Krysta's Curse (16 page)

I jerked, the dull pain in my chest
deepened. “Did you get him in trouble?”

“No,” he groaned. Letting go of the wheel,
he raked his hair with both hands. “I was asking about a job.”

My heart did a little flip. “You’re going to
be a cop again?” I squealed.

“Maybe.” Dad rolled his eyes and flashed a
lopsided grin. “I don’t know. It beats the hell out of the pay I’m
getting now.” He grabbed the wheel again and accelerated down the
road.

“Yeah,” I sighed.

My eyes bulged as we passed Mocha Madness.
The lights were out inside. A faded ‘closed’ sign was hanging in
the doorway. My heart ached and I wondered if my little escape
would ever re-open. I chewed on my bottom lip, hoping I’d never
need to get away from my apartment again.

“A teen girl needs a house, not a rundown
apartment and she shouldn’t have to starve herself to afford nice
clothes.” Dad sounded overwhelmed with emotion.

I had to do a double-take. His eyes were
glossy with unshed tears.

“I don’t mind my apartment and I don’t
starve
myself.” What was up with him? Fine if he wanted to be a better
parent, but he didn’t have to accuse me of being too skinny. I got
enough of that from my friends.

Pulling into the complex parking lot, he
turned off the ignition and faced me.

I didn’t like the look on his face. Kind of
like AJ’s mom looked at her whenever she’d done something
wrong.

“I know what you do with your allowance. I
might be a lousy dad, but I’m not stupid.”

My arms and legs numbed and this car
suddenly felt way too small. “I eat every day,” I spoke through a
shaky voice.

Why was he doing this? Why wouldn’t people
leave my weight alone?

“You don’t eat enough, Krysta.” He shook his
head, his voice sounding heavy. “I need to be a better
provider.”

“It’s
my
choice to diet. One day, I’m going to be
a model.” But even as the words came out, I spoke them with less
conviction.

Leaning over Dad cupped my chin, tears
freely streaming down his face. “You grow more and more beautiful
each day. God, you look so much like your mother. But, you’re not
going to be a model, sweetheart. You and I both know
that’s
not your
calling.”

Turning from my dad, I flung open the door
and rushed to the apartment. I wrapped my arms around my midsection
as silent tears streamed down my face.

Modeling had been my dream since before I
could remember. Why did he have to burst my bubble? I
could
be a model and
talk to spirits. He’d already said he didn’t want me involved in
murder cases, so what other calling could I have? I hadn’t spent
the last three years studying every fashion magazine, practicing
every cosmetic trick, and starving myself, so I could give up on it
now.

I
was
going to be a model. Wasn’t I?

Wasn’t that my dream?

My heart sunk to my feet as I wiped tear-
stained cheeks with the backs of my hands, silently sniffling as I
struggled with the jammed door handle and rushed inside the
apartment. I could hear my dad’s footsteps behind me, but I didn’t
want to face him at the moment.

Running into my room, I locked the door
behind me. I fell face-forward onto the bed, tears soaking my worn
comforter. For the first time ever, I was having doubts about my
modeling future.

I’d been
dreading coming to school all last night and this morning after I’d
received a few angry Facebook posts and text messages. Some kids
had already given me ugly stares on the bus, but nobody yelled at
me about the mall protest. Probably because AJ rode the bus with me
and, for some reason, practically everybody at Greenwood was
terrified of my best friend.

But AJ had to go talk to her softball coach
this morning and Sophie was working on a yearbook deadline leaving
me to face Greenwood alone.

Right before I dropped her off at the
yearbook room, Sophie had reassured me she wasn’t getting any bad
vibes from people in the hallway. That was because only super-geeks
hung out in the halls this early in the morning. Everybody who was
anybody was still in the cafeteria.

Until now.

“Hey, Krysta!”

Oh, God, not her.

Cindee Sparks, head cheerleader and daughter
of the school principal, was very popular, very pretty and very
stuck-up.

I despised her, as did most of Greenwood,
but for the sake of my social status, I always smiled when she
flashed her bleached whites at me.

Now she wasn’t smiling as she stomped in my
direction, the entire cheerleading squad at her back. The group
collectively marched as a whole, looking like a line of bowling
pins with pom poms. By the look of their pinched little noses and
twisted mouths, they were determined to knock
me
down.

“Hey, Cindee.” I spoke through a frozen
smile, trying to summon the courage to face down an entire throng
of perky pests. “What’s up?”

“What’s the deal with you protesting the
mall?” She jerked her head to the side, the springs in her curled
blonde ponytail rattled against her hair ribbons, making her sound
like a hybrid cheerleader/rattlesnake.

I only hoped the rest of her wasn’t
venomous.

A diss from the captain of the cheerleading
squad could cause a girl’s social status to go downhill real
fast.

I looked her squarely in the eyes. “They’re
building it over a graveyard.”

“Are you for real?” She groaned, jutting
both hands on her hips.

The rest of the squad mimicked her
actions.

I looked from them to her and swallowed.
“Yeah.”

“Do you really like driving two hours out of
town to the
outlet
store?” She rolled her eyes.

The other cheerleaders rolled their eyes,
too.

I wondered if they thought as one being,
kind of like those schools of fish that swim in the same pattern at
the drop of a dime.

Despite my nerves, which had twisted a knot
in my gut, I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not two hours.”

“Whatever.” She tossed her hands in the
air.

I looked behind her, waiting for the others
to follow suit. Sure enough, their hands went airborne.

I had to repress a laugh.

“Listen, stick chick, I want that mall!”

My attention was drawn back to Cindee’s
beet- red face. I stared at her in dumb silence.

What did she just call me?

“Everyone at Greenwood wants that mall!” She
waggled a finger in my face. “So drop this phony protest.”

My vision tunneled. I didn’t focus on the
growing crowd of laughing students. I blocked out their fight
chants and obnoxious sneers. I only saw her—the stupid little ditz
who called me a stick chick.

I said nothing as I glared at her. I was too
choked up with rage to speak.

Cindee’s gaze faltered before she turned her
stare on me again. Her eyes were losing their intensity. She
cleared her throat, fumbling with a dangling earring.

“Hey, Krysta, what’s going on?”

AJ’s voice boomed behind me. In the next
second, her hand was on my shoulder.

“Nothing,” I growled.

“Cindee, did you get into a fight
yesterday?” AJ was loud enough for everyone in the neighboring
hallway to hear.

I inwardly smiled, recognizing the bite of
sarcasm in AJ’s voice.

“N-no,” Cindee stuttered.

Folding both arms across her chest, AJ
straightened her shoulders. “I don’t know what looks worse, that
big hickey on your neck or your botched concealer job.”

My hands flew to my mouth and I inhaled
sharply. Why hadn’t I noticed the red and purple splotch
before?

Cindee’s palm flew to the bruise and she
acted like she was massaging her neck.

“You know,” AJ snorted. “You don’t need to
hide it. Ken Hituro already posted on his Facebook page that you
let him sneak through your bedroom window last night.”

Cindee’s eyes bulged.

“Oh-mi-god!” she shrieked.

“Yeah, I think you’ve got bigger things to
worry about than the mall,” AJ bellowed.

A storm of whispers broke out around us. In
a matter of seconds, the gossip was spreading, sounding like a
swarm of hornets had descended on Greenwood.

AJ cocked her head to the side, her blue
eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, by the way, your dad’s looking
for you. He mentioned something about ‘grounded for life’. You
might want to find out what that’s all about.”

Cindee’s hands flew to her mouth and she ran
in the opposite direction, crying. Her groupies followed after her
without giving me a second look.

“Thanks,” I spoke to AJ over my shoulder as
I tried to navigate through the buzzing crowd. “She called me
‘stick chick’.”

AJ’s eyes danced with laughter. She casually
walked through the crowd as students stumbled to get out of her
way. “I guess that’s better than being the school bully.”

I ducked under a raised arm and practically
leaped at an opening in the crowd. We’d finally navigated into a
nearly empty breezeway.

I gasped for air. “Yeah, but it sure helps
when the school bully is your best friend.”

AJ’s smile thinned and her gaze softened.
Clasping her algebra book to her chest, she leaned toward me and
dropped her voice. “So what do you think about being called a
‘stick chick’?”

Grrrr.

Was anybody going to give me a break today?
Was my life ever not going to suck?

“I’m fashionably thin, AJ. I don’t get dizzy
or faint like you did when you gave up meat. We’ve already gone
over this.” I spoke through a hiss, regretting the attitude in my
voice. I knew I should’ve been more grateful to my BFF after she
saved my butt, but I was sick and tired of people dogging my
weight.

The first bell rang.

I couldn’t have asked for better timing.

AJ flipped her sporty ponytail over her
shoulder, flashing me a sideways grin, acting like nothing was
wrong. Like she wasn’t about to lecture me about my weight. “You’re
right.” The tone of her voice was way too agreeable. “I’ve got to
get to class.”

She turned without saying goodbye and walked
down the hall.

“Bye!” I yelled to her retreating back.

She answered by tossing her hand in the air,
in what was the laziest wave I’d ever seen.

I was a little relieved and surprised AJ
didn’t argue with me. It wasn’t like her to pass up a good
fight.

I had the feeling she would come back to
this argument later. What I didn’t understand was why Cindee would
call me a ‘stick chick’. She was head cheerleader, had a great
figure, and was always fashionably dressed. She, of all people at
this school, should’ve understood my modeling aspirations.

Was I really too skinny? As I passed by the
girls’ bathroom, I stopped to examine my reflection in the mirror.
I didn’t think I was too skinny. Other than my too frizzy hair and
the ever-growing dark circles under my eyes, I thought I looked
good. As for the frizz, well, I was still learning how to control
it, but the receding black holes were another issue. I knew the
cause was stress brought on by mall stuff, Bryon’s issues, my dad’s
drinking and dead people waking me up in the middle of the
night.

Well, nix the dead people.

Ed and Gertrude hadn’t woken me up in almost
a week.

That worried me, which was yet another
reason my eyes were growing darker.

Walking out of
the science lab, my heart did a little flip. Bryon was leaning
against the lockers across from the classroom door, almost looking
as if he was waiting for me.

I was a little relieved to see he was still
alive after the scene his dad made Sunday. When he didn’t show up
to school yesterday, all kinds of crazy ideas ran through my
head.

His dad murdered him. His dad sent him to a boarding
school. He ran away from home.

I’d sent him four text messages, but he
didn’t answer.

“Hey.” He spoke through a weak smile.

“Hey.” I waved at him, my hand doing this
floppy thing like it was made of Jell-O. “How are things with you
and your dad?” The words kind of slipped out and I just wanted to
slap myself.

Why would I ask such a stupid question?

Things had to be bad, really bad, with Bryon
and his dad.

His eyes flashed with something that looked
like pain before he turned down his gaze. “We’re starting therapy
next week.” He focused on his shoe as he scraped his heel back and
forth.

“Really?” I couldn’t contain my excitement.
“That’s great.” I apprehensively inched closer to him, knowing I
should’ve kept my distance.

His gaze slowly lifted to mine and his lips
turned up in a sly smile. “My dad and I have issues, but he’s the
only parent I’ve got left.”

I burst out laughing, remembering I’d used
those same words on him at our last study session.

Bryon pushed off the locker and closed the
distance between us, until we were only a breath apart. He smelled
like cinnamon cookies. Even though I was no longer dieting, I had
to remind myself Bryon was not on the menu.

He bit his bottom lip, batting pale lashes.
“You’re a good friend, Krysta. Thanks.”

Why did my foolish heart react to him this
way? I just wanted to reach up and give him a big smack on the
lips.

He was just too cute and I was just too
stupid.

I swallowed down the urge to act on my
impulses and fling myself into his arms. “I hope it works out for
you.” I tried to keep my tone even.

“Me, too.” His voice was soft, mesmerizing.
And then he turned those sad puppy dog eyes on me.

I almost melted into the floor.

“I’ve got some good news.”

“What?” The staccato of my heart was
suddenly so loud it rattled my eardrums. Were they stopping the
mall? Had the protest worked?