“At this point, we do have some more questions for Mr. Brackmeyer,” says Red, scribbling furiously. “Anything you’d like to add before we go?”
“Are you saying one of us had a hand in Annika’s death?” I blurt out. Might as well cut to it. “Is someone telling lies about us?”
“You mean Annika’s murder?” corrects Handlebar. He studies me under thick gray eyebrows. “I’ll repeat myself. Is there something more you want to tell us?”
“No. I’m just wondering where you’re getting your information.”
“Sorry, miss, we don’t divulge our sources,” Handlebar replies curtly.
“Or details of the investigation,” adds Red, narrowing her pop-eyes at me.
“Just so you know, I didn’t do it. Give me a lie detector test. I’ll pass with flying colors!” I stand up, bumping the table and sloshing the coffee onto Handlebar’s notes. He grabs the papers and shakes them off, growling under his breath.
My face is hot, my mouth dry. I steady myself by holding on to the edge of the table. Things blur for a moment then clear. I take a few deep breaths as Mom comes to stand beside me.
Red and Handlebar push back their chairs back with that god-awful screech. I want to run out of the room but force myself to stand there, holding the table, pretending to be calm despite my racing mind.
“I think we have all we need,” Handlebar says, adjusting his holster over his bulging belly.
“We’ll be in touch,” says Red.
At the door, Handlebar turns to my mother. “Thank you for the coffee, ma’am. And your time.” Once again his mouth smiles, but his eyes don’t.
17
I’m standing across the street from Jason’s house. I’ve never noticed how quaint it is, like a little gingerbread house with its white picket fence and geraniums. It seems picture-perfect beautiful, just like the guy inside.
I’m trying to get my courage up to go knock on his door. Instead, I’ve been standing here on the sidewalk for the last ten minutes, staring at the house like a goddamned stalker.
I need to talk to Jason, to tell him the truth about everything—to find out the truth, too—but I don’t know where to start.
Maybe a kiss, if I can even get that close.
I’ve finally decided that I need to just do it, kiss this guy who I’m so in love with. It’s my only chance. I’ve lost him already anyway, so I’ve got nothing else to lose. I’m not worried about Jason finding out about me anymore. I just need to see what’s in his mind, to find out if he’s the guy I thought he was.
But I’m afraid.
What if I see something I can’t handle?
Like what if he doesn’t care about me anymore?
Or what if . . . ?
I won’t let myself go there.
I square my shoulders and step off the curb.
Jason’s mint-condition VW van is sitting in the driveway. He’s the only guy I know who’d rather drive a “retro” car than something new. He’d bought it himself with money from summer jobs and spent a long time fixing it up. It’s a cool light green color, just like my eyes, he always said. At the memory of his words, and of him gazing at me with his soulful expression, I want to weep. My throat constricts, and I blink back a tear that threatens to drill a path down my face.
Just do it. You have nothing to lose.
I take a deep breath and knock.
Jason’s mother opens the door. Her wary expression softens when she sees the tears pooling in my eyes despite my best efforts to force them back.
“He’s up in his room,” she says, closing the door behind us.
I climb the stairs, my chest tight and anxious. My heart races as I tap lightly on Jason’s door. I know it’s a real possibility he might turn me away. I hope I can explain things before he shuts me out completely.
There’s no answer. I tentatively open the door. Jason is sprawled on his stomach, listening to music on headphones and studying. The back of his head, with its thick brown hair, is both familiar and strange to me. It’s hard to believe I’ve run my fingers through that hair, and now here I am, looking at it as if it’s attached to someone I no longer know.
As if sensing my presence, Jason turns. His eyes take me in for a moment and then harden like glass. He bolts upright, throwing off the headphones.
“What are you doing here? Why did my mother let you in? She knows we’re through!”
Those words, spit out with such vitriol, are a knife in my stomach. It’s almost more than I can take. But I’ve got a mission to accomplish. I have to be brave. I steel myself and gather my courage. “Please listen—I can explain if you’ll let me.”
He slowly shakes his head. “No way. I know who you are now. You’re not the girl I fell for.”
Trembling, I inch toward him until I’m close to his bed. I take a breath and boldly sit down.
“You have to trust me,” I say. “It’s something you’d never guess, not in a million years, but it’ll clear your mind up about everything.”
He crosses his arms. “Try me.” His eyes are cold and hard. They look smaller when he’s angry, narrow and suspicious.
“I can read minds when I kiss people,” I say in a rush. Seeing his skeptical, frowning expression, I hurry on. “I didn’t want to ruin things with us by knowing your thoughts. That’s why I refused to kiss you. The only reason I’ve been kissing other people is to try to find out who killed Annika.”
He glares at me. “I can’t deal with this shit.” He jumps off the bed. “Leave, now!” He moves as if to push me toward the door, but I dodge him. I reach up, grab his neck with all of my might, and pull his head down. Before he can resist, I lay a kiss on him. It’s not the slow, sensual first kiss I’d imagined or hoped we would have, but instead one with a purpose, borne of desperation.
She’s beautiful, even if she’s crazy. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful. She reminds me of the Mona Lisa sometimes, especially when she’s sad, like now. She’s shattered my heart. I wish I could be with her again, even though she’s certifiable. But there’s no going back.
He pushes me away and is at the door in one bound. “Get the hell out!”
“You think I look like the Mona Lisa when I’m sad,” I say, rushing through my words like an auctioneer. “You want to be with me but I’ve broken your heart. You think I’m completely crazy. Don’t you see, I read your mind when I kissed you! And if I kissed you again, I could probably see your whole childhood and everything that’s ever happened to you.”
Jason stares at me with a mixture of fear and suspicion. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Winter?”
“I found out I have a power no one else has. I can read minds. But only when I kiss people.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“How did I know about the Mona Lisa? Did you tell anyone else about that?”
He shakes his head slowly, not taking his eyes off me. His face is pure skepticism.
“Want to try again?” I ask gently. “Just to prove it to you?”
“This is some weird trick. I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s freaking me out.” Jason backs away, tripping over the corner of the dresser. He crashes to the ground, just as his mom sticks her head around the corner. He scrambles to his feet.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, worry lines etched on her brow. “I heard shouting.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Jason replies. “Just a heated discussion.” After exchanging a look and a nod with his mother, he closes the door. With me inside the room.
Promising. A flicker of hope licks at my heart.
“I don’t trust you,” he says, arms crossed and eyes boring through me.
“Just give me one chance to prove it to you. If you’re right about me, then you can throw me out and I’ll never come back. I promise.”
He assesses me for a long, drawn-out moment. His face is guarded, suspicious. Finally, he shrugs and utters a reluctant, simple “Okay.”
I step forward, but he puts his hand up.
>
“If you’re screwing with me, I don’t ever want to lay eyes on you again. Clear?”
I nod, trembling. Please, power, don’t fail me now. I move closer to him and look up into his eyes. I see mistrust there, doubt and anger. But I also see the faintest glimmer of possibility in them, a muted expression of hope.
That is all I need. I move closer still, so our bodies are touching. I intertwine my arms around his neck and gently offer my mouth to his. His lips are more yielding this time, not completely open to me, but not tightly closed either. I hear his thoughts and see his past. It is all there, in this moment between us.
Flash! He had a pet lizard named Zack that died when he was twelve. He buried it in the back yard and wrote a poem about grief for his eighth grade English class, which caused the kids to laugh at him. But the poem got an A.
Flash, flash! His father left the family for a waitress with a red beehive and triple D boobs (“Big-Jugs Gina,” his dad affectionately calls her) who likes to jump on the trampoline. They’re still together, which bothers Jason, although he doesn’t let on to anyone. When his parents were divorcing, he would turn up his iPod to drown out the sounds of his mother’s sobs. He still can’t listen to Nirvana because it reminds him of his parents’ split.
Flash, flash, flash. He hated being called “Coke Bottle Face” more than “Stumblemeyer.” He tries not to think about those taunts and just moves forward, working hard to get good grades and do well in sports. He knows success is the best revenge.
Flash! He wants to find out who killed Annika. Lately people have been looking at him with suspicion, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.
Flash. He doesn’t think he’s good-looking and still sees himself as Stumblemeyer, even if people tell him otherwise.
Flash, flash! He secretly wants to study civil rights law in college even though his mother hates all attorneys (she got a terrible settlement in the divorce). He hopes that he can use the law to help people.
Flash. He is embarrassed about how much hair he has on his chest and has thought about shaving it.
Flash, flash! He thinks I’m the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen and has had a crush on me since sixth grade even though I hardly knew he existed. He loves my eyes and my smile and feels warm inside whenever I’m near.
I gently pull back, open my eyes, and tell him all of these things, these things I now know about him.
He walks slowly to the bed as if in a trance and sits down, the color completely drained from his face. He runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head slowly from side to side in a dazed way. From his expression, it’s clear he’s unable to believe it but is forced to. He looks as though he’s been hit by an eighteen-wheeler. His skin is gray, ashen. He refuses to meet my eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.
After a long moment, he says, “I’m afraid of you.”
I place my hand on his arm. “Don’t be. I’m not a witch. I’ve just got this weird ESP power that I’m having a hard time figuring out. It only happens when I kiss, which is a royal bummer. But I’m still the same girl you fell for.”
And he’s still the guy.
I’m ashamed that Miranda’s words—or the cops’—ever put even a sliver of doubt in my head.
“Have you really been trying to solve Annika’s murder?” His face is softening and he’s starting to look like the old Jason. “Is that what all the kissing’s been about?”
I nod. “I didn’t want to ever kiss anyone ever again after some really weird experiments went wrong, but Miranda convinced me I should use my power for good. I felt I had a duty to find out who the murderer is. So I set up a kissing booth. It was pretty awful, actually. Especially since I’m not any closer to finding out who killed Annika.”
He’s silent. I can see him contemplating the situation, assessing how he feels as he mulls everything over, turning it around and around in his mind. Sifting through it, trying to reconcile himself with what he’s just learned about me.
After a long moment, he asks, “So is that why you kissed Billy?” He still won’t look at me.
“Yes,” I lie. Might as well not complicate things.
He’s silent. He stares at the floor, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Another long moment passes, and then he finally meets my eyes. There’s still a lot of pain in them, but I can see something else, too. A glimpse of—what? Understanding?
“You were the only one I ever wanted to kiss,” I say. I hope I can convince him of this truth. “But I wanted to get to know you in a natural way, not the turbo download that happens whenever I kiss someone. So that’s why I held you off. I wanted you to share yourself with me at your own pace.”
He nods once, shortly, his eyes still searching mine. I sigh, my breath coming out shaky and worried-sounding. I don’t know what else to say to reassure him.
As if suddenly recognizing and accepting my predicament, he leans back and cocks his head at me, a quizzical look on his face. A chagrined smile creeps onto his lips, flooding me with relief.
“What a trip,” he says.
“I know, this whole thing is so weird,” I say. I’m dying to put my arms around him, to kiss him again and again. Instead, I stand next to the bed, watching him. Hoping he’ll open his own arms to me. I’ve thrown myself at him enough already.
“Wow, you know about why my parents got divorced. Big-Jugs Gina. Man. I haven’t told anyone that.” He blows out a deep breath. “I also can’t believe you know about me wanting to . . . uh . . . shave my chest.” His face reddens and he covers his eyes with his hand. “Jeez, how embarrassing.”
“Compared to what I’ve seen lately, it’s nothing. And actually, I like chest hair,” I reply in a light tone.
He smiles. Our eyes lock, and the old tingle is back. He leans forward and gently lifts my chin. When we kiss this time, I don’t see any thoughts or memories. All I experience is a feeling—a warm blanket of softness in my heart that spreads throughout my body and wraps itself around my mind like a velvet vise. Then I’m soaring in an indigo-colored sky, flying with Jason as my wings. A vast, never-ending feeling envelops me in a cloud-like dream—a warm embrace that promises to never let go. Then I dip, down, down, down, until I open my eyes and Jason is here with me, staring into my soul.
“That’s how I feel about you, in case there’s any question,” he says.
I smile at him through my tears. “I wish you could see into my mind and heart, too.”
“I already do,” he says.
And I know it’s the truth.
***
We snuggle close and lie together for a long while, enjoying the warmth of our bodies nestled together. He strokes my fingers lightly with his. We’re both silent, lost in each other, in the moment, and in our thoughts. There is so much to talk about, but right now, just being together is enough.
Then, Jason sits up abruptly, interrupting the moment between us. “I just thought of something. This power of yours . . . wow. You can find out if Kirby did it.”
“Kirby Cahill?” I ask. My heart sinks.
Jason jumps up, agitated, and begins pacing the room. “He knew Billy Timmons was going to be arrested before it happened.”
“What?”
“Yeah, we were in the locker room and joking around with the other guys. Kirby was spouting off about how Billy’s a little prick and the type of pathetic loser who would kill a girl. ‘He’s just a harmless stoner,’ I said. But when the other guys walked away, Kirby said, ‘You don’t know jack-shit, Brackmeyer. Just wait and see.’ I didn’t think anything about it until later, when Billy was arrested. He was dragged off the field in cuffs, squealing and crying like a little pig. Everyone was shocked. Then I saw Kirby’s face. I swear he was gloating.”
“Do you think Kirby set Billy up?” I ask uneasily. I can see where this conversation is leading, and the last thing I want to do is kiss Kirby Cahill after just getting back together with Jason.
Jason ponders this. “I don’t know. I ju
st can’t shake this gut feeling about him. He and Annika had that heated conversation right before she was killed. It’s worth looking into.”
“He doesn’t seem like the killing type.” I’m grasping at straws. I know damn well Kirby could be a potential suspect—as much or more so than anyone else—but I don’t want to kiss him.
“Anybody could be the killing type. You never know the truth about people,” says Jason, rubbing his jaw.
He’s right. I should know better than anyone. Being able to read people’s thoughts has given me a whole new perspective on the human race.
“So you want me to kiss him?” I ask, reluctance permeating my words.
Jason glares at me. “Of course I don’t want you to kiss him.” He runs his hands through his hair, looking flummoxed. “But maybe you should. There’s no other way to find out if Kirby did it.”
My heart squeezes tight in my chest. “I don’t know, Jason . . .”
He chews on his lip. “Man, this is so weird. I still can’t believe you have this ability. Or that I’m telling my girlfriend to kiss another guy.”
I swallow hard. “Well—”
“What the hell am I doing? This is crazy.” A look of utter confusion fills his eyes.
I sigh. “I wish I didn’t have this thing. It’s a curse.” I’m shaky and upset inside, but another part of me is exhilarated.
Jason called me his girlfriend.
He shakes his head ruefully. “A curse is right.” He pauses, as if weighing his words carefully. “But since you have this thing, you should make the best of it. You can’t change it, right? So maybe you could use it to do good in the world.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You sound like Miranda.”
He shrugs. “You have the potential to change people’s lives, the world, even. How many people can say that?”
I’m silent. I want to know if he’ll be there, or if he’s going to run when it all sinks in.
“Are you going to be able to handle it?” I blurt out. “Or are you going to freak out when you see what’s involved? It’s not something simple, like a sixth toe or something.”
“I’d rather you had a sixth sense than a sixth toe,” he says. He moves closer, looking me deep in the eyes. “It’s the whole you I like, Winter. And if you’re stuck with this power, then I am, too. Because I’m stuck on you.”
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