Whisper (15 page)

“No…a little vague,” he admitted, “but not stupid.”

“Maybe everything’s fine. Maybe I’m just projecting because we got into a fight before she left—not a real, physical fight,” I added. “I just know what I feel.”

“Uneasy,” he supplied. “Anxious. I would say almost frantic.”

I stared at him, rapt. “It’s so weird that I don’t have to tell you.”

“It’s so weird that you believe me,” he said. “You really think she’s in danger.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s just a feeling…I can’t ignore it, though.”

He paused. “So…are you going to take Max, or TriMet?”

“Huh?” Now he’d lost me.

“To Pendleton.”

“Oh.”
I finally got what he was saying. “You mean, like hop on a bus to Portland and track Icka down?”

“Well, yeah, if you can’t ignore this feeling.”

“I can’t, but…” I felt a blush spread through my face. I could see how he’d come to the conclusion that I should go out and find Icka all by myself, if I was so uneasy, anxious, and frantic. But the concept was so far out of my comfort zone, I hadn’t considered it. Leaving aside our sisterly issues, going to Portland alone at night on public transit—surrounding myself with strangers and their Whispers—terrified me. But I couldn’t tell him
that.
“I—I don’t know the TriMet schedule!” That one was weak, since the internet could tell me in about two clicks. “Or—what room she’s staying in,” I added. But it was a small enough campus. I was running out of excuses. “Plus,” I added, “high school girl wandering around the city at midnight?” Translation: I’m a scared little baby. “She’ll be home in a few hours anyway….”

“I could take you there,” he said. “If you wanted.”

I blinked. “Really, you have a license?” For a split second, I let myself picture it, driving to Pendleton together. Finding Icka, safe. Having her yell at us. Driving home free of anxiety, everything peaceful inside my head for once. It seemed just dimly possible.

Then he said, “Well, not a license, official, like a piece of
paper blessed by our government, but I’m an
awesome
driver. And we could borrow some wheels too,” he went on, getting so excited by his own plan that his voice got faster, lost its shy tone. “I could help you, watch out for you and stuff, two’s always safer than one, right?”

I stared at him. Jesus. That was most certainly
not
what I wanted, to be hurtling toward city lights in a stolen car with an unlicensed juvenile delinquent. Groaning, I kneaded my face with my hands, wished I could hide my skepticism so he wouldn’t sense it, so he didn’t feel hurt. Why was he so eager to help solve my problems anyway…didn’t he have tons of his own? “Come on, it’s Saturday night,” I said, trying to be tactful. “I’m sure you have better things to do than go surprise my weird sister in college.”

He dropped his gaze, making his bangs fell back into his eyes. The shyness crept back into his voice. “Honestly, no,” he said, laughing a little. “I can’t think of any.”

Then I remembered: He had nowhere to go tonight. Ben had warned his brother to stay away, to steer clear of their father. My god, where was he going to sleep tonight? A park bench? Behind a Dumpster? And
he
was worried about
me
? I felt like a spoiled, ungrateful princess.

“That’s incredibly nice of you to offer,” I said, trying to compose myself. “But she’d probably be home by the time we got there anyway. So let’s leave driving to Portland as…Plan B.” Or Plan Z, I thought.

“Wait.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Do we have a Plan A?”

“Well, I’m sure my mom’s going to call back,” I said,
“and I’m just going to…you know, wait for her. It’s all I can do right now. Legally.” I felt warmth creep into my cheeks as I realized just how dumb my “plan of action” sounded. As dumb—as crazy—as his idea of stealing a car and tearing off to Portland half-cocked sounded to me. What was worse, being a scared momma’s baby or being an outlaw freak? Two days ago, I would have been certain of the answer. No longer.

“Awright, well, the offer stands.” He stuffed his hands back in his pockets and pivoted. “If you change your mind, I’ll be at Denny’s.”

“Denny’s?” I repeated.

“Free soda refills,” he explained sheepishly. “They don’t kick me out till one or two.”

“But, wait, where are you going to go after two?” I said, cringing at the mom-ish tone of worry in my voice, but he was already down the steps and didn’t turn.

I plopped onto the couch and mechanically made it through another round of calling Mom, calling Aunt Jane, leaving voice mail. Then I tried to watch the end of
Mean Girls
on HBO, but my mind kept wandering back to Jamie.

What would it be like to have his gift? To have emotion overwhelm you instead of being able to turn it down? And how did Ben control it with a Wall while Jamie couldn’t? What about their parents, the dad who didn’t want Jamie to come home tonight after fighting? Icka had gotten into her fair share of trouble—
more
than her share, she’d covered
my share too—but I couldn’t imagine my parents ever kicking her out. What kind of sense did that make: Your kid’s drowning in problems, so you make him homeless too?

Maybe Jamie could at least stay at the teen center Mom volunteered at. He wasn’t safe on the streets. What if someone stabbed him tonight for his wallet, or he witnessed a drug deal gone wrong, like on TV? Gang members could dump his body at a random construction site. He could even be stalked by a serial killer, one of the gross kind that froze people’s body parts. Months later, his parents would ID them and the entire nation would concur that their son’s grisly demise was
all their fault
….

Okay, I was getting carried away. But at least worrying about Jamie and his problems distracted me a little from thinking of my own.

The Lotus Garden delivery guy arrived, and I busied myself filling two plates and depositing one on top of Dad’s printer. (He hadn’t even asked me who was at the door, but floated off to his office “just to check the docket for a minute.” Yeah, right: We both knew he’d be in there till morning.)

I set my own plate on our antique living-room coffee table. A glass sheet protected the wood, and Mom used it as a way to display family photos. Granny Rowan’s eyes peered at me solemnly from a long-past Easter picnic. Grammy and Grandpa mugged from a Venetian gondola on their silver anniversary trip to Italy. They looked so self-satisfied and annoying. I flicked at their faces with my
middle finger, then felt childish. I was just punchy from boredom and worry.

At nine o’clock I surfed over to the Disney Channel to catch
The Princess Diaries.
The phones were still silent.

My stomach was on sour spin cycle, but I forced myself to take a bite of my favorite sweet-and-sour tofu. Back when she first went vegan, it had taken Icka months to convince me even to try it, and she was so thrilled when I got hooked on the stuff…but less pleased after I continued to devour cheeseburgers. Thinking about Icka, about the days when we’d been more connected, made my heart flip-flop. Like it had those times when I Heard her. Don’t think about it, I told myself. What can you do anyway? Face it, you’re not some kind of caped crusader superhero. You’re a wimp. Taking on the puppet presidency of a recycling club makes you quiver.

Six-year-old Jess gazed up at me from the coffee table. She was cuddling with puppy Scarlett, both of them smiling. I remembered how she used to squeeze my hand to Whisper to me.
I want to fly over the Grand Canyon like a hawk!
What happened to that little girl…what happened to us?

The photo next to it made me cringe: me and my sister at the Seattle Space Needle. We were up on the observation deck, leaning awkwardly against the railing, me at ten with braces, her thirteen, already with the beginnings of that cynical sneer. A pink-and-mauve sunset glowing behind us, as if to illustrate the end of our sisterly closeness. We’d fought a lot on that trip. Our arms were only around each other because Mom told us to pose. What happened?

Don’t look. Don’t think. Just eat and watch TV and sleep…she’s probably with Mom already, on their way home. Mom will come home any minute and everything will be fine.

I arranged a phone on either side of me like a good-luck charm and lay back on the couch, listening to Julie Andrews’s comforting voice with my eyes closed….

I opened my eyes. It was dark, and my body felt bleary, heavy. I was still on the living-room couch. On the cushion under my right calf, my cell was vibrating. Mom, it had to be. A wave of empty-belly nausea passed over me as I reached down to grab it and flip it open. “Mom, are you with Icka?”

“Ew, I’m not your Mom!” Parker’s voice, Parker’s laugh.

“Oh. Hey, Park.” I was too groggy to hide my disappointment.

“Thanks, you sound
so
happy to hear from me!”

“Sorry, I was asleep.” I sat up and pinched my wrist, willing myself to wake up. I had to be alert enough to weasel my way out of this conversation. Talking to Parker was dangerous—not to mention awkward—until I’d talked to Mom about how to handle her new Whispers. And my new feelings of resentment. “I should probably go back to sleep,” I mused.

“Oh my gosh, it’s only ten thirty,” she said. “Are you that sick?”

“Yeah.” I’d almost forgotten being “sick.” “I think it’s a flu.”

“My poor little Joy.”

I made a noncommittal sound and gritted my teeth. I was so tired of being talked down to, feeling like her puppy instead of her peer. Especially after Jamie, who took me seriously….

“Well, I’m glad you got home okay. I was worried about you.” She paused. “You never called me back.”

I groaned. “I know, sorry about that.” I
did
feel bad for ignoring her texts. It was the first time I’d ever done that. But the truth was, all I’d felt at the prospect of talking to her was dread. And then I’d had the dream, argued with Dad, found Jamie at the door. “I just had all this stuff to deal with at home,” I said…and cringed.

“I thought you were
sick.
” Her tone was accusing.

“I was—am.” Crap; I was so sleepy I’d mixed up my excuses! “I was sick
and
busy,” I finished lamely. “It was really the worst of both worlds.”

“God, I wish you’d just tell me the truth!”

I froze. This wasn’t a Whisper. She was speaking out loud. Criticizing me. I had the sudden urge to hit End Call, press the button over and over till my fingers bled, escape her disapproval. But as in a nightmare, I was rooted to the spot.

“It is so frustrating being friends with you sometimes,” she went on, her tone clipped, no-nonsense. “I know you keep people at a distance, whatever, that’s just your personality, but it’s getting harder and harder to connect to you at all.”

Listening to her complain about me, I felt numb. Like I
was floating above the conversation between our two telephones. She was frustrated with me. I was resentful of her. And I couldn’t think of a single way to fix it. It was just the way it was.

“I care about you, Joy…but I don’t see how I could be your friend, let alone best friend, if you don’t start telling me what’s going on in your head.” She exhaled noisily. “Why don’t you
talk
to me, and let me help you?”

“Because you don’t know me well enough to help me.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. They weren’t angry or baiting, like Icka. Just an honest observation on three years of lopsided friendship. Three years of her talking and me listening. Of her leading and me following. Of her wishing and me granting. She was sick of it? Well, I was sick of it too. And even if there were no solutions, it was a relief to say it out loud. I fumbled for the coffee-table lamp and found its metal snap. The living room lit up.

“What are you talking about, I don’t know you well enough?” She sounded guarded, but curious too.

“I mean, you’re right.” I was shocked by my own calm. “You’re right that I don’t let you in.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I guess I’m scared that if you knew the real me, you wouldn’t accept me.”

“You don’t trust me?” She gave a hard laugh. “
You
don’t trust
me
. That’s hilarious.”

“Parker, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault at all. But there’s
just some things about me I don’t think you could ever…understand.”

“Oh, really? Like what, like the fact that you have a little crush on Ben?”

My stomach turned to ice.

“It’s okay. Everyone knows, it’s so obvious. The way you look at him…” Dead silence on my end. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Joy.” Her voice had turned gentle. “I’m sorry, but you’re not his type. He told me. He thinks you’re nice. He said you were the best friend type.”

“What, and you just believe whatever he tells you?” I sputtered. Who would have thought it would sting so much to have Parker
not
be mad at me for Ben,
not
be the slightest bit jealous of me or threatened by me? She just thought my “little crush” was pathetic. A puppy growling and gnawing at a pants leg, harmless, even kind of funny.

“Of course I believe him. He’s practically my boyfriend!” She seemed flustered. “No offense, but right now you sound like Icka.”

“Well, it’s better than being your lapdog,” I shot back.

“My what?”

“I am not just the best friend type. I’m a person. I’m not a sidekick.” My voice had crept up to higher speeds and registers. I didn’t sound calm anymore.

“No one ever said you were a sidekick.”

“You don’t have to say it, Parker. It’s obvious how you all see me, as a follower. A little
fan girl.
Admit it. You don’t see anything special about me at all!”

“Oh my god….” Parker sounded like she was dealing with a crazy person. “Where are you getting this from? I have never even suggested you’re not special.”

“But it’s what you
think
!” The old unfair argument.

“Great, so now you’re a mind reader?” She snorted. “First you claim I don’t even know you, and now you supposedly know what I’m
thinking?
That’s—that’s just crazy.”