Evermore (9 page)

"Disneyland?" I climb out of my car and gaze at him in shock. Out of all the places I thought we'd end up, this never cracked the list.

"I hear it's the happiest place on earth" He laughs. "Have you been?"

I shake my head.

"Good, then I'll be your guide." He slips his arm through mine and leads me through the gates, and as we wander down Main Street I try to imagine him coming here before. He's so sleek, so sophisticated, so sexy, so smooth—it's hard to imagine him trolling a place where Mickey Mouse rules.

"It's always better during the week when it's not so crowded," he says, crossing the street. "Come on, I'll show you New Orleans, it's my favorite part."

"You come here enough to have favorites?" I stop in the middle of the street and stare at him. "I thought you just moved here?"

He laughs. "I did just move here. But that doesn't mean I haven't been," he says, pulling me toward the Haunted Mansion.

After the Haunted Mansion we head for the Pirates ride, and when that's over, he looks at me and says, "So which one's your favorite?"

"Urn, Pirates." I nod. "I think." He looks at me.

"Well, they're both pretty cool." I shrug. "But Pirates has Johnny Depp, so that kind of gives it an unfair advantage, don't you think?"

"Johnny Depp? So that's what I'm up against?" He raises a brow.

I shrug, taking in Damen's dark jeans, black long-sleeved Tshirt, and those boots, his easy good looks dwarfing every Hollywood actor I can think of, though it's not like I'll admit that.

"Wanna go again?" he asks, dark eyes flashing. So we do. And then we head back to the Haunted Mansion.

And when we reach the part at the end, where the ghosts hitch a ride in your car, I half expect to see Riley scrunched in between us, laughing and waving and clowning around. But instead, it's just one of those cartoon Disney ghosts, and I remember Riley's appointment and figure she must be too busy.

After yet another go on those rides, we end up at a waterfront table in the Blue Bayou, the restaurant inside the Pirates ride. And as I sip my iced tea I look at him and say,

"Okay, I happen to know this is a really big park with more than two rides. Rides that have nothing to do with pirates or ghosts."

"I heard that too." He smiles, spearing calamari with his fork and offering it to me. "They used to have this one called Mission to Mars. It was known as the make-out ride, mostly because it was very dark inside."

"Is it still here?" I ask, my face turning every shade of crimson when I realize how eager I sound. "Not that I want to ride it or anything. I was just curious."

He looks at me, his face clearly amused. Then he shakes his head and says, "No, it closed a long time ago."

"So you were going on the make-out ride when you were what—two?" I ask, reaching for a sausage-stuffed mushroom and hoping I'll like it.

"Not me." He smiles. "That was way before my time."

Normally I'd do anything to avoid a place like this. A place so congested with the random energy of people, their bright swirling auras, their odd collection of thoughts. But it's different with Damen, effortless, pleasant. Because whenever we touch, whenever he speaks, it's like we're the only ones here.

After lunch, we stroll around the park, going on all the fast rides and avoiding the water rides, or at least the ones where you get soaked. And when it gets dark, he leads me over to Sleeping Beauty Castle, where we stop near the moat and wait for the fireworks show to begin.

"So, am I forgiven?" he asks, arms snaking around my waist, teeth nipping at my neck, my jaw, my ear. The sudden burst of fireworks, their booming crackle and snap, seem faint and far away, as our bodies press together and his lips move against mine.

"Look," he whispers, pulling away and pointing toward the expanse of night sky, a profusion of purple color wheels, golden waterfalls, silver fountains, pink chrysanthemums, and for the grand finale—a dozen red tulips. All of it flaring and blasting, in such quick succession it vibrates the concrete under our feet.

Wait—red tulips?

I glance at Damen, eyes full of questions, but he just smiles and nods toward the sky, and even though the edges are sparking and fading, the memory is solid, imprinted on my mind.

Then he pulls me close, lips to my ear when he says,

"Show's over, fat lady sang."

"You calling Tinkerbell fat?" I laugh as he takes my hand and leads me through the gates and back to our cars.

I climb into my Miata and get settled in, smiling as he leans through my window and says,"Don't worry, there'll be more days like this. Next time I'll take you to California Adventure."

"I thought we just had a California adventure." I laugh, amazed by the way he always seems to know just what I'm thinking before I've even had a chance to utter the words.

"Should I follow you again?" I slip my key in the ignition and start the engine.

He shakes his head. "I'll follow you." He smiles. "Got to see you home safely."

I pull out of the lot, merge onto the southbound freeway, and head home. And when I check the rearview mirror, I can't help but smile when I see Damen right there behind me. I have a boyfriend! A gorgeous, sexy, smart, charming boyfriend! One who makes me feel normal again. One who makes me forget that I'm not. I reach over to the passenger seat and pluck my new sweatshirt from its bag, running my fingers over the Mickey Mouse applique on the front, remembering the moment Damen chose it for me.

"Notice how this one doesn't have a hood," he'd said, holding it against me, and estimating the fit.

"What are you trying to say?" I squinted into the mirror, wondering if he hates my look as much as Riley thinks.

But he just shrugged. "What can I say? I prefer you hoodless." I smile at the memory, the way he kissed me as we stood in line to pay, the warm, sweet feel of his lips on mine.

And when my cell phone rings, I glance in my rearview mirror to see Damen holding his.

"Hey," I say, lowering my voice so that it's husky and deep.

"Save it," Haven says. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just little ole me."

"Oh, so what's up?" I ask, signaling my intended lane change so that Damen can follow, Only he's no longer there. I glance between my side and rearview mirrors, frantically scanning all four lanes, but still, no Damen.

"Are you even listening to me?" Haven asks, clearly annoyed. "Sorry, what?" I ease up on the gas and look over my shoulder, searching for Damen's black BMW as someone in a monster truck passes, honks, and flips me the bird.

"I said Evangeline is missing!"

"What do you mean 'missing'?" I ask, hesitating for as long as I can before merging onto the I33, with Damen still nowhere in sight, even though I'm sure he didn't pass me.

"I called her cell a bunch of times and she didn't pick up."And, " I say, anxious to get through this call-screening story so I can get back to my own missing person's case.

"And, not only does she not answer, not only is she not in her apartment, but nobody's seen her since Halloween."

"What do you mean?" I check my side mirrors, my rearview mirrors, and glance over each shoulder, but still come up empty. "Didn't she go home with you guys?"

"Not exactly," Haven says, her voice small, contrite.

And after two more cars honk and give me the finger, I give up. Promising myself that as soon as I'm done with Haven I'll call Damen on his cell and sort it all out.

"Hel-Io?" she says, practically shouting. "I mean, jeez, if you're too busy for me, then just say so. I can always call lMiles, you know"

I take a deep breath, striving for patience.

"Haven, I'm sorry, okay? I'm trying to drive and I'm a little distracted. Besides, you and I both know Miles is still at acting class, which is why you called me." I merge over to the far left lane, determined to punch it and get home as quickly as I can.

"Whatever," she mumbles. 'Anyway, I haven't exactly told you this yet, but, well, Drina and I kind of left without her."

"You what?"

"You know, at Nocturne. She just sort of—disappeared. I mean, we looked everywhere, but we just couldn't find her. So we' figured she met someone, which believe me, is not out of character, and then—well, we sort of—left."

"You left her in L.A.? On Halloween night? When every freak in the city is on the loose?"

And the second it's out of my mouth, I see it—the three of them in some dark, seamy club, Drina leading Haven to the VIP room for a drink, purposely eluding Evangeline. And even though it goes blank after that, I definitely didn't see any guy.

"What were we supposed to do? I mean, I don't know if you know this, but she's eighteen, which means she can pretty much do what she wants. Besides, Drina said she'd keep an eye on her, but then she lost track of her too. I just got off the phone with her, she feels awful."

"Drina feels awful?" I roll my eyes, finding that hard to believe. Drina doesn't seem like the type to feel much of anything, much less remorse.

"What's that supposed to mean? You don't even know her."

I press my lips and accelerate hard, partly because I know this strip of road is currently cop-free, and partly because I want to outrun Haven, Drina, Evangeline, and Damen's strange disappearance, everything, all of it—even though I know that I can't.

"Sorry," I finally mumble, lifting my foot and easing into a regular speed.

"Whatever. I just—I feel so awful, and I don't know what to do..."

"Did you call her parents?" I ask, even though I just sensed the answer.

"Her mom's a drunk, lives in Arizona somewhere, and her dad skipped out when she was still in the womb. And trust me, her landlord just wants her stuff cleared out so he can turn the apartment. We even filed a police report, but they didn't seem overly concerned."

"I know" I say, adjusting my lights for the dark, canyon route.

"What do you mean you know?"

"I mean I know how you must feel." I scramble to cover.

She sighs. "So where are you? Why weren't you at lunch?"

'Tm in Laguna Canyon, on my way home from Disneyland. Damen took me." I smile at the memory, though it turns pretty quick.

"Omigod that's so bizarre," Haven says.

"Tell me," I agree, still not used to the idea of him kicking it in the Magic Kingdom even after seeing it with my own eyes.

"No, I mean Drina went too. Said she hasn't been in years and wanted to see how it's changed. Isn't that wild? Did you guys run into her?"

"Um, no," I say, trying to sound matter of fact despite my churning stomach, sweaty palms, and overwhelming feeling of dread.

"Huh. Weird. But then again, it is pretty huge and crowded."

She laughs.

''Yeah, yeah it is," I say. "Listen, I gotta go, see you tomorrow?" And before she can even respond, I pull to the side of the road and park by the curb, searching my call list for Damen's number, and pounding hard on the wheel when I see it's marked private.

Some boyfriend. I don't even have his phone number, much less know where he lives.

Last night, when Damen finally called (at least I assumed it was him since the display read private), I let it go straight into voice mail. And this morning, while I'm getting ready for school, I delete it without even listening.

"Aren't you at least curious?" Riley asks, spinning around in my desk chair, her slicked-back hair and Matrix costume a shiny black blur.

"No." I glare at the Mickey Mouse sweatshirt still in its bag, then reach for one that he didn't buy me.

"Well, you could've let me listen, so I could give you the gist."

"Double no." I twist my hair into a bun, then stab it with a pencil to hold it in place.

"Well, don't take it out on your hair. I mean, jeez, what'd it ever do to you?" She laughs. But when I don't respond she looks at me and says, "I don't get you. Why are you always so angry? So you lost him on the freeway, and he forgot to give you his number. Big deal. I mean, when did you get so dang paranoid?"

I shake my head and turn away, knowing she's right. I am angry. And paranoid. And things far worse than that. Just your everyday, garden-variety, easily annoyed, thoughthearing, aura seeing, spirit-sensing freak. But what she doesn't know is that there's more to the story than I'm willing to share. Like Drina trailing us to Disneyland. And how Damen always disappears whenever she's near.

I turn back to Riley, shaking my head as I take in her sleek shiny costume.

"How long are you going to play Halloween?"

She folds her arms and pouts. "For as long as I want."

And when I see her bottom lip quiver, I feel like the world's biggest grouch.

"Look, I'm sorry," I say, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, wishing my life would just stabilize, find some kind of balance.

"No you're not." She glares at me. "It's so obvious you're not."

"Riley, I am, really. And believe me, I don't want to fight." She shakes her head and gazes up at the ceiling, tapping her foot against the carpeted floor. "Are you coming?" I head for the door, but she refuses to answer. So I take a deep breath, and say, "Come on, Riley. You know I can't afford to be late. Please make up your mind."

She closes her eyes and shakes her head and when she looks at me again, her eyes have gone red. "I don't have to be here, you know.

I grip the door handle, needing to leave yet knowing I can't, not after she's said that. "What're you talking about?"

"I mean, here! All of this! You and me. Our little visits. I don't have to do this."

I stare at her, my stomach curling, willing her to stop, not wanting to hear any more. I've gotten so used to her presence I never considered the alternative, that there might be someplace else she'd rather be.

"But—but I thought you liked being here?" I say, my throat tight and sore, my voice betraying my panic.

"I do like being here. But, well, maybe it's not the right thing. Maybe I should be somewhere else! Did you ever think of that?" She's looking at me, her eyes full of anguish and confusion, and even though I'm now officially late for school, there's no way can leave.

"Riley—I—what exactly do you mean?" I ask, wishing I could rewind this whole morning and start over again.

"Well, Ava says—"

"Ava?" My eyes practically bug out of my head.

"Yeah, you know, the psychic, from the Halloween party? The one who could see me?"

I shake my head and open the door, looking over my shoulder to say, "I hate to break it to you, but Ava's a quack. A phony. A charlatan. A con artist! You shouldn't listen to a word she says. She's crazy!"

But Riley just shrugs, her eyes on mine. "She said some really interesting things."

And her voice bears so much pain and worry, I'll say anything to make it go away. "Listen." I peer down the hall, even though I know Sabine's no longer here. "I don't want to hear about Ava. I mean, if you want to visit her, even after everything I just told you, then fine, it's not like I can stop you. Just remember that Ava doesn't know us. And she has absolutely no right to judge us or the fact that we like to hang together. It's none of her business. It's our business." And when I look at her, I see that her eyes are still wide, her lip still quivering, and my heart sinks right to the floor.

"I really need to leave, so are you coming or not?" I whisper.

"Not." She glares.

Since Miles was smart enough not to hang out and wait, I drive to school alone. And even though the bell already rang, Damen is there, waiting next to his car, in the second best spot next to mine.

"Hey," he says, coming around to my side and leaning in for a kiss. But I just grab my bag and race for the gate.

"I'm sorry I lost you yesterday. I called your cell but you didn't answer." He trails alongside me.

I grab hold of the cold iron bars and shake them as hard as I can. But when they don't even budge, I close my eyes and press my forehead against them, knowing I'm too late, it's useless.

"Did you get my message?"

I let go of the gate and head for the office, envisioning the awful moment when I'll step inside and get nailed for yesterday's ditching and today's tardy.

"What's wrong?" he asks, grabbing hold of my hand and turning my insides to warm molten liquid. "I thought we had fun. I thought you enjoyed it?"

I lean against the low brick wall and sigh. Feeling rubbery, weak, completely defenseless.

"Or were you just humoring me?" He squeezes my hand, his eyes begging me not to be mad. And just as I start to fold, just when I've almost swallowed his bait, I drop his hand and move away. Wincing as memories of Haven, our phone call, and his strange disappearance on the freeway rush over me like a tidal wave.

"Did you know Drina went to Disneyland too?" I say, and the second I say it, I realize how petty I sound. Yet now that it's out there, I may as well continue. "Is there something I should know? Something you need to tell me?" I press my lips together and brace for the worst.

But he just looks at me, gazing into my eyes as he says,

"I'm not interested in Drina. I'm only interested in you."

I stare at the ground, wanting to believe, wishing it were only that easy. But when he takes my hand again, I realize it is that easy, because all of my doubts just slip right away.

"So now's the part when you tell me you feel the same way," he says, gazing at me.

I hesitate, my heartbeat so severe I'm sure he can hear it. But when I pause for too long, the moment flees, and he slips his arm around my waist and leads me back to the gate.

"That's okay." He smiles. "Take your time. There's no rush, no expiration date." He laughs."But for now, let's get you to class."

"But we have to go through the office." I stop in my tracks and squint at him. "The gate's locked, remember?"

He shakes his head. "Ever, the gate's not locked."

"Uh, sorry, but I just tried to open it. It's locked," I remind him.

He smiles. "Will you trust me?"

I look at him. "What's it going to cost you? A few steps?

Some additional tardy minutes?"

I glance between the office and him, then I shake my head and follow, all the way back to the gate that is somehow, inexplicably open.

"But I saw it! And you saw it too!" I face him, not understanding how any of this could have happened. "I even shook them, as hard as I could, and they wouldn't budge an inch."

But he just kisses my cheek and ushers me through,

laughing as he says, "Go on. And don't worry, Mr. Robins is incapacitated and the sub's in a daze. You'll be fine."

"You're not coming?" I ask, that needy, panicky feeling building inside me again. But he just shrugs. 'Im emancipated. I do what I want."

"Yeah, but—" I stop, realizing his phone number's not the only thing missing. I barely even know this guy. And I can't help but wonder how he can possibly make me feel so good, so normal, when everything about him is so abnormal. Though it's not until I've turned away that I realize he's yet to explain what happened on the freeway last night.

But before I can ask he's right there beside me, taking my hand as he says, "My neighbor called. My sprinklers failed and my yard was flooding. I tried to get your attention but you were on the phone, and I didn't want to bother you."

I gaze down at our hands, bronze and pale, strong and frail, such an unlikely pair. "Now go. I'll see you after school, I promise." He smiles, plucking a Single red tulip from the back of my ear.

Usually, I try not to dwell on my old life. I try not to think about my old house, my old friends, my old family, my old self. And even though I've gotten pretty good at heading off that particular storm, recognizing the signs—the stinging eyes, the shortness of breath, the overwhelming feeling of hollowness and despair—before they can take hold, sometimes it just hits, without warning, without time to prepare. And all I can do when that happens is curl up in a ball and wait for it to pass... which is pretty hard to do in the middle of history class.

So while Mr. Munoz is going on and on about Napoleon, my throat doses, my stomach clenches, and my eyes start to sear so abruptly, I bolt from my seat and race for the door, oblivious to the sound of my teacher calling me back, immune to my classmates' derisive laugh.

I turn the corner, blinded by tears, gasping for air, my insides feeling empty, cleaned out, a hollow shell folding in on itself. And by the time I see Stacia it's way too late, and I knock her with such speed and force she crashes to the ground and rips a hole in her dress.

"What the—" She gapes at her splayed limbs and torn dress, before leveling her gaze right on me. "You fucking ripped it, you freak!" She pokes her fist through the tear, displaying the damage. And even though I feel bad for what happened, there's no time to help. The grief is about to consume me and I can't let her see.

I start to brush past her just as she grabs hold of my arm and struggles to stand, the touch of her skin infusing me with such dark dismal energy it robs me of breath.

"For your information, this dress is designer. Which means you are going to replace it," she says, fingers squeezing so tight, I fear I might faint. ' And trust me, it doesn't stop there." She shakes her head and glares. "You are gonna be so fucking sorry you ran into me, you're gonna wish you never came to this school."

"Like Kendra?" I say, my stance suddenly steady, my stomach settling into a much calmer state.

She loosens her grip but doesn't let go.

"You planted those drugs in her locker. You got her expelled, destroyed her credibility so they'd believe you and not her," I say, transcribing the scene in my head.

She drops my arm and takes a step back, the color draining from her face as she says, "Who told you that? You didn't even go here when that happened."

I shrug, knowing that's true, though it's hardly the point.

"Oh, and there's more," I say, advancing on her, my own personal storm having passed, my overwhelming grief miraculously cured by the fear in her eyes. "I know you cheat on tests, steal from your parents, clothing stores, your friends—it's all fair game as far as you're concerned. I know you record Honor's phone calls and keep a file of her emails and text messages in case she ever decides to turn on you. I know that you flirt with her stepdad, which, by the way, is totally disgusting, but unfortunately it gets much worse than that. I know all about Mr. Barnes-Barnum?

Whatever, you know who I mean, your ninth-grade history teacher? The one you tried to seduce? And when he wouldn't bite you tried to blackmail him instead, threatening to tell the school principal and his poor pregnant wife..." I shake my head in disgust, her behavior so squalid, so selfserving, it hardly seems real.

And yet, there she is, standing before me, eyes wide, lips trembling, stunned to have all of her dirty little secrets revealed. And instead of feeling bad or guilty for exposing her, for using my gift in this way, seeing this despicable person, this awful selfish bully who's taunted me since my very first day, reduced to a shaky, sweaty mess, is more gratifying than I ever would've imagined. And with my nausea and grief now merely a memory, I figure, what the heck, I may as well continue.

"Should I go on?" I ask. "Because believe me, I can. There's plenty more, but you already know that, don't you?" I go after her, me walking forward, her stumbling backward, eager to put as much distance between us as she possibly can.

"What are you? Some kind of witch?" she whispers, eyes scanning the corridor, looking for help, an exit, anything to get away from me. I laugh. Not admitting, not denying, just wanting her to think twice before she messes with me again.

But just as quickly she stops, finds her footing, and looks me in the eye when she says, "Then again, it's your word against mine." Her lips curve into a grin. "And who do you think people will believe? Me, the most popular girl in the junior class? Or you, the biggest fucking freak that ever came to this school?"

She has a point. She fingers the hole in her dress, then shakes her head, and says, "Stay away from me, freak. Because if you don't, I swear to God you'll regret it." And when she steps forward, she slams into my shoulder so hard, I've no doubt she means it.

When I get to the lunch table I try not to gawk, but Haven's hair is purple and I'm not sure if I should mention it.

"Don't even try to pretend you don't see it. It's awful, I know." She laughs. "Right after I hung up with you last night I tried to dye it red, you know, that gorgeous coppery shade like Drina's? Only this is what I ended up with." She grabs a chunk of it and scowls. "I look like an eggplant on a stick. But only for a few more hours, cuz after school, Drina's taking me to some big celebrity salon up in L.A. You know, one of those A-list hot spots booked a full year in advance? Only she was totally able to sneak me in last minute. I swear, she is so connected, she's amazing."

"Where's Miles?" I ask, cutting her off, not wanting to hear another word about the amazing Drina and her velvet rope crashing abilities.

"Memorizing his lines. Community theater's doing a production of Hairspray, and he's hoping for the lead."