Ghost of a Chance (8 page)

He narrows his eyes at me, and I know what he's going to say. He's going to say that reviews on websites are usually bought and paid for by the companies that own the product, and that you have to look at a third-party source, like
Consumer Reports
. But really, who has time for that?

I sigh and resign myself to being in this store for a long time.

“You should just let your dad pick out the one he wants you to have, and then you can approve it,” Lily offers. “That's what I always do whenever my parents are going to buy me something.”

Wow. That's actually a really good idea. Turns out Lily is nicer and smarter than her sister. Although Madison's not really dumb. Which is why it's totally ridiculous that she pretends to need help on her homework just so she can talk to Brandon. It's so transparent. Plus think about what it's doing for feminism. Pretending to be stupid so that a boy can help you? She should be a cautionary tale.

“So,” I say. “We can get this one, or you can just pick out—”

“Kendall,” my dad says, his voice stern. “Where were you this weekend?”

“This weekend?” I frown. It takes me a second to realize what he's talking about, and when I do, my stomach twists into a knot. “I told you,” I say, getting really busy looking at another TV. “I was at Ellie's house on Friday night.”

It's a lie, of course. I wasn't at Ellie's house. I was at Micah's house. And then at the bowling alley. But obviously I couldn't tell my dad that. My dad was already freaked out that I have (had) a boyfriend. There was no way he was going to be cool with me hanging out with some other guy he'd never even met. So I told him I was at Ellie's.

“Maybe I should get a Blu-ray player too,” I say in an effort to distract. Everyone knows Blu-ray players are a waste, since everything's online now anyway. Who wants to have to buy a bunch of discs? “I don't care how much they cost. I really want one!” I stamp my foot, like maybe I'm about to start having a tantrum. A fake one, of course.

“Kendall,” my dad says. “You were not at Ellie's house this weekend.”

“Yes, I was,” I say. The knot in my stomach tightens. Who was that on the phone? Someone telling him where I really was? Micah's mom, maybe? But why would she do that?

Could it have been Ellie on the phone? Calling my dad just so she could get me in trouble? I know she's mad at me,
but to go out of her way to do something so evil is definitely taking it a little too far.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I try feebly, but I already know it's over. My dad knows I was at Micah's. And now I'm going to be in a lot, lot,
lot
of trouble.

Oh, well. At least he doesn't know I went to see my mom.

“What I'm talking about,” my dad says, “is that you took a bus to go see your mother.”

Well. Talk about your
worst-case scenarios. I mean, lying to my dad about hanging out with a boy from school while his mom was right in the other room is one thing. Lying to my dad about taking a two-hour bus trip
by myself
and using the emergency credit card he gave me to purchase the ticket so that I could go see my mom, who abandoned me when I was a baby, is another thing altogether.

Needless to say, my dad is mad enough that he's decided I will not be getting a new TV, regardless of what Cindy thinks about me watching TV in the living room with them.

Speaking of Cindy, she seems totally cool about my mom calling my dad. Which is weird. Cindy's always been a little wary of my mom, since I'm pretty sure my dad thinks
my mom is the love of his life. Or
was
the love of his life. Whatever. But apparently my dad and Cindy have put all that behind them, because Cindy didn't seem threatened at all. She just kissed my dad's cheek, told him to call her later, and headed for her car.

Anyway, how does my mom have my dad's number? They're supposed to be, like, estranged.

I glance at my dad out of the corner of my eye. We're in the car now, on the way back to our house. At least I think that's where we're going. For all I know he's taking me to a detention center or something. Seriously, I've never seen him this mad before.

Usually he doesn't like to show much emotion. But now he's gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles are turning white. He's actually driving a little fast, too, but something tells me this is definitely not the time to point that out.

We don't talk the whole car ride home.

And when we pull into the driveway, my dad leaves the car running.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to get out or not, so I just sit there.

A minute ticks by.

Then two.

I never realized how hot it was in this car.

I want to take my coat off, but something about the vibe in here is making it, uh, hard to move.

I cough, hoping to maybe break the tension.

But my dad still doesn't say anything. I glance at him again. He's still holding on to the steering wheel, his knuckles still white.

Finally, I can't take it anymore.

“So should we go inside?” I ask. “Because I could make us hot cocoa or something. And maybe we could have some of that apple pie Cindy made. It's low sugar, so it won't hurt your cholesterol.”

My dad stays quiet. I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“Okay,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt. “Well, I'm going to go inside. I'll get the stuff ready for pie and cocoa, so if you want to come in—”

“This is completely unacceptable, Kendall,” my dad says. “You cannot be going off to see your mother and lying to me about it.”

“I didn't
lie
about it,” I say, shifting on the seat. “I just didn't tell you where I was.”

“You lied,” my dad said. “You left me a note saying you were going to be having breakfast with Ellie.”

Oh. Right. I forgot about that.

“Well, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” I say. “I did go to Ellie's, but then—”

“Kendall,” he says. “I don't— I'm not—” He takes in a deep breath, and then I see some of his anger fade away.
“Why did you go to see your mom? I understand that you would want to, but why now? And why didn't you talk to me about it?”

I look down at my hands. “I don't know. I just . . .” I think of telling him about the ghosts. Maybe he could help me. Maybe he already knows. But I can't say the words out loud. “It's complicated,” I finally say.

He nods. “I know you're at an age when you might be starting to have questions about your mother. I guess I just thought . . .” He sighs.

We sit there in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the engine. “Do you and Mom . . . Do you guys talk all the time?” I ask finally.

He shakes his head. “Not all the time. She calls me once in a while, yes.”

“How often?”

“Not very. Maybe once a year.”

“Since when?”

“Since she left.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I didn't want you to think . . .” He trails off, but I know what he was about to say. He was going to say that he didn't want me to think it meant that my mom wanted to be a part of my life. “Should we go inside and talk about this?” he asks.

“Not right now.” I shake my head. I've changed my
mind. It's too raw. “Can we . . . Can we do it later?”

“Okay.” I can see the pain on my dad's face, and I can tell how hard this is for him. Neither one of us moves, and then my dad finally says, “I'm going to go for a drive and clear my head.”

“Oh. Okay.” I swallow, then reach out and open the car door. “Well, um, drive safe.”

I get out and close the car door behind me. I hear my dad pulling out as I head inside.

*  *  *

The house feels empty without my dad. I know most of it is in my mind, because it's not like I've never been home alone before.

I wander around for a little while, not sure what to do with myself.

I fix myself some cookies and milk.

I make myself a ham and cheese sandwich. I nibble on the inside and then throw the crusts away.

I bring my cookies into the living room and flip through the channels on the TV, but there's nothing good on.

“Hey,” a voice says softly, and I scream.

It's Lily.

Great.

Why is it that even though I'm feeling lonely, the one person I don't want to see shows up?

“What's wrong?” she asks, sitting down next to me.

“Oh, nothing,” I say sarcastically. “Just maybe everyone I ever cared about in my life hates me or is disappointed in me or thinks I might be crazy.” I pick up an Oreo and dunk it into my milk angrily. I wait until the chocolate part gets good and mushy before popping it into my mouth.

“I'm sure that's not true,” Lily says, like I'm being dramatic.

“Yes, it is.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.” I really don't. And it's not just because she's Madison's sister. It wouldn't matter who she was. I don't want to talk about what's going on, because I'm sick of thinking about Ellie and Brandon and now my dad. I need a distraction. I need to focus on something other than myself. I need to get out of here.

“Come on,” I say to Lily. “We're going to the cemetery.”

*  *  *

“I love cemeteries,” Lily says as we walk across the street. She's surprisingly upbeat for a ghost. I mean, most ghosts are all freaked out about the fact that they're dead, and they get even more freaked out when you bring them to the cemetery. They think they're going to get buried alive or something. Which is pretty funny, since obviously you can't be buried alive when you're already dead. But try telling that to a ghost. They're not logical.

I pull my notebook out of my bag and sit down on my
favorite bench. The days are getting shorter, and it's almost dark out now. It's one of those nights when you can really tell winter is just around the corner. I shiver. I love the fall, but I am so not a winter person. The only good thing about winter is that Ellie and I make this amazing white mocha hot chocolate every morning and drink it out of our thermoses before school. We even have matching snowflake thermoses—hers is maroon, and mine is dark blue.

But now that Ellie's not talking to me, we obviously won't be doing that. I wonder what she'll do with her thermos. It wasn't in the box of stuff she brought over to my house. Maybe she threw it away, or maybe she took a Sharpie and scribbled all over it to get some anger out.

“So,” I say to Lily. “Tell me what you remember.”

“What do you mean?” Lily pulls on a strand of her hair and sits down on the bench next to me.

I try not to be impatient with her. She's being perfectly nice. It's not her fault I'm in a bad mood because my life is a mess.

“Well, here's how it works,” I say, slipping my hair tie off my wrist and pulling my hair into a low ponytail. Then I take my winter hat out of my pocket and put it on. There's no way I can wear my hair back without something covering my ears—it's way too cold. “You're still here, uh, on earth, because you have some kind of unfinished business. So you need to take care of that business, and then you can
move on.” I really hope she doesn't ask me where it is she's moving on to, because I honestly have no idea.

“Okay.” She nods. “So I need to tell you everything I remember, and you'll help me figure out what I need to do to move on?”

“Exactly.” She's very smart for a ghost. And she's not trying to fight me on anything, which I really appreciate. The worst is when a ghost shows up with an attitude, trying to act like they know better than I do, or expecting me to do all the work. You'd be surprised at how many of them are like that.

“Okay. Well, I know I
fell
off something,” she says. “That's how I died.” She closes her eyes. She has the longest lashes I've ever seen. I wonder if they're those new eyelash extensions you can get. If her parents are willing to pay for Madison to have hair extensions, why not eyelash extensions for Lily?

“It think it was a balcony or something,” she says. “In my room.”

“Wow,” I say, writing it down. “That's awful.”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “But what are you gonna do? I loved that balcony. I used to go out there all the time to write.”

“You're a writer?” I ask, surprised. I've always thought that maybe someday I'll be a writer. I even keep a notebook of ideas I have that could turn into novels.

“Yes,” Lily says proudly. “I'd just finished my first novel
a few weeks before I died, and I've written hundreds of poems. Oh, and I've kept a journal since I was five.”

“Wow.” Lily is actually very impressive. Probably she got all the cool genes in her family, and so by the time Madison came along, she got stuck with the ones that make you snobby and stuck-up and cause you to want to steal other people's boyfriends.

“Okay, so you fell off a balcony,” I say. “In your room. Anything else you can remember?”

She closes her eyes. “Yes.” She nods. “I know that whatever it is I need to take care of has to do with my mom. And that it also has to do with something in my room.” She bites her lip and concentrates. “But that's all I can remember.”

She seems disappointed, so I rush to reassure her. “No, no,” I say. “That's great. You're doing great.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. You'd be surprised how many ghosts can't remember anything.”

She blinks in confusion. “I'm a ghost?”

“Yeah. I mean, not like the kind you see in movies or anything. You're not white and floaty.” I peer at her. “Although, you are a little bit, uh, see-through.”