The Discovery (3 page)

"Earth to Kendall. Come in, Kendall," Mr. Rorek shouts.

Bolting upright, I look to the front of the class. "Yes, sir?"

"I was asking if you could tell me the name of the regiment that defended Little Round Top at the battle on the second day of Gettysburg?"

"Oh."
Umm. Err.
Busted daydreaming about my life.

I'm saved, though, as my spirit guide, Anona, a beautiful Native American woman, appears next to my desk, tsk-tsking and shaking her head.

"The regiment, Kendall? You did read the assignment, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Rorek." Okay, that's a bit of a fib. I started reading last night but fell asleep. I look to Anona, begging her with my eyes for some scholarly assistance. She smiles and shows me a New England state and a number.

"It was the Twentieth Maine," I say firmly.

Mr. Rorek nods and then harrumphs. "I hope you'll pay much more attention to the Radisson Civil War display at the fairgrounds, Ms. Moorehead."

How does he know about my psychometry experiment? "Sir?"

He passes back a stack of papers giving our new assignment. I glance down and see that he's referring to the same exhibit Celia was telling us about at lunch. He says, "I'm requiring all three of my history classes to visit the notable display this weekend and answer questions on what you see. There's nothing like witnessing history for yourself." The teacher stops in front of my row and peers at me. "I assume you'll be able to accomplish that, Kendall?"

A smile creeps across my face. "You betcha!"

Awesome ... getting a grade for ghost hunting. What could be easier?

T
HE WEEK FLIES BY
with lots of pop quizzes that make my head ache, homework assignments that make my eyes bleed, and laborious hours on the yearbook that make my hair hurt. It's like the teachers and advisers are trying to catch up on the time we "wasted" while we were away on our spring break. I mean, what did they do? Plot and plan against us? Didn't they get some beach time or chillax time too?

I couldn't be happier to see Friday roll in.

I'm home from school with barely enough time to foof my hair, brush my teeth, and dab on a little extra mascara before the front doorbell rings.

"It's Patrick!" I shout as I bound down the stairs of our hundred-plus-year-old house. This is his first trip to Radisson to meet the parentals and all my friends. Cocky boy that he is, he's not worried a bit. I guess I shouldn't be either.

"I'll get it!" Kaitlin screams out, dashing by me.

"It's for me," I insist.

"Nuh-uh, it's Penny Carmickle and Daisy Reinhart coming over!"

"Umm, Kaitlin, I'm psychic. I know it's my boyfriend."

"Which one?" she asks and then sticks her tongue out at me. All I can do is freeze in my tracks next to the piano that sits in the front hallway.

Kaitlin beats me to the door and jerks it open. I know I'm right when I see her small shoulders slump. "Oh. You must be the new one."

Patrick flashes her a dazzling smile and ignores her snarky remark. "You must be Kaitlin."

She shifts her weight to one hip. "Kennnnnnnnnndaaaaalll!"

I step in. "You're such a brat, Kaitlin. I told you it was for me." She retreats into the kitchen and I slide forward.

A timid
hi
squeaks out from me.

I haven't seen Patrick since we said goodbye to each other at the Fresno airport after our retreat. I never knew I could miss someone so much. Especially someone that I'd just met.

"I missed you too, Kendall," he says, reading my thoughts, like we can do when we're in close proximity.

And ... I melt.

He no longer wears the knit hat, gloves, and sunglasses to shield himself from all the psychic vibes in the air around him. Oliver, the counselors, and our retreat seemed to work just fine on him. Of course, saving me from drowning in the Cream of Pacific Ocean helped us both over a big hurdle. It was at that moment that I knew he and I were destined to be together. Now, Patrick stretches his right hand out and snags my fingers, tugging me toward him. We come together in a warm embrace that has my toes literally tingling.

I drink in the smell of him. Shaving cream. Deodorant. A smidgety-bit of some tangy cologne. Nothing too icky-smelling. I find him doing the same, sniffing my hair.

"Mmm ... you smell like blooming flowers," he says all dreamily.

"Nope. Just Neutrogena," I say with a laugh.

Patrick's eyes crinkle into a smile and he chuckles along with me. Then his face tightens into a way-serious look. OMG—he's going to kiss me!

Yes, I am,
he says to me telepathically.
Now be quiet.

All words, thoughts, and emotions are tossed into the air above me; they scatter like fallen leaves, then rearrange themselves and dive back into me in a pattern of pure joy, happiness, and crushdom. Patrick turns his head to the right and lowers his lips to mine. Soft and sweet at first. Then a bit more frenzied. Warm skin meeting and saying hello after a long time away from each other. We move together; our arms wrap around each other in a clinging embrace. He deepens the kiss more and nearly takes my breath away.

And I thought Jason Tillson could kiss!

Do you really want to think about him while we're doing this?

I was just saying...

And I was just saying, focus on me.

Yes, sir.

So much for keeping any secrets from this guy.

Damn right.

Somewhere overhead, I hear bells, yet I don't stop kissing Patrick until I hear a gagging sound from behind me.

"Do I have to be subjected to this again?" Kaitlin asks.

Patrick and I pull apart and he blushes from cheek to cheek. I roll my eyes at my little sister and say, "Whatever."

She opens the door to her friends Penny and Daisy and the three of them swerve off to the right to attack the Wii. I thread my fingers into Patrick's and lead him to the kitchen. I open the fridge to show him macaroni salad, a leftover breakfast frittata, and last night's fried chicken Mom made for dinner.

"Pick your poison."

"Fried chicken, please."

Just as he's finishing a second drumstick, Mom walks in the back door.

"TGIF!" she exclaims. "It seems like the stomach flu is running rampant in this town. I swear, we saw—" She stops in her tracks as she's pushing out of her sensible nurse shoes. A vivid, welcoming smile crosses her face. "
You
have to be Patrick. I'm Sarah Moorehead."

Patrick politely wipes his hands on a napkin, stands, and walks over to my mother. "Hey there, Mrs. Moorehead. Nice to meet you."

"Please, call me Sarah."

"I'll try," Patrick says with a nod.

Mom shifts her eyes to the chicken bones. "I see you kids have helped yourselves."

"Yes, ma'am," he says. "It was delicious. I haven't had a home-cooked meal in a while, so I appreciate your efforts."

"Why's that?" Mom asks with her brow raised.

Patrick stubs his sneakered foot against the base of the kitchen island. "Oh, well, you know, with Dad being in the military and all. I get a lot of chow that he brings to me from the officers club. My mom, from what I can remember, was never really much of a cook. I've pretty much grown up on Burger King and FatDonald's," he says with a laugh.

Mom rubs his shoulder. "That's a shame about your mom, sweetie. Before you head home on Sunday, I'm going to cook you an amazing homemade meal. What's your favorite dish?"

He leers my way and I read his thoughts:
Kendall.

Now I blush from cheek to cheek.
Be good. This is my mom!

"I love pot roast with potatoes, onions, and carrots. My grandmother used to make it for us when we lived near her in Colorado."

"Yankee pot roast it will be," Mom says like the happy homemaker she is.

I grab my purse and car keys. "I'm taking him over to Father Mass's and then we're going to the fairgrounds."

"Don't you need your history assignment?" Mom asks.

"Oh, right." I turn to Patrick. "BRB."

I fly up the stairs two at a time and rummage through the dirty clothes on the floor to find my backpack I abandoned earlier. I lug out the assignment Mr. Rorek gave us and am about to haul ass back downstairs when Anona, my spirit guide, appears to me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Anona!"

It's too late to try to be graceful. I land flat on my buttocks on a dirty pair of jeans and the Prada knockoff sandals I got at Aldo. Not exactly thrilled with my spirit guide, I roll to my right hip to rub my left cheek, which is smarting something fierce.

"What's the deal, Anona?"

Her voice is sweet and calm although her statement is chilling. "Beware of danger tonight, Kendall."

I let out a long sigh and stand up. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"Danger lurks in the darkness."

Standing face-to-face with the beautiful Native woman, I stab my fists to my hips. "A little more detail and a little less mystery would be nice. Are we talking danger like when I'm driving the car? Or staying away from the hot-dog carts? Or on one of the carnival rides?"

I've read horror stories online about these carnivals that travel from town to town. They never get all the bolts and mechanics on the rides set right. People have been flung out; they've fallen from twisty heights or tripped on loose wires, cords, and plates. Gack! Now I sound like my mom, even making the fair not fun.

Anona's eyebrows knit together in displeasure. "Heed my word. Help your friends."

"Dude, it's just the Radisson fairgrounds. What? Is someone's prize bull going to rush out from the judging area? Salmonella in the blue-ribbon blueberry pie?" I wave her off and close the door to my room, hoping just to have a nice night with Patrick and my friends. Sure, I'll have to do some homework for Mr. Rorek, but I can't wait to get on the Tilt-a-Whirl and ride the Scrambler.

At the base of the stairs, I shout out, "Let's go, Patrick!"

For me, danger always lurks everywhere. How is tonight going to be different?

We drop Patrick's duffle and car off at Father Mass's—he wasn't there; probably out with Loreen—and head straight to the fairgrounds. There are a kajillion cars in the parking lot, so I steer my Honda Fit through the grassy pathway where the guy is directing me with orange-lit cones. It looks like everyone and his brother is here tonight for the rides and festivities.

Me, if I didn't have the history assignment, I'd come just for the cotton candy. Can't get enough of the stuff.

"I've got this," Patrick says at the ticket booth. "What kind of date would it be if I made you pay?"

I waggle the history assignment at him. "I had to come anyway because of Mr. Rorek."

"Let me," he says with a smile, and then quickly kisses my lips.

Mmm ... mmm ... mmm...

I take the ticket from Patrick and he grasps my hand. Our fingers plait together like a French braid as he leads me into the pavilion area.

"Hey, Kendall!" Celia calls out, waving.

Clay is examining the bull behind the wooden fence like he knows what he's looking at or something.

"What up, Price?" I ask.

He nods. "Fine specimen of a Black Angus bull. You know, Angus are a Scottish breed and where we get most of our beef products from. They're naturally polled, which means they don't have horns. And his shiny black coat looks like they feed him a lot of corn and soy. You know, they also come in red, but black is the most popular in the United States, with more than—"

"Okay, okay, okay, we get it," Celia interrupts. Even the science geek rolls her eyes. "Clay, are you, like, planning on getting a degree in animal husbandry or something?"

I laugh. "Umm, hello, Dr. Kettle, Mr. Pot is here." Celia can go on for days with tidbits and
Jeopardy
/-like factoids. She and Clay are perfectly matched.

"My uncle has a farm in Alabama, okay? Can I not be interested in the animal?"

I giggle. "I'd be more interested in him if he had a strip of bacon and a slice of cheese on his back."

Celia smacks me. Then she looks at my brown-eyed, brown-haired companion. "Oh my God! It's the infamous Patrick Lynn from California!"

He flashes her a grin. "I actually live in Duluth now."

"No," Celia insists. "From the Skype when Kendall was at camp—"

"—it wasn't camp, it was—"

"—from the night I drew that missing girl for you," she concludes, totally stepping over my lines.

Patrick grins at her. "Oh! You're Celia. Awesome to finally meet you."

They shake hands in a very grown-up way and she introduces him to her boyfriend, Clay Price. "Don't mind him," Celia starts. "Ever since he dissected that pig fetus in biology, he's had this thing for animals."

"Whatever," Clay says. "Y'all want to go hit some rides?"

I wave the history assignment like a flag of surrender. "I have to check out the Radisson Civil War display first. But let's meet by the Scrambler in a little while."

"Sounds good to me," Clay says.

"I actually don't have the history stuff to do, Clay, but I'm gonna go check it out with Kendall and Patrick, okay?" Celia says.

Clay leans over and gives her a kiss on the cheek and then goes back to scrutinizing the bull.

The three of us continue walking through the pavilion. Celia is snapping pics of the dresses that Civil War-era women wore, as well as some soldier's boots and a rifle in a glass case. There are pictures of Radisson from before the war, when it was a delicately hidden Southern gem, to pictures afterward, when it was mired in Reconstruction. The cotton mill was burned and the river blockaded to prevent any goods going through.

"Wow, I had no idea that the puny river in the cemetery was once this monstrous shipping track," I say, staring at the exhibit.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Celia agrees.

Soon, we're joined by several other RHSers, all here for the same reason. Becca and Dragon are here, as are Shelby-Nichole and her boyfriend, Colton. The athletic brigade is here as well: Sean Carmickle, Jim Roach, and Kyle Kadish, with cheerleaders Courtney Langdon, Stephanie Crawford, and Farah Lewis.