The Dead And Buried Part 16

I gazed down at the picture. The three of them stood together in front of the gates of the White House. They stood stiffly, smiling without showing their teeth, each parent with one hand on a much-younger Alexa's little shoulders.

I replaced the photo, let my eyes wander the room, and sighed. "I still can't believe you live like this. It must be like waking up in a beautiful dream every morning."

Alexa's finger trailed along the outline of a tile over and over, making the same square. "Yeah, sure, we have money but there are drawbacks."

"Like?"

"Impossibly high expectations. Stress. Inherited perfectionism." Her finger stopped retracing the pattern. "Sometimes I wonder. What if I didn't want to go to MIT? Or any college, for that matter. What if I loved art and I wanted to move to the city and live a bohemian, artsy lifestyle? I truly think my parents would never speak to me again."

"Well, do you want to?"

She shook her head. "No way. I hate art. I love numbers. I love to memorize them, manipulate them, play with them. I want MIT so bad I dream about it almost every night."

"If you and your parents want the same things, then what's the problem?"

"It's the 'what if,' I guess. What if somewhere down the road, I do disappoint them?"

In my old school, I was smart. Not Alexa smart. But probably one of the top three smartest girls. Here, I was average and I knew it. But Dad and Marie never pressured me. I imagined for a moment what it must be like to be Alexa. To feel the weight of those expectations on your shoulders.

"Would they be mad if you didn't end up graduating valedictorian?"

"I don't have to worry about that," she answered point-blank.

"Why not?"

"No one else is close enough to catch up with me now."

The little hairs on my arms rose. Now. As opposed to then - when Kayla was alive.

"So Kayla was your only real compet.i.tor?" I asked innocently.

Alexa tensed and risked a quick glance at me before she returned her eyes to the tile. "Yes. But she was a cheater."

I rested my elbows on the counter and leaned forward. "She cheated on tests?"

"Not every time. She was very smart and could do fine on her own. But sometimes she got too busy with soccer or parties or whatever. So she'd cheat now and then. Or she'd sabotage other people's -" Alexa stopped herself. "I didn't like her very much."

Here it was. All I had to do was push a little bit more. "I heard that she gave you a nickname."

Alexa's face closed down and she waved me off. "I don't want to talk about her anymore. Let's go to the theater room."

She picked up the bowl of grapes and started walking. I followed, knowing I'd reached a wall. What was beyond it, I didn't know yet, but I wasn't getting past it today.

I took Dad to the pizza joint Kane had suggested. It was actually a cute little Italian place that had more than just pizza. The smell of garlic wafted in the air, making me salivate. Each table had a plastic checkerboard tablecloth, a tiny vase with fake flowers, and a little metal spice rack that held crushed red pepper and Parmesan cheese.

Half the tables were empty, probably because it was Tuesday night. I could picture it packed on weekends. We were seated right away. I nearly tripped as we pa.s.sed a stack of wooden high chairs.

"I should have named you Grace," Dad joked.

"Grandma should have named you Shrimp," I shot back with a grin.

The waitress handed us laminated one-page menus, but I already knew what I wanted. A big heaping plate of spaghetti. My favorite comfort food. I ordered that and a soda. Dad ordered chicken parm and a light beer.

"We haven't done this for a while," Dad said. "I'm glad you still have time for your old man."

"At least until I leave for college and never come home to visit again," I joked. We slipped right back into our routine of teasing each other. I loved it. It made things feel normal.

The waitress arrived with our drinks. Dad refused the gla.s.s and took a sip from his bottle. "How's school going?"

"Good. Some of the cla.s.ses are more challenging than back home, but it's okay."

"The kids treating you well? Mom said you were at a friend's house this afternoon."

I bristled when he referred to Marie as Mom. Dad noticed and looked down at his silverware. I didn't get mad, though. This was my hang-up, not his. And he was so used to calling her "Mom" in front of Colby.

"Yeah," I said. "Her name's Alexa. She's the smartest kid in school. A little unusual. I like her."

"I'm glad you've made a friend so quickly."

If he only knew how many new "friends" had been at his house last weekend. I was glad Mr. Tucker hadn't told on me, but part of me wished he had, because the guilt I felt was almost as bad.

"And how was your date the other night?" he said teasingly.

I spun my straw in the soda, making the ice cubes clink against the gla.s.s. "Non-date, Dad. We're just friends."

"So how was your non-date?" Dad wore a half-amused, half-concerned expression.

"It was fun. We're going to hang out again this weekend."

He dropped the amus.e.m.e.nt. "Another non-date or a real date?"

I paused. "Non-date."

"Because you know if it's a real date, I want that boy to have some manners and come in the house so I can meet him."

"He wanted to come in the house last time, but I ran out to save him from the Daddy Inquisition."

Dad threw his head back and laughed. "I'm not that bad."

"You can be!"

"But you're my little girl and I -"

"Oh, Dad, please stop."

Thankfully, the waitress came with our food. Dad dumped so much Parmesan cheese on his it looked like it'd snowed on it. I spun the spaghetti around on my fork and took a big bite.

"Mmm," Dad mumbled.

I agreed. This tiny hole-in-the-wall had great food. Colby would love this place. I pictured all four of us coming here. Maybe making it a regular thing once a week. I felt peaceful for a moment, picturing us like a normal, happy family. Then I remembered the giant cloud hanging over us. The threat. Kayla could destroy my family at any time.

Dad's fork clanged as he dropped it on his plate. "There it is again."

"What?" I was surprised by his sharp tone.

"That look on your face that I've been catching now and then around the house. You're worried. Something's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong, Dad." Nothing you can help me with.

"Are you being bullied at school?"

"No, Dad. It's nothing like that."

"So what is it?"

I looked up into his hazel eyes, the same as mine. The protectiveness I felt for Colby was the same as what my dad felt for me. But at least I knew the problem I was dealing with. Dad was in the dark and that might be even worse. Maybe....

I sucked in a deep breath and took a chance. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

Dad raised his eyebrows. "Where did that question come from?"

I'd been pretty sure Marie hadn't told him about our little talk, but from the shocked look on his face I was now positive. She'd kept her word.

I gave a shrug. "I was just curious."

"No, I don't," he said warily.

"You've never seen, heard, or felt anything weird?"

"In our house?" he asked.

"Anywhere."

He picked up his knife and fork and began cutting the chicken. "Well, sure, weird stuff happens, but I a.s.sume there are real explanations for it. A noise is the house settling. That sort of thing."

I dropped my gaze and started twirling another forkful of spaghetti around and around. Even if Dad had experienced anything in the house, he was such a skeptic by nature, he'd never believe it was something supernatural. Plus, he'd spent the least amount of time in our house out of all of us. What had I expected? That he'd confess he thought the house was haunted, too? That I could share what happened to Colby with him and he'd have some miraculous solution to our problem? There were only two solutions I could see: move - which Marie would never allow - or find Kayla's killer and put her ghost to rest.

"There's another reason I don't believe," Dad added in a softer voice. "If ghosts did exist, Josephine would have come through."

My heart skipped a beat at my mother's name. He barely spoke it anymore. I understood why he brought her up, though. She'd been my first thought, too, after I'd realized this ghost stuff was real.

"Maybe we've never heard from her because she's at peace," I said. As opposed to Kayla, who was clearly not.

Dad's shoulders tensed. He spoke quickly. "I just think if any of that were real and there were any possibility, she would have found a way to come through. To at least say good-bye." His voice was rough, but etched with grief. "And I don't want to talk about this anymore."

He dug into his food and I figured something out for the first time. He still wasn't over her. Not any more than I was. He just hid it better.

28 and I had a fight today. The usual. I said a few choice words to 11 as we headed into cla.s.s. 28 told me that was unnecessary. I reminded him that it was. That 11 and I were neck and neck for valedictorian so I liked to throw her off her game before a test. It's no different than athletes trash-talking between plays.

But 28 got this sort of disgusted look on his face. He said, "Every single thing you do is calculated." And then he ignored me the rest of the day.

We made up - also as usual - but I was a little worried that this would be the time I couldn't fix us with a smile and a kiss. And then I was mad at myself for worrying about this. I'm Kayla Sloane. I could have another guy within five seconds. And I've never given a moment's thought to what anyone thought about me before. Why do I care so much about what he thinks?

I loved the art room in the early morning quiet. Before people started arriving and the school stirred to life - lockers slamming, people rushing, bells ringing, the day starting once again. But for now, it was only me.

"Hey."

And Donovan.

My stomach fluttered at the sight of him. He wore what I figured by now were his favorite dark jeans and a blue tee with a cool swirling pattern on it. I realized, after a moment, that I'd been staring. "I like your shirt," I said.

He pulled on the end, straightening it out. "Thanks. I designed it myself."

He dragged a stool next to mine and sat down. "How are things in the house?"

"Eerie now and then. Nothing as crazy as what happened at the party." And what happened after to Colby, which I still didn't want to share with anyone.

"Do your parents know?"

I shook my head. "My dad is a huge nonbeliever. I tried to tell my stepmom and she accused me of lying."

"Things are rough with her, huh?"

"Now they are. But we don't usually fight much. Mostly because I hate confrontation, so I tend to keep negative feelings inside and deal with them by way of silent snark."

He grinned. "I've heard that works well."

"It's one tactic." I smiled. "What about you? Divorce? Stepsiblings?"

"No, I'm an only child. My parents are cool. They get along great. My home life is actually pretty nauseatingly functional. It's my life outside of home that's a mess."

His gaze settled on me and I would've given anything to know what he was thinking. Did he feel the same attraction to me that I felt toward him? Or was he still hung up on Kayla? Was he just using me to help him clear his name? Or was he using Kayla's death as an excuse to get close to me? I wished I had the guts to tell him how I felt. I wished I were the type of girl who could come right out and ask him if he was interested, instead of playing all these guessing games.

I opened my mouth, hesitated a second, and said, "So let's talk about Kayla."

Something - disappointment? - flashed across his face. "Okay, where do you want to start?"

"You probably knew her better than anyone. Tell me what she was like."

He paused for a long moment. "Driven. Ambitious."

"At my party, you mentioned that the day she died ... you broke up with her?"

He picked up a dry paintbrush and ran his finger over the bristles. "Yeah."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "That's not relevant."