Famous Last Words Page 10

  Those were all things I’d brought on myself? I couldn’t believe I hadn’t connected them with my lame, hopeless efforts to contact Dad.

  I dropped my head, feeling like the dumbest person on the planet.

  “I know it was an accident,” Leyta said, patting my hands gently. “But, honey, every ghost in a ten-mile radius came running every time you called, and one of them finally got its hooks in you. Now it’s on you to figure out why, otherwise you’ll never be free of it. You’ve created a portal and you draw energy to you, like a magnet. You probably feel like you’ve been going crazy. Your aura is like … like a thunderstorm.”

  “Excuse me.” Wyatt cleared his throat but managed to keep his voice muted, respectful. “If she’s been doing this for two years, why did a ghost just now, uh … latch on?”

  “Because,” Leyta said, staring directly into my eyes, “all that stuff before, those were first dates. This entity, whatever it is, felt connected enough to get you. And now … you’re got.”

  “Awesome,” I said gloomily. “How do I get un-got?”

  “There are no shortcuts in the flow,” Leyta said, “no clicking your heels three times and poof! This is your journey. You gotta go with it.”

  I nodded.

  She sat back and clapped her hands lightly on her knees. “That’s it, kids. Show’s over. Can’t be late; my manager’s in a terrible mood today.”

  I stood up and reached for my purse. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Your money’s no good here,” she said. “Just take care of yourself.”

  “Out of curiosity,” Wyatt said, “what does my aura look like?”

  “Ha,” Leyta said. “You, I charge for that information.”

  She walked us to the door. As soon as Wyatt opened it and stepped outside, Leyta put her hand on my shoulder, leaned forward, and quickly pulled the door closed.

  We were alone in her apartment, the two of us.

  “May sixteenth,” she said in a rush. “Two years ago. I woke up and Paul was here.”

  Paul Cresky? My father?

  May sixteenth. I went numb.

  “He said to tell you to be good. And that he loves you.” She hesitated. “Was he religious? Because he said to tell you to look for a shepherd.”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I shook my head.

  “Listen, you’re not going to find your dad, sweetie, and you never were. He’s moved through. He’s good. He doesn’t need to forgive you. You need to forgive you, that’s all.”

  I nodded, which was basically the only thing I was capable of doing.

  “Anyway, you’d better go,” she added softly. “Your friend probably thinks I’m performing voodoo ceremonies on you. He’s a bit much, but he cares about you. And don’t tell him I told you, but his aura’s green. He’s a healer.”

  She opened the door and I stumbled out, crashing into Wyatt a millisecond before I would have fallen down the steps.

  “What did she say?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, a pathetic lie.

  But he was kind enough not to call me on it.

  As we walked toward the car, I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad … and then it hit me.

  Look for a shepherd …

  Could he have meant Wyatt Sheppard?

  My mother was in her bedroom, folding laundry, when I knocked on the door.

  She looked up at me, a bright smile on her face. “How was studying?”

  Oh, right, my cover story — studying at Marnie’s house. “Good,” I said. “Do you have an extra shoe box somewhere?”

  “An empty one?”

  I sat down on the bed. “If I didn’t want an empty shoe box, I would have asked if you had shoes.”

  “Ha-ha, smartypants,” she said. “I’ll go check my closet. Here, make yourself useful.”

  She dumped a bunch of socks next to me, and I set to work matching them. It was weird touching anything Jonathan wore, even if it was on his feet.

  A few seconds later, Mom came out, holding a pink box out to me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” I got up to leave.

  “Hang on, Wil,” she said. “Do you think you could stay at Marnie’s the last weekend in April?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Why? What’s going on?” I’d been sitting with Marnie and the other Hollywood kids every day at lunch, and she was the closest thing I had to a friend, but we still didn’t feel remotely close. Still, I figured she would be cool with me sleeping over at her house.

  A sunny smile bloomed on Mom’s lips. “Jonathan and I are going on a little trip to Palm Springs. If you’re not comfortable with my leaving, I don’t have to go, but since we didn’t get a honeymoon …”

  “Of course you should go,” I said. “I’m a big girl.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. Jonathan had to move a bunch of meetings around to make it work, but he says it’s no big deal.”

  “Mom,” I said, rolling the matched socks across the bed to her, “he married you. Stop acting like you’re auditioning for something.”

  “Oh, Willa,” she said. “It’s not like that.”

  “It kind of seems like it is,” I said, studying the intricate hand-embroidered design on their white bedspread.

  “I’m sorry if that’s the impression I’ve given you,” she said quietly. “But I’m very happy. So is Jonathan. And our greatest wish is that you’ll be happy here, too.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. Unless you count the fact that I’ve opened a portal to the spirit world, I’m being stalked by a ghost, and my aura is the color of dirty rainwater. Other than that, things are awesome.

  “ ‘Fine’ isn’t the same as happy,” Mom said.

  Maybe not. But sometimes it’s the best you can hope for.

  Back in my room, I put the ring — submerged in a plastic baggie full of salt — into the shoe box. Then I dug through the rest of my boxes until I found the Walter Sawamura book, still feeling conflicted. Why should I get rid of the book if that wouldn’t solve my ghost problem? What if I needed it? For that matter, why should I believe Leyta in the first place? Sure, she knew my dad’s name and the date of his death, but big deal — she could have spent the whole day Googling me.

  But she knew things you can’t find online, I thought, feeling a nervous flutter in my stomach. Like the flashes and the headaches and the voices.

  I studied the cover of the Walter Sawamura book. It looked way too innocent to have caused so much trouble. But a lot of things that look normal on the outside contain more than their share of drama — I should know.

  I dropped the book in the shoe box.

  Then I tucked the box behind the laundry hamper in my closet.

  Some things I wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

  For the rest of the week, Wyatt and I maintained a wary but respectful silence on all topics having to do with ghosts, murders, and psychics. During our weekly lab project, we even managed to be almost friendly to one another.

  Things were calm at home, too. Once, sitting at the dinner table, I heard a dripping sound, but it turned out that the cleaning lady had accidentally left one of the powder room faucets on.

  I found myself hoping that my visit to Leyta Fitzgeorge had shaken something free. Maybe the ghost had finished conveying whatever message it was trying to convey, and now it was gone.

  Friday after school, I was sitting on my bed, conjugating French verbs, when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  The door opened a fraction of an inch. “Willa?”

  “Reed?” I hopped up and went to the door, smoothing my hair as subtly as I could.

  “I’ve been working in Jonathan’s office, and my eyes are tired from staring at the screen all day.” He smiled that crooked smile that made my cheeks heat up. “I thought I might go for a short walk — would you like to come?”

  In what dark, ridiculous corner of the universe would someone say no to that question?

&n
bsp; We made our way around the neighborhood, weaving from one side of the street to the other to stay visible to cars that might be zooming around the corners. I remembered the first walk I took in LA — when everything seemed totally foreign and weird. Now it felt almost natural to drift back and forth across the road.

  “Are you all right?” Reed asked. “You seem quiet.”

  “Sure,” I said. “All good.”

  “You know what sets you apart from most girls in LA?” Reed asked.

  I glanced up at him. I hadn’t realized that anything set me apart from anyone — except maybe my craziness.

  “You don’t always make it about yourself,” he said. “You think more than you speak.”

  Was it supposed to be the kind of compliment that sends you reeling? Because it did. My stomach felt like a pinwheel spinning in my body.

  “Well,” I said, “maybe I’m thinking about myself the whole time.”

  “Maybe.” Reed laughed quietly. “But I doubt it. You’re an outsider, like me.”

  “I thought you were born in Los Angeles,” I said.

  “I was. But I still don’t fit in. I don’t care about cars, or clothes, or money. I only care about the quality of my work.” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many girls lose interest in a guy when he doesn’t drive an expensive car.”

  “I don’t get the car thing,” I said. “Who cares what somebody drives? I mean, say a person has the fanciest car in the world. What if he’s a jerk? I’d rather be in a falling-apart minivan with somebody cool.”

  Then I wondered if my little speech made it too obvious that “somebody cool” in my eyes was … well, Reed. I felt a warm flush creep up my cheeks and clamped my mouth shut.

  But Reed only grinned at me. “I completely agree,” he said. “Hey, how’s Langhorn treating you? Make a lot of friends yet?”

  I shrugged. “More like friend. But she’s pretty nice. And then there’s one guy who … I mean, I don’t know if you’d consider us friends. We’re more like allies.”

  “Sounds like a very meaningful relationship,” Reed said, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

  “The bizarre thing is that it kind of is,” I said. “I didn’t realize that you can appreciate someone’s company without actually getting along with them … at all.”

  He laughed softly. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  I’m not sure I do, either. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

  “Like what?”

  I searched for a topic. “Um … movies?”

  “Movies,” he said. “That’s something you never hear about in Hollywood.”

  I gave his arm a little swat. “So what are your favorites?”

  “That’s a tough question,” he said. “I’m a fan of the old classics, of course — like everybody else. All of the Lord of the Rings films, obviously … The Dinner Party … Little Miss Sunshine … Wall-E …”

  “Seriously?” I said. “Little Miss Sunshine and Wall-E? That’s so cute.”

  “Cute, huh?” He grinned and reddened slightly. “I also love Kill Bill, does that buy me any street cred?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It takes you from a two out of ten to a three and a half.”

  “What movies do you like?”

  “I’m more of a book person,” I said. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings movies…. I read The Hobbit, though.”

  “Willa,” he said, in mock disapproval. “This is a problem. We have to remedy this at some point in the near future.”

  Watching movies with Reed? Um, yes, please.

  “My favorite movie of all time is The Princess Bride,” I said. “Mom used to let me watch it when I was home sick from school.”

  “Sophisticated cinema, there,” Reed teased, and I blushed, feeling like a little kid. A few seconds later, he stopped walking and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m in a weird mood today.”

  “Weird moods are fine by me,” I said. “Weirdness in general is kind of my specialty.”

  He smiled, and his eyes met mine. “You’re not weird. You’re … nice.”

  You’re nice. The words were so simple, but they sent a shiver of happiness up my spine.

  Back at the house, we stood on the front porch.

  “Everyone wants you to fit into their mold, don’t they?” he asked. “But you don’t fit. Who cares? I never fit any molds, either.”

  I held my breath.

  “Willa, I —” He hesitated. “What if I told you — No, I shouldn’t.”

  I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him and yell SAY IT, but I didn’t.

  “Willa …” His voice trailed off.

  I didn’t need any more words — it was enough to hear him say my name like that. It seemed as if we were in a little bubble with our own air. My heart felt like it was being pulled out of my chest, toward Reed.

  We took a step closer to each other. His hands moved gently up to my face.

  And then we were kissing.

  It happened so fast that it took me a second to understand what was going on, which cost me about two seconds of enjoying the kiss, which let me tell you was a very sad loss of two seconds.

  The kiss went on and on … like we were under a spell, neither of us willing to break it by stepping away. His lips were as warm and irresistible as the rest of him.

  After a minute, we pulled apart and stared at each other, stunned.

  “I — I can’t believe that just happened,” Reed said.

  Boldness flared up in me like a torch. “I can,” I said.

  He stepped back. His voice trembled. “No, Willa, you don’t understand. Jonathan’s your stepfather. And he’s my boss. He can never find out.”

  “He doesn’t have to find out,” I said, relishing the defiant sound of my own voice. “Why should he?”

  He wrapped his gentle fingers around mine, his eyes cast down. “I’m not going to ask you to lie for me.”

  His thumb made a circle on my palm and left me breathless.

  “You don’t have to ask me,” I whispered.

  He reached up and touched my hair, smoothing it gently against my cheek. “Have a good weekend,” he said quietly.

  The look in his eyes said he wished he could say more.

  But we both knew he wouldn’t.

  Monday at lunch, I was still half lost in thoughts of Reed and our kiss. The past week had been so blissfully ghost-free that I’d hardly even thought about the murders. An unprecedented sense of normalcy was slipping over me. I was even getting night after night of uninterrupted sleep. It was a little eerie.

  “Earth to Willa,” Marnie said, interrupting my reverie. “I said, do you have plans Friday night?”

  “Who, me?” I asked. “I never have plans.”

  Marnie laughed, filling the air with music. “My dad got me tickets to the premiere of the new Kurt Conrath movie. Want to come? But there’s a catch — you have to help me kidnap Kurt and take him home and lock him in my closet forever and ever amen.”

  “Um,” I said. “Okay. I’ll need to ask Mom, but … What should I wear?”

  “All black,” she said. “Ski mask. You don’t happen to have a kidnap van, do you?”

  I tried to laugh, but even joking about kidnapping stirred up unwelcome thoughts of the visions.

  “Wear something trendy,” Marnie said. “A dress.”

  I had no desire to be part of a huge, chaotic Hollywood function, but the alternative was sitting at home daydreaming about Reed and still waiting, slightly on edge, for more ghostly messages.

  “I have a dress,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s trendy.”

  “Don’t,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “Do not show up in a dress you wore to some auntie’s wedding, please.”

  Oh. “Then I don’t have anything.”

  “No worries. Just come home with me Friday.” She patted my head. “Mama Marnie’ll fix you right up.”


  After school on Friday, I found myself feeling almost enthusiastic as I rode with Marnie to Hancock Park, where the streets were lined with old-school mansions. Her house was light brown with a pointy roof and colorful flowers everywhere. It looked like Hansel and Gretel’s cottage — if Hansel and Gretel had been millionaires.

  Marnie’s bedroom was much pinker than I would have expected, with fuchsia walls and a huge white fairy-tale bed. A makeup vanity with a big round mirror was pushed up against one wall, and the chandelier above the bed dripped with teardrop-shaped crystals. The carpet (what you could see of it, anyway, between piles of clothes, books, and papers) was plush and white.

  I set my overnight bag in the corner. This was going to be kind of a dress rehearsal for Mom and Jonathan’s Palm Springs trip.

  “I like your room,” I said, to be polite.

  “I hate it,” Marnie replied, heading to her closet. “My mom did it during her interior-decorator phase. They shipped me off to summer camp in Oregon, and when I came back, I was living inside a Barbie Dreamhouse. Only it’s more like a nightmare house. I swear, the color literally burns my retinas.”

  “They won’t let you change it?”

  She shrugged. “It gives me leverage when I want something from Mom.” She went into her walk-in closet and pulled out a gold-sequined minidress. “What do you think? It’s vintage. Mary Quant.”

  “Um,” I said, trying to conceal my horror.

  Her face fell. “You don’t like it? I was going to wear it with my white go-go boots.”

  “Ohhhh,” I said. “It’s for you? In that case, I love it. It’s great.”

  “Willa, you wear overalls on purpose. You think I would break the laws of time and space by putting you in sequins?” She tossed the vintage dress onto her bed, as if it were a T-shirt she’d picked up on clearance from Target. Then she ducked back into the closet.

  When she came out holding a slim-fitting cherry-red dress with three-quarter sleeves, I could have hugged her. She handed the dress to me. The fabric was slinky and soft, and the design was simple — a plain high neckline, two pieces of red fabric forming a flattened X at the waist, and delicate gathers at the ends of the sleeves.