OCDaniel (20 page)

In any case, we sat there on the curb and talked as the sun headed toward the hills.

“I don't even really want rides from her,” Sara said, “for obvious reasons. But it's a bit of a far walk. I mean, if we end up proving John's guilt and she's involved, then I guess I'll have to figure it out.”

I paused. “What would happen to you?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I'm thirteen, so I guess I would become legal custody of my grandparents. Except I'm not sure they want me either. They're nice, but that doesn't mean they want a kid on antidepressant medication living there. No one does, really. So maybe foster care or something.”

I watched as Tom Dernt rode away, watching me with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe your mom had nothing to do with it.”

“I hope so. But it didn't sound like it. And to be honest, she and my dad fought a lot.”

I glanced at her. “About you?”

“And other things. They fought about how much she worked and how she went out a lot, and sometimes about his drinking. He drank sometimes. But he was a good dad. Trust me.”

“You never said he drank.”

She shrugged. “He wasn't, like, a raging drunk or anything.”

I didn't want to say it, but I guess I had to. “And you're definitely sure he didn't just run away?”

She looked at me, her green eyes flashing. “Yes,” she said coldly. “Besides all the evidence we have been gathering, I just know he didn't. He loved me, Dan. He was in my room every night reading to me and tucking me in and telling me he loved me. He would never have left me. Never. And if you even have to think that still, then maybe you shouldn't be helping me after all.”

The sharpness in her voice caught me off guard. “I'm sorry.”

She shook her head, not saying anything. For a minute or two we sat in silence as the rest of the team took off. Coach Clemons was last, and he just gave me a suspicious look like I should have been at home studying the playbook or something, even though my job was just to kick the ball sometimes.

“I miss him,” she said.

“I know.”

“He didn't leave me, Dan. He knew my . . . condition. The panic attacks and the depression. He wouldn't have left me.”

I put my hand on her knee. “I believe you.” I felt her leg twitch, and I pulled away.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Don't get touched much. Here. Look.” She pulled out her cell phone and opened the gallery. She scrolled through endless pictures of her and her dad—at the beach, hugging, hiking, at a dinner party, and just sitting together on the couch. I saw a lot of her dad in her: the green eyes and the dark hair. In every picture he was smiling and jovial and had his arm around her shoulders.

“Did you talk to him?” I asked quietly.

“Yes,” she whispered. “He was the only one in the world. Until you.”

I nodded. “He looks happy.”

She smiled sadly. “He was. That's what I mean. There's no way he ran.”

I nodded. “I guess so. But you said it yourself. There is no record of a murder. We need a body.”

“I told you . . . I have a plan.”

“That usually gets us into trouble.”

“And this will probably be no exception,” she said.

I sighed. “Figured.”

A blue sedan suddenly sped into the parking lot, and I recognized Sara's mom at the wheel. She waved at me, and Sara rolled her eyes.

“You want a ride?”

I shook my head. “I'll walk. Could use the fresh air.”

What I really meant was that I didn't want to be in the car with Sara's mother, since we were planning a way to get her and her boyfriend arrested for murder.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

They drove away, and I started the walk home alone.

  •  •  •  

My dad got off work early that night, so we had dinner as a family. Steve of course wasn't a fan of that, but my dad was there, so Steve had to show up and behave anyway. We even had pizza, which was usually our Saturday night routine. For a Monday it was unheard of.

My mom turned to Emma. “How was your day, dear?”

She shrugged. “Good. Had a test.”

“A?” Steve asked dryly.

“Probably,” she said.

“How about you, Steve?” my dad asked.

“Day was good.”

“He means the grades,” my mom said.

“No tests,” he said. “I'm passing everything.”

“Now that's something to strive for,” my dad said sarcastically.

“Dan?” my mom asked.

“Fine.”

“How was practice?” Dad asked.

“Same as usual. Missed a bunch until the coach yelled at me.”

Steve snickered.

“It's the game that counts,” my dad said. “You just need to—”

“Focus,” I finished. “I know.”

He nodded and went back to his pizza. Next to me Emma was nibbling on a cheese slice like a mouse, while Steve wolfed down the rest of the pizza on the other side. My mom had her eyes on me, and I slid my hand away from where I was moving my milk glass back and forth across the table. Eight times. I needed two more, but I could wait until she looked away again. As soon as she did, I snuck in two more moves and finally relaxed. I had left the pizza on the plate while I'd been doing it. When I was Zapped, the first thing to go was my appetite.

“How is everything else?” my mom asked. Her voice had changed a little. I wondered if she had seen the milk glass. Sometimes I thought she saw little things like that, but I was never sure.

“Fine,” I said.

She nodded. “Sleeping okay? I heard you moving around last night.”

My cheeks were burning now. I definitely wasn't going to eat. “Fine. Restless, I guess.”

She stared at me for a moment. Why did she have to ask me in front of everyone?

“So how is Sara?” she said.

I glanced at her. “Fine . . .”

“I haven't seen her around here in a bit. Do you still hang out?”

Emma was watching me now, smiling coyly. My dad was watching with equal interest.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes.”

“What do you do?” Steve asked through a mouthful of pizza.

“Steve,” she said. “Not with your mouth full. But what do you do? Does she . . . talk much?”

I sighed. “What have you heard?”

She gave me an innocent look. “I just heard from one of the moms that she's . . . quiet.”

“I heard she's nuts,” Steve said.

I wasn't one to react much, especially where my brother was concerned. He was older and bigger, and I had grown up terrified of him. But I felt my temper rising.

“She is not nuts,” I said sharply.

He wasn't intimidated. “They call her Psycho Sara.”

“It's not nice,” Emma murmured.

My mom looked caught between rebuking Steve and wanting to ask me if it was true. I decided to save her the trouble. “They call her that because she doesn't like to talk much. And since the other kids spend their time calling her Psycho Sara, can you blame her? She's actually a genius, if you must know.”

My mom and dad exchanged a surprised look. I was a little shocked myself.

“Can I be excused?”

My mom nodded. “Sure. Steve?”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

I just left my pizza half-eaten on the plate and stormed up to my room, closed the door, and flopped onto my bed. I felt the heat in my cheeks and the back of my neck and was still wondering where that had come from. I knew everyone called her Psycho Sara. I even knew they were probably whispering about the fact that I was hanging out with her now. But I felt strangely protective of her. Like she had showed me who she really was, and now I was tasked with defending her. Not that she needed it.

Another thought suddenly occurred to me. Did I like Sara Malvern? It didn't even make any sense. I liked Raya. Cool, normal, popular Raya Singh, who reminded me of what I wanted to be—normal too. Sara was the world I wanted to get away from. The crazy one where our minds didn't work right and we chased murderers and I tried to figure out a girl who made no sense.

I wanted to just like Raya Singh and leave it there. But as I stared up at the stucco ceiling, it wasn't Raya's face I saw there.

  •  •  •  

I ended up writing a few more chapters before bed. I was finally getting the rhythm. I wrote a few flashbacks and “character building” scenes, like the day Daniel fought with his mom and the day his grandpa died. Then I got to the gas station scene.

They pulled into a gas station standing alone at the side of the highway. Its neon sign was still shining brightly in the gloomy midday light. They stopped in front of the pump.

“I'll fill it,” she said. “You make sure it's all clear.”

“Split up?” he said weakly.

“Unless you're too afraid.”

Daniel sighed. “Fine.”

He grabbed the baseball bat and started for the side of the building. He peered into the store through the glass, but it was abandoned. He crept around the side, peeking into the back parking lot.

“Sara, you almost done?” he called nervously.

“I haven't even started.”

“Oh.”

He spotted the bathroom door and realized he kind of had to go. He glanced at Sara. It would probably be another minute or so before she filled the tank. He had some time. Dan tried the door and found that it was open. Taking a quick look inside, he hurried in.

After washing his hands, he pushed the door open, the bat hanging lazily from his other hand. The creature was waiting.

It towered over him, its black, vacant eyes locked on his. Then it raised one of its terrible, clawed hands and prepared to bring it down on Daniel's head.

The baseball bat dropped from his hands. He was too afraid to move.

And then a croquet mallet swung past him and connected squarely with the creature's head. There was a burst of electric blue light and a
boom,
and the creature went sailing backward into the trees lining the parking lot.

Sara turned to him. “Shall we go?”

They ran to the car and jumped in just as two more creatures started running toward the source of the noise. Sara floored the gas pedal, and they sped out onto the street.

Daniel looked at her, amazed.

She just smiled. “I told you it wasn't a normal croquet mallet. Now try to hold it, if you can. We have a world to save, and it's going to be tough if you get killed going to the bathroom before we get there.”

Game day was bright and sunny. Perfect kicking conditions, which meant I had no excuse if I messed it up. My mom woke me up by flinging my curtains open.

“Big game today,” she said.

Then she left me in the sunlight, and I tried to burrow back under my blankets. I tried to think of some viable excuses. Flu? They wouldn't buy it. I could fake an injury. Maybe a fall off the front porch?

I had three bites of cereal, and by the third bite my Mini-Wheats were soggy and looked like porridge. I tossed the rest and went to the bathroom to stare at the toilet for a while in case I got sick. There was no vomiting, though, and instead I moved to the mirror to reflect that I was looking rather pale. Maybe the flu wouldn't be so far-fetched after all. My hair was standing on end, but I just threw a ball cap on and started downstairs, where my dad was waiting to drive me. He looked excited.

He gave me a rare pat on the back.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” I murmured.

He grinned. “Nerves are good.”

I managed a weak smile and followed him to the car. I walked off the porch and totally forgot to fake a fall. I was stuck playing now. My stomach twisted a little more. The drive to the field was the longest ever. My dad was talking about plays and the wind and the sun, but I was just thinking that I should have taken up drama or something. I was definitely going to blow the game today. It was just a matter of time.

The Rocanville Ravens were already warming up on the field. They wore all black, which didn't help the dread sweeping over me. It looked like we were playing a team of wraiths or something. This was not cool.

Before I knew it, the whistle had blown and I was kicking the ball as hard as I could toward the waiting Ravens. It was a decent connection, and Coach even patted my back on my way off the field.

“That's it, Leigh,” he said, sounding like he was about to explode with pent-up energy.

It was the end of the first quarter when I attempted my first field goal. We were down three—the defense on both teams was shutting down the offense. I trotted out, trying to ignore Raya and my dad and the hundred other people watching me.

“Hut!”

Max caught the ball and placed it perfectly. Laces out. I kicked.

It sailed left by about five yards and plopped into the end zone. I had missed. I saw Max bite his lip, but then he stood up, and shook my hand, and said, “Next time, baby.”

Coach ignored me on my way back to the bench, and I found a spot and slumped. Bad start. It was a close game. Tom was throwing well, and as usual Max was finding his way to the score sheet. He had two touchdowns by the half, and we were down by seven.

Coach Clemons's halftime speech was mostly yelling.

“We're right in it, boys!” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth and showering poor Brayden Little. “A little more work on D, and we have it. Leigh, stay focused, son! You can do this, Dan!”

I'd already missed another field goal and an extra point, so I was one for four at the moment. Most of the other guys weren't even looking at me, and I was afraid to check the stands. My family was probably hiding their faces. It was just as bad as I had feared. I was blowing the game.

I missed another field goal in the third quarter. Kevin was making a lot of loud comments from the sidelines about how I should be replaced, but Coach wasn't having it. We were still only a touchdown behind, so I guess he figured I was still good luck or something. It didn't feel like it as I watched another ball sail wide. I did sneak a quick look at my dad on my way back to the sidelines, and he gave me the fakest smile ever and clapped. He'd never been much of an actor. Even Emma looked uncomfortable.