The Dead Boyfriend (2 page)

Then the girls started talking about what the warm spring weather was doing to their hair. “Extra conditioner,” was one solution. “I use half a bottle of the stuff every morning.” Interesting idea.

When I came out of the bathroom, I walked right into a girl with long straight black hair, dark eyes, and black lipstick against pale skin. She was carrying a white take-out bag of cheeseburgers.

The bag slipped from her hand when I bumped her. We both bent over to pick it up, and we cracked heads.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, in a tiny voice. “Sorry.” Even though it was my fault.

I handed her the bag.

I knew who she was.

Deena Fear.

I didn't know that my life was about to change forever.

 

3.

Deena Fear wore huge round black-framed eyeglasses. Her dark eyes appeared to bulge behind them, making her look like an owl. She wore a long-sleeved black crew-neck sweater, despite the warm night, over a short straight black skirt and black tights. I noticed her earrings—small silver skulls. She had a silver skull in her nose, too.

“I'm sorry,” I said awkwardly. “I wasn't watching where I was going. I—”

“That's okay, Caitlyn.” I felt a quick jolt of surprise. I didn't think Deena knew my name. Her eyes went down to my wrist. “I like your bracelet.” She gazed at the silver bracelet my parents had brought me from their vacation in the Bahamas.

To my surprise, she reached out and wrapped her hand around my wrist and the bracelet. Her hand was warm and dry. Her fingernails were divided down the middle, each one half-black, half-white. She held my wrist for a long moment. “Does it have powers?”

She spoke in such a soft voice, I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly. “Powers? The bracelet?”

She nodded. Her straight black hair fell over her forehead. She let go of my wrist to brush it back.

“I … don't think so,” I said. I laughed. Was she making a joke?

She shifted the cheeseburger bag to her other hand. “I've seen you at the mall, Caitlyn,” she said.

I nodded. “Yeah. I work at the Cineplex some afternoons.” I turned and glimpsed Julie and Miranda watching from the back of the restaurant. “I'd better get back to my friends. See you around, Deena.”

Her owl eyes locked on mine. I wanted to turn away, but they seemed to hold me there. “Sometimes I see things,” she said. “Sometimes I know things about people.”

I didn't know how to reply to that. A waitress carrying a tray of cheeseburgers over her head wanted to squeeze past us. I used it as an excuse to get away. I gave Deena a little wave and walked away. For some reason, my wrist felt all tingly where she had handled my bracelet.

Miranda climbed up so I could slide into the booth. I sat down in time to see Deena Fear walk out of the restaurant, her long hair sweeping behind her back.

“Since when do you know her?” Julie asked.

“I don't,” I said. “I almost knocked her over. So we started talking.”

“She takes Goth to a new level,” Miranda said.

“She gives me the deep creeps,” Julie said.

“She isn't so bad,” I said.

Miranda shook her head. “Just because she's in the Fear family, does she have to wear all black clothes and have black lips and black nails and creep around like some kind of witch? Why doesn't she rebel? Wear hot colors? Be a cheerleader? Run for Prom Queen?”

Julie laughed.

“She seems really shy,” I said. “She's so awkward. Think she has any friends? Ever see her hanging out with anyone at school?”

“I don't remember even
seeing
her in school,” Julie said.

“She doesn't
try
to have friends,” Miranda insisted. “We were at the same birthday party once. I tried talking to her. But she's obsessed with ghosts and the paranormal and the walking dead. She kept talking about these movies I never heard of. At least, I
think
they were movies.”

“Maybe she doesn't have a choice,” I said, not exactly sure why I was defending Deena Fear. I guess I always like to side with the underdog. Or maybe I just like to argue with Miranda. “Coming from that family—”

“She's like a total Fear Family cliché,” Julie chimed in.

My bracelet still tingled, as if it had been electrified somehow. I ate a few fries. They were cold now. I turned to Miranda. “Are you having a graduation party?”

She didn't hear me. She was staring at a table near the front of the restaurant.

“Miranda has to have the party,” Julie said. “I can't have it. My house is too small.”

“We could have it in your backyard,” I said. “My parents aren't even going to be in town. They'll be in South Africa for two weeks on a business trip. Do you believe they're missing graduation?”

“Then we should have the party at
your
house,” Julie said. “No parents. A total blowout.”

Miranda still had her gaze on the table at the front. She bumped my shoulder. “Who's that guy gawking at you over there? Do you know him?”

I followed her gaze. A blue-uniformed waitress began to clear a table, blocking my view. “What guy?”

“See him?” Miranda turned my head. “The guy in the red hoodie? He's been staring at you like he's hypnotized.”

“Hypnotized by your beauty,” Julie said. I couldn't tell if she was making a joke.

I finally spotted the guy, by himself at a small, square table, sitting sideways in his chair, ignoring his food. And yes, his eyes were on me. He was kind of cute looking. A dark shirt under the open, red hoodie. A wave of black hair falling over his forehead. “I don't recognize him,” I said.

“He thinks he knows
you,
” Miranda said.

I squinted harder. “No. I've never seen him. I don't think he goes to Shadyside.”

“He hasn't blinked,” Julie said. “Maybe he wants to have a staring contest with you.”

“I'll find out,” I said. “I'm not shy.” I gave Miranda's chubby arm a shove. She obediently climbed to her feet so I could slide out.

Julie raised her hand to her mouth. She does that a lot. She's so easily shocked. “Are you really going over to him?”

“What's the big deal?” I muttered. I squeezed past two girls who were just sitting down at the table across from us, and I strolled over to Mr. Red Hoodie.

He had amazing gray-green eyes, and they grew wider as I stepped up to him. I placed my hands on my waist. “Hey,” I said. “How's it going?”

He shrugged. “Not bad.” He had a nice smile and a tiny crease of a dimple in one cheek.

“Were you looking at me?” I demanded.

He snickered. “Do you always think people are looking at you?”

“Answer the question,” I said. “Were you?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe.” I liked the way those incredible gray-green eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

I smiled back. “Why were you looking at me?”

“Because you have a piece of lettuce stuck on your chin.” He reached up, tugged it off, and showed it to me.

Well, yes, Diary, I was expecting something a little more romantic. Of course, I was embarrassed. But I didn't want to turn and hurry away. Something about him—not just his cuteness—drew me to him.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What's your name?”

“Blade.”

“No. Really,” I said.

“Really. It's Blade. My parents wanted me to be sharp.”

I laughed. “Bet you said that line before.”

“It's the truth,” he said.

“My name is—” I started. But he raised a hand to cut me off.

“Let me guess,” he said. “I'm good at guessing names. I have a talent.”

I slid past him, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from him. I glimpsed Julie and Miranda in our booth in the back. They were both watching the scene intently. “Shoot,” I said.

His eyes burned into mine. He studied me. “Your name is Tabitha,” he said.

I nearly choked. “Tabitha?”

He nodded. “What do your friends call you? Tabby?”

I nodded. “Yes. They call me Tabby. How did you guess my name like that? That's amazing. Did somebody tell it to you?”

His cheeks turned pink. “No way. I told you. I have a talent for guessing names.”

I leaned across the table and flashed him a teasing look. “And what else do you have a talent for, Blade?”

He shrugged. “What's your real name?”

“It's Caitlyn.”

“I thought so. That was my second guess.”

A few minutes later, after some definite first-class flirting, I said goodbye to my two friends and walked out of the restaurant with him. Where were we going? I had no idea. I only knew that after just a few minutes, I felt totally comfortable with him. More than comfortable. I was definitely attracted to him, and I wanted to spend time with him.

Is this what love at first sight is all about?

Hard to believe, but the question actually flashed through my mind as we stepped out into a warm April night, a soft, cool breeze brushing my hot cheeks, the fragrant aroma of Lefty's cheeseburgers in the air, a bright half-moon overhead in a purple sky.

I know, I know. It sounds like some kind of bad Lifetime movie. But sometimes life has to imitate that strange unreal happiness you usually see only on TV.

And this was definitely one of those times.

Blade put his hand on my back as we walked. It seemed totally natural. As if we'd been walking together for years. I found myself wondering if he felt the same way.

We strolled along Division Street, past the high school, the yellow moonlight reflected in its dark windows, and along the houses that stood across from Shadyside Park.

What did we talk about? I hardly remember, Diary. We talked about school. Blade's family moved to Shadyside last fall, and he goes to The Academy. That's the private high school across town. He talked about his old house in Shaker Heights and how he hated to leave his friends back there.

He said he plays keyboard and guitar, and he is in a jazz quartet at school. He's pretty sure he can get into Oberlin. But he was sick for a semester, so he can't graduate with the rest of his class in June.

I told him I was accepted at Middlebury College in Vermont, which is where my sister Jen went. But my parents hadn't been able to work out a student loan for me yet. I said I'd tried for a Creative Writing Scholarship, but the competition was too stiff. I didn't get it.

He turned those awesome gray-green eyes on me. “You like to write?”

I was about to answer when something across the street caught my attention. I heard blaring dance music and saw the bright lights in a large house across the street. Through the front window, I could see a crowd of dancing people. The crowd spilled out onto the broad front porch. Voices and laughter.

And I had one of my ideas. I grabbed Blade's arm. “Hey, Blade,” I said. “Let's do something crazy.

 

4.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “How crazy?”

“Let's crash the party,” I said. “You know. Hang out. Dance for a bit. Get something to drink.” I motioned to the front window. “Look. It's so crowded. No one will notice two more people.”

I held my breath, waiting for his answer. This was definitely a test. Would Blade pass it?

A grin spread over his face. “Love it,” he said. He grabbed my hand and started to pull me across the street. “Let's
do
this thing. Party time.”

That's when I knew Blade and I belonged together.

We raced up the front lawn. Two beds of tulips stood on either side of the front porch. A soft wind made the tulips bob and sway as if greeting us. We made our way past the people on the porch, nodding and saying hi, acting as if we belonged.

They seemed to be college age, maybe in their early twenties. They were casually dressed, not quite as casually as Blade and me. But we didn't really stand out. They were drinking wine from paper cups, talking in small groups, glancing at their phones as they talked.

We slipped through the screen door and stepped into the living room. It was hot in there, so many bodies jammed in. Electronic dance music was cranked up to full volume. The room buzzed and vibrated to the beat.

The lights were turned low. It took a while for my eyes to adjust. Blade held my hand and we crossed the room to the drinks table. Three or four couples were dancing. But the room was too crowded, and they kept bumping people clustered on the sides.

Blade and I grabbed bottles of beer. I don't really like beer. I guess I was trying to impress Blade. On the next table, I saw big bowls of tortilla chips and salsa and a tray of pigs in blankets.

I turned and gazed around the room, squinting into the shadowy orange light. I didn't recognize anyone. They were all definitely older than Blade and me.

I pressed my face close to Blade's ear. “I wonder whose party this is.”

He gazed around. “Beats me.”

We clicked beer bottles. “This is very cool,” I said.

“Best party ever!” Blade joked.

A young woman with very short blonde hair, shaved on one side, and pale blue eyes, dressed in faded jeans and layers of blue and green T-shirts, bumped me, nearly spilling her wine. “Oh. Sorry,” she said. “No room to move.”

“No problem,” I said. “Awesome party.”

She nodded. “I've never seen you here before. How do you know Hannah and Marty?”

“Just from around the neighborhood,” I said.

She moved on. Blade and I enjoyed a good laugh.

And that's when I saw her. Deena Fear. My breath caught in my throat. She was so unexpected, so out-of-place.

Deena sat at the bottom of the stairway that led upstairs. Dressed in black as always, she had her pale hands clasped tightly in the lap of her skirt. Her black hair fell loosely around her face.