The Dead And Buried Part 4

I groaned and got up again, shut the window, and returned to bed. If I didn't get to sleep soon, I'd be in a coma all day in school. But the more I thought about that, the more anxious I became, and my now racing heart made me even more awake.

I sighed and pulled the comforter tightly up under my chin. The ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs, distant yet distinct, eventually calmed me. I imagined my heart slowing and beating to the rhythm of the clock. And soon my eyes got heavy and closed.

But then reopened.

A voice drifted down the hallway. Unfamiliar and m.u.f.fled. Was it calling my name? My body tense, I held my breath and listened.

"Jade ..."

The voice came again. Sure now, I threw off the covers and padded into the hallway, wincing at the noisy floorboards. I peeked my head into Colby's room. He was sleeping - fitfully. He groaned and rolled over, then back again. I tiptoed down to my parents' room. Marie was sleeping on her side, one hand hanging off the bed. Dad was lightly snoring.

So who'd called me?

I turned slowly, now at the top of the staircase, and peered into the darkness below. This was where it had happened. Where Kayla fell ... or was pushed.

I placed my hand on the banister, closed my eyes, and imagined Kayla placing her hand in the very same spot, trailing her fingers over the polished wood ... then feeling her balance go out from underneath her. I imagined what she must have felt in the instant she realized she was falling through air. The terror that must have gripped her heart. The panic rushing through her veins as she rushed toward the bottom.

I saw the floor coming up to meet her, fast and furious, but then realized in horror that I wasn't imagining anymore. My hand no longer gripped the banister. I wasn't picturing Kayla falling. I was falling.

What happened? Did someone push me? Did I fall on my own?

I screamed but no sound came out. The air rushing at my face told me I was falling fast, but it seemed to be happening in slow motion. I tried to put my arms up, to soften the blow I knew was coming to my head, but I couldn't move my limbs. I was paralyzed.

And then I hit bottom.

My face crushed into the hardwood. Instant pain reverberated through me. I couldn't move, couldn't open my eyes. All I could do was wait for death to take me away.

Someone was calling my name again. But this time it was familiar. It was Colby, his voice panicked.

"Jade!"

I blinked as forms came into view, familiar but at wrong angles.

"Are you okay?" Colby asked, worry making his voice tremble.

I pushed myself up on my elbows. The confusion was burning away, though the ache in my cheekbone remained. I was on my bedroom floor. I quickly figured out what had happened. I'd fallen out of bed, woken Colby with my loud thump, and he'd come in and turned the lights on.

"It's okay, buddy," I said softly. "You can go back to bed."

He blinked his gla.s.sy, tired eyes, nodded, and slowly retreated to his room. My bones cracked as I pulled myself up and stood in front of the mirror. Sweat plastered my hair to my face. I pulled it back and saw the raging red mark under my left eye. I'd have a bruise there tomorrow. How would I explain that in school?

Oh yeah, I dreamt I was Kayla falling down the staircase, but really I'd fallen out of bed and hit my face on the floor. Even though I've never fallen out of bed before in my life. Yeah, that makes sense.

A tightness pulled across my neck and I realized I'd forgotten to take my pendant off before I went to sleep. The clear quartz. I unclasped the necklace and stared at the stone uneasily for a few moments. The gem hung from a silver mounting and was delicately tapered to a pointed end. I shuddered as I thought of the crystal's use: to promote out-of-body experiences, lucid dreaming, and communication with the dead.

Hola, Diary. Long time, no write. Been super busy with soccer, cla.s.ses, parties, hazing the freshmen. Good times.

14 keeps asking me every day who I'm going to go after this year. She wants to know if I'm taking dibs on 7, obvs. I don't think I will. Mainly because everyone expects me to. And 7 will always be in my back pocket, no matter what. I don't even have to claim dibs. 7 is mine, natch. No matter who else he's with at the time.

But, no, I have my eyes on someone new. Someone different. I've actually never even written about him in here before, so he's going to need a number. And the next available one is ... 28.

So, 28 was at 15's party Sat.u.r.day night. I wore my tightest jeans and that spaghetti-strapped red tank. Looked so hot I even caught 9 staring at me through the window. The creeper. Anyway 28 was all shy and adorkable, wearing some Halo T-shirt with paint stains on his fingertips. He's not emo or anything. Just one of those artistic guys.

And I'm thinking ... time for a taste of something different?

"What the h.e.l.l happened to you?"

"Thanks," I mumbled. Apparently concealer did not work wonders. The fluorescent lighting in the school bathroom wasn't helping any, either. "I fell."

"Into a fist?" Alexa finished drying her hands and stomped up to me, suspicion in her eyes.

"No. I fell out of bed."

"Face-first?"

"It's a hardwood floor," I explained. "And I'm embarra.s.sed enough without the twenty questions."

A flush came from one of the stalls and I rolled my eyes. Great, one more person who'd know I was a klutz, even in my sleep. The door opened and Faye walked up to the row of sinks. She hitched her giant bag up on her shoulder and eyed my injury, which was obvious now that it'd been pointed out.

"What did you try to cover it up with?" Faye asked.

"Liquid concealer," I said.

"Did you powder over the concealer after?"

"No ..." I said cautiously.

Faye hefted her bag up onto the counter and sifted through its contents for a minute, eventually pulling out a concealer pen and a powder compact. "Face me," she said.

I snuck a wary look at Alexa, who was having a staring contest with the tile floor.

"Okay," I agreed. What's the worst she could do?

Faye worked on me for a minute, then backed up a few steps and nodded with satisfaction. "That'll work."

I turned toward the mirror, expecting to see the Joker's face in the reflection, but it was only me. Unbruised. Maybe I'd been imagining the stench of evil coming off Faye the past few days. Maybe she wasn't so bad.

"Thanks," I said gratefully. "I can't even see it anymore."

Faye repacked her bag. "No problem."

On her way out, she stopped and turned. "Do you mind if I give you one more tip? Girl to girl?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"Be careful of Kane Woodward. He's probably going to be all over you like a nerd on math, but it's because you're fresh meat. He's already torn through all the girls in this school, even the freshmen." Her mouth turned down in contempt. "If he decides you're next, he'll pursue you hard, get what he wants, then drop you." She stiffened her shoulders. "You hear me?"

I thought about the way he'd come up to me in the library and offered to help me with anything. "I hear you," I said. "Loud and clear."

After the door closed behind Faye, I looked up at Alexa, who shook her head and said, "Don't even ask me. The mating rituals of teens are as much a mystery to me as the additive number theory."

We joined the bustling hallway crowd and I clutched my books tightly to my chest. I was nervous about seeing Donovan, nervous about seeing Kane. When I spotted a giant banner reading SUNDAY OPEN HOUSE! I was glad for a distraction. "What's all that about?" I asked Alexa, pointing.

"All the clubs will have their booths in the gym that day," Alexa explained. "So if you're thinking of joining any extracurriculars, it's a good idea to walk around and see what you're interested in."

"Are you going?" I asked. I wanted to go, but also wanted someone to go with.

"Nah. I'm on the math team. On top of all my accelerated courses, that's enough for me." She didn't say it in a bragging way. I didn't think Alexa even knew how to brag. She just stated facts.

"That's cool," I said as we rounded the corner to the back hall. "I didn't know there was a math team."

"Why would you?" Alexa's eyes flared and she abruptly stopped walking. "It's not a priority to the school. The football team wins one game on Thanksgiving and it's all, 'Woo! We rule! Banners everywhere! Let's celebrate! Congratulate all the players!' But when the math team finished in first place in the state compet.i.tion, did we get congratulations? No! Did we get banners all over the school? No. Did Princ.i.p.al Bremer even mention it on the morning announcements? Not until three days later when we protested. Ugh!"

Alexa was flailing her arms in the air. I'd obviously hit on a hot-b.u.t.ton issue for her. "I'm sorry," I said. "That really sucks."

"The priorities are all wrong," she continued. "And then there's the Bodiford Scholarship, don't even get me started on that."

"What is it?" I didn't want to egg her on, but was genuinely curious.

"It's a scholarship trust run by some rich old guy in town who owns four corporations. It can be given out to one graduating senior each year if someone meets the requirements. It provides free tuition to any college for four years."

That sounded amazing. "What are the requirements?"

"You have to have a cla.s.s rank in the top ten and make all-state in a team sport. And, of course, the math team doesn't count. Athletics only."

I frowned. "That doesn't seem fair."

Alexa nodded firmly. "I considered pet.i.tioning the foundation, but my parents told me that since it's a private organization, they can put any conditions they want on their scholarship."

"Who's going to get it from our graduating cla.s.s?"

"Actually, Kane Woodward, so I don't really mind. He kind of deserves it. Plus," she added, "the scholarship wouldn't matter for me, anyway."

I was about to ask why, but the bell rang and I realized we were the only two left in the hallway. Thankfully I was right outside my cla.s.sroom door, so I bolted in and kept my eyes down as I slunk into my seat.

Mrs. Bourque started speaking in French. It was one of my favorite cla.s.ses, but I wasn't into it today. All my feelings about Donovan, Kane, Kayla, the house, the awful dream, and my fall swirled around in me.

When the school day ended, I walked through the parking lot with Alexa. For someone who seemed to have problems reading people, she knew something was up with me. After a bit of prodding, I opened up.

"My parents want me to get over it, but I can't just get over it like that." I snapped my fingers. "How can I walk up and down that staircase, day after day, and not think about it?"

My voice had a high, almost-hysterical tone to it all of a sudden, from my bottled-up feelings finally breaking free. Alexa shuffled her feet and looked off to the side, obviously uncomfortable with my show of emotion, but she listened, and that was really all I needed.

So I continued. "My stepmother said, 'It's too late now. You were the one who begged for a house like this.' Yeah, I'd wanted a big house in a nice town. But one without a ghost, thanks."

Alexa shot a hand out to stop me. "Wait, what? A ghost?"

Oh. I hadn't meant to let that slip. "Not really. My little brother says he can see a girl sometimes in the house. A girl who glimmers. I know ghosts aren't real, but it's freaking me out a little."

Alexa whistled. "Man. That's crazy."

"Seriously." A film of wetness came over my eyes and I rubbed them with the palm of my hand.

Alexa took a giant step backward. "Are you going to ... cry?"

"No, I'm not," I said, suddenly embarra.s.sed.

"Good."

I figured she was about to say that she was uncomfortable with outward displays of emotion, but instead she said, "It's a waste of time."

I shouldn't cry because it was ... inefficient? I shook my head. "You're a weird one."

"Or," she said, holding up a finger, "I'm normal and you're the weird one. It's all about perspective."

I laughed then and Alexa smiled. She gave me a light, quick pat on the shoulder and jingled her keys on the way to her car. She'd done her job. I was now laughing instead of crying.

And I knew exactly what I had to do when I got home.

I paused outside of Colby's room. I had to talk to my brother and get him to tell me the truth, once and for all. I heard his m.u.f.fled voice coming from behind his closed door. He was probably playing with his Star Wars figurines, reenacting scenes from the movies. I inched up to the door and pressed my ear against it. Now it was silent.

A rush of cold suddenly pushed through the cracks in the door and traveled up the length of my body. The temperature was so shocking, I staggered back a bit.

And, just as quickly as the cold had formed, it was gone.

Icy fingers tiptoed up my spine.

I opened Colby's door and poked my head in. "You got a window open, bud?"

"No." He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, plucking at a lint ball on his comforter. There were no toys out. I shut the door behind me and glanced around the room. His window was closed, but I really didn't care about the draft anymore. He looked so sad, sitting there, his face slack. Like he was disappointed in something.

"Everything okay, Colby?"

He nodded.

I eased myself down on the bed and sat cross-legged, mirroring him. "Did you have a bad day at school?"

"I had a great day," he said. "We had two outdoor recesses."

"What did you do after school?"

"Music cla.s.s with Mom."

"Did something happen there?"

"No, it was good. I like playing the keyboard. I can do three songs now."

Sounded like a whole lot of kindergartner good times, but his voice held no enthusiasm. His energy was sapped. This time of day, he was usually jumping on his bed, not pouting on it. I prodded, "Moving is tough, huh?"