Krysta's Curse (13 page)

The clearing to our car had come into view.
Dad stopped so suddenly that I nearly ran into him.

I gasped when he faced me.

Tears flooded his reddened face. “Krysta,”
he spoke on an exhale. “I can’t talk about your mom anymore.”

****

Private Facebook Rant/ Too tired to care what time
it is

Adela, where did you go?

Why can I communicate with people over a
hundred years old and rude waitresses but I can’t even talk to my
own mom?

I’ve been holed up in my bedroom, crying for
what seems like hours. My chest hurts so bad that it feels like
it’s going to crush my heart.

I need you now, more than I’ve needed
anyone. Where are you? In a dark place like Sunny? Every time I
think about you lost and alone and cold, I cry harder.

Garza said you loved me.

If you still do, then please…please come
back.

I couldn’t
believe I’d agreed to another study session. My brain was so
muddled from lack of sleep the night before, I hardly realized I
was accepting his text invitation before it was too late. After Dad
had finally paid the bill and allowed me to use my phone again, I
had so many messages to answer, I hardly remembered which ones I’d
replied to, let alone what I’d written.

I had way too much to do instead of wasting
my time at Bryon’s house, like really studying for this test
tomorrow or organizing the protest at the mall site this weekend.
Okay, so maybe there wasn’t that much to organize. A few text
messages to AJ and Sophie and the ‘so called protest’ was scheduled
for Saturday morning.

The protest was another reason I shouldn’t
have accepted his invite tonight. This was the house of the enemy,
even though Bryon probably viewed his dad as more of an enemy than
I did. How would he feel if he knew I was protesting his dad’s
career? I was afraid to know the answer.

And now here I was, sitting across from the
cutest and most complex guy in the school, having the most
nauseating feeling of déjà vu.

The maid tried to force-feed me soda and
cookies. Bryon and his dad had yet another fight at the table. Now,
he was pouting instead of studying and we were getting nowhere with
a test tomorrow.

I should have been mad at Bryon for wasting
my time, for making me feel totally uncomfortable while he argued
with his dad. But Sophie’s words echoed through my brain.

He’s feeling a great sense of abandonment. And
anger.

I sensed the anger part, but who abandoned
him? Did his father have something to do with it? Was that why he
was so angry?

Despite the way he treated his dad, he was
always nice to me and I couldn’t forget the way he stood up for
Sunny that night at the café. I thought about the friendly way he
spoke to Mrs. Jackson and the other kids in class, even to Grody
Cody Miller, the kid who’d crapped his pants on the bus. Bryon was
a nice guy, a sweetheart. There had to be a reason why he hated his
dad so much.

One thing I did know, we weren’t going to
get any studying done when he was so busy fuming over his dad—with
all this tension hanging between us. Maybe if I got him to open up
about his problems, he’d release some of his pent up anger.

I swallowed hard, thinking how best to
approach the subject. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” He mumbled, too lost in his own
thoughts to glance in my direction.

I decided the best option was to be blunt.
“Why do you hate your dad?”

He jerked, dropping the pencil as his wide
gaze darted to me.

My heart melted.

At first I thought I’d angered him, but I
read only hurt in his glossy eyes.

“He cheated on my mom.” He spoke through a
shaky lip before turning his gaze downward.

The whole abandonment thing suddenly made
sense to me. His mom walked out on the family just as my fake mom
did and he blamed his dad.

Bryon coughed once into his hand and then
picked up his pencil, scribbling something on his notebook.

He wasn’t fooling me. I knew his mom leaving
was hard to talk about. I also knew, from a very personal
experience, he couldn’t go on with all this hate in his heart.

For his own good, I had to make him talk
about it. “Is that why she left you?”

His eyes shot up again, narrowing. This time
he clutched the pencil so tightly his knuckles turned white. “She
didn’t leave me,” he spat. “She divorced him and took me.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, feeling like a
complete idiot.

“It’s not your fault.” He smiled weakly, but
the slight turn of his mouth wasn’t enough to mask the pain in his
eyes. “My step-dad abused her.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Bryon’s issues were way deeper than I’d imagined.

Bryon shrugged, his arms and shoulders
looking kind of limp with the effort. “And then one night he…”

His voice cracked and he said no more.
Wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, he stood and walked to
the kitchen counter. Grabbing a cookie, he stuffed the whole thing
in his mouth, chewing while staring blankly at the wall.

Bryon didn’t need to say any more. I knew
his step-dad killed his mom. Now I understood why he was so
protective of Sunny that night. Why he’d gotten so emotional over
her death when he hardly knew her. I also knew why he hated his
dad. If Mr. Thomas hadn’t cheated on Bryon’s mom, they might still
be married and she’d be alive.

It was easy to see Bryon’s hatred for his
dad was consuming him, cutting into his study time and his social
life. He couldn’t ever be happy with so much rage in his heart.

I needed to make him understand. “Do you
think it’s good for you to hate your dad so much?”

Bryon swallowed his cookie, looking me over
with a sneer. “You don’t know what I feel.
Your
mom wasn’t murdered.”

“Actually…” I tilted my chin, meeting his
angry gaze “…she was killed by drug lords.”

His shoulders fell, his entire frame turning
inward. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be an ass.”

“That’s okay.” I shrugged. “You didn’t
know.” How did he go from enraged teen to pitiful puppy in a split
second? I suspected he didn’t know how to deal with his emotions
after his mom’s death. I wondered if his dad had been there to
comfort him or if he just wanted him out of the way.

Bryon absently popped another cookie in his
mouth while staring at the wall behind me.

Leaning forward, I splayed both hands on the
table, clearing my throat until he caught my gaze. “My dad and I
have issues, but I don’t hate him. He’s the only parent I’ve got
left.”

Bryon shrugged, reaching for yet another
cookie. “Not me and my dad.”

I shook my head, realizing his issues were
way worse than mine. “Maybe you two should go to therapy or
something.”

“He doesn’t want to do therapy.” He rolled
his eyes while throwing both hands in the air. “He’s too busy with
this stupid mall project.”

“Yeah,” I cringed, “about that mall.”

Bryon laughed. “I can get you the gift
cards. He’s got a drawer full.”

“I don’t want any gift cards.” I vigorously
shook my head, hardly believing those words came from my mouth. “My
friends and I are protesting the mall this weekend.”

His mouth fell open, cookie crumbles
dropping to the floor. “What?”

“They’re building it on an old
cemetery.”

His features sharpened, a hint of anger
flashing in his eyes. “They are?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed a lump in my throat.
“They should respect the dead.”

His lips contorted, making him look like he
was either frowning or masking a smile. “My dad’s gonna be
pissed.”

My mouth had suddenly gone dry, my whole
body feeling as if it would crack in two. I really didn’t want
Bryon to hate me for this. Even if he didn’t like his dad, I was
sure he liked the money that came with his dad’s job. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He broke into a grin that nearly
stretched from ear to ear. “What time’s the protest? I want to
go.”

Tossing my
book bag on the floor, I sank onto my lumpy mattress and mindlessly
stared at the stain-splattered ceiling.

I was tired and disoriented, probably from
too little sleep and too much stress. Groaning into my palms, I
tried not to think about my chemistry exam score.

Mrs. Jackson had my exam graded in a matter
of seconds. Fifty elements correct out of 103. My teacher must have
thought I was a total waste, more interested in make-up than in
school. Luckily, she’d agreed to let me redo the test next week. I
was determined to pass, and that meant plenty of study
time—alone.

No Bryon, no drama, no ghosts. Well, the
ghosts weren’t so much the problem anymore and I was wondering,
even a little worried about where they went.

A light breeze blew against my skin, hardly
worth noticing unless you were someone like me. I recognized the
slightly tingly sensation, like fairy dust was falling on me from
above.

Looking up, I smiled at their hovering
forms. “Hey, you two; where’ve you been?” I squinted, having to do
a double-take as I looked into the pale faces of Ed and Gertrude. I
didn’t know if it was possible, but their apparitions looked even
more translucent.

Ed’s entire face was a mask of stone, even
his crazy eye stilled. “We’re slippin’, Emmy.”

“What?” I choked, as a rush of fear shot
straight to my heart. I sat up, leaning my tired bones against the
headboard.

Gertrude splayed both her hands wide,
pointing at the floor with her fingers. “We’re losing the only
thing tyin’ us to this earth.”

“What does that mean?” I asked through a
shaky voice, already afraid I knew the answer.

“We’re fading, Emmy.” Ed shrugged, his eyes
reflecting a resigned sense of despair. “After they finish diggin’
next week, we’ll be gone.”

“No!” I shouted, my limbs shaking with
rage.

How could the developers do this to two
harmless souls? Didn’t they know that by desecrating their graves,
they were destroying their spirits?

“We didn’t want ta have to tell you this.”
Gertrude smiled, her lips trembling with the movement. “That’s why
we’ve been keepin’ away. We know it’s not your fault.”

My back rigid, I came up on my knees,
leveling them both with a determined stare. “My friends and I are
protesting the mall tomorrow. Just try to hold on.”

“You’re a real good girl, Emmy Jane.” Ed
floated down to my level, his lower body disappearing beneath my
bed. “We want you to know that…just in case we don’t make it.” He
made a gesture of squeezing my shoulder.

Looking into his weird, but tender gaze, my
resolve was hardened even more. “You will make it. I’m going to
fight for you.”

****

Oh-mi-god.

I’d never been so scared in all my life. No
ghost or ghoul or bump in the night even came close to the terror I
felt while staring into the lens of the television camera.

This was no way to begin my career in
fashion. Models had to smile for cameras all the time.

Thank God Sophie and AJ were with me. They
stood at my back while Mindy Mays from Seven News applied her
lipstick. I should have felt comforted with my two BFFs behind me,
but I was so nervous, my ankles wobbled in my mid-calf boots.

Breathe, Krysta, Breathe.

I didn’t want to dwell on the fact that all
of Greenwood would soon know I was trying to sabotage the mall.
Looking around me, I tried to remember this place as a cemetery. We
were standing on the top of a gentle grassy slope, so the people on
the road could get a good view of the protest. I imagined the giant
oak tree was once on this slope and Ed and Gertrude were buried
beneath me. At the bottom of the slope, closer to the road, was a
makeshift, gravelly parking lot. Probably where the developers
parked their luxury cars.

The reporter, with big buggy eyes that
looked drawn in with permanent marker, turned her penetrating gaze
to me. “Ready kid?”

My mind went blank. “I…I…”

Without waiting for me to answer, she turned
to the lens. “Mindy Mays here at the future site of Greenwood’s
first mall, The Crossover. I’m talking to a ninth grader from
Greenwood Junior High, Krysta Richards, who is protesting the mall
development. So tell me Krysta, what made you decide to
protest?”

Her wide gaze focused on me and I wanted to
squirm out of my skin. I tried to swallow a lump in my throat that
would not go down, making me feel like I had a banana in my
windpipe.

After averting my gaze from the reporter,
somehow I found the courage to look sideways into the lens.
“They’re building it over a graveyard.” My voice sounded strange,
like it came from some small child.

“Yes, but it’s centuries old.” She motioned
to the old crumbled tombstones behind us with a flick of the wrist.
“No one in Greenwood has claimed ancestry here.”

Her casual attitude was annoying. I knew who
was buried there, but I couldn’t tell her that. Still, that
shouldn’t have mattered. “That doesn’t mean we should disrespect
the dead,” I huffed, summoning courage to raise my voice.

She flashed a wide smile with what looked
like miles of white teeth. Then the reporter laughed while leering
at me through lowered eyelids. “What makes a fourteen-year-old girl
take such an interest in the city’s history?”

This woman had me unhinged. Not only was she
condescending, she was just plain annoying.

And I was so angry, I couldn’t think to
speak. “I- I just…”

“She just believes in doing what’s
right!”

The unmistakable tenor of Bryon’s booming
voice echoed from somewhere behind me.

I gasped when I turned and saw him standing
on top of a parked tractor. Wearing a tombstone shaped ‘Stop the
Desecration’ sign around his neck, Bryon was dressed in a black and
white skeleton leotard.