A Soul's Kiss (26 page)

Jessica

Wednesday morning

I try to step away. Hearing Amy say my name and Rashanda’s name glues me to my spot. Floating. Mid air. Floundering really.

I can barely think straight. At least Amy is all right. And Ashley is getting help. And getting Hannah’s and Michael’s names out there means there’ll be consequences. I guess those two can forget about Homecoming. I can see Ashley’s mother making a phone call. I hear her ask for Principal Francis. That’s great. He’ll see that they’re punished. And then another call. To the police. So glad I’m not inside Hannah now.

I pull my legs up to my chest and stare at my knees. Funniest thing. I can’t rest my chin on them. They have no substance. I bring my hand to my face. I can see through it.

This can’t be good. I straighten out and try to touch the floor. Bare toes on tile. Hardly touching.

I look down the hallway past the nurses’ station. My room. Rashanda in the hallway with my mom.

My mom.

My mom and my dad.

Leaving.

Rashanda turning.

Tyler.

Tyler coming towards me.

I cannot see his aura. His face. So set. So determined. So strong. I wish I could grab some of that strength.

I am evaporating. Like heat in a cold room.

“Jessica.”

There is no one else in the hall. He speaks to me. He reaches his hand out and so do I. I touch his fingers. Gain some warmth.

My toes, barely touching the floor a moment ago, plant themselves firmly down. My heels follow. I look beyond Tyler and see Rashanda leaving my room, leading Hannah and Michael away.

“Come with me,” Tyler persuades. He adds a few more charming words. Secret things. Just between us. His sweet talk strengthens me. I can follow him. I take a step.

And another. He draws my hand up to his shoulder and anchors it there with his own. He turns and walks forward. Baby steps. Easy does it. He doesn’t let me go. I walk some and float some. Grow stronger.

We pass through my doorway and he kicks the doorstop. The heavy door swings shut and gives us the private moment we need.

I swear that he kisses my very soul.

And I wake up.

Homecoming

Ten days later

The banner across my front door has the artistic markings of my best friend. Rashanda likes glitter and lots of color.
Welcome home
. Six days in a coma and ten more in the hospital—I was more than ready to come home.

I have a scar running from my belly button up a few inches where they took my spleen out. I have a bunch of purple and yellow bruises, pretty much faded now. A spot on my head is still tender to the touch. But I can walk on my own up the steps and into the house.

I don’t know how many friends visited me while I was in the coma, but this past week a ton of kids came to the hospital. Every girl on the swim team, of course, and friends I’d grown up with. And Rashanda, naturally.

And Tyler.

Rashanda and Tyler would arrive together at dinner time, right when my folks would leave. Then Rashanda would just happen to need something from the vending machine and it would take her like forever to come back.

Funny how instantly Tyler and I were comfortable together.

When I came out of the coma ten days ago I experienced a gradual awakening. I felt the darkness lift. I was no longer weightless though I didn’t exactly feel heavy. I knew I was waking up. I sensed Tyler’s presence as if he were moving out of my personal space. The air in the room shifted and I opened my eyes. I was looking straight up but I turned my eyes to him right away. I can’t describe the connection that bonded us on the spot. Some secret between our souls. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. I just knew that we were linked somehow—that something big had happened.

Then my ears unplugged, like the difference of hearing music underwater and then surfacing to hear every individual note.

“Awesome,” Tyler said when I turned my head his way. I must have looked and smelled awful—six days without a shower, no toothbrush, no makeup—but his steady, relieved gaze made vanity unimportant.

“Hi,” I answered in a scratchy voice and then I coughed. Then I ached. Then I cried. Tyler held my hand until a nurse burst in, alerted I guess by the monitor that still had its tentacles on me.

The thing I noticed at first was how dull colors were. The vibrant sharpness was gone. And I couldn’t see auras, not even Tyler’s, though I had no trouble at all reading his feelings.

I miss the freedom of floating. Still, it’s great to be grounded.

It’s great to be home.

My homecoming.

Rashanda went to the homecoming game last night. I insisted that she go, and Tyler, too, so they could tell me who led the band and who got named king and queen at halftime. I already knew who it wouldn’t be. I heard the story from everyone who visited me, how Michael and Hannah and Brittany and Andrew and a growing list of other seniors were in really big trouble. Bigger than just getting suspended for two weeks.

And they would all miss the Homecoming dance. Tonight.

But I wouldn’t. Neither would Rashanda. Tyler’s friend, Todd, asked her and she accepted. Tyler asked my mom if he could take me. Of course she said no. She was keeping me home from school another week, too, so there was no way she’d let me go to a dance in my condition, she said.

Unless . . .

I don’t know what Tyler promised. Maybe he was going to rent a wheelchair. Maybe he was going to carry me on the dance floor. Maybe . . . I don’t know, but there was a formal dress laid out on my bed. And it was beautiful.

*  *  *

“Awesome,” Tyler says when he sees me all made up, styled, and fashionably perfect in the sequined gown that Rashanda helped my mom pick out.

That seems to be his new favorite word. Everything is
awesome
since I woke up. Now that I’m clean and no longer look or feel like crap, well, life is good—life is awesome.

“Thank you. You like pretty good, too.” Really, really hot. He hadn’t had time to order a tuxedo, but his dark blue suit looks formal enough to me. His eyes twinkle, I’m not kidding, and when he grins at me my heart does a butterfly kick. I feel dizzy, but not from any post accident reaction. My folks are lingering off to the side with cameras ready and I hope they won’t think I am weak in the knees from standing too long. That definitely is not the reason.

“This is for you.” Tyler picks up a corsage from the entry side table and fumbles to open it. My dad videos him pinning it on me and my mom snaps some pictures. We still haven’t had a perfectly private moment alone so I can’t wait to get out of the house. We say our goodbyes and endure the instructions and warnings. It’s a warm night for October, but my mother pushes a white shawl on me.

I didn’t expect a limousine, but I’m surprised to see a midnight blue Ford Focus—Keith’s car, only not wrecked.

Tyler holds the door open and explains that this car is brand new. Keith, who came home with a walking cast a week ago, lent it to Tyler for tonight. A bouquet of baby roses sits on my seat. I can see the tip of a piece of paper hidden in the roses. I gather them up and set them in my lap as Tyler closes the door and comes around to the other side.

“More flowers?” I ask.

“They’re from Mrs. Clark. A small representation of what they give the lead actress in a play on opening night.”

“Huh? I don’t get it.”

He has his left hand on the top of the steering wheel and his right arm on the back of his seat. He is twisted toward me and I can smell his cologne. His face is getting red. I love that about him.

“She wants you to consider trying out for the play. I think this is a bribe, maybe. But she asked me to tell you that she’s saving that part for you—the one she gave you to practice. Do you remember?”

I nod slowly and pull the folded paper from the roses. I did remember something about drama class: a script, double folded and stuffed in my back pocket the day of the accident. And Mrs. Clark’s request:
“I want you to practice the part of the girl looking for her soul mate. You don’t have to memorize anything
. . .
yet.”

I open the note and read her get well wishes. What she wrote is sweet.

I look up at Tyler. “To be honest, I intend to drop drama class. I don’t want to see Michael there and anyway I’m not very good at acting. Not to mention I’ve had enough drama in my life this year.” I give a feeble laugh. I know he’ll understand.

“What are you talking about? You’re great in that class.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’m in the other section of drama, fifth hour, and Aunt Martha—I mean, Mrs. Clark—told me.” His laughter gives away the rest of the story. Well, his laughter and the little scraps of memory I still have from when I invaded his head and dreamed that kiss with him. A certain pocket of knowledge in the deepest recesses of my mind holds the confirmation of what he said.

“You asked her to give me that part? You were going to go up against Michael for the lead?”

“Yup. Awesome, isn’t it? I’ll get that part. I’m good and it doesn’t hurt that my aunt is the director.” He leans closer. “So, you wanna be the girl looking for her soul mate?”

Yes, yes. “Maybe,” I say, leaning closer and praying that my parents aren’t taking any more pictures. Though it might be cool, one day twenty years from now, to look at a picture of our first real kiss.

I close my eyes, but I can still see him in my head. A gentle warmth encircles me. His aura? Or perhaps it’s more than an aura. Our lips meet. The universe slows.

This kiss is infinitely better than the dream kiss. Or the one that woke me.

This kiss is . . .

. . .
awesome.

THE END

Other books by Debra Chapoton

EDGE OF ESCAPE

SHELTERED

THE GUARDIAN’S DIARY

EXODIA

OUT OF EXODIA

Debra Chapoton is the author of several YA novels including the thriller
Edge of Escape
, the break-your-heart adventure
The Guardian’s Diary
, two paranormal dramas,
Sheltered
and
A Soul’s Kiss
, and the sci-fi epic series,
Exodia
and
Out of Exodia
. She lives in a full log home in the middle of a scary forest in northern Michigan. When she’s not writing she’s playing Qwirkle with her husband or shopping online. You can find her on her blog:
http://debrachapoton.com
or on twitter @Debra_Chapoton.

A Soul’s Kiss

by

Debra Chapoton

©Debra Chapoton 2014

Cover Design: Sherry Gammon

Cover © Sherry Gammon 2014

Interior Design: Cindy C Bennett

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Exceptions are reviewers who may quote short excerpts for review.

All Rights Reserved

USA

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.