Krysta's Curse (17 page)

Bryon broke into a huge grin. “Dad is moving
the parking lot.”

“Really!” I shrieked. “That’s great!” I was
so excited I jumped into his arms and gave him a big squeeze.

He squeezed back, so tight he made my ribs
ache.

I had to pull out of his embrace. His gaze
darted to the side before he looked at me again.

I could tell he was on the verge of saying
something important.

Clearing his throat, he spoke in a whisper.
“Do you think maybe we could…”

“I asked Mrs. Jackson for a new partner,”
I

blurted.

His jaw dropped and he backed away.
“What?”

“I don’t want to cause problems between you
and your dad.”

Bryon grimaced as his shoulders fell. “He
has to buy ten more acres on the other side of the mall for the
parking lot. Either that or risk losing the election.” He laughed
through a thin smile. “He’s not liking you right now.”

“Sorry.” Leaning toward him, I grabbed his
hand and squeezed.

Big mistake.

His skin felt so warm, sending tingles up my
arm and down my spine.

He stepped closer until we were standing toe
to toe. “I still like you.”

“I like you, too.” The traitorous words
rushed out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Gawd, I was such an idiot!

I pressed my lips together, determined not
to say any more. I was bad news for Bryon. We both had so many
issues to deal with right now. Besides, I knew his dad would never
like me. And then there was that little habit I had of speaking to
dead people.

How would Bryon and I ever work out?

With my grip still entwined in his, Bryon
cupped my chin with his other hand.

His eyes clouded a smoky gray, his jaw was
set, his features determined. “I’ve been wanting to do something
for a long time.” His soft voice carried a raspy edge.

I didn’t need Sophie’s mind-reading powers
to know he was about to kiss me.

I shouldn’t let him kiss me. This will never work
out.

But my mind and body were beating to two
different drums. Closing my eyes, I leaned closer to his warmth,
lips parted.

His mouth barely brushed over mine, soft and
slightly moistened. Inhaling his warm scent, I reached for his
shirt collar, but his hand fell away from my face and he pulled
back. It was over as soon as it began. The faint scent of cinnamon
lingered on my lips.

What kind of a kiss was that!

Blinking hard, I searched his clouded
features, trying to understand the meaning behind his peck.

A slight smile broke through his haze. “I
know we can’t get serious now, but I won’t let my dad ruin our
friendship.”

My throat tightened at the sincerity in his
big puppy dog eyes. At the feel of his warm palm still pressed
against mine. I knew he was right. We couldn’t get serious now, but
in time things could change. Did I really want to throw away my
chance with Bryon?

I searched his eyes, not knowing what to
say.

Slowly releasing my fingers, he took a step
back. “Would you give me some time to work things out with my dad
in therapy?” A pleading smile tugged at the corners of his
mouth.

“Yeah.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief,
knowing I wouldn’t have to break things off with Bryon forever.
Knowing I could still have him as a friend. “I’ve got some issues I
need to work on, too.”

“We can still talk at school and on the
phone. Sorry I didn’t answer your texts.” He held out his palms in
an apologetic gesture. “My phone was dead.”

“That’s okay. Call me whenever you need to
talk.” Stepping forward, I leaned up and planted a kiss on his
smooth cheek.

Turning on my heel, I somehow managed to
walk away from Bryon without glancing back, which was one of the
hardest things I’d ever done. Although, because of my supernatural
‘gift’, something told me my life would be full of difficult
choices.

****

“How you been, Emmy Jane?”

I didn’t even jump this time. The cool
breeze I’d felt on the back of my neck warned me they were
coming.

Looking up at the rotting ceiling above my
small kitchen table, I was met by the smiling faces of Ed and
Gertrude.

I couldn’t help but smile back. “It’s about
time.” I tried to imitate using my best Ed voice.

They hadn’t contacted me in over a week, and
despite the fact that Mr. Thomas had agreed to relocate the parking
lot to the other side of the mall, I was still worried about
them.

Ed looked at me with a quizzical grin. “What
you eatin’?”

“A cheeseburger and a side salad.” I pointed
to the half-eaten, juicy burger on my plate. Dad made it before he
went to work. Until recently, I honestly didn’t know he could
cook.

Ed licked his lips. “I wish I could
taste.”

Clasping her hands in front of her chest,
Gertrude’s eyes twinkled with more than just the usual ghoulish
glow. “You look better, Emmy. Not so much like a skeleton.”

I cringed at that comment. You know you’re
too skinny when a dead person says you look like a skeleton. But
that was all behind me now. In the past week, I’d already gained
two pounds. “I’ve decided to try eating again.” I nodded in their
direction. “You look good, too.”

They did look good—for dead people. Their
glow was back, shiny and stronger than ever. They weren’t as
translucent. In fact, they almost looked like
real
people.

Gertrude smiled warmly. “We came to thank
you for what you’ve done. They even put our tombstones back.”

“The oak tree’s still missin’.” Ed punched
his fist into the air, his weird eye going in all directions.

I had to repress a laugh. Not just at them,
but at myself. Who else could talk to a crazy-eyed spirit and not
crap her pants?

Gertrude patted his shoulder. “They can’t
put back an oak, Ed.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, his lips turning in a
pout. “I know.”

“My friends and I can always plant a new
tree.” I said before I took another bite of my burger.

Ed looked down at me with a grin that
stretched ear to ear. For a moment, that eye even managed to stay
still. “That would be real nice of you, Emmy Jane.”

Gertrude splayed her hands, pointing toward
the ground. “We’re goin’ back ta rest now, sweetheart.”

I swallowed hard, thinking how much I’d miss
them, no matter how annoying their interruptions had been.

“You’re a good girl.” Ed winked his good
eye. “One day, you’ll make some young man a very lucky fellow.”

“Thanks,” I sighed. “I hope so.”

They floated through my kitchen wall and I
was left alone. Which was not a good thing, because Ed’s comment
left me missing Bryon.

****

Facebook rant/Nine p.m.

I can’t believe it’s only been a few weeks
since Bryon and I were studying together at Mocha Madness.

It feels like years have passed.

Although we don’t see each other after
school anymore, I’m glad he and his dad are going to work on
things. He needs to settle his issues with his dad before he can
have a relationship with me.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I remember
the excited expression on his face when he saw that brownie at
Mocha Madness. He was so cute and sweet. Then, other times, he was
angry and confused. At times, his extreme emotions worried me.

Although, keeping feelings locked away isn’t
good, either.

I tried to control everything about myself.
My emotions, my appearance, even my diet. Not until I saw Bryon
stuffing his face with cookies did I begin to understand I was
suffering from emotional eating problems, too.

Only I held everything in.

Maybe I just didn’t know how to deal with my
grief, so I kept it all inside. Maybe I thought if I looked and
acted perfect, my dad would pay more attention to me.

After that cheerleader called me a ‘stick
chick,’ I had to do a double-take in the mirror. I was kind of thin
and my under-eye circles were getting darker. I’d always thought
that was because the dead liked to wake me up at all hours of the
night. But I’d been getting less and less visits lately and my eyes
were looking worse.

I wasn’t sick and faint like AJ got, but I
did get some extreme headaches. Funny, but after a week of eating
low carb wraps and hamburgers with my side-salads, I haven’t had
any more headaches.

I guess I don’t have to be a size one. A
three or a five would be nice, too. Sophie is a seven and she looks
great.

The funny thing is, at this point in my
life, appearance doesn’t mean as much anymore. What would mean more
than anything in the world would be a visit from my mom—Adela.

I wonder if I’ll ever get that chance or has
she gone into some dark void like Sunny? Or maybe she’s gone on to
heaven. Maybe she’s an angel. I still don’t know enough about the
afterworld to understand what happens to spirits when they pass on.
I only hope my mom is happy and that I’ll get a chance to speak
with her at least once in my lifetime.

That’s my new priority in life—and
reconnecting with my dad. I don’t have time for a Bryon at the
moment. No matter how many times a day I think of his cute
smile.

****

After the lights had been turned out, and
she could hear her child’s slow, labored breathing, Adela quietly
floated into the room. Bending over, she planted a kiss on her
daughter’s forehead, just as she’d done every night for the past
fourteen years.

“Goodnight, my angel,” she whispered as she
gazed lovingly at her child’s sleeping form.

And just as she’d done every night since her
passing, Adela reached out a hesitant hand, only to pull away. She
had so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t dare risk waking her
child.

Her daughter would ask questions—dangerous
questions. And Adela couldn’t risk leading Krysta down the same
dark path that had led to her own death.

I ran.

Above me, stars glinted in the black sky like a
thousand eyes. There was no moon to light my path through the
field, no pale glow to give me the strength and courage to
continue, but continue I did.

My very life depended on it.

The stalks were taller than I was, and the ground
soft enough to mask the sound of my leather shoes on the ground. I
shoved through the corn, not caring whether I tore off leaves or
cobs in my haste to find shelter. My long skirts twisted around my
legs, hindering my forward movement enough to frighten me. If I
fell...

The running footsteps behind me might catch up.

I veered to the right, wondering if the field would
ever end. I had done nothing but run for weeks, and I was so weary
of the chase. How long would I have to hide for fear of
condemnation? How far must I travel before finding peace?

I gasped for breath, the air burning my lungs. I
could not run much longer. For the first time, I realized I may
have reached the end of my days.

I burst through the edge of the field. The sudden
openness gave me pause, and I nearly fell before stumbling to a
halt. I whirled around and waited to see if I could hear my pursuer
crashing through the maize. The distant howl of coyotes was lonely
in the night, accompanied only by the sound of my heavy breathing
and the beat of my heart resonating in my ears.

Not a sound from the cornfield.

I backed away, my eyes trained on the benign stalks
as they waved in a slight breeze. I was afraid to turn my back for
fear he was watching me from inside, waiting for me to be at my
most vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath, I sent a quick prayer to the
spirits of my ancestors, and then turned away, poised to run for
the nearest homestead and beg sanctuary.

I did not even manage a single step before strong
hands encircled my throat.

Sophie

Where were they?

As I paced my driveway, I tried to ignore the
nervous tension in my gut. But the loud grumbling coming from my
midsection was hard to ignore. It felt as if someone was playing
jump-rope with my intestines. Thankfully, I’d ignored my mom’s
advice and hadn’t touched my breakfast. I ordinarily ate a huge
bowl of cereal each morning.

But this wasn’t a typical morning.

This was my first day of high school.

Even though, technically, I’d been a high schooler
last year, stuck in that awful junior high. Now I was starting my
new school as a sophomore. And thanks to stories from Mike, my best
friend’s brother, I was just about ready to crap my pants in
fear.

Apparently, the upper classmen already had several
names picked out for the sophomore class—squashmores, maggots,
babies, newbies, virgins….

That last nickname was what got me, mostly because
it would forever be true. I’d done a lot of thinking over the
summer, and I’d come to realize I’d probably never have another
boyfriend. Even though I’d been with Frankie for a short while my
freshman year, we hadn’t done much more than kiss, and even that
had been awkward.

Why?

Because my powers were strengthening.

Big time.

And it was hard to get serious with a guy when I
could read his mind.

Like when right before he was about to kiss me, he
was secretly grossed out by my new mini volcano, AKA ginormous
pimple, that had sprouted on my chin overnight. Naturally, no
amount of pimple cream or expensive cosmetics was able to conceal
the zit’s evil plan to destroy my social life.

So how could I get serious with a guy when he was
thinking
Ewwww
just as he’s about to kiss me?

I couldn’t. Because if it wasn’t a zit, then it was
the extra fat on my thighs, or the way I sometimes slouched, or my
smaller-than-average breasts. Or maybe one day I would catch him
checking out another girl and pop into his mind while he was
thinking nasty things about her.