“ ‘Fine’ isn’t the same as happy,” Mom said.
Maybe not. But sometimes it’s the best you can hope for.
Back in my room, I put the ring — submerged in a plastic baggie full of salt — into the shoe box. Then I dug through the rest of my boxes until I found the Walter Sawamura book, still feeling conflicted. Why should I get rid of the book if that wouldn’t solve my ghost problem? What if I needed it? For that matter, why should I believe Leyta in the first place? Sure, she knew my dad’s name and the date of his death, but big deal — she could have spent the whole day Googling me.
But she knew things you can’t find online, I thought, feeling a nervous flutter in my stomach. Like the flashes and the headaches and the voices.
I studied the cover of the Walter Sawamura book. It looked way too innocent to have caused so much trouble. But a lot of things that look normal on the outside contain more than their share of drama — I should know.
I dropped the book in the shoe box.
Then I tucked the box behind the laundry hamper in my closet.
Some things I wasn’t ready to let go of yet.
For the rest of the week, Wyatt and I maintained a wary but respectful silence on all topics having to do with ghosts, murders, and psychics. During our weekly lab project, we even managed to be almost friendly to one another.
Things were calm at home, too. Once, sitting at the dinner table, I heard a dripping sound, but it turned out that the cleaning lady had accidentally left one of the powder room faucets on.
I found myself hoping that my visit to Leyta Fitzgeorge had shaken something free. Maybe the ghost had finished conveying whatever message it was trying to convey, and now it was gone.
Friday after school, I was sitting on my bed, conjugating French verbs, when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called.
The door opened a fraction of an inch. “Willa?”
“Reed?” I hopped up and went to the door, smoothing my hair as subtly as I could.
“I’ve been working in Jonathan’s office, and my eyes are tired from staring at the screen all day.” He smiled that crooked smile that made my cheeks heat up. “I thought I might go for a short walk — would you like to come?”
In what dark, ridiculous corner of the universe would someone say no to that question?
We made our way around the neighborhood, weaving from one side of the street to the other to stay visible to cars that might be zooming around the corners. I remembered the first walk I took in LA — when everything seemed totally foreign and weird. Now it felt almost natural to drift back and forth across the road.
“Are you all right?” Reed asked. “You seem quiet.”
“Sure,” I said. “All good.”
“You know what sets you apart from most girls in LA?” Reed asked.
I glanced up at him. I hadn’t realized that anything set me apart from anyone — except maybe my craziness.
“You don’t always make it about yourself,” he said. “You think more than you speak.”
Was it supposed to be the kind of compliment that sends you reeling? Because it did. My stomach felt like a pinwheel spinning in my body.
“Well,” I said, “maybe I’m thinking about myself the whole time.”
“Maybe.” Reed laughed quietly. “But I doubt it. You’re an outsider, like me.”
“I thought you were born in Los Angeles,” I said.
“I was. But I still don’t fit in. I don’t care about cars, or clothes, or money. I only care about the quality of my work.” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many girls lose interest in a guy when he doesn’t drive an expensive car.”
“I don’t get the car thing,” I said. “Who cares what somebody drives? I mean, say a person has the fanciest car in the world. What if he’s a jerk? I’d rather be in a falling-apart minivan with somebody cool.”
Then I wondered if my little speech made it too obvious that “somebody cool” in my eyes was … well, Reed. I felt a warm flush creep up my cheeks and clamped my mouth shut.
But Reed only grinned at me. “I completely agree,” he said. “Hey, how’s Langhorn treating you? Make a lot of friends yet?”
I shrugged. “More like friend. But she’s pretty nice. And then there’s one guy who … I mean, I don’t know if you’d consider us friends. We’re more like allies.”
“Sounds like a very meaningful relationship,” Reed said, his eyes crinkling in amusement.
“The bizarre thing is that it kind of is,” I said. “I didn’t realize that you can appreciate someone’s company without actually getting along with them … at all.”
He laughed softly. “I’m not sure I follow.”
I’m not sure I do, either. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”
“Like what?”
I searched for a topic. “Um … movies?”
“Movies,” he said. “That’s something you never hear about in Hollywood.”
I gave his arm a little swat. “So what are your favorites?”
“That’s a tough question,” he said. “I’m a fan of the old classics, of course — like everybody else. All of the Lord of the Rings films, obviously … The Dinner Party … Little Miss Sunshine … Wall-E …”
“Seriously?” I said. “Little Miss Sunshine and Wall-E? That’s so cute.”
“Cute, huh?” He grinned and reddened slightly. “I also love Kill Bill, does that buy me any street cred?”
“Sure,” I said. “It takes you from a two out of ten to a three and a half.”
“What movies do you like?”
“I’m more of a book person,” I said. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings movies…. I read The Hobbit, though.”
“Willa,” he said, in mock disapproval. “This is a problem. We have to remedy this at some point in the near future.”
Watching movies with Reed? Um, yes, please.
“My favorite movie of all time is The Princess Bride,” I said. “Mom used to let me watch it when I was home sick from school.”
“Sophisticated cinema, there,” Reed teased, and I blushed, feeling like a little kid. A few seconds later, he stopped walking and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m in a weird mood today.”
“Weird moods are fine by me,” I said. “Weirdness in general is kind of my specialty.”
He smiled, and his eyes met mine. “You’re not weird. You’re … nice.”
You’re nice. The words were so simple, but they sent a shiver of happiness up my spine.
Back at the house, we stood on the front porch.
“Everyone wants you to fit into their mold, don’t they?” he asked. “But you don’t fit. Who cares? I never fit any molds, either.”
I held my breath.
“Willa, I —” He hesitated. “What if I told you — No, I shouldn’t.”
I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him and yell SAY IT, but I didn’t.
“Willa …” His voice trailed off.
I didn’t need any more words — it was enough to hear him say my name like that. It seemed as if we were in a little bubble with our own air. My heart felt like it was being pulled out of my chest, toward Reed.
We took a step closer to each other. His hands moved gently up to my face.
And then we were kissing.
It happened so fast that it took me a second to understand what was going on, which cost me about two seconds of enjoying the kiss, which let me tell you was a very sad loss of two seconds.
The kiss went on and on … like we were under a spell, neither of us willing to break it by stepping away. His lips were as warm and irresistible as the rest of him.