Authors: Melissa Pearl
I finish the song with a loud flourish.
Dale shakes his head with a grin. "You're a Gleek aren't you?"
"No." I turn in my seat then sigh. "Maybe... okay yes, but if you tell anyone, I'll kill you."
"Why don't you want me to tell anyone. Glee's cool."
"Shut up. Glee is cool."
"It is."
Huh! Sarcastic much!
My eyes narrow as I gaze at him.
"I know you can't see it right now, but I'm giving you a very dry look."
"No, I can see it."
"You can?" My voice comes out all high and squeaky.
"In my head," Dale admits softly. "I can picture you really clearly in my head and I know that look. You do it a lot."
I don't know how to respond to this. He makes it sound as though he's been studying me since he arrived at our school about a year ago. I gaze at him in confused silence then glance down at my nails, suddenly awkward.
Leaning back in his seat, Dale pulls out his iPod and searches for music while trying to keep an eye on the road. A few minutes later, he's plugging it into the stereo with a grin.
"You know what's cooler than Glee though, right?"
Cranking up the volume, Dale lets Granite thump through the car.
A delighted laugh escapes my lips as Dale starts belting out the tune with gusto.
Within seconds I'm joining him.
We sing as loudly as we can, all the way to Dale's house.
I have no reason to be nervous about going into Dale's house, but I am. I step through the door and gaze around the interior. It's actually quite nice. Very plain and simple, but classy all the same. The walls are wooden, giving it that log cabin feel, I bet there's a fireplace in the living room. I glance at the solid wooden bannister on the left side of the stairs and wonder if Dale's ever popped his legs either side of it and slid down to the bottom. It'd be tempting, that's for sure.
Dale's mother appears around the corner.
"Hey sweetie." She reaches up on tiptoes and gives Dale a kiss on the cheek.
Far out I think she's actually shorter than me! I didn't think that was possible.
Stepping back, she looks up with an adoring smile. "How was school?"
"Yeah, good."
His mother walks towards the kitchen.
"An eventful day?"
Dale looks over his shoulder with a wry smile. "You could say that."
"But a good one?" She turns at the kitchen counter. Her eyes are dancing with sweet merriment. It's really hard not to look at them.
Dale smiles and nods his head.
"Yeah, mom, it was great."
"Fantastic."
Far out, she looks as though she's about to cry. She obviously really wants Dale to do well at school, or be happy... or something. My heart gives a little squeeze as I watch her genuine interest as Dale runs through the bland parts of his day and makes up some excuse about why he's late.
"Dinner's in half an hour. I'll call you when it's ready."
"Awesome, I'm starving." Dale kisses her cheek and scoots up the stairs just off the kitchen.
I can't help gazing around the house as I follow him up the stairs and down the hallway to his room. The whole feel of the house is different to mine. It's much older - looks like it was built in the 70s or 80s. The carpet's been redone though, but with a nice rich burgandy color that gives the house a yummy warmth.
Yummy warmth? Really?
I shake my head. That's what it feels like. I don't know how else to describe it.
I run my hand along the wall, trying really hard to stop my fingers going through. I feel nothing and scowl as my digits pass through a painting.
"So this is my room." Dale opens his door.
I walk in and am once again hit by the warmth.
I wonder if my mom sold them this house. It's so not her style, but knowing her she would have chucked that warmth word in numerous times.
There's a double bed in the corner of the room with a bright green duvet. It's quite over powering, but I resist the urge to comment. It's his room, not mine. Dale dumps his bag next to his desk and scans the shelf above it.
"What are you looking for?"
"When we first moved here, Dad bought me a map book of the area. We highlighted a bunch of hiking trails we wanted to do."
"And let me guess, you haven't done any of them."
Dale looks at me with surprise. "No, we've done about eight so far."
"Oh." I run my fingers through my hair and turn away, feeling stupid.
"Here it is." He pulls it out and flicks through the pages. "Okay, so this is where we drove today." He rummages through his desk for a highlighter and crosses out the section of the road we drove on. "So maybe tomorrow I can get up early and we can do this section before school."
I look over his shoulder. "You'd have to get up pretty damn early."
"I know." He nods. "I just can't play hooky. I'm really sorry, but..."
His face bunches with regret.
"I'm not asking you to play hooky." The words come out a little snappier than I mean them to. I guess it just bugs me that he assumes I think skipping out of school is something I never put any thought into. What he will never know is that I've never missed a day of school when I've had an important test and I've never once handed in an assignment late. My hooky days always coincide with the days I can't bear facing the student population. I invite Amber because she's too self-absorbed to notice my moods.
"Should I be calling the police?" Dale's question makes me turn to face him.
"I don't think they take these kinds of cases seriously for at least 48 hours."
"Maybe the sheriff can help us."
"Sheriff Hutton?" I shake my head and start scanning his room. "I doubt it. He tends to be a stickler for the rules."
"What if I tell him what I know."
I bob down to peruse Dale's book collection. "He'll wonder how you know this stuff. You can't tell him you can hear me. Everyone will think you're crazy."
"I can't just sit here and do nothing."
I stand up and face him, loving the fact he wants to try so hard.
"You need food and sleep, Dale. You're no use to me starving and hungry." I keep my voice as casual as I can. I'm right. I'm being sensible. There's nothing more we can do right now.
Fear coils in my belly.
I try to ward it off with distraction and move to Dale's second bookshelf. Man, this guy sure likes to read.
"You have some good titles here," I murmur.
"Yeah, well reading's good for the brain." He steps towards my voice.
I glide past him and move to his desk. It's in disarray with piles of books surrounding his computer. I notice a huge stack of pages in a neat pile and lean over to see what they are.
The Trojan's Secret by Dale Finnigan
"I didn't know you liked writing?"
"Uh," Dale nervously jumps towards his desk. "Don't read that."
"Why not?"
"It's not finished." He picks up the one of his textbooks and covers the first page.
"Fine." I cross my arms and mumble, "Spoil sport," as I turn away.
"It's just that I-"
"Who's the older woman, Mr. Cougar Hunter?" I lean down to inspect the photo I've just spotted. Dale has his arm around a gorgeous woman with dark curls and a beaming smile.
Dale steps up beside me. "Firstly gross and secondly, she's my sister, Rachel."
"Really? How old is she?"
"Thirty." He picks up the photo next to it. "These are her kids Emma and Tim."
I gaze at the three impish grins in the picture. Dale is holding his two ice-cream covered relations. "Look at your face - the proud uncle."
"I can't help it. They are two cutie-pies."
"I can't believe you're an Uncle Dale."
"Yeah, well, Unky Dee at this stage."
He blushes red while returning the picture to its rightful place.
"So..." I look to my feet then casually shrug. "How old's your mom?"
Dale shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away from me.
"What, you're not going to tell me?"
"Look my parents are awesome, okay." He spins back to face me. "I don't need you spreading gossip about them."
"I wouldn't!" I try to ignore his dry look, but it's hard to miss. I huff. "You don't trust me."
He shrugs. "Why should I?"
I open my mouth with a sharp response, but I'm interrupted by a black labrador that bursts through the door with a happy bark. I yelp and jump back.
Dale laughs.
"It's okay, he won't hurt a fly."
I dubiously move to the edge of the room, grateful the jumping mutt can't see me. His slobbery tongue is hanging out of his mouth in ecstasy as Dale rubs behind his ears. All of a sudden the dog's nose twitches and springs into the air, sniffing loudly.
"What is it, boy?"
The dog hunches down and starts sniffing the carpet, weaving its way across the room until it's at my feet.
"Wh-what are you doing?" I yell at the dog.
He sniffs around my ankles then starts working his way up my legs until his nose is in my crotch.
"GET out of there!" I try to slap the dog away. "Dale! A little help!"
"Wow." Dale stands back in awe. "That's amazing."
I try to wiggle away from the dog. "What's amazing? The fact your stupid dog can't stop sniffing my crotch?"
"Jess, come here, boy." Dale slaps his thigh. "Jester. C'mere."
After a few more requests, spurted out between bursts of laughter, Dale's dog finally does as he's told.
I brush off my jeans with a shaky hand and raise my body with as much dignity as I can.
"Sorry about that." Dale simpers.
"I'm sure you are." I cross my arms.
"It's pretty amazing that he can sense you though. I wonder why."
"Look, who knows. Just keep him out of my crotch, okay."
"Yes, ma'am." Dale nods, fighting to keep his lips from popping back into a smile.
Rolling my eyes, I relent with a small smile he can't see. Stepping closer, I hold out my hand and let Jester sniff my fingertips. He starts licking air. This is too bizarre.
"I don't understand how he can sense me."
"Life's mysterious."
"That's your answer?"
Dale shrugs.
"Sometimes we just have to accept the fact we can't explain everything. Life happens, whether we want it to or not and we don't always have a reason why. Our job is to try and make some good come out of it."
I have a feeling he's referring to Jody, so I clear my throat and change the subject.
"Why'd you call him Jester?"
Kneeling down, Dale gives his dog another rub behind the ears.
"At the time I got him, he was the only thing that could make me laugh. Jester seemed the perfect name."
"What happened to you?"
Dale gives his dog a final pat and stands.
"Is it to do with your scar?"
He doesn't look at me.
"Is the knife fight rumor true?"
Dale grins.
"Falling through a glass door? Cycling accident? How about the one where you're surfing on a reef?"
He gives me a pitiful look.
"Okay, fine just tell me then. How'd you get the scar?"
Shaking his head, he turns to his desk and starts rifling through some pages.
"Come on. You know all about my past."
"Do I?" He turns.
I scowl at his open expression then look to the ground.
"Okay, fine, don't tell me." I look up with a sniff. "I don't care anyway."
"Dale! Dinner's ready!"
He shoots me one last disbelieving look before walking out the door.
I stomp down the stairs behind him, annoyed he's being so secretive. It's so completely unfair. Thanks to his interrogation of Adam, he now knows about Jody. The least he can do is tell me why he looks like Frankenstein.
I wince; glad I'm not talking out loud.
Dale takes a seat at the table, opposite his parents. His Dad gives him a friendly smile and asks how he's doing. They share a quick joke I don't understand then hold hands and say grace.
Holding hands around the table? Awkward.
"Amen," they all say in unison then smile at each other.
Dude, we're like five shy of the Brady Bunch here.
I lean against the wall and watch as Dale's Dad, what's his name again?
"Charles, can you pass the pepper please?"