Shift (The Pandorma Adventures Book 1) (4 page)

“You should’ve at least trusted me,” I mutter as he passes me. Trevor stops dead. “We’ve been friends forever, whatever happened, whatever it is you think I can’t handle . . . you could at least try me,” I say quietly. No response.

I watch his back going down the stairs. I kick the shelf and let out a breath. For a minute I thought that I might just get him back.

Chapter 5

I want to talk to that cat again. But by the time I bike home it’s too late to go look for Darklily.

Now that I know I wasn’t being made fun of, my curiosity is starting to grow. I want to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

Dad is snoozing on the couch. I quietly open the fridge and feel my mouth begin to water when I discover a big bowl of macaroni and cheese. On occasion Kelly will make Dad and me dinner if she knows Mom will be home late. I put the bowl in the microwave. Before it can ding I open the door and mix around the pasta to make sure it’s thoroughly defrosted and entirely gooey. I put it back in, setting the timer for a couple more minutes then start digging around in the cabinets for other blissfully unhealthy snacks left by Kelly.

“That mac n’ cheese?”

I release a small yelp and whip around, the bag of cookies escaping my grasp.

“Dad you nearly gave me a heart attack!” I scold. “Now the cookies are probably all broken.”

“Poor cookies,” Dad says seriously then chuckles and moves closer, grabbing the bowl out of the microwave and dipping the spoon in, taking out a big lump of cheesy noodles. I make a face at him then pick the cookies up and set them on the counter.

“What's that? Point two hundred for me?”

For the last several years Dad has kept count of the numerous times he’s scared me—purposefully and non-purposefully. Typically Dad’s scaring consists of him appearing seemingly out of nowhere when I least expect it.

“No,” I say playfully, “one-fifty.”

Dad gives me an are-you-sure look and I gently flick him on the arm. I split all the macaroni and cheese up into two large bowls, stick forks in and hand one to Dad. I lean against the counter, Dad’s large form enwrapping me in shadow.

Halfway through our meal Dad suddenly asks, “Remember those stories I used to tell you Licorice?” his tone is urgent, pressing.

I frown in confusion. Dad used to tell me a bedtime story every night up until I was eleven. Sometimes they’d be incredible true stories that he’d tweak to his liking and sometimes a story of something that happened in his childhood. But most of the time they were stories of pure, fantastical fiction. Tales of a world far away with the only access being an invisible door that can only be found if you can shape-shift because only animals can find the doors. He liked to call them gates. The planet could have anything Dad wanted, from talking animals to mermaids, dragons, places where creatures appeared out of mist, dinosaurs and more. Dad always started these stories with the same line: Once upon a legend there was a planet where fairytales were born, the legends of beasts originated, and creatures thought dead still thrived.

“The ones with the planet?” I reply uncertainly.

Dad sets down his bowl. He kneels down and takes my shoulders, looking me in the eye. “Sometimes we must believe in the things most absurd because those are the things that are true.” Dad’s eyes look back and forth between mine. “We make mistakes but we must remember what is true, right? We must hang onto the truth—fight for it. Lissa,” Dad’s voice gets strangled as he continues, “we must always fight. Especially for the things we love most. Promise me you will fight. And forgive me. Promise me.”

“I promise Dad,” I say quickly, wanting this moment to be over. I feel tears wet the edges of my eyes, my throat constricting. Dad straightens out; his entire intense demeanor vanishing like it had never been there seconds ago. He nods his head once then leaves. I throw the rest of my macaroni and cheese in the trash and leave the cookies.

I sit on my bed, finishing my homework, but after fifteen minutes my mind refuses to focus. Dad’s words are driving me crazy. He’s never spoken so fiercely. Ever. His voice had such conviction, yet desperation for me to assert that his belief was in fact true. Whatever belief that was. I sigh. This was going to bug me like crazy until I figured it out. I should ask Dad what he meant . . . but I’m not sure if I want to. He had asked me to forgive him. And I doubt it had to do with his falling into a depression.

After another fifteen minutes of battling with myself to stay focused I give up. I’ll just get up early and do it before school starts.

Right before I nod off to sleep I hear a desperate, miserable howl drift through the silent night. It flows into my room on the warm, soft breeze radiating through my open window.

I try to shake the sleep from my eyes as I slowly bike down our driveway. But it clings to me like a leech. Ew. Okay terrible comparison, but my brain feels like mush.

Our dirt road stretches half a mile before connecting with a real road. So I let my attention slip. My feet continue pedaling even though my mind is elsewhere.

Black flashes in the corner of my vision. I just barely register that it’s running directly for me before I find myself flying through the air. Landing on books is like falling on hard packed snow. And I should know. I’ve had plenty of sledding collisions with Trevor when I was younger. The breath is knocked out of me and I lie there for several seconds before carefully sitting up. I wince when my back starts generating an awful pain. I carefully stand. I roll my right shoulder, which might’ve been re-injured.

“Wow. You have terrible reflexes.”

I know that voice. I spin around. Darklily stands next to my now reclining bike. She flipped my bike?
I’m going to get that cat.
Dark’s whiskers are twitching with amusement. I narrow my eyes. “It’s
not
funny.”

“I found it quite amusing. Your arms and legs were flailing and the look on your face was priceless.”

I pick up my bike. “It wouldn’t be funny if it was you.”

Darklily sniffs. “First of all I would’ve landed on my
feet
and second I would’ve jumped out of the way, avoiding collision. And that thing isn’t exactly made of feathers you know. I’m probably going to get a bruise.”

“Serves you right,” I retort, but I can feel a smile surfacing. Her description of my fall sounds like something the old Trevor would have loved to see.

I moan. My shoulder is killing me now. I slip off my backpack and hang it on the handlebars and start walking. At least now I have no doubt Darklily is real.

“Sorry,” Dark says sincerely. Since I’m terrible at holding grudges, I give her a weak smile. “Just
don’t
do it again please.”

“Sure. Although it
is
your own fault.”

“What? I did not flip myself,” I say incredulously.

“I mean if you had just come back like you said you would I wouldn’t have had to take such drastic measures.”

“I did not say I was coming back.”

Dark continues, ignoring me. “Two days have passed. Why were you taking so long?”

We reach the end of the dirt driveway.

“I never said I was coming back okay? And I have to go now or I’ll be late.”

“Then we’ll talk when you get back?”

I look into Dark’s expectant, rich green eyes. I can't say no. Whatever she has to tell me is important to her. How many times had people brushed me off when I needed someone to listen to me?

“Alright we can talk later.”

She blinks then lopes across our lawn and disappears into the forest.

I walk down the school steps and over to the bike rack. My head feeling like a soaking rag. Overfull.
Two more days of school and I’ll be free.
Free to leave this tiny town and
finally
start my journey to becoming a singer. I’ve saved up enough money—with help from Dad—to keep myself sheltered, fed, and clothed for about a month. Once I find a place in Cardinal City I’ll look around for a good job, then begin my search for either a recording studio or some nighttime singing job at a club; anything that will help me get started. I’m leaning toward the second option since the studio will most likely cost money that I probably won’t be able to spare in the beginning. I straddle my bike and look down the road.

In my grand idea of the future I see myself in a crumbled, but distinguished old mysterious castle in England or Scotland with Dad back to his old self. Maybe running his own business and us having everything we want or need, because in the years before I’ll have made millions of dollars—or something close to that. I never know how to figure Mom into the equation. Sometimes I picture her becoming that perfect mother and us being one of those happy, beach-going rich families you see on T.V. But in my heart I know she’ll never become that person, so I usually leave her side of the future unimagined. I know it’s a childish dream to some extent, but sometimes dreams are all a person has.

“These tests are going to kill me,” Fawn wails and I’m snapped away from my thoughts. I feel a twinge of pity. History and English are our final tests. Unfortunately both are Fawn’s weakest subjects.

I give her a sympathetic look but she says grumpily, “Don’t give me those pity looks. Do you even know what it’s like to have Cs dotted all over your report card? What if colleges look down on that? My hair is going to go grey, I am so stressed out.”

My grades have always stayed between A’s and B’s. Of course it helped that I had no friends to distract me and keep me from studying. At one point my grades did slip. When Dad started fading from reality. But Lexi’s mom noticed and pushed me back on track.

“Just don’t stress. Any college would be lucky to have you.”

“You’re just saying that,” she groans.

“No I’m not. It’s true. You’re an awesome person. Look I have to go. There are some things I need to do,” I say quickly before she can continue this discussion. I feel guilty about cutting her off, but if I don’t put a stop to it she’ll go on about her grades and college all day.

Fawn sighs heavily. “Is there any chance that this
thing
you have to do involves Ryan?” she asks as she begins walking.

Clearly we haven’t finished talking. I climb off my bike and follow, heat rising to my cheeks. “No,” I say, hoping that sounds more solid to her than it does to me.

I can’t tell if she believes me or not but she changes the subject by saying, “What about graduation?”

“What about it?” I ask as we cross the street.

“Dresses?” Fawn replies in an isn’t-it-obvious voice. I glance at her.

I start picking a piece of the black rubber that’s coming off the handle bar. “I’m not going to graduation.”

“What! The thing we’ve been working for our entire lives and you’re
not going?”
Fawn’s voice is almost a shriek.

I let out a short laugh. “Calm down. We’ve been working for our education our whole lives, not graduation and I’ve already told the principle to mail my diploma to our house.”

“That’s not the point,” Fawn says, flustered. “Besides, I need you there with me. I can't do this myself, Lexi will eat me alive.”

This is definitely a downside to being Fawn’s protector. She’s come to rely on me too much, and has hardly any confidence in herself despite my speeches of self-reliance over the years.

“Look the “ceremony” is going to last like, five minutes. Only a handful of grownups—or students, for that matter, are probably going to even bother attending. You’ll be fine. I guarantee it. Just find some other nervous kid and stick with them,” I say soothingly when a distressed look crosses Fawn’s face. “It’ll be the last day of school—you’ll be fine,” I assure her.

Fawn looks up at the clouds before her gaze falls back to me. “What about the party after?”

“I wouldn’t go to that if I were offered a chance to make an album with the world’s most famous singer. It’ll only be full of people guzzling beer and bikini-clad girls strutting around as if we haven’t seen it all before.”

Fawn puts on a pouty face. “You’re such a stick in the mud when it comes to having fun.”

“That’s not my kind of fun. Give me a dance floor and an endless supply of upbeat music any night
then
we’ll have some fun.” I smile as memories of Dad and me dancing around our living room twirl around in my head. Fawn’s voice shatters the memory and reality slips back in place.

“Of course it’s not your kind of fun,” she sighs. “I swear you’re the opposite of every teenager in this town. What if Ryan is there?”

My jaw tightens and I turn away so Fawn can’t see the anxiety on my face. I’ve already thought about Ryan attending the party. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy to go to something so stupid, but what if he is? As Fawn just pointed out, I am most likely the only teenager in Abandon who doesn’t want to attend that party. My heart sinks. “Hey, I’ll see you later okay?” I say in a forced happy voice.

Fawn waves her hand in goodbye. She’s angry that I’m not going to be by her side. But this is one time I refuse to give in or compromise.

I have to buy fish food before I head home so I head to the pet store first. Halfway there I hear someone call my name. My heart starts drumming faster. I don’t have to turn around to know it's Ryan.

“Hey. Uh, can I ask you something that’s kind of weird?” Ryan asks haltingly.

Not letting myself think of all the weird things he could possibly ask I say, “Sure.”