man, the guy moved fast.
“Owen!” I caught up to him in the courtyard and grabbed his arm. “It is you, right?”
He stopped and faced me. “Yes, no thanks to you.”
I gazed back at him, noting his goo-goo eyes were gone. Thank goodness he no longer mistakenly thought he had a thing for me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Amy.” He crossed his arms, staring down at me. “You were well and happy that my body was invaded instead of yours.”
“That’s not true,” I said, even though it was probably a little true. But, really, who would ever prefer their body be zombied? “I had no choice, anyway. It’s not like he consulted me beforehand.”
Owen’s mouth puckered into a pout. “But, you would’ve had him pick me. Admit it.”
I really didn’t want to play this game. Especially knowing I’d lose. “I didn’t want anyone’s body taken over, okay? Besides, you don’t know the whole story. Jonathan’s really in a pickle and we need your help.”
“Jonathan?” His nose wrinkled. “You’ve given the demon a name?”
“He’s not a demon,” I said, noticing several students turn my way. Maybe I’d said that a wee bit too loud. I lowered my voice. “He’s a teenage boy. And he’s really nice once you get to know him. If you give him a chance, you guys could become friends.”
He stared at me wide-eyed. “You’ve fallen for the demon, haven’t you? What happened to our kiss?”