The Discovery (23 page)

I set the bouquet of pink spray roses at the foot of her headstone. Others have left things: pictures, stuffed animals, and musical trinkets. She was definitely loved, and the loss of her in our community will be felt for a while.

"Miss you, Farah. Rest in peace."

The only answer is the rustle of the leaves as the gentle wind trips through the tree branches. Farah's not here to answer. She's found her final rest and truly
is
singing with the angels. For a moment, I can almost hear her voice floating through the air.

It's hard to accept when someone dies so young, like Farah, and like my parents, Emily and Andy. That life is stopped in its tracks. Dreams, hopes, and plans are no more. What's left is a marker like this one and the memory of their presence. With my parents, though, their families didn't even have that. It's the main reason I want to find the Faulkners. With Andy's parents both deceased, the Faulkners are the key to knowing everything about my birth mother and how I may have gotten these abilities. Sadly, we lose loved ones—or those we never had a chance to love—but everything happens for a reason. It's not for me to understand or question; it's for me to continue on my path, helping others, using my gifts as best I can.

And that's exactly what I'll do.

"N
O, YOU DID'UNT!
" I shout two weeks later when I see the long, white stretch limo stop in front of my house on Saturday night. I release the curtain of my bedroom and turn one last time to check my appearance in the mirror. Mom helped me with my makeup—a little MAC shininess in the creases of my eyes—and I tried out a new curling iron to make finger curls all over my head. Man, that took, like, two hours, given how much hair I have. But it looks awesome. Like I went to the salon and paid a fortune for a custom do.

"What is it?" Celia asks, returning from the bathroom. She looks breathtakingly amazing with her freshly washed and curled short hair and the sleek black cocktail dress that shows off her miles and miles of long, slender legs. The girl could totally be a model if she set her mind to it.

"The boys rented a limo."

"How cliché," she says, peeking through the curtains. "Holy crap! It's the Hummer limo. That must have cost them a fortune. For what, a six-mile ride to the hotel ballroom?"

I smack her on the arm. "It's one of those rites-of-passage things, remember."

The doorbell rings and Mom calls out, "Girls, your dates are here."

Celia wobbles a bit on her two-inch heels. "Careful there, Cel!" I say.

"Oh my God, these things are impossible. How do women wear these every day?"

"Because they're pretty," I say, glancing down at my own sparkly high heels.

"Can't I just wear flip-flops? Or better yet, my Timberland boots?"

I laugh so hard that it threatens to smear my makeup. "Dude, you should totally start a fashion trend. Cocktail dress and mountain boots."

She staggers again, catching herself at the top of the banister.

"You look gorgeous, Cel. Just walk slowly."

I let her take the stairs first, bending down a little to catch the look on Clay's face. Cel could be on any runway in Milan or Paris, the way she looks tonight. Clay's eyes literally twinkle and he smiles broadly as he holds his hand out to her. He's wearing a traditional black tux with spit-shined shoes. Awww, they are so cute together.

"This is for you," he says to her almost shyly. He slips a corsage of red roses onto her wrist and they move out of my sight.

Okay, I'm up.

I hold on to the railing as I maneuver the soft, shifting light blue dress in front of me. The hem hits right above the knees, a full satin skirt covered with netting that has rhinestones scattered about. The camisole bodice fits nicely to my body and has shimmers of light and dark blue beading on it. I step down the stairs one at a time, careful not to take a tumble. That would be so grace-like of me to do that.

I see your feet,
Patrick says.

I see yours.
He's wearing his black high-top Chuck Taylor All-Stars.

Can't wait to see the rest of you.

Here I come.

A gasp escapes from my guy as I walk down the final steps.

His smile is wide, vivid, and ever so approving. "You look like a princess," he says.

"That's good, right?" I tease. Yep, this dress is a far cry from my jeans, T-shirts, and ghost-hunting ensembles. I do sort of feel like royalty.

My prince is wearing a black suit over a Hawaiian-print shirt in sea foam green. His shaggy hair has been combed into place over his forehead, and his brown eyes shine from beneath his gorgeous black lashes. The look totally works for him and we're going to be adorable together at the prom.

"Oh, Kendall, sweetie," Mom says, her hand to her heart. "Beautiful. Just beautiful."

Dad snaps a pic with his digital, almost blinding me with the flash. "Give me some warning next time, Dad," I say with a giggle.

Patrick hands me a lovely corsage of baby's breath, lilies, and white spray roses. He really does know what I like.

It's 'cause I know your every thought.

I elbow him a little as I slide the corsage into place on my arm.

"Let me get a group picture," Dad says, motioning to Celia and Clay.

The four of us stand together at the base of the stairs as Dad snaps away. One of Patrick and me. One of Clay and Celia. One of just the girls. One of just the guys. One of the four of us.
Click, click, click.

"Okay, Dad, that's enough," I say, unable to see anything but balls of color blinding my vision.

In that moment, Anona appears. I wince involuntarily, afraid that she has bad news for me. Or that our spiritual cleansing of Xander the Doll didn't work and there's trouble in Radisson that we need to attend to instead of celebrating our prom.

Instead, she beams at me, her dark eyes dancing.

In my head, I ask her,
Is everything okay?

Fine. Everything's fine. I was sent to tell you that they're very proud of you.

Who is?

Your parents.

I know, can't you tell? Mom's crying and Dad won't stop Nikoning me.

No, Kendall, your birth parents.

Emily and Andy? They're together?

Yes. They're happy and at peace. And so very proud of the woman you've become.

Can I talk to them? Will they come see me?

Anona places her hands together, nods, and disappears.

My chest squeezes as an overpowering ray of love shines on me. Something Anona spread to me, or perhaps a gift from my parents together in heaven. Either way, I
do
feel loved—by them in heaven, by my earthly parents, by my friends, and by Patrick.

He lays his hand on my arm and slides it down to engulf my small hand in his larger one.

I do love you, Kendall.

I love you too, Patrick.

"Are we ready to go or what?" Clay asks.

"Let's do it!" Celia shouts.

"Have fun!" Mom calls out as we make our way across the front porch, down the steps, and to the waiting Hummer limo.

"You guys are insane renting this," I say.

"It's okay," Clay says. "My dad got us a steal of a deal."

"And we have an amazing surprise for you too," Patrick says with the cheesiest of grins.

Celia and I do our best to climb into the monstrosity of a vehicle in the most ladylike manner possible. We sit facing each other, and the driver takes off. Sparkling cider and crystal champagne flutes sit in a console nearby, so Clay pours us each a glass.

Patrick takes his but makes a quick phone call before drinking. "We're on our way," he says. I'm unable to pick up who he's talking to because he's totally blocking his thoughts from me.

Brat!

Patience!

"To great friends," Clay says, holding his glass up.

"To us!" I say.

"To a great prom night," Patrick chimes in.

Celia says, "
L'chaim!
"

We all stop and stare.

"It means 'to life' in Hebrew," she explains. "What? Taylor's not the only one who knows other languages."

Loves me my Celia. We clink our glasses and drain the sweet, bubbling liquid.

"We're almost there," Patrick says mischievously. He reaches over and switches the button to open the sunroof. It hums along as it opens.

"Stand up," Patrick says, doing it himself.

"Are you kidding me? After spending most of the afternoon on my hair?"

"Come on, Kendall. We're only going like five miles per hour."

I shake my head. "Okay, fine. But if my hair looks bad in the pics, I'm gonna beat you." We laugh together.

"You too, Celia," Clay says.

She has no problem stretching upward and leaning out over the roof. "What a beautiful night! What are we waiting for?"

"You'll see," Patrick says as he holds my hand.

We clear the square and turn down Ferris Street, on our way to the hotel where the prom is. All of a sudden, I get the sense of something sparkly in my immediate future. No! Not a ring—hello, only seventeen.

My intuition is right on the nose. On the dark stretch of road, I suddenly see sparks of white light—actually, white, silver, and gold fireworks volcanoing in six cones on each side, to a height of about ten feet, popping and crackling in a festival of excitement. It's an amazing display showering over us as we pass slowly in the limo. It's like being surrounded by millions of tiny stars that are shining only for us. And at the end, I see Loreen and Father Mass on either side of the road with lighters and morning glory sparklers in their hands, igniting the last cone.

They both wave. "Have a great time tonight!" Loreen shouts.

We signal back and then I turn to Patrick. "That was amazing."

"You're amazing," he says and leans in to kiss me. A soft, warm kiss that melts every bit of me from the top of my curled hair to my sparkly evening shoes.

This truly is a night I'll never forget.

I don't know how it can get any better.

***

The hotel ballroom is decorated to the hilt in dark blue streamers with silver stars on them and white and silver balloons all over the room. White trellises line the walls with weaves of colorful flowers that look and smell amazing.

I struggle for breath as I take in the beauty of it all.

"Smile," the photographer says to Patrick and me. Patrick is positioned behind me, his hands on my waist, in front of a backdrop of a dark starry sky.

Click, click, click.
Instant memories frozen in time for all to see.

A bounty of food is laid out for us, as well as frothy pink punch, sodas, and more sparkling cider. The live band is playing hits from the '80s, which the chaperones seem to really dig. Becca mocks putting her finger in her mouth to gag when the Bee Gees sound out. They should have hired her to spin some Trance, House, or good Dubstep.

However, an old George Michael song, "Careless Whisper," begins to play and Patrick pulls me out onto the dance floor and into his arms. I close my eyes and lay my head on his shoulder as he moves us around to the slow beat of the music. I'm safe. I'm secure. I'm loved. And I have an exciting future. Father Mass was right. There's more in store for me and I
am
truly blessed.

The cute guy dancing with me is proof of that.

"May I have your attention?" Kyle Kadish says into the microphone when the song is over. "We have a very special presentation this evening." He glances off to the side. "Mr. and Mrs. Lewis?"

Farah's parents step forward. The junior and senior classes explode in applause, and Mrs. Lewis begins to get weepy and motions us to stop.

"Thank y'all for your love of our daughter," Mr. Lewis says. "We want to thank you all for caring about our Farah and sending cards and flowers to us. It means more than we can ever express. And we wanted to give back something to the student body of RHS, a place Farah loved so much. Singing and cheerleading were her life. We want everyone to remember her school spirit, as well as her own lovely one, for all time."

Kyle helps Mr. Lewis unveil a large frame. I feel my heart beating furiously in my chest over the display in front of me. It's Farah's actual white RHS cheerleading uniform—the one she had gone home to retrieve—framed and matted, with a picture of her in the corner smiling out at everyone with her green eyes.

Everyone claps heartily, and I know mine aren't the only moist eyes in the crowd.

"And now," Kyle says, "a moment of silence for our friend Farah. May she rest in peace."

The silence in the ballroom is admirable, yet I open my eyes and glance about. No sign of a spirit. No presence here at all. I did help Farah pass on to her eternal rest. Because of her, Althea did too. Everything truly does happen for a reason. It may take us time to figure it out, but that's what life's all about.

I blow a kiss to the heavens for Farah, and then add two more: one for Emily, one for Andy.
My parents.

"Thank you," Kyle says. "Without further ado, here is our prom queen and court." The gathered crowd begins to giggle and chatter and buzz with excitement. Kyle takes a white envelope from inside his jacket and opens it. "This year's prom princesses are..."

"I'll gag if Courtney's crowned queen," Celia whispers next to me.

"Shhh," I say, trying not to laugh.

Kyle's voice booms through the ballroom. "Stephanie Crawford..."

Stephanie shrieks and then dashes to the stage. Kyle loops a princess banner over her red formal.

"Next prom princess is Courtney Langdon."

"That's a shocker!" Becca says from behind me.

Courtney feigns a happy smile, but I can tell she was expecting the crown and not just a glittered sash. Still, she waves at the crowd in her skin-tight silver-sequined dress.

"And the final princess," Kyle says, "is ... Kendall Moorehead."

Ex-squeeeeeeeze me?
"What? Me?"

"Oh my God, Kendall!" Celia shouts. "That is the coolest thing ever!"