“Ghost!” I yell. “Ghost of Mrs. Dunham, please come back here immediately!” I take a deep breath and get ready to face her.
But nothing happens. Crap. I decide to try again, “Ghost!” I yell. “Ghost of Mrs. Dunham, mother of Brandon Dunham, please show yourself!”
Still nothing. Except the sound of my dad rapping on the ceiling of the kitchen with a broom handle. Which is what he does when I’m being too loud. Well, there goes that plan. I can’t have my dad hearing me scream like that. He’ll send me to a psychiatrist, stat.
“What’s all the yelling about?” Daniella asks.
“Oh,” I say, “it’s you.” Figures that the ghost I don’t want to see shows up, while the one I do want to see is nowhere to be found. I fling myself down onto my bed.
“Nice to see you, too,” she says, rolling her eyes as she lounges in my desk chair. “How was your date?”
“Fine.”
“Fine? All you’re going to say about it is ‘fine’? You were freaking out about it.”
“I was not freaking out about it!” I say. Even though I kind of was.
“Did you kiss him?”
“None of your business!” My face flames. Because the truth is, we didn’t kiss. It just wasn’t that kind of vibe, really. I mean, his dad and his little sister were pretty much there the whole time. And even though we were studying, Grace kept running in and out of the kitchen.
Although there was a moment when Brandon was showing me how to do a problem, and then he leaned over to erase something on my paper, and when he did, our hands touched, and I think he left his hand on mine for, like, a couple seconds more than was really necessary. Ohmigod. If his dad wasn’t there, would he have held my hand? Would he have kissed me? I’ve never kissed a boy before. Is it hard? Will I know what to do?
God, I really need some more lip gloss. And to talk to Ellie. She’s kissed two boys before. Jason Michaels last year, and this boy at camp whose name I forget.
“It is my business,” Daniella says. “Since you’re spending all your time gallivanting around, flirting and kissing and doing God knows what, when you should be helping me!”
“For your information,” I say, mostly because I want to get off the subject of me and Brandon kissing, “I was just about to tell you that I’m planning to go and try to talk to Jen tomorrow.” It’s a lie, of course. I haven’t been planning it. In fact, I just said it to shut her up.
“What about Ellie’s dance recital?” she asks suspiciously.
“It’s right after school,” I say, “And so I’ll have time to see Jen after.”
“Okay!” she says, brightening. “What will you say to her?”
“I have no idea,” I say. That part, at least, is the truth.
• • •
That night I get woken up again by Mrs. Dunham. When I open my eyes at three thirty in the morning, she’s standing right over me. I shriek, but then force myself to bite it back, since I don’t want my dad coming into my room. Even though I’m scared, I need to talk to her. Maybe it won’t be that bad.
I prop myself up on my elbows and force myself to look at her. I’m surprised to find that Mrs. Dunham actually has a very kind face. She looks exactly like what you’d want the mom of your crush to look like. It’s too bad she’s not still alive. Maybe it’s just death that’s making her angry.
But then Mrs. Dunham says, “Put yourself on that green paper!” and she sounds really threatening, and I forget all about the fact that she has a kind-looking face.
At first I’m scared. But then I get angry. “You know,” I say, sitting all the way up in bed, “it’s pretty nervy of you to just show up here, being all threatening and not even telling me you’re Brandon’s mom! If you want me to do something about the green paper, you’re going to have to tell me what it means.”
But I think maybe I made Mrs. Dunham mad. Because her eyes narrow, and then, just when she looks like she’s about to say something else, she fades away.
• • •
The next morning Ellie is standing at my locker, waiting for me and jumping up and down, looking excited. “I have to tell you something, I have to tell you something, I have to tell you something!” she says.
“English office?” I ask. I’m a little grumpy, since I had a hard time falling back asleep last night after Mrs. Dunham left. At least it’s Friday. Hopefully I’ll be able to catch up on my sleep this weekend.
“Yes.”
We head to the English office, and when we get there, Mrs. D’Amico is sitting at her desk, grading papers. “Hi, girls,” she says, smiling at us. “Your hair looks fabulous, Kendall.”
“Thank you,” I say. Today I decided to go a little less crazy, and so I wore my hair in two French braids down the back, with a string of tinsel through each one. Kind of classic, but still with a little flair. It completely fits my mood—mostly calm but with a little frisson of electricity sliding through me.
“Do you girls want a coffee?” Mrs. D’Amico asks.
Ellie wrinkles up her nose, but I head over to the coffee machine and start brewing a cup.
“How’s everything going?” Mrs. D’Amico asks.
“Fine,” we chorus.
“I saw you leaving yesterday with Brandon Dunham, Kendall,” she says, stirring her coffee with one of those plastic stir sticks. “He’s quite the fox.”
I blush. “Mrs. D’Amico!”
“What?” she asks. “I can’t say that you have good taste in men?” I don’t have the heart to point out that Brandon’s not really a man, and also that no one uses the word “fox” anymore. “Well,” she says, smiling, “I think your grandmother would approve.”
“I think so too,” I say, thinking of how much Gram would have liked Brandon.
“Anyway,” Mrs. D’Amico says, standing up and gathering up her coffee and her grade book. “I’ll leave you girls alone. Just make sure you’re not late to homeroom.”
“Okay,” Ellie says once it’s just the two of us. “So I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Um, bad news, I guess.” It’s always better to start with bad news. That way, when you get the good news, it hopefully can erase the bad feelings you’re having after hearing the bad news.
“The bad news is that Kyle asked Brandon how it was hanging out with you yesterday.” Ellie chews on her bottom lip. My heart squeezes into a tight lump.
“And what did he say?” I whisper, bracing myself.
“He said that it was okay.”
“Okay? He said that it was okay?” I grab my cup of coffee off the machine and dump seven sugars into it. Okay?! It was way more than okay. I guess he forgot to mention the fact that he almost held my hand at one point.
“Yeah.” Ellie’s still chewing on her lip. I decide this calls for peppermint mocha creamer, and I dump so much into my coffee that it’s basically half coffee, half cream. Oh, well. I love peppermint lattes.
“Well, what do you think that means?” I ask.
“Well,” Ellie says slowly, “I think it means that he probably thought it was just okay.”
“What a disaster,” I say, flinging myself down onto my cozy red chair.
“I thought you said it was fun,” Ellie says. Yesterday after dinner I spent, like, two hours on the phone with Ellie, dissecting the whole afternoon and going over it second by second, including the part where Brandon almost held my hand.
“It was!” I say, swinging my legs over the arm of the chair and taking a big sip of my coffee. “But I guess he didn’t think so. Quick, tell me the good news before I die.” I’m nothing if not dramatic. And the good news better be good. Good enough to pull me out of my funk.
“The good news,” Ellie says, flushing, “is that Kyle asked me to go to the movies with him tonight.”
“That’s the good news?” I say before I can stop myself. Then I realize how that must sound. Like I’m a bad friend. I really am glad that she’s going to the movies with Kyle, but a
t the same time, how is that supposed to make me feel better?
“Yeah,” she says, and looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Kendall. I probably should have picked another time to tell you. I was just really excited.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I just got thrown off guard when you told me that about Brandon.” I wonder how it will be in math. Will he completely ignore me? Will I completely ignore him? Will other people in the class be able to tell there’s something weird going on between us? I wonder if Mr. Jacobi will let me switch my seat.
“Yeah, I know,” Ellie says. “But try not to be too bummed. I mean, who knows if Kyle even knows what he’s talking about? Boys don’t listen to what people are telling them half the time anyway.”
“Yeah,” I say. I sip at my coffee, then smile through my disappointment, determined to be happy for Ellie. “So, what movie are you guys going to see?”
“Not sure,” she says, her face flushed. “But I hope something romantic.”
We spend the rest of the time before homeroom talking about what she’s going to wear (jeans, glittery ballet flats, ruffly white T-shirt, pink sparkly sweater). Although, if I’m being completely honest, my mind is only half on the conversation. The rest of it is obsessing over Brandon, and trying to ignore Daniella, who has popped up and is moaning about how much she misses coffee. Ugh.
But when I get to math later that day, I’m feeling a lot better, since I’ve had some time to get over it.
I know I look fabulous—the two French braids, plus skinny jeans, plus a deep crimson V-neck sweater that looks like cashmere even though it isn’t, and a super-cute mint-green and maroon scarf. This morning I decided to dress up so that Brandon would remember how amazing I am and how fun our date was yesterday. But now I’ve decided it’s so I can show him what he’s missing.
I’m way too strong to get upset over some boy. I mean, I’m only in seventh grade! There are going to be way more boys in my future. Boys that I’m going to meet this year, boys that I’m going to have crushes on in eighth grade, boys that I’m going to date in high school and college, and a boy I’m going to marry someday. And that boy is not going to be Brandon Dunham. Besides, his mom is so scary, it would definitely put a crimp in our relationship.
In fact, I’ve decided to ignore him completely. If he thinks he can just tell someone that hanging out with me was “okay,” then, well, he has another thing coming. And if he thinks that he’s the only one who can help me with my math, then he really has another thing coming.
I plop down in my seat, happy to have that settled. And as soon as Brandon starts walking into the room, I turn my back to him and say really loudly to Arianna Wintchel, “Hey, Arianna, what’d you get on the last test?”
“Um, a hundred.” She looks a little confused, probably because she and I don’t talk that much. Plus I’m asking her about her grade, which is pretty random. Not that it’s that big of a secret. She’s one of the smartest kids in our grade.
“Fab,” I say. “So do you think you can tutor me?”
“Oh, God,” Daniella says. She rolls her eyes. “Trying to make guys jealous never works, just fyi.” I glare at her. What does she know about boys, anyway? Last time I saw her interact with a boy, she was screaming at someone in a food court even though she’s dead and he couldn’t hear her.
Brandon’s at his desk now, and he says, “Wait a minute! What’s wrong with me? I’m not a good tutor?”
“You’re okay.” I put the emphasis on “okay” so that he knows I’m onto him. I will not stand for a pity conversation. And I don’t want him to think that I had a great time, even though I did. I mean, I do have some pride. I flip one of my braids over my shoulder haughtily.
“Well, I’ll have to improve,” he says, smiling.
“Hmmph,” I say, determined not to be swayed by his dimples and amazing smile.
“So listen,” he says, “Kyle and Ellie are going to a movie tonight. Do you think your dad might let you go with me?”
Whaaa-aaa? “Wait, what?” I shake my head, wondering if I’ve misheard him.
“God, you’re hopeless,” Daniella says, rolling her eyes.
“A movie,” Brandon says, a little slower this time. “I’m not sure which one yet, but it’ll be fun to hang out no matter what we see.”
“Um, sure,” I say, even though I’m totally thrown and confused. Why is he asking me to a movie when he told Kyle it was just okay hanging out with me? Is it possible Kyle really did get the story wrong? Or maybe it’s just a boy thing? This is all sooo confusing!
“Oh! And Grace told me to give you this.” Brandon reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of paper. On it is a crayon drawing of two girl ninjas. One has a big arrow pointing to it that says “Grace” and the other one says “Kendall.”
How sweet! I put the drawing in my bag. Things are totally looking up.
Chapter
8
“So, what do you think it means?” I ask into the phone, peering through the bushes. It’s after school, after Ellie’s dance recital (which she was totally fab in, btw), and I’m back at the high school, gearing up for another run-in with Jen. After what happened last time, I know she’s going to be less than thrilled to see me, so I had to plan a sneak attack.
“I don’t know!” Ellie says through the receiver. “Want me to ask Kyle about it?”
“No!” I say. “I think I’ll just maybe wait until tonight and see how things go.” The last thing I need is Kyle getting the story messed up again and causing me all kinds of undue mental stress. Not to mention that I need to be mature about this. If I have a question about how Brandon feels about me, then I should ask him myself, right? Of course, that’s easier said than done.
“Oooh, that’s a good idea,” Ellie says. “Take it slow and cool.”
“Now, when you see her,” Daniella’s saying, “try to be nice. Jen’s very laid-back, but when she gets mad, she really gets mad. So just, you know, take it easy.” She’s jumping up and down next to me, doing some kind of stretch. I don’t know why she thinks it’s okay to talk to me when I’m obviously in the middle of a very important phone conversation—I mean, rude much?—so I ignore her.
“Are you still going to wear what we planned?” I ask Ellie.
“Yeah.”
“Good, because I don’t want to show up in something too similar to yours. How humiliating would it be if they thought we planned to dress like twins?”
“Soo humiliating,” she says.
“Dressing like twins is ridiculous,” Daniella reports, then kicks her legs up into a handstand. I decide not to mention the fact that Ellie and I do dress alike sometimes, just for fun, like if we go shopping together and fall in love with the same outfit. I don’t get what the big deal is if it’s just a random Tuesday at school. Obviously I would never do it on a date or anything, because that’s definitely a little bit ridiculous, but—
“There she is!” Daniella yells, pointing. Jen’s walking across the other side of the parking lot.
“Crap,” I say. I thought she’d be coming out the door over here, near where the late buses are. But maybe she’s getting a ride, or she’s going somewhere else. “Ellie,” I say, “I have to go.”
“Why?” she asks.
“I just do. So, listen, I’ll meet you at the theater at six forty-five?”
“Okay,” she says. “We can hang out in the bathroom for twenty minutes and reapply our lip gloss. That way we’ll be five minutes late.”
“Perfect,” I say, “and you really were amazing at your recital.”
I hang up my phone and go charging across the parking lot like some kind of crazy woman.
“So much for being calm,” Daniella says, keeping up with me like it’s nothing. Of course, she is a ghost. So it’s not like she gets winded or anything.
“Oh, hello,” I say when I catch up with Jen. I slow down a little so that I’m walking right behind her.
&n
bsp; She turns around and looks at me, a smile on her face. Then, when she sees who it is (aka me), she immediately turns back around and starts walking faster.
“Wait!” I say, doubling my stride to keep up with her. She’s really fast for someone so short. “I just want to apologize. Please!” She keeps walking. Then I realize I’m going to have to bring in some of my acting skills if I want this to work. I decide to pretend I’m a clueless middle school girl. Which I guess I kind of am. “Jen,” I say, “please accept my apology. I would just die if I thought you were mad at me.” At the end I put a little sniffle into my voice, like maybe I’m about to start crying.
She turns around, slowing down just a little. “I’m not mad at you,” she says. But it doesn’t really sound like it’s the truth.
“Oh, thank goodness,” I say, giving her my best smile. “Because I would really just die if I thought the best gymnast I knew was mad at me.”
“I thought Daniella was the best gymnast you knew,” she says.
I smile. But this time I’ve done my homework. “Daniella was technically perfect,” I say. “At the vault. And the floor exercise. Even when she struggled on the beam, you could see her athleticism. But there’s so much more that goes into being a good gymnast. Heart. And pushing through injuries.” Jen looks at me, and her face softens.
“Oh, God,” Daniella says, rolling her eyes. “That’s laying it on a little thick, don’t you think? And I do push through injuries! Didn’t you hear the story she told about the time I pretty much got a concussion?”
But Jen’s eating it up. “Yeah,” she says, “that’s true.” She shifts her gym bag on her shoulder, then reaches down and zips up the hoodie she’s wearing. “Look, I’m sorry if I was hard on you the other day. It’s just that ever since Daniella died, it’s been really hard for me, you know? I don’t know who to trust.”
“I understand,” I say.
“Oh, please,” Daniella says. “She doesn’t know who to trust? It’s not like I left her a million dollars or something.”