So Totally Page 9

  “I’m not a serial dater. I just never got close enough to anyone to have a relationship.”

  “You got close enough to do other things,” I said. He raised his eyebrows. I guess he didn’t know that word got around. “You have a reputation. You don’t exactly love them and leave them, because you keep them around as friends…but there are stories. Apparently you really know what you’re doing. And yes, I am jealous. But that doesn’t really matter now anyway, does it?”

  “I like that you’re jealous.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let’s focus. I’m about to be added to the stockpile of friends.” And I needed to get out of there and blow my nose and eat a ginormous amount of ice cream.

  “I don’t think so.”

  My heart plummeted to the arch of my foot. We couldn’t even be friends? God, this day totally sucked.

  “Carrington, I don’t want to be your friend.”

  “Right.” He was absolutely right. Clean break equals better for everyone. I stood up. “I need to go now.”

  “Will you never let me finish what I’m saying?” He grabbed my arm. Mr. Intense had returned. “I want to be more than friends. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

  If they made a horror movie about my life, it would be called I Was a Teenage Yo-Yo.

  “Didn’t we just decide that this was a mistake?” I asked.

  “Maybe it’s not.” My blank stare must have prompted him to keep going. “I kind of think that I’d rather take the pain later and get the good stuff now.”

  My eyes widened.

  He smiled and stood next to me. “Er…that came out badly. By good stuff, I just meant you and me together stuff…not…”

  “Right. But what if I disappear tomorrow…next month…ten years from now?”

  “What if I get hit by bus next Tuesday?”

  “You should stick to dating nice girls like Macaroni and Sleaze.” I gestured to the direction Joy had left in. “The only way we can end is badly.”

  He reached for my hand. “I have to believe that we aren’t just some happy accident. I dreamed of you.” He put my hand on his heart. “Can we work it out somehow?”

  How do you say no to a boy with eyelashes long enough to paint a house?

  “We need ground rules,” I said.

  “Ground rules?”

  I nodded. “If…when…it happens. That’s it. I don’t want you hanging out watching me at recess—and I won’t interfere with the grown-up life you have either.” Because…ewww on both counts.

  “All right.” He turned on his heel and, with my hand still in his, crossed the room, dragging me with him. His sketch pad was on the counter, next to my unopened Coke. He flipped through it, finding the page with me on it and tearing it out. “You should keep this.”

  I was a little bummed that he didn’t want it.

  He folded it and put it in my hand. “Can you keep it with you all the time?”

  I nodded. “Why?”

  “The money you had in your pocket made the journey with you. Maybe this will too. And then you’ll always know it was real. We were real. Whatever happens, or doesn’t happen from here on out—we were real.”

  HEATHER was really sweet when I’d told her Nate and I had gotten back together. I know how hard it is when your friends do that “I hate him, I love him” deal. You listen to them angst about how terrible the guy is, then have to smile and be happy when they go back to him. Even if you don’t like him. I wasn’t nearly as bad as Sissy and her on-again-off-again-I-hate-his-guts boyfriend Jake. Those two gave teen love a bad name.

  “So, he’s really your boyfriend?” Heather asked on the way to school the next day.

  I knew what she was thinking. Nate Berliss was not the boyfriend type. Nobody was more surprised than me. And maybe Nate. He probably didn’t see it coming either.

  “He’s really my boyfriend,” I answered. “I understand what he was going through on Friday, why he pushed me away; I’m not really a safe bet for a girlfriend or even a friend.”

  She pulled her Honda into the lot. “What are you talking about? You are a great friend and he’s totally lucky to have you.”

  She killed the engine and we looked at each other. “I might not get to say goodbye,” I said. “If something happens and I have to move, I’ll have to just leave. So, I want you to know how much your friendship means to me, in case I don’t get a chance to tell you again. You and your family…I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  She applied a last coat of mascara using the rearview mirror. “We should totally do like a blood-sister thing.”

  I grimaced. “We should?”

  “Don’t you think? Like we’d always be tied to each other by blood. Sisters.”

  “You know,” I hedged. “I think it already feels like we are bonded by blood. We don’t have to involve sharp objects.”

  She laughed. “You are a chicken.”

  “Totally.”

  We got out and my boyfriend was waiting on the path, with java. My cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

  “I have to work after school,” he told me.

  “Oh.” Here we go again.

  “I thought maybe would could do the research thing at the shop instead of the library.”

  “Oh, okay,” I answered. “Won’t your boss care?”

  “I work in a comic book store slash head shop. It’s a pretty relaxed atmosphere.”

  “I can’t believe your parents don’t care that you work there.”

  He laughed and called out, “Hey, Heather!”

  She turned and walked back to us. “Yeah?”

  “Would you ever let your kid work in a head shop when they were in high school?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I think I’ll trust my kids. I’m not going to be one of those wacky overprotective moms. I gotta go catch up with Tommy.”

  She took off and I elbowed Nate. “That was not cool.”

  “No, but it was funny.”

  The bell above the door rang and Paul entered the comic shop. I was grateful for the fresh air the open door brought with it.

  “The incense in here is giving me a headache,” I complained.

  Nate reached over and rubbed my temples. I liked having a boyfriend.

  I still couldn’t believe his parents let him work at Comic Pipeline. The racks and racks of comic books were one thing. Nate showed me the rare ones under glass by the cash register and the not so rare R-rated ones behind the counter. Still, one man’s art, yada yada yada, so I could get behind that. But the rest of the store was devoted to paraphernalia for “tobacco” smoking. Nate’s boss was a glass artist, which meant that all the pipes, ashtrays, and bongs were very pretty but totally made for illegal herbage.

  Paul plopped down a bag of books from the occult shop across the street.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “It’s a bag of books from the occult shop across the street,” he answered in perfect deadpan.

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

  “I found some interesting lore about Serendipity Falls. Where’s Kevin?”

  Nate gestured across the room. “I can’t keep him away from the bong wall.”

  “I’ll get him.” Paul went to rescue Kevin from himself while Nate and I sifted through the books he’d bought.

  We set up some stools at the end of the counter and read while Nate joined us between customers. The occult shop had much better research than the high school library (though I still missed Google). According to the books, Serendipity Falls is widely known in certain circles as a portal between realms.

  Paul remained dubious. “It’s not that I don’t believe in things that I can’t prove. It’s just easier if I can.”

  Nate and I shared a glance and a secret smile. We believed in enchanted waterfalls.

  “Hey, guys?” Kevin asked, not looking up from his read. “Is there anything in your books about the portal being cracked?”

  “Is
that a metaphysical term for something?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, Paul, it’s a metaphysical term for broken.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “Anyway, my book says that the portal has a rift and it fractures more every year.”

  “Do you think it is still fracturing in 2011?” I asked.

  “Probably. According this book, a bunch of people got together in 1984 for something they called Witchstock. It was a gathering—like a festival with magic spells, music, and giant pretzels.” He looked up. “And before you ask, Paul, giant pretzels are a metaphysical term for snack food made out of dough.” He went back to his book. “The purpose of Witchstock was to repair the crack through healing witchcraft, but it says here they could tell they didn’t close it or even repair it, but they think they slowed down the cracking.”

  Nate had his hand on my knee, which made concentrating a little on the difficult side, but I tried to focus. “What are the symptoms of a crack between realms?”

  “Increased demon activity is the biggie.”

  “I don’t believe in demons either,” Paul added.

  “How can you live in Serendipity Falls your whole life and not believe in demons?” Kevin asked.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Kevin and Nate exchanged glances. Kevin changed his tone for me, but he was still incredulous. “We have a lot of unexplained deaths.”

  “We do?” Paul and I answered.

  “Maybe it’s better in 2011.” Nate patted my knee.

  Kevin shook his head. “I’m guessing not. If her time travel has something to do with the cracked portal, then it stands to reason that the problems are just as bad, if not worse.”

  “What kind of demons?” I don’t know why I asked. I didn’t want to know.

  “Well, there was the vampire attack last winter,” Kevin answered.

  Paul began twitching. “That was never proven.”

  Kevin eyes bugged out. “How do you explain the puncture wounds? A family of four all fell on a BBQ fork?”

  “Strange things happen during the full moon too,” Nate offered.

  “Werewolves,” Kevin declared.

  That would explain the howling I heard during hot summer nights in my room. I’d always wondered about that. Neighborhood dogs never quite cut it for me.

  Chills mult-o-plyin.

  Kevin leaned in. “I have a ghost in my attic. And,” he added, “she is smokin’ hot.”

  “She’s really not, Kev.”

  This from my boyfriend, which prompted me to ask, “You’ve seen her?”

  Nate curled his lip like he’d tasted something bad. “Yeah, she’s not really that attractive.”

  “Dude. She’s like a pinup from the ‘50s.”

  Nate shook his head. “What do you think, Paul?”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he answered.

  “She sort of has a crush on Paul, but he can’t see her.” Kevin patted his buddy on the back. “She steals his underwear every time he comes over.”

  Oh for the love of all that is holy. “And yet he still spends the night?”

  “Not very often. I think he believes I steal them.”

  “Dude, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  I scrunched my eyes up real tight, hoping to terminate all thoughts of Paul, his underwear, and Kevin’s involvement. “Now would be an excellent time to get back to the business at hand.” I slid Kevin’s book toward me. “So, this portal tractor-beams in the undead, etcetera. What other wacky side effects are there?”

  “You just used tractor-beam as a verb,” Nate whispered in my ear. “You don’t know how hot that is.”

  Not as hot as Nate whispering in my ear.

  Paul, drumming his fingertips on the table and rocking on his stool said, “If there were other realms, and the Falls were the portal, and the portal was cracked, I would say just about anything is possible. Unplanned time travel, doppelgangers, branched timelines, paranormal and Para psychic disturbances—it’s a smorgasbord.”

  I gulped. “Zombies?”

  Poor Paul. Still rocking and staring into the distance instead of looking at us, he answered, “I don’t believe in reanimated corpses.”

  “Let me get this straight. Time travel, you believe in. Aliens, sure—why not? But zombies, ghosts, and vamps are the big negatory? Why?”

  “Math.”

  I looked to Kev to translate the one-word answer that didn’t answer anything at all.

  “Time travel can be explained with equations. Quantum physics, science, math—we don’t know the right equation yet, but he feels we’ll figure it out eventually. Aliens—even I don’t understand why he can believe in aliens but refuses to wrap his mind around the ghost in my attic.”

  I sat back from the table. “I don’t get how all this paraweirdo stuff can be happening and nobody knows about it. You’d think City Hall would have started a vampire task force or something by now.”

  Nate picked up my hand. “People have a way of shutting out what they can’t or don’t want to understand. It’s nothing new. But this town has a supernatural vibe, that’s for sure.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d lived there my whole life and all this was news to me. But like he said—people shut things out. Like Mom did with Dad’s affairs all those years.

  “This has been helpful, but we still don’t know how Carrington got here. Or how to get her back,” Kevin said.

  I looked at Heather’s Swatch watch to avoid letting anyone see how much that wasn’t bothering me. “Speaking of getting back, I should beat feet back home. Dinnertime.”

  “Let the guys walk you home. I’m not off until nine.” He squeezed my hand gently.

  “I can walk by my—” Vampires and zombies and werewolves, oh my. “That’s a great idea.”

  There were very few places you couldn’t walk to in Serendipity Falls. Most people lived right in town, and the ones who lived on the beachfront properties had a short drive—but hey, they got to live right on the beach, so it wasn’t a hardship.

  We divvied up the books for homework and said our goodbyes. Nate cupped my chin but goodbye-kissed my forehead instead of my lips. I had to make do as we didn’t “do” mushy in front of the guys. For one thing, I didn’t want to give Kevin any ammunition to fuel the “alone time” thoughts that carried him into sleep at night.

  Kevin and Paul argued about a war between the Romulans and the Klingons most of the way to the house. Until Kevin busted out with, “So, Carrington, does your mom have a boyfriend?”

  “You can’t be serious,” I answered.

  “What? It’s a valid question.”

  “On what planet is it a valid question? It’s perverted. She’s my mother. How would you like it if Paul hit on your mother?”

  Paul’s nasal keening started up again, and Kevin told me, “Never say that.”

  “So you’ll shut up about Heather for a while?”

  “God as my witness.”

  “Thank you. Besides, I think you should spend a little more time talking to that girl that sits in front of you in Spanish.”

  “Tanya Fisher? Why?”

  “Because she has a huge crush on you.”

  “Really?” Kevin squeaked and then lowered his voice again. “I mean, really? How do you know that she does?”

  “I heard her talking to the teacher in Spanish yesterday.”

  Kevin stopped and grabbed my arm. “She told Señora Arroya she had a crush on me?”

  “No. She was speaking fluent Spanish with the teacher before class. After you came in, she asked you to help her with the homework.”

  “So?”

  Boys are idiots. “Soooo, obviously she doesn’t need your help with the homework if she can converse with Señora Arroya in Spanish. She is manufacturing reasons to spend time with you, Kevin.”

  We resumed walking, though Paul twitched and muttered a lot.

  After a minute of silence, Kevin said, “I don’t know. She’s nice. And kind of cute—well
, really cute I guess. But she’s not…”

  “She’s not what? Unavailable? She isn’t popular enough for you?” Oh lordy, I sounded like my mom with the popular stuff. She used to tell me all the time that being popular in high school meant zilch in the real world. “Kevin, a girl in the hand is better than two cheerleaders in the bush.” We stopped in front of Heather’s house. “Thanks for the escort, fellas. Think about what I said, Kev.”

  Because I was sure going to think about what I said. Heather in 1986 was consumed with all things popular. Heather in 2011, not so much so. It was interesting to see how much she had changed in twenty-five years.

  TWO nights later. “Carri…are you sleeping?”

  “Not so much.” I rolled over. “What’s up, Heather?”

  “Do you love Nate?”

  Not one to pull punches, was she? I wished I had pretended to still be asleep. “Um. Maybe?”

  “You can’t maybe love someone. You either do or don’t.”

  “I don’t know, Heather. Is there a test or flowchart or something?”

  She reached over and turned the light back on and the poster on the wall of Rob Lowe stared at me with that come-hither look in his eye. Which distracted me until she started talking again. “Okay, when you think about him, does it feel like someone flipped a breaker on the squiggly wires connecting your heart to your belly button?”

  I nodded.

  “When he looks at you, does it feel like all the cells on your skin are dancing?”

  I snorted. “Yeah. But that is just attraction, a crush.” A crush, right? That was all it was.

  Who was I kidding?

  Nate Berliss was so much more than just a crush. A montage of memories flashed across my mind—the scent of the gourmet coffee he handed me each morning, the intense steel blue of his irises when he looked at me as if he were looking all the way into my soul, the contrast of his stubbled cheek and the velvety patch of skin behind his ear.