Whisper (10 page)

Even worse—I swallowed—was it possible she was right about me being a loser? Other than my Hearing, which no one knew about, was even one single thing about me special? What
did
Ben see in me? What was there to see?

My heart was pounding in my throat so loud I was worried it would wake Parker.

I escaped down the stairs.

Maybe I was spoiled. Okay, so I was
definitely
spoiled. But I’d gotten so used to seeing Mom in the kitchen Saturday mornings—frying eggs or sipping chamomile in her robe while Dad drank coffee, or reading one of her inspirational self-help books at the table—that I actually felt a twinge of panic when I saw all the lights were still off downstairs. No kettle on. No smell of coffee. The oven clock read eight thirty-seven.

Nervously I drummed on the counter. Where was Mom? I needed her. I’d left Parker dreaming upstairs, but her cell phone alarm would go off in twenty-three minutes. Even though I knew Mom wouldn’t exactly be proud of me
for kissing Ben and making Parker not trust me, I needed advice on how to deal with it now. Besides, Mom was the only one who could explain what was happening with my Hearing. Last night my Hearing had flickered out for hours after that awful headache. She’d said it was all just stress, nothing to worry about, but I needed more than assurances. I needed to understand. What exactly had happened to me last night? Could it happen again?

I padded down the hallway toward Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Icka could mock me all she wanted for leaning on Mom, and judging from yesterday maybe even
Mom
thought I clung to her too much, but what else was I supposed to do? There wasn’t any book on Hearing, no site on the Internet, no one else on earth I could trust to help me. Mom was it.

I knocked on their door like when I was a little kid and had a nightmare. Desperate? Pathetic? I was beyond caring. “Mom?” I called. No answer. “Dad?” I pressed the top of my head to the door and Heard nothing. I turned the knob. Their California king bed was made, a department-store-esque display involving a dozen decorative pillows.

Back in the kitchen, I spied the magnet cow clipped to a note in Mom’s round, heart-dotted-i printing.

I sighed. Brunch with Grammy and Grandpa Stefani—I’d forgotten all about it myself. Normally I looked forward to seeing them, but the timing was all wrong. Without Mom’s soothing presence, I’d get caught in the crossfire of Whispers between Dad and his parents. He never made the slightest effort to please them, always leaving her to smooth things over. Now I’d have to take on that job, and in my present state I wasn’t sure I was up to the challenge.

Anxiety froze my fingers, just like yesterday after the fight, so I filled the kettle halfway and twisted the burner’s setting to high. Trust yourself, that’s what I’d told myself on the quad. It sounded so right, but where had trusting my own instincts gotten me? I’d double-crossed my best friend. Trusting myself wasn’t as cool as it sounded, for the simple reason that my self wasn’t trustworthy. Which brought me back to the problem of Parker, Ben, etc.

The teakettle whistled. Still deep in thought, I tipped boiling water into a mug and tossed in a packet of mango Ceylon.

What would Mom do in this situation?

Not be in it.

Okay, but what if she was, somehow. What if she was, say, switched into my body in a bizarre
Freaky Friday
–type incident?

I stopped in midstir. I
knew
what Mom would do if she
were me. After all, I’d been hearing—and Hearing—her advice all my life. I didn’t need to ask her to know she’d rate a three-year friendship over some cute boy with great lips. Mom would work hard to repair the damage with Parker. Mom would back away from Ben. Mom would be a true-blue friend. The answer was simple…so simple it made me wonder why I’d been making things complicated in my mind. Piping-hot tea burned my taste buds, but it was my fault for being impatient to drink it. Maybe Quint was right:
I
caused the drama in my life. I was the drama.

I dropped an ice cube in my mug and winced as my mind hit rewind and fast forward on last night’s events: ditching Quint, kissing Ben, lying to Parker, making a fool of myself. The more I looked back on all I’d said and done, the more it felt like I was watching some other person. A selfish, self-centered girl who stepped on other people’s toes and didn’t care about the consequences. Who only focused on her own desires.

But I
wasn’t
that person. Not at heart, anyway. I was a Hearer, someone who tried to make the world a happier place. Hurting people made me feel sick with regret, queasy and achy. Sure, choosing my selfish desires had brought me stolen, golden moments with Ben and that sweet kiss…but was any kiss worth this guilt hangover? The answer was no.

It was time to start acting like myself again. That’s what
Mom would say if she were here. That’s what I felt in my gut.

A couple minutes later, I’d sliced a ripe banana lengthwise and was scooping ice cream into a fancy crystal bowl. Parker liked butterscotch, so I spooned a generous dollop over her sundae, then squirted on whipped cream and arranged three maraschino cherries on top.

When I presented it to her at her bedside, Parker stirred, sat up, and broke into a huge grin.

“Oh my god, Joy, what the hell is that?”

“A feast,” I said, “to celebrate the founding of
our
recycling club.”

Parker’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to do it? You’re in?”

“I’m so in!”

She bounced from the bed and hurled her arms around me. They were still toasty warm from being under my comforter, and her hair smelled like her green apple shampoo and the soft rose-scented perfume she was wearing last night. After squeezing me tight, she grabbed one of the spoons in my hand and clinked it against the other. “Long live the recycling club!”

I repeated after her, thinking that whatever hassles and stress this club entailed, it would be worth it for how happy it was making Parker.

“Mmm, butterscotch!” She took her first enormous bite. “I love butterscotch.”

“I know.” I grinned at her.

“God. If I had mutant metabolism, I’d eat ice cream every morning.”

“Totally, same here.” Not true—I’d eat chocolate cake—but the details didn’t matter as much as rebuilding unity with Parker.

I’d love to know why Joy’s being such a freak lately.

Freak? The smile fell off my face.

“What.” She stared at me.

“Nothing.”

God, I wish she’d stop being so damn secretive.

I felt a painful tug. As always, part of me wanted badly to please her, to give her what she wanted. But stop being secretive and a freak? I’d never Heard such a barbed tone in her Whispers before, ever. Besides, I didn’t want to
imagine
what she’d think of me if she knew my secrets.

“Joy, why aren’t you eating any?”

I took a tiny bite of ice cream, careful not to spoon a cherry or hog too much whipped cream. My mind kept helplessly replaying Parker’s words, spinning them over and over. She was the closest friend I’d ever had. Of course I knew her better than she knew me, but that’s just what happens when you Hear people’s Whispers; you get to know them more than they could ever know you. I’d long ago learned what my sister couldn’t, how to be friends with people on unequal terms. The trick was to give them so much they never noticed what you were holding back. But Parker had noticed, and I had no idea what to do to fix things.

“So what are you doing today?” Parker asked, after she’d showered and changed into one of her work outfits: a camel suede pencil skirt and jacket with a cream silk shell underneath. Ever since Parker turned fourteen, her mom let her be the Saturday receptionist at her nail salon in the mall.

“Not much.” I tried to cover the shake in my voice with a yawn. “Brunch with my grandparents. Then probably homework.” And a long, long, long talk with Mom.

“Oh, that sucks.”
Wish
I
could afford to sit around today.
I winced. Parker worked from ten to four, scarfing a protein bar during her ten-minute break. As long as she stuck to sale items and outlets, the job meant she could afford a designer wardrobe and fit in with girls whose parents handed them charge cards. Girls like me. Say something nice, I told myself. Change the subject, make her feel better. “I was thinking,” I said. “Since I have free time today, I’ll jot down all my ideas about our club.”

Her face lit up with pleasure…and surprise. “You actually have ideas? I mean, already?” she added hastily. But I Heard her Whisper,
Hope she does come up with something! How great would it be if I didn’t have to think of everything for once?

I swallowed hard. It hurt to Hear that, but deep down I knew Parker was right. I’d made a habit of depending on her to take the lead. Running this club could be good for me, and not just because it’d bring me and Parker closer. “Oh, I have tons of ideas,” I assured her. “For recruiting, for
fundraising, for…processes,” I finished vaguely. Okay, so I didn’t have clue one about leadership, but I resolved to do some research on the internet that very afternoon.

Parker grinned at me. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

Into regaining your trust and being roommates at Stanford? Absolutely. “We are going to save the planet together!” I told her.

“Woot!”

We high-fived just as Waverly’s car honked outside.

Shoot, I’d love to hang here and brainstorm with Joy instead of going to work….

I had to concentrate so I wouldn’t beam from ear to ear.

Parker gave me a one-handed hug so she wouldn’t wrinkle her work outfit. “See you at four!”

“See ya!” I echoed. The four of us, me, Parker, Bree, and Helena, had been meeting at the mall on weekends since school started. There wasn’t that much else to do in Beaverton on a Saturday afternoon, and besides, Parker’s mom gave us discounts on pedicures.

“Oh, by the way!” Parker ducked her head in the doorway. “Are you going to call Quint?”

Crap. I was wondering when she would ask about him! “Uh…I might,” I said, ducking my head as if I was shy about a crush. How fake. But it was better than having her suspect the truth.

“Oh, yay Joy!” She clasped her hands together as if praying for us to work out. Then she made the phone sign with
her thumb and pinky. “Call me with a full report, okay?”

“Sure thing!” I grinned, and waved good-bye.

A full report?

Why did that sound like she was my teacher or my boss or something?

I sighed. Maybe I was just being dramatic again, like Icka, making life more complicated than it had to be. I loaded my spoon with gooey, melted sundae and tried to enjoy the simple things: the sweet taste of ice cream, the warm feeling of making someone else’s day a little brighter. There was nothing I could do about the complex things anyway.

At eleven sharp, I was pacing the living room in a pastel blue cotton dress and the strand of pearls Grammy had given me when I was born. Dad trudged in from his office in rumpled jeans and a sweatshirt only a second before car doors slammed outside and I ran to the door.

“Joy Marie!” Grammy Stefani’s round body was lumbering up the front steps. She held out thick, silk-draped arms, though she was too far away to hug me. “Happy birthday, sweet girl.”

Grandpa, spry and lean, bounded up the steps in half the time it took Grammy and extended his hand to Dad, who shook it. “Hey there, Bobbo!”

I stifled a giggle as Dad gritted his teeth. Not only were Grammy and Grandpa the only two people on earth who remembered my middle name (I guess it helped that Marie
was Grammy’s first name), but they were also the only people who called my father Bobbo. He was Robert. Robert C. Stefani, J.D., and anyone who tried a Rob or Bob or Robby or Bobby on him was consistently corrected. But he never tried to correct Grammy and Grandpa. They called him Bobbo all the time and he just gritted his teeth.

“Now where are my blondies?” Grandpa asked, pretending to search around the room for Mom and Icka.

I actually saw Dad roll his eyes. It always seemed to bug him the way his parents made a big deal over my mom and sister having blond hair.

Dad explained Mom was picking up Jessica from a college visit.

“College visit!” Grandpa repeated, nodding with pride as if merely visiting a college was a great achievement. “That Jessica’s got a brain that could take her places in this world.”
But I hope she’s smart enough to stay home instead and be a good wife and mother,
he Whispered.

I blinked. Grandpa thought women belonged at home?

“And you!” Grammy lunged at me with one of her super-tight hugs. “You get more gorgeous every time I look at you!” Yet as she made this declaration, I Heard her mind Whisper,
I’d like to see Joy Marie lose five pounds.

I paused in midhug. Lose five pounds? Had I Heard right? But I wasn’t even overweight…was I?

And I wish she’d wear a little makeup, cover up that sallow complexion.

My hand flew up to my cheek. Sallow? I caught Dad
studying me and put my hand down. Did I look particularly pale today? It was true I hadn’t slept well the past two nights.