The Geis: Awakening Part 16

Rourke stood inches from Josh-his hands on his hips as if he were a drill sergeant. From the look on Josh's face, I could tell he would have been more comfortable in basic training.

We need a hero for our dance, Rourke signed. Do you want the part? I translated his words to Josh.

Josh looked at his sister. Christa shrugged.

"I'm sure you are mistaking me for someone else. I don't know how to dance."

Rourke walked over to the banjo case on the floor. He picked it up, questioning if it belonged to Josh.

"That's mine, sir."

Why do you play this instrument?

"Why?" Josh looked confused.

Why do you play?

Josh's face turned red. He clasped his hands behind his back. Josh wasn't looking at Rourke anymore. His eyes were focused on mine. His feelings were complicated. I sifted through them-hesitation, confusion, and something else that I couldn't pinpoint.

"When I play an instrument, I can express what I can't say out loud. It takes me away from the moment-it's hard to explain."

I forgot that I was translating for Rourke. I spoke to Josh, my eyes never leaving his. "That's how I feel about dance."

Rourke signed and I tore my eyes away from Josh to translate. I can teach you to dance if you will join us.

"Ok, I'll try it." Josh said it to me. His face was calm, but I could feel the war of emotions raging inside of him.

Rourke looked pleased. Let's dance! Leah smiled at him.

The climate of the room changed with Rourke's contribution. Zoey let go of my hand to jump up and down, and everyone talked at once. Our first production.

I walked with Josh back to the bench. "Thanks for giving it a try. You might change your mind about it later."

A smile lit Josh's face, chasing away any uncertainty. He picked up his banjo. "I'll be here," he said.

"Aren't you a little big to be playing with stuffed animals?" I asked Zoey. She sat next to a line of her stuffed toys on the couch. Crackers were piled in front of a gecko, a duck, and a pink dog. Zoey munched away on her own snack, ignoring me. I grabbed a pillow off the couch and launched it her way. "Do your friends know that you still play with teddy bears?"

Zoey threw the pillow back at me, missing by a foot or so. "You still have a Raggedy Ann doll."

"That's different." Mom had given the Raggedy Ann doll to me when my dance school performed Coppelia. She sat on my dresser, like a keepsake. It wasn't like I played with her. "At least I don't pretend to feed her."

Zoey held out her cracker to the fluffy pink dog that sat next to her.

I looked in the fridge. "Did Mom say what we should have for dinner?"

"Can we have ziti? Please?" Zoey jumped off the couch and beat me to the kitchen.

"Didn't Mom leave any leftovers?"

"She forgot Benji's bottle." Zoey giggled.

At least Mom had taken the baby.

"If I make you some ziti, you have to promise to be good while Mom's gone. And that means all night, because they drove all the way to Jackson Hole for dinner."

"I promise, I promise." Zoey danced around the kitchen.

"Ok, you go get some flour, and I'll get the b.u.t.ter and cream."

I swirled the melting b.u.t.ter with a wooden spoon. At lunch today, the whole school had been buzzing with the news that Josh and Lucas had been in a fight. I'd brushed the rumors aside until Christa had confirmed that Josh was at home, under a week's suspension. Christa was tight-lipped about it, and she hadn't said a word to me since. The news made my stomach tighten. Josh knew that my date with Lucas hadn't ended well, and I had a suspicion that their fight had something to do with me.

Zoey added the flour, and I mixed cream into the white sauce. By the time the noodles were cooked, the chicken was done.

"Do you have homework?" I asked.

"I don't have homework on Fridays."

"Today's not Friday. Go get your backpack."

"It feels like a Friday." Zoey twirled around on the barstool.

"Well it's not. Go get it."

She grumbled and trudged into the mudroom, her shoulders hunched over.

"You should be glad you don't have to do my homework," I called after her. "Long division is easy compared to physics and calculus."

Zoey worked on her division while I cut chicken into the pasta. I tasted a spoonful. Ziti might be harder to make than frozen pizza, but it tasted much better. I ruffled Zoey's hair on my way to get my own homework.

My backpack wasn't hanging on the hook in the mudroom, and I wondered where I'd put it. A quick search through the house left me homework-less.

"Zoey, have you seen my backpack?" She played on the couch with those dumb animals again.

"I didn't take it."

"I know, but have you seen it?" I didn't remember bringing it in the house after school. I texted Christa, asking her if my backpack was still in their car. When she didn't answer, I stuck the ziti in the oven and grabbed my jacket. My hair comb caught on the collar, and I pulled it out, setting it on the counter.

"Zoey, I'm going to run to Christa's house and get my backpack. I'll set the timer-just turn the oven off when it rings."

She brought an armful of stuffed animals into the kitchen and plopped them on the counter. "Yeah."

"I'll be right back," I said, as Zoey propped her pink dog on the chair next to her.

Even though the mountains hid the sun from view, the sky was still light. As I cut through the neighborhood, I breathed in the scent of fall-a mixture of cool air and the bittersweet aroma of leaves already fallen to the ground.

Christa's brothers shouted from the backyard. Josh sat on the front porch, strumming on his banjo. He had his head bent over the instrument, and didn't notice when I turned the corner to his house.

I stopped and watched him pick out the tune. His hair looked recently cut, and I wanted to reach out and rub the short hairs on his neck the wrong way.

His song sounded metallic and hollow. I picked out the rhythm, and soon my head was nodding along.

A stray note sc.r.a.ped through the song. I smiled. Josh had been practicing, but he could use some more. He fumbled and came to a stop.

"It sounds better than before," I said.

Josh looked up in surprise as I walked up the sidewalk.

"Better than when?" He shifted the banjo to his hip and smiled at me.

"I've heard you playing at your house," I said. Josh's green eyes had a ring of gold around each iris that made it look like light streaked out of the center. I stuck my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. "I think I left my backpack in your car."

The front door opened and two of his little brothers pushed past me into the yard.

"Hi Jace, hi Jack." I called after them.

"Hi McKayla," one of them shouted over his shoulder.

"That was Jarin," Josh said. He motioned for me to follow him to the garage.

"Why do your parents like 'J' names so much? I can never keep all of your brothers straight."

Josh emerged from the backseat of his car. "They didn't plan to, but after they named James, Jarin, and me, Mom said it was easier to keep up the trend."

"What about Christa?"

"Well, she's a girl, and Mom had her name picked out from the beginning." Josh held up both my dance bag and my backpack.

"Thanks," I said. "I'd fail my physics quiz for sure without these notes."

"No problem." Josh looked right at me again. I rocked back on my heels, hyper-aware of how close I stood to him.

"I should be going."

Josh dropped his gaze. "It's getting late. I'll walk you home." He slung my bags over his shoulder.

We walked to the road in silence. The evening sunlight streaked through the clouds, splattering a patchwork of lights and darks across the mountains. Horses grazed on the yellowed gra.s.s, and I could smell the newly turned dirt from the farm.

"Is Christa home?" I asked.

Josh looked sideways at me. "She's at ballet," he said.

"Right." Of course Christa had ballet on Thursdays. I bit my lip. "I don't see a whole lot of her outside of school and Irish, now that she's with Derek most of the time."

We walked along the side of the road, where four-wheelers had worn a path between the gravel and the fence posts.

"Christa said you have a wrestling tournament this weekend."

"Yeah, but I can't go to it now." Josh glanced at me, and then focused on the road.

"Were you really suspended?"

He shrugged, but a hint of a smile pulled at the edges of his mouth.

"What's the deal with you and Lucas, anyway? Christa said you got in a fight."

Josh stooped to pick a piece of gravel from the roadside. He glanced at me and chucked it into the field. "Lucas insulted someone I care about."

"Next time you should try talking to him instead," I said. "Maybe it will save you some trouble with the school."

"I don't know," Josh said, a grin spreading across his face. "My fist did some pretty good talking."

I slugged Josh on the arm and stumbled into him in an attempt to avoid a mud puddle in my path. He steadied me, laughing. The unrestrained show of emotion surprised me. I decided that he should try it more often.

We walked to the end of the street in comfortable silence.

"When can you go back to school?"

"In a week. They only gave me a few days of vacation, and I can't even make up the work I miss." He feigned regret, and when his smile turned up on one side, I laughed.

"Too bad. Really though, will that make your grades slip? What about wrestling?"

"My grades are good enough, and there are more tournaments. Coach was furious, though."

"Will you be able to wrestle and still be in Rourke's performance?"

"If rehearsals are after practice, it should work."

"Do you really want to be in the dance show?"

Josh didn't answer right away. "I'll give it a try."

I smelled the smoke before I saw it. We pa.s.sed some tall cottonwood trees that blocked our view of a dark cloud.

"It's too wet to be burning ditches," I said.

Josh squinted against the setting sun. "That's way too much smoke for a controlled burn." He gave me a concerned look and jogged toward my street.

The smoke billowed higher from the direction of my house. Panic rose in my chest and spread out to my fingers, leaving them tingly and numb. I'd only left Zoey for fifteen minutes. The knot in my stomach tightened as I ran after Josh.

When I turned the corner, I stopped cold. All the air went out of my lungs.

Smoke poured from the windows of my house, and flames licked the curtains of my parents' second-floor bedroom. Mr. Hansen ran from next door with his garden hose in hand.

"Zoey," I gasped.

"Is Zoey in there?" Josh asked. He ran past me up the front steps of the house.

"Josh, wait!" I started toward him.