Better Late Than Never

  A form started to appear, and Jenna stopped the watch. "One minute and twenty-two seconds," she announced as Tracey became solid again. "Why are you so out of breath?"

  Tracey was panting, and her fists were clenched. "You think it doesn't take any energy to vanish?"

  "1 didn't think it was like running a marathon,"

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  Jenna commented. "Hey, I'm starving. Did your mother put out any of those nibbly things with the cocktails?"

  "Go look,"Tracey said. "I'll be down soon." She was still breathing a little heavily, and Jenna caught a glimpse of a strange, sort of sickly expression on her face before she turned away.

  Clearly, vanishing required a lot more energy and effort than mind reading, Jenna thought as she ran downstairs. On the other hand, invisibility could be a real benefit in playing poker . . .

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  Chapter 13

  A REN'T YOU GOING TO watch the basketball game with me?" Ken's father called to the person he thought was his son.

  Amanda paused at the bottom of the stairs. This was sticky. Ken was seriously into sports, and he probably watched all the games on TV with his father. But she'd prefer to be alone in his room and wait for Rick to contact her.

  They'd been "talking," or whatever it was, most of the day. Amanda couldn't remember ever having spent an entire Sunday sitting alone in a bedroom doing absolutely nothing, not even leafing through a copy of Teen Vogue. But it was so absolutely fantastic to be able to concentrate completely on communicating with Rick without any distractions.

  But now Ken's mother was looking at him-her strangely, too. "You always watch the Sunday-night

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  basketball game with your father," she said in a worried voice.

  Now she was going to start talking about taking him to the doctor again. "Sure, I want to watch the game. I just wanted to go to the bathroom first."

  "Why are you going upstairs?" his father asked. "Use the one in the hall."

  She hadn't even noticed that there was another bathroom downstairs. She really had to get her act together if she wasn't going to raise any suspicions-- especially if she was going to stay inside Ken's body for a while longer. She wasn't in any rush to get out. Not now, not with Rick in her life. She was in love with him.

  When she came out of the bathroom, she went into the den and flopped down in the big, fat recliner.

  "Hey," Ken's father cried in outrage. "Since when do you take my chair?"

  "Just joking around," Amanda said, leaping up.

  "What's gotten into you lately, boy?" Ken's father muttered. He picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. Amanda just hoped he wasn't the type who liked to have running commentaries during the game. She was praying that Rick would contact her, and she

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  could pretend to pay attention to the TV It was easy to figure out which team Ken and his father supported, so mostly she just needed to shout when they scored and growl or mutter when the other team sent a ball through the basket. She thought she could do this and talk to Rick at the same time.

  But she didn't hear from him. She tried to keep her mind open, empty, welcoming, but she heard nothing. And she started to worry. Could Rick have figured out that she wasn't really Ken? She'd been trying very hard in their conversations not to sound girlie, but something could have crept in. Her feelings were becoming so strong that she might have given herself away. Fear clutched her heart. What if he never came back?

  She waited and waited and tried not to let her despair show. She couldn't have been doing a very good job, though. Ken's father kept glancing in her direction worriedly. Then Ken's mother came in with a plate full of chocolate-chip cookies.

  "Your favorite," she announced, putting the plate on the coffee table between the recliner and the sofa where Amanda was sitting. "Don't let your father have any--he's on a diet."

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  Chocolate-chip cookies were the last thing in the world she was interested in at that moment. She was so nervous that she thought she'd throw up if she took one bite. So when Ken's father made a move toward the plate, she murmured, "I won't tell." At least some cookies would be gone when Mrs. Preston came back.

  Rick didn't show up, and by the time the game was over, she was in agony. She kept going over and over the last conversation they'd had that afternoon. She'd been thinking about the Public Gardens, the place Rick and Nancy used to go, and Rick had recited some of his poetry Had she not been enthusiastic enough? She'd loved the poetry, and while he'd recited it, she'd imagined herself as--well, herself, listening to this sensitive soul express his love for her. Maybe she could have expressed her reaction in a better way, because ever since she'd become Ken, this was the longest they'd gone between conversations.

  Luckily for her, the favored team lost, so she had an excuse to look unhappy.

  "Don't take it so hard," Ken's father said. "Bailey's knee will be better by next week and they'll come back."

  "Right," Amanda said, without the slightest idea

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  who Bailey was. "I'm going to hit the sack--I'm wiped out."

  Once again, she got that worried look from Ken's father. It was only ten o'clock, and she doubted Ken went to bed this early. But she couldn't stand it any longer.

  She decided she was going to try to contact Rick. She recalled that time in class when Emily had asked Ken if he could contact her father. She couldn't remember if Ken had said he couldn't, or if he just hadn't wanted to.

  Up in Ken's room, she turned off the lights and got into bed. Closing her eyes, she visualized the boy she'd seen in the photos and cleared her mind of everything else.

  Rick. Are you there? Can you hear me? Talk to me, Rick.

  She heard nothing.

  Please, Rick. I need to talk to you. I have to tell you something. It's important.

  It was at this moment that she realized she wanted him to know who she really was. It was a big risk. Maybe he'd be horrified to learn he'd been pouring

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  his heart out to a girl. But how could she have a real relationship with him if he thought she was a boy?

  How can I have a real relationship with him if he's dead? she asked herself. But she didn't have to answer that because suddenly Rick was there, inside her head.

  Hi, Ken.

  Rick, hi! I'm so glad you're here!

  Yeah? Well, I am. You said you've got something important to tell me.

  Was she imagining it or was there a distance between them? She wanted to kick herself. Of course there was a distance--he was six feet under or in heaven, or whatever there was after life.

  But he felt so very, very close. She couldn't go on lying to him.

  I'm not Ken, Rick.

  What are you talking about? Of course you're Ken -- no one else can hear me.

  My name is Amanda. I'm inside Ken's body.

  There was no response. She tried to explain.

  I'm what's called a body snatcher. But I occupy bodies only of people I feel sorry for. I was feeling sorry for Ken, because he can't play soccer since he had an accident. And I

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  became him. So that's why I can hear you.

  Should she go into the whole story, about how she had wanted to make Ken ask her out? She was still debating this when Rick spoke.

  Wow! I can't tell you how happy I am to hear this.

  Why?

  Because I was getting these feelings for you. The kind of feelings I didn't expect to have for a guy.

  She wondered if he could hear her gasp.

  Really? You mean, like the feelings you had for Nancy?

  Exactly. The way you understood my poems . . . You really got them, what I was trying to say.

  I love your poems. I keep pretending they're about me.

  Had she really just said that? It was so not like Amanda to let a boy know how she felt! Amanda played it cool. Amanda played hard to get. She was on a pedestal. A guy had to work for her--he couldn't get her a
ffection this easily.

  But Rick could. Rick had. She didn't care if Rick thought she was too easy, too available.

  They could be about you. My poems. You're better than Nancy. She never had feelings as strong as yours. You're amazing! You feel so deeply, so strongly, for other people that

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  you can become them!

  If only he knew how hard she'd tried all her life to avoid caring and feeling for others.

  I know what you look like. I saw your picture in an old yearbook. It's nice, being able to see you in my head while we're talking.

  I wish I could see you.

  It hit her then that he had no idea what she looked like. He didn't know how pretty Amanda Beeson was. He'd fallen for her personality--her attitude and feelings. She was momentarily dumbstruck. Never in a million years would she have thought that those would be qualities a boy would find appealing in her. She was pretty, she was popular--those were the aspects that pulled in the boys. That was how she got attention.

  Do you want me to describe myself?

  No, that's not important. I feel as if I know you, as if you're imprinted in my heart. That's enough.

  They talked like this for hours, until Amanda started yawning and knew she was going to fall asleep. They made a date to "meet" after school the following day. And she floated away to sleep on what felt like clouds of love.

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  The next morning, before homeroom, she went to her own locker and waited. A few minutes later, Other-Amanda showed up.

  "Hi, Ken," she said.

  Amanda recognized her own flirty voice. Other-Amanda fiddled with her locker combination but kept her eyes expectantly on Ken. What would Ken say to her at a moment like this?

  She didn't care. She had something to give herself.

  "I wrote something for you." It was only a little white lie. After all, she had typed it.

  Other-Amanda looked puzzled. "What did you write? A letter?"

  "No. It's a poem. For you."

  Now she looked confused. "Why did you write me a poem?"

  "To express my feelings." She pulled the envelope from Ken's backpack and handed it to her. Other-Amanda took it gingerly, as if she were afraid it would bite.

  "I'll see you in class," Other-Amanda said, taking off.

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  But she saw Other-Amanda before that. She went to the school library during her study-hall period and saw her at a table in the back, with Katie and Britney. They were looking at a sheet of paper, and they were laughing.

  She edged closer, staying behind a bookshelf so that they couldn't see her. Peering through a space between some books, she got a better look at what they were doing.

  She couldn't really say she was surprised when she saw that the paper was her poem--Rick's poem. Other-Amanda was making fun of it and encouraging her friends to do the same.

  "Is this unreal or what?" she was asking them. "Can you believe I ever wanted to hook up with him?"

  "Do you think he's, like, had a nervous breakdown or something?" Britney wondered.

  "I don't know and I don't care," Other-Amanda replied. "This makes my skin crawl. It's so, I don't know, emotional."

  She made it sound like "emotional" was something disgusting.

  "'I want to drown in my tears,'" she misquoted in a squeaky voice. "Ew, this is so weird! Who would have

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  thought someone who looked like Ken Preston could be such a dork?"

  Amanda was in pain. It literally hurt to hear these words, and not because she was Ken Preston. The words were difficult to hear because she knew this was exactly what she would say if any boy gave her a love poem. Or what she would have said, before Rick.

  Thank goodness Rick couldn't see this Other-Amanda. How could she be so shallow, so unfeeling?

  Who was she, anyway? Was this the real her, this Other-Amanda she was watching? Or was she the girl inside Ken who was in love with a poet?

  Maybe they were one and the same. Maybe Amanda or Other-Amanda or whoever the real person was just talked like that to impress her friends. Because it was the way they behaved. No, she couldn't blame her friends. It was the way she behaved. Because she was "cool."

  At least Rick would never know this girl. He could talk only through Ken. But she had to go back inside herself sooner or later. That girl over there, making fun of a guy who showed his feelings--that was her.

  For the first time in her life, she didn't like herself very much.

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  Chapter 14

  THERE WAS A SURPRISE waiting for Jenna after school on Monday Just as she and Tracey emerged from the building, she spotted the now-familiar yellow car at the curb.

  "It's my father," she cried in delight. She ran over to the car.

  Stuart rolled down the window. "How's my girl?"

  "Fantastic!" Even as she said the word, Jenna was thinking that this was probably the first time she'd ever responded to a question about herself with that word. On the other hand, who had ever called her "my girl" before?

  "Just thought you might be interested in an after school snack," he said.

  "Sure!" She waved to Tracey. "C'mon, my dad's taking us out for something to eat." She was pleased-- this was the perfect opportunity for Tracey to get to

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  know Stuart and see for herself what a great person he was.

  Tracey seemed to be walking unusually slowly, and she didn't look particularly thrilled at the notion.

  "Jenna," her father called, beckoning for her to come closer to the window. When she did, he spoke quietly. "Listen, I'd rather this was just the two of us, okay? I need to talk to you."

  He looked unusually serious, and at first she was puzzled. Then a disturbing thought occurred to her, and the pessimism she'd pushed to the back of her head returned to the forefront. He wanted to talk to her alone. Why? Because he'd changed his mind about hanging around. Because he was leaving town and he wanted to say goodbye.

  She looked back at Tracey. Her friend couldn't have heard him, but she'd stopped approaching anyway.

  "Thanks, but I've got tons of homework," Tracey said. "I need to go straight home. Have fun." She turned away and walked off in the opposite direction.

  Jenna frowned. Tracey could at least have said hello to Stuart. It wasn't like her to be rude. Jenna joined her father in the car and they headed off. Already

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  depressed, she watched him, waiting for the bad news. She should have known her fantasies were just that--fantasies. Ex-husbands and wives didn't reunite after 13 years--not when they hadn't had any contact at all during that time. There wasn't going to be any little house with a backyard. All those silly dreams she'd had were going to stay just that, dreams. Her father was going to leave, and another 13 years might pass before she'd see him again.

  She pressed her lips together tightly. She would not cry. At least, not in front of him. After all the experiences in her life, why hadn't she learned that people always ended up letting you down? She wanted to be angry. But all she could feel was this enormous sense of disappointment.

  Stuart pulled into a fast-food restaurant and ordered a couple of drinks from the drive-through window. "Want something to eat?" he asked her. "Some fries? A burger?"

  "No thank you," she said stiffly. Five minutes ago, she'd been hungry Now food was the last thing on her mind. Without a word, she took the drink he handed her. They left the parking lot, and he drove

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  silently for a couple of minutes. Turning down a pretty street lined with trees and cute bungalows, he pulled alongside the curb and stopped. As he turned off the engine ,jenna asked, "What are we doing here?"

  He didn't answer the question. "There's something I have to tell you," he said.

  Jenna looked out the window on her side so that she wouldn't have to face him as she replied. "I know. You're leaving."

  His silence confirmed her suspicions. Then he said, "I want to explain . . ."

 
She interrupted. "You don't have to. Could you just take me back to Tracey's?"

  "Only if you're willing to leave tomorrow."

  Slowly, she turned toward him. "What?"

  "Listen to my plan," he said. "I'm tired of running around, and I want to settle down. And I want to make up for what I did to you and your mother. But I'm not doing this just because I feel guilty."

  Jenna was more confused than ever. "Doing what?"

  He took a sip of his drink before responding.

  "I saw your mother this morning."

  She was completely taken aback. "How? She's not

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  allowed to have any visitors."

  He grinned. "You might not have noticed this, but your father can be pretty charming. I had a little talk with one of the nurses, and she bent the rules."

  Jenna was surprised. She thought hospitals were pretty strict about regulations. "How's she doing? Was she shocked to see you?"

  "Very. But happy, I'm glad to say. And she looks wonderful. This treatment is working."

  "That's great." With no idea what was coming next, Jenna waited uncertainly.

  "She'll be leaving the hospital on Sunday," he continued. "And I don't want either of you living in that apartment anymore. I'm going to buy a house."

  She blinked. "A house? For me and Mom?"

  "For all three of us. To live together, as a family."

  Jenna couldn't speak. The lump in her throat was almost painful, and at the same time, she'd never felt so happy.

  "Your mother is going to give me another chance," he said. "I don't deserve it, but she wants this, too. I hope you feel the same way."

  She felt pretty sure that her expression answered

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  for her. But just in case, she said, "Oh, I do. I do."

  He smiled. "Good. Now, we have to be practical. I don't want us spending even one night at Brook side Towers. This morning I saw a house I want to buy." He leaned across Jenna and pointed. "What do you think of it?"

  It was like the house of her fantasies. White, with blue trim. Boxes at the windows spilling out red geraniums. Big hanging baskets of flowers on each side of the front door. A manicured lawn. It wasn't a mansion, or even a large house like the Devons'. It was cozy and sweet. It wasn't just a house--it was a home. The perfect little home for a family of three.