Ghost of a Chance (20 page)

And then I know what I have to do.

“Mr. Jacobi,” I say, standing up. “I'm the one who gave Vivienne the magazine.”

Okay, so it's not
like I'm offering to fail math for a
boy
. It really isn't. I mean, let's face it. I have a chance of failing anyway, and Brandon really doesn't deserve to fail. In fact, it feels kind of noble, standing up and sacrificing myself for the cause.

It's like I'm in the last scene of a movie, where I've done something to prevent an injustice, and now I'm going to be led away all martyr-like to a jail cell. It almost feels like I should put my hands out and wait for Mr. Jacobi to slap on some handcuffs.

But before I have a chance to really bask in the glory of my sacrifice, Brandon speaks up.

“That's not true,” he says. “It wasn't Kendall who gave Vivienne the magazine. It was Madison.”

I gasp.

Madison gasps.

The only one who doesn't gasp is Micah. He just nods. “Yup,” he says. “It was Madison.”

“That's a lie!” Madison says. “Kendall admitted it. She's the one who gave Vivienne the magazine!”

“Oh, please,” Brandon says. “You're the one who's into reading all that stuff.”

He points to Madison's bag, which is on the floor. A bunch of magazines are poking out of the top.

“That doesn't prove anything!” Madison says.

We all start talking at once then, and Mr. Jacobi puts his hand up and shouts, “Enough!”

We all shut up.

“Kendall,” he says, “is this true? Is Madison the one who gave Vivienne the magazine?”

I nod. Then I realize I'm still standing up, so I quickly sit down.

“Then why did you say you were the one who did it?” he asks.

“Because I didn't think it was fair that everyone got in trouble,” I say. “Brandon has worked really hard for his grades.”

Mr. Jacobi looks at me like he doesn't know if he should believe me or not. I hold my breath and keep his gaze, not daring to move. And then I see understanding dawn on his face. “Well,” he says.

He turns to Micah. “You are corroborating this story?”

Micah nods.

And then a little evil grin comes over Mr. Jacobi's face. “Good,” he says. “Ms. Baker, please come with me. The rest of you are free to go to class.”

“But it's their word against mine!” Madison whines. “And you know that Kendall doesn't like me!”

“True.” Mr. Jacobi steeples his fingers together. “But the young student in question told her teacher who gave her the magazine.”

“So then why did you ask us?” Brandon asks. “If you already knew?”

“Because I wanted to see if you would admit it. But apparently some of you don't know how to do the right thing. Now please follow me to the principal's office, Madison.”

It's such a dirty trick that I can't even muster up any kind of happiness that Madison is getting in trouble.

I sigh and pick my bag up, then head out of the office.

I'm halfway down the hall when I hear Brandon call my name.

“Kendall!”

I turn around to see him hurrying toward me. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

He's so close that my heart does a little somersault, and it feels like butterflies are cartwheeling around in my stomach.

“That was really awesome, what you did back there,” he says. “I wasn't . . . I want to let you know that I would never have let you take the blame.”

“I know,” I say. “Thanks. It means a lot, what you did.”

He sighs and takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry, you know, for how things have been between us.”

“It's not your fault.” I give him a small smile, trying not to let him see how crazy I'm going inside, how I feel tingly all over, how much I miss him, how I want so badly to be back in his life, even if it's just as friends. “I know I dropped a lot on you with um . . . what I told you.”

“And it's still true? What you said about my mom? About being able to see her?” He's looking at me, giving me a chance to say I made it up.

My throat gets tight, and my heart squeezes. It would be so easy to make up some kind of excuse. But I know I can't do that anymore.

“It's true,” I say. “I know you don't understand it, but I don't . . . I don't want to lie to you, Brandon.”

I expect him to brush by me down the hall, but to my surprise he doesn't. He just nods.

We stand there for a second, not saying anything. I'm trying to think if there's anything I can do to convince him, or if I should even bother. And then Mrs. Dunham appears down the hall. My heart soars. She's back, because I'm with Brandon! And if she's back, there might be a chance.

And seeing her gives me an idea.

“Brandon,” I say. “I can't make you believe me, and I understand that you're doubtful. But I do see your mom.” I take a deep breath. “She has long hair and she's wearing a flowing blouse and she really loves you a lot. And she told me about the green paper, the one she gave you right before she died.”

A look of shock crosses over Brandon's face. “She told you about that?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “It just sounds so crazy, Kendall. You have to know that.”

“I do know that.”

He doesn't say anything, and I can't bear to just stand here. I won't be able to stand it if he walks away. So I decide to do it first. “Well, I'm always here if you want to talk. Take care of yourself, Brandon.”

I turn and start to walk down the hall, my heart beating fast, my stomach in knots. I'm sad. But I'm also proud of myself for telling the truth.

“Kendall!” Brandon calls.

I turn around.

He rushes up to me. “Don't walk away yet.” He bites his lip in frustration. “I don't know about this whole ghost thing. But I know you're a good person, Kendall.”

I nod. I can feel my eyes filling up with tears. It means
so much to me that he said I'm a good person, that he at least isn't totally discounting what I'm saying.

He steps closer to me. “I'm sorry I left that day,” he says. “When you told me. I was just shocked. And I'm still not sure I believe it, but I . . . I
miss
you, Kendall.”

“I miss you, too,” I breathe.

“Can we try again?” he asks. “To be boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“I want to,” I say. “But what about the stuff with your mom?”

“I don't know,” Brandon says. He looks down at the floor, and for a second I'm afraid he's going to take it all back. But then he looks up. “We'll just have to figure it out together.”

I smile, and then he brushes his lips against mine.

And then he takes my hand and walks me to class.

*  *  *

Over the next week things start to get back to normal.

Brandon and I are together again. Ellie and I are friends again. (It feels a little weird that I haven't told her about the ghosts, especially since Brandon knows, but I'm planning on telling her soon. I just have to find the right time.)

It's a Wednesday afternoon after school, and Brandon's walking me home when my phone rings, displaying a number I don't recognize on the caller ID.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hi, Kendall?” a voice says. “It's me.”

Even though I've never heard her voice on the phone before, I recognize it instantly. It's my mom.

“Oh,” I say. “Um, hi.”

“Hi.”

There's a pause.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm just walking home. With Brandon.”

Next to me Brandon smiles and squeezes my hand.

“Oh.” If she's surprised I'm with Brandon, she doesn't let it show in her voice. There's a long pause, and I'm not sure if she's waiting for me to say something or not. But she called me, so I'm not going to make an effort to make conversation. I stay quiet.

“Anyway,” she says. “I was just calling to let you know that I'm going to be in the area later, and I'd love to have dinner with you.”

I'm surprised by her offer, and confused. Do I really want to meet with her? I don't know.

“Are you there?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Um, can I text you in a little while? And let you know?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Another pause.

“Well, bye,” she says.

“Bye.”

I click off and stare at the phone.

“Who was that?” Brandon asks.

“My mom.”

“Oh.” He's surprised. Brandon knows I haven't seen my mom since I was little, but I haven't told him about the recent developments.

“I went to see her a couple of weeks ago,” I say.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Wow,” he says, and squeezes my hand. “How was that?”

I shrug. “It was okay.” We're at my house now, but we stand on the porch, talking. I would invite Brandon inside, but my dad's truck is in the driveway, and I kind of want to talk to Brandon about this in private. “But now she wants to meet me for dinner tonight.”

“And you don't want to go?”

I fiddle with the key chain on my backpack. “It's not that I don't want to go. It's that I don't
know
if I want to go.”

He nods.

“It's just . . . I don't understand why she's suddenly so interested in seeing me. I mean, she didn't have any interest in getting in touch with me until I went and saw her.”

“Maybe she was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Rejection.”

“Maybe.” The thought never occurred to me before. That my mom might be afraid that if she tried to reach out to me, I would reject her. Of course, that doesn't explain why she left in the first place. But maybe she had reasons I can't even begin to understand. Kind of like how I had reasons for the crazy things I was doing and I couldn't tell anyone. “Anyway,” I say. “I should probably go inside and start my homework. I'll call you later?”

“Yeah. And text me about what happens with your mom.”

Brandon gives me a quick kiss, and then I walk inside.

I say hi to my dad, then grab a snack and start working on my homework.

But a second later he walks into the kitchen, where I'm sitting. “Everything okay?”

I'm about to answer automatically that it is, but then I change my mind. “Not really. Mom called me. She wants to meet for dinner.”

My dad nods. “And do you want to go?”

“I don't know.”

He nods again. “Well, it's your decision. You can do whatever you want, and I'll support you, as always. But if you do decide to go, I'll go with you if you want.”

“To meet Mom?”

“Yeah.” He must know what I'm thinking—that it would be awkward for him to be there while I'm having dinner with my mom—because he quickly adds, “I wouldn't go in
or anything. But I could drive you, and then I could wait outside.”

“You'd do that for me?”

“Of course,” he says. “Whatever you need from me, Kendall, I'm here.”

I think about it. “Okay,” I say. “I think I'll go.” I twist my hands. “But that doesn't mean I want to see her all the time or anything.”

“Of course not,” my dad says. “You'll take it one step at a time.”

I text my mom a quick reply, accepting her invite and telling her the name of a restaurant on Main Street. That way, while we're eating, my dad can have stuff to do. He can hang out in the bookstore or browse around the hardware store.

A couple of hours later, when I'm done with my homework, my dad asks if I'm ready.

“I guess.”

We drive to the restaurant, and on the way there we don't talk about anything serious. Instead, we talk about TV shows and joke around about how my dad likes a song by this new boy band. The ride is actually kind of nice. I'm still not sure I want to get into how I'm feeling or what it means that I'm doing this. I kind of just want to
feel
my feelings, instead of analyzing them. Which is totally weird, especially for me. Usually, I love to analyze.

When we pull up outside the restaurant, I can see my
mom through the window. She's sitting at a table, sipping a ginger ale and looking around anxiously.

“I'm nervous,” I say out loud.

“You don't have to do this,” my dad says. “It's not too late to change your mind.”

And honestly, it's him saying that that makes me want to go. It's like it's going to be okay no matter what.

“No,” I say, “I want to.”

“Whatever happens in there, it doesn't change anything. You're still amazing.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You're welcome.” He squeezes my hand. “Call me when you're done, okay?”

“Okay.”

I hop out of the car, and then I watch as my dad pulls out and disappears down the street toward the shops.

I stand outside the restaurant for a moment, thinking about everything that's happened these past couple of months. My first boyfriend, my first breakup, my fight with Ellie, my mom coming back into my life . . .

The whole time, I kept thinking about what I could do to fix things, to make things better. What I didn't realize is that sometimes things don't always have to be black and white. They can be gray.

Brandon doesn't have to believe me about the ghosts, and he doesn't have to not believe me. My mom and I don't
have to have a close relationship right off the bat, but I don't have to hate her either. I don't have to convince Mrs. Dunham's ghost that I'm right for her son—I just have to make sure I'm doing the best I can.

Because that's all any of us can do, really. Our best. And then hope it works out.

The snow is starting again, and flakes fall onto my fingers as I reach out and open the door to the restaurant.