Connecting (9 page)

Later, sitting around the table playing Ten Penny with the Taggarts, including Mason, and her father and grandmother, Calla finds it impossible to stay bummed out about anything. It’s almost like a party. And Dad still has yet to catch on that her grandmother and Ramona are both mediums.

At one point, Calla sees Miriam drift amiably into the room as if to investigate the source of the rowdy laughter. Clearly, both her grandmother and Ramona have spotted her as well. Calla sees their raised eyebrows and can almost hear the unspoken conversation between them.

Odelia is telling Ramona not to acknowledge anything in front of Dad, and Ramona is assuring her that of course she won’t.

“I don’t know when I’ve laughed so much,” Ramona declares at the end of the night when they’re saying their good-byes. “Jeff, it really is too bad you live so far away. We could all do this more often.”

“That would be great,” Dad says, so fervently that Calla looks at him in surprise.

Remembering that he told her he was having a hard time adjusting to life on the West Coast, she finds herself wondering if he’s even planning to stick it out.

When the Taggarts are gone and Odelia has disappeared upstairs, she finds herself alone with her father in front of the television.

“Nothing on but the news,” Dad says, channel surfing. “And there’s never anything good about that. I suppose we could just turn in, but I’m still on LA time.”

“I’m not that tired yet, either.” Calla hesitates, then asks, “Dad, is there any chance you’re not going to stay in California for the rest of the school year?”

Of course I’m going to stay there.

That’s what he’s supposed to say, anyway.

But what he really says is, “I’m lost there, Calla.”

“You mean, you’re lonely?”

He nods. “It’s just not what it was supposed to be. I keep wondering what I’m doing there—probably the same way you feel here.”

“That’s how I used to feel, but not anymore. Now I like it.

It feels like home, almost.”

“Yeah . . . I can see that. I wonder if it would feel like that for me, too.”

“You mean . . . are you thinking of coming
here
?”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s just . . . there’s more for me here than there is in California . . . or in Florida, for that matter.”

She’s silent, digesting that.

Maybe he’s right.

And maybe part of the reason is that he’s interested in Ramona.

She didn’t miss the little glances and smiles the two of them exchanged all night. There’s no question that there’s some kind of connection between them.

“What do you think I should do?” her father asks.

“Me?” She’s definitely not used to him asking her advice. He’s the parent. Shouldn’t he know what to do? “I . . . I’m not sure, Dad.”

She doesn’t even know what she should do.

For a moment, she considers spilling the whole story to him—about the dream, and Darrin, and everything else connected to Mom’s death.

But that would mean admitting too much.

And it’s not like her father’s going to give her the green light to go off and investigate on her own.

More likely, he’ll tell her to start packing her bags.

It always comes down to that.

You’re completely on your own,
Calla tells herself grimly.
It’s
up to you to either find out what happened or put it to rest and move
on.

You just have to decide which it’s going to be.

SEVEN

Monday, September 24
3:09 p.m.

“Jacy!” Dumping her math notebook into her backpack, Calla hurries to catch up with him as he strides out of the classroom after the last bell. “Wait up!”

Jacy doesn’t stop walking, and he doesn’t look back, but he does slow down enough to let her fall into step beside him.

“What’s up?” he asks tersely.

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all, she concludes, fumbling with the zipper on her backpack, then slinging it over one shoulder.

Bold confrontation’s never been her style.

But then, it’s not like she and Jacy aren’t friends, right? If nothing else.

And friends talk to each other.

Which Jacy hasn’t done at all today. Or last week, either, for that matter.

She’s been trying to convince herself that it might be her imagination that he’s been standoffish. But the other day, he was less than friendly in the cafeteria, and today, when she was really paying close attention, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t talk to her or sit near her or even glance in her direction.

Which is odd, considering where they left off that night on Odelia’s front porch, when Calla was 99.9 percent sure Jacy would have kissed her good night if Evangeline’s brother, Mason, hadn’t ruined the moment.

A few nights later, Jacy jogged by Odelia’s house as she was waiting for Blue Slayton to pick her up for a date. Of course, he didn’t know that was where she was going . . .

Or did he?

Jacy, like everyone else around here, is a gifted psychic.

Anyway, Lily Dale isn’t just a small town filled with psychics; it’s a small town, period. Word gets around.

So Jacy probably knows all about her and Blue—maybe he saw her talking to him in the cafeteria yesterday, even—and now he’s giving her the cold shoulder, because . . .

Well, because he’s jealous, which seems out of character. What else can it be, though?

Anyway, if he’s such a gifted psychic, shouldn’t he realize that Calla isn’t only interested in Blue Slayton? Doesn’t Jacy realize that she likes him just as much? Or maybe even more?

There’s something about lanky, soft-spoken Jacy—with his sensitive mouth and exotic dark hair, eyes, and complexion— that has physically appealed to her from the first time they connected, back in August.

Yes, and even then, as they shook hands, Calla was literally jolted by . . . something. Some kind of static electricity, sizzling up her arm.

Early on, Jacy—bronzed and usually barefoot—had a way of popping up when she least expected it, kind of like the many spirits who tend to hang around Lily Dale. And, like the spirits, his presence tends to rattle Calla—tie her tongue in knots and make her heart beat faster, though not for the same reasons.

The foster son of a pair of local male mediums, Jacy’s a relative newcomer to the Dale himself. But Calla never would have guessed that, considering his insight into how things work around here—and on the Other Side.

Until she spilled her suspicions to Lisa the other day, Jacy was the only one who knew about Calla’s theory that her mother’s death was no accident. He’s the one who helped her decipher the spirit messages that led to that conclusion, and he’s been helping her try to track down the long-missing Darrin Yates, her mother’s long-ago boyfriend.

Maybe he’s just being a good friend and nothing more.

He did hold her hand as they walked home together after that troubling confrontation with Darrin’s parents . . .

But that was probably because he felt sorry for her, after the way the Yateses treated her—as if her mother possibly had something to do with Darrin’s disappearance years ago.

Anyway, Blue’s the one who’s been asking her out, not Jacy. It was Blue who kissed her good night, and Blue who invited her to homecoming, and if she had any common sense, she’d get over Jacy right now.

Uh-huh. Good luck with that.

“What’s up with you lately?” she asks him over the chaotic chatter that echoes through the crowded corridor.

“The same. Homework. Running.”

Running. He’s on the cross-country team.

“Is it my imagination, or have you been avoiding me lately?” She waits for him to deny it, but he does the opposite.

“No,” he replies evenly, “it’s not your imagination.”

Caught off guard, she wonders what she’s supposed to say to that.

“Did I . . . um, do something to make you mad?”

“
Mad?
No.”

Jealous, then?

She doesn’t dare ask that.

She has a moment to think of something else to say as they take opposite routes past a handful of girls gathered around someone’s cell phone in the hallway, laughing about a text message one of them is typing in.

“Hi, Calla,” a voice calls from the group as she passes.

It’s Pam Moraco, a petite, sharp-featured blonde who might be more attractive if her smile ever reached her close-set eyes.

“Hey, Pam,” Calla says briefly, and is glad, and not at all surprised, to see that Pam and her friends are much more interested in the cell phone than in her.

She moves past them and meets up with Jacy again on the other side, still wondering what she’s going to say to him. But before she has a chance to come up with something, he stops walking and turns to her.

“What?” she asks, taken aback by the accusation in his narrowed black eyes.

“I know what happened last Saturday night.”

“Last Saturday night, I was at home playing cards with my dad and my grandmother and the Taggarts,” she tells him, confused. “Is that a problem?”

“No . . .
last
Saturday night. Not this past one.”

Last Saturday: her date with Blue, and Blue asking her to homecoming . . .

So she was right. He’s jealous.

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t have the opportunity to do it yourself,” she shoots back, not sure whether to be irritated or flattered by his blunt honesty.

Something flickers in his expression, but he says nothing.

“I was actually kind of hoping you would,” she goes on, “but he beat you to it.”

There. Total honesty in exchange for his. It’s only fair.

Now what?

Now, most likely, Jacy will tell her how much he regrets missing his chance, and that he hopes to make up for it.

If he asks her out now, she’ll definitely say yes, Blue or no Blue. They might have a homecoming dance date, but it’s not like she can’t go out with anyone else in the meantime.

She glances back at Pam and her gossipy friends, to see if any of them are paying attention to her and Jacy.

It doesn’t seem like it, but you never know.

Calla might be free to talk to other guys, or even date them, but she really doesn’t need anyone running back to Blue and starting trouble.

“Come on,” she tells Jacy. “Let’s go.”

Jacy obliges, but he’s wearing a confused expression. “What do you mean, ‘he beat you to it’?”

“I mean, he asked first. What was I supposed to do, say no because I’d rather go with you?”

“Go where?”

Suddenly uneasy, Calla asks slowly, “What do you mean, ‘go where’?”

There’s a long pause.

“I, uh, don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“You said . . . last Saturday night.”

“Right. I was up late that night, and I saw the cops over at your place, and—”

She gasps, pressing her hands to her flaming cheeks. “
That
was what you meant?”

“Some lunatic breaking into Odelia’s house and attacking you. Yeah. After I warned you to be careful.”

Totally mortified, Calla shakes her head, barely hearing his words.

So he wasn’t talking about Blue, and her love life, and his wishing he had asked her out.

No, he was talking about that lunatic killer coming after her.

Meanwhile, I just basically told him that not only do I have a
thing for him, but that I’d much rather go to the dance with him than
Blue.

It’s a wonder he’s even still here talking to her, but he is, not that she can really even grasp what he’s saying.

“I told you I thought there was something . . . I just had a bad feeling. I knew you were in trouble. You should have been more careful. If you had just—”

“I, uh, I’m really sorry,” she cuts in, glad her locker is just around the corner. She needs to get there, fast.

“You’re sorry for what?”

“For everything.”
Mostly, being a total loser and opening my
big fat mouth and sticking my big old foot in it.

Quickening her pace, as if she’ll somehow be able to just lose him, she makes the turn around the corner—and slams right into someone, who immediately drops what he’s carrying with a deafening slam and clatter.

Donald Reamer. And the world’s biggest, loudest wooden chessboard, along with an entire collection of pieces.

“Oh . . . I’m so sorry!” she tells Donald, a hugely obese kid whose looks aren’t helped by thick glasses and a line of dark fuzz on his upper lip, which is quavering as he looks down at his chess set.

Oh, no. No, Donald, please don’t cry.

Of all the people she could crash into, it had to be poor Donald, the resident scapegoat?