Better Late Than Never

  "It's beautiful," she breathed.

  "I wish you could see the inside, but the owners are out for the day."

  "Are you sure it's for sale?" she asked. "I don't see any sign."

  "They're nice people," he told her. "Even though I couldn't give them any money up front, they took down the sign. I have until Friday to pay them."

  "Friday," she repeated. "This Friday? You mean this week?"

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  "Yes."

  She was mystified. "But it must cost thousands and thousands of dollars. How are you going to get that kind of money? Can you borrow it from the bank?"

  He smiled ruefully. "Not with my credit history. No, honey, I'm going to pay cash. And I'm hoping you'll help me."

  "How?"

  "I'm going to get a few bucks together today and tomorrow," he told her. "Enough for a couple of plane tickets and a little more. On Wednesday, you and I could fly to Las Vegas. The casinos there are open twenty-four hours a day I could join a poker game, and with you by my side, I could win the cost of that house by Friday morning. We fly back, I hand the folks the money we move in on Saturday. We pick up your mother on Sunday and bring her home. Here."

  He'd completely taken her breath away. She wasn't even sure she'd comprehended what he'd just said.

  "Do you think you can handle it?" he asked. "Staying up all night reading minds?"

  "I don't know. I guess."

  "Of course you can--you're a tough cookie.

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  You're my girl, right?"

  "Right." It wasn't the staying up all night that was bothering her, though. "But . . ."

  "But what?"

  She made a little face. "We'd be cheating." Deep inside she knew it was wrong.

  He didn't disagree. "Yes, you're right. And as a father, I suppose I should be ashamed of myself, asking my daughter to help me cheat. But I'm looking at the big picture, Jenna. I'm thinking about saving your mother, making us all happy. Being a real family. It would take years and years for me to save up the money for this house. I don't think your mother can last years and years at that place where you've been living."

  He was right, and she knew that. Brook side Towers was no place for a recovering alcoholic. There was just too much temptation to go back to her old ways.

  "Do you know the expression 'The end justifies the means'?" he asked her.

  She shook her head.

  "It means that sometimes you have to do things that aren't one hundred percent right in order to

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  reach a goal that's more important. We're talking about your mother's health and our future as a family. Don't you think it's worth doing something a little unethical for that?"

  She still didn't feel good about it, but he was right.

  "Yes."

  He leaned over and gave her a quick hug. "Excellent. I'll call your principal tomorrow and make arrangements to take you out of school on Wednesday"

  "I think you'd better come up with a different reason for it," she cautioned him.

  He chuckled. "Not to worry, Jenna. Your old man can spin a tale. I'll say you've got a sick grandmother who wants to see you. We can use the same line with the Devons."

  "Okay."

  He started up the car. "Now, I have to go scrape together the money for our tickets and enough for me to get into a game. I'll drop you off at the Devons'."

  It wasn't far. When they moved into this house, she'd still be in the same school zone. As he drove, Stuart talked about job possibilities for him in the

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  town, but Jenna was in too much of a fog to listen.

  It was happening. It was really happening. Her dreams, her fantasies--they were going to come true. Like in a fairy tale. She had no idea something like this could happen in real life.

  At the Devons' house, he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and told her that he'd let her know what time they'd be leaving on Wednesday. Still feeling dazed, Jenna went inside.

  "I'm in the kitchen," Tracey called out.

  "I'll be there in a minute," Jenna called back. First, she needed a little time alone. She ran up the stairs to Tracey's room.

  It was a funny thing about emotions, she thought. They never seemed to be precise--at least, hers weren't. She was never 100 percent happy or 100 percent miserable. Right now, for example, she'd just heard the best news she'd ever heard in her life. She should have been ecstatic.

  Okay, so she'd have to do something she really didn't like doing, but so what? She just had to keep telling herself what Stuart had said about the ends and the means. And it wasn't as if she was so virtuous

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  about her gift anyway. She'd certainly read minds for more stupid reasons than this! Madame was always scolding her for eavesdropping on people's thoughts.

  She wasn't sure how the Devons would react, though. They were responsible for her, as her foster family. They might not want her flying off to Las Vegas, even if they believed it was to see a sick grandmother. They might want to get permission from social services, and then it would turn into a big deal. Stuart would have to fill out forms--there would be little chance they could get permission by Wednesday. Which would mean they wouldn't have the money for the house on Friday. Which would mean her mother would come out of the rehab program on Sunday and go straight back to Brook side Towers.

  Jenna had an idea. Instead of telling them, she'd leave them a note that they'd find only after she'd gone. Tracey would be furious with her for not telling her the truth, but when she saw how happy Jenna was in her new home with her new family, she'd have to forgive her.

  Jenna needed paper. Tracey kept school supplies in a cabinet under her desk, and Jenna found a pad

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  there. Then she opened the drawer to get something to write with.

  Her eyes fell on an envelope, sealed, addressed, and apparently waiting for a stamp so that it could be mailed. That's odd, she thought. Tracey was a big e-mailer; she never wrote old-fashioned letters.

  But this looked like something official. Jenna knew she was being nosy--it was none of her business--but so what? If she could read minds, she could look at envelopes. And it wasn't as if she was going to open it.

  She picked it up and examined the address. State Medical Laboratories. Department of DNA Testing.

  Was Tracey writing a paper about DNA? She hadn't mentioned it.

  Jenna heard footsteps and dropped the envelope onto the desk. Tracey came in.

  "I'm bringing the kitchen to you," she announced. In her hand was a plate of brownies. "I just made these. You're probably not hungry, though, if you just had something to eat with Stuart."

  "I'm starving," Jenna said, taking a brownie. Sitting on her bed, she hoped Tracey wouldn't notice

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  that an envelope that had been in her drawer was now on top of her desk.

  Tracey did notice, but she must have thought she'd left it there herself, because she just picked it up and opened her drawer to slide it back in. That was when Jenna read her mind. She couldn't resist it. There was something furtive about Tracey's movements, something that made Jenna think she didn't want her to know about this envelope.

  And for a good reason. As she was handling the envelope, Tracey thought about it, and her mind revealed what was contained inside.

  Hairs. Some of Jenna's that Tracey had gathered from her hairbrush. And some that belonged to Stuart.

  Tracey had plucked them from his head when she had been invisible the day before. That was why she'd been out of breath when she became visible again, just more than a minute later. During that time, she had run downstairs, pulled the hairs from an unsuspecting Stuart while he sipped his cocktail with the Devons, and hurried back to her room.

  Jenna wondered if he'd felt it and what he'd thought it could have been. A mosquito?

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  Of course, that wasn't really relevant or important. What was important was the fact that Tracey was so convinced that Stuar
t wasn't Jenna's father that she was willing to take the extreme measure of having their DNA compared to see if they were actually related.

  Automatically, Jenna reached for another brownie. She had to keep in motion, keep busy, so she wouldn't reveal what she knew to Tracey. At least, not until she'd figured out what she was going to do about it. "They're good, aren't they?" Jenna looked at Tracey blankly. "Huh?" "The brownies. I've got another batch in the oven. In fact, I'd better go check on them." Tracey left the room. As soon as she was gone, Jenna went to the drawer. Opening it, she retrieved the envelope and went into the bathroom. There, she tore the letter up, again and again, into little tiny pieces that wouldn't clog the plumbing. Then she dropped them into the toilet and flushed it.

  She'd have to find some way to tell her father that he should let her know if he ever felt anything unusual, like a mosquito bite out of season--without telling him why.

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  Chapter 15

  OKAY, THAT'S IT," MRS. Preston said. "I'm calling the doctor." Amanda looked up. "Why?"

  "Because you haven't said a word since we sat down to dinner. Not to mention the fact that it's your favorite, lasagna, and you've barely touched it." The woman got up from the table and went to the phone.

  Hastily, Amanda dug her fork into the lasagna. "I'm eating!" she yelled.

  "Too late," Ken's mother called back. "Something's wrong with you, and I'm going to find out what it is." A moment later, she reappeared. "The doctor's office is closed. But I'm calling again first thing in the morning."

  Amanda couldn't worry about that now. She had bigger things on her mind. Like raising the dead.

  Not like in the movies, when zombies came up from the ground and vampires emerged from coffins.

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  Just making someone dead be alive again, as he was before.

  She wasn't stupid, and she didn't believe in magic or reincarnation, or anything like that. But look at her--she could take over bodies. That wasn't scientific--nobody could explain it. The same was true of every student in her gifted class. They could all do inexplicable things. Reading minds, seeing the future, making things move on their own--none of these skills made any sense in a logical world. So maybe one of them could bring the dead back to life but just didn't know it yet. Why not? It wasn't any freakier than anything else they did. The question was--who would be a likely candidate? Whose gifts might extend to something like that?

  During her "date" with Rick that evening, she didn't mention her plan. She let the conversation go on in its usual lovely way. Rick talked about his dreams, goals, and ambitions--things that could never come true now that he was dead. He didn't sound depressed, though, and she soon found out why.

  She asked a question that had been in the back of her mind since they'd met.

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  What's it like, where you are?

  Beautiful.

  Can you tell me about it?

  It's hard to describe. It's just this incredibly happy place, full of love.

  I'd like to see it.

  You will, someday. Not for a long time, though, I think. You're not the type to get into a stupid motorcycle accident. And you have to wait till it's your time or you won't come here.

  She understood. Not that she was thinking of trying to get there on her own, to be with him. No, she wanted him here, in her world. As beautiful as his world might be, she preferred to stay alive for the time being.

  So they talked about other things. She confessed that she hadn't given much thought to her own future. He talked about college. He'd never been, of course, but his older brother had loved it. He told her he thought she'd make a wonderful teacher because she expressed herself so well. Nobody had ever told her that before, mostly because it hadn't been true.

  She told him about her family, about being an

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  only child, and how spoiled she was as the center of attention in her real home. She described her other experiences as a body snatcher.

  She left out a lot of stuff about her life, too. She didn't talk about her clique--how they always sat together at lunch and criticized other girls. She didn't tell him how frequently she went shopping for clothes and makeup, shoes, and hair products.

  He talked about books he'd read when he was alive. He'd been a big reader. A couple of titles were familiar, but only because they'd been required reading for a class, and even then, she'd used only the Cliffs Notes so that she wouldn't have to waste valuable television time reading. She didn't know most of the books he mentioned, but she filed the titles away in her memory for future reading. This dead guy was going to change the way she lived. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to stay dead.

  In her gifted class the next day, Other-Amanda was giving her report on how her gift could influence her career choice. Real Amanda had lucked out--she wouldn't have to do it. Of course, sooner or later Ken would have to give his report.

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  Other-Amanda didn't surprise her. Amanda knew herself too well.

  "I don't think there's anything positive about my gift at all, and it can't do me any good in the future. I want to have a fabulous life, and I can't have that if I can transfer only into bodies I feel sorry for. So my goal is to lose my gift, and that will help me achieve my goals."

  "Which are?" Madame inquired.

  "If I grow a few more inches, I could be a model. If I don't grow, I suppose I could be a movie star."

  "Do you enjoy acting?" the teacher asked.

  "I don't know--I've never tried it."

  "You're not in the drama club here at school?"

  Other-Amanda rolled her eyes. "No. They're not my kind of people."

  Amanda-Ken saw something that Other-Amanda wouldn't have noticed--the way her classmates were looking at her. Emily and Tracey were exchanging exasperated looks. Sarah was shaking her head sadly. Jenna seemed preoccupied, as if she wasn't even listening to the report, but Martin and Charles were whispering, and they were both looking at Other-Amanda with expressions that weren't pleasant.

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  Ken probably looked the way she was feeling. Disgusted. With herself.

  As Other-Amanda continued with her life goals, which essentially involved being rich and beautiful and having fun all the time, Amanda-Ken looked around the room and wondered who might be capable of bringing Rick back. It seemed to her that Sarah was the most likely candidate. At least, she had the most powerful gift, even if she refused to use it. Amanda would have to talk to her . . .

  What do you think, Rick? There's a girl who can make people do things, even if they don't want to. I'm wondering if maybe she's got gifts that she doesn't know she has.

  Like what?

  Bringing someone back. From where you are. So we could be together.

  There was no response.

  Rick?

  I'm here. I'm listening.

  I'd probably have to tell her the whole story, about being Ken right now, and falling in love with you . . .

  She caught herself. Had she actually used that word before, with him? Was she coming on too strong?

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  It won't do any good.

  Why?

  Because it can't happen. That kind of power doesn't exist. Not, outside movies and stories.

  But I can't stay inside Ken forever! His parents think he's sick -- his mother's taking me to the doctor tomorrow. I don't know how or when I'll get back inside myself but it's going to happen sooner or later.

  I know.

  Then what are we going to do? Once I'm myself again, we won't even be able to talk!

  I know.

  That's the second time you've said that! Don't you have any ideas?

  Only one. We have to stop connecting. Now.

  She must have gasped audibly, because everyone in the class was looking at her.

  "Ken? Are you all right?"

  "Um, I'm feeling nauseous. Can I be excused?"

  Madame quickly handed Amanda-Ken a hall pass, and she hurr
ied out of the room. She ran down two flights to the basement restroom that nobody used, the one where she always went when she needed

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  complete privacy.

  Okay, I'm back. Why do we have to stop connecting now? Don't you have feelings for me?

  Of course I do. That's why we have to stop. Because it's going to get only more difficult for both of us.

  But that's not fair! Not if you love me and I love you!

  It's not fair to die in a motorcycle accident when you're eighteen years old. It's not fair that people are hungry. It's not fair that a bad person can succeed and a good person fails.

  I don't care about anyone else -- I'm talking about us!

  You don't mean what you just said. Of course you care about other people. You're that kind of person.

  Was she? She wasn't so sure.

  I don't want to lose you!

  I'll be in your memory. You'll be in mine.

  That's not enough. I want more.

  Oh, Amanda, you can't have it all. You must know that.

  But she didn't know that. She'd always had everything she wanted, and she wasn't about to stop now: Not when she'd found someone she wanted to be with more than anyone else in the world. This couldn't be happening to her, Amanda Beeson! She

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  would not allow her heart to break! They belonged together, she and Rick. They had to be together ...

  But from some place far away, in the deepest recesses of her mind, she heard a faint voice.

  Goodbye, my love.

  And she wasn't in the restroom anymore.

  She was in her seat in the gifted class. Her usual seat--Amanda's seat. Madame was looking at her with interest. Amanda didn't think it was because of her report.

  But all Madame said was, "Thank you, Amanda. Sarah, would you like to go next?"

  Amanda didn't hear a word Sarah said. Her head was spinning and she was trying to get a grip on herself.

  How did she get here? Was it the strength of her emotions that had pushed her back inside her own body? Emotions she'd never admitted to herself before?

  The classroom door opened and a dazed-looking Ken entered.

  "Feeling better?" Madame asked, eyeing him keenly.