Indelible

  “She should have prepared you, Yara. This wasn’t your fault.”

  I nodded even though I didn’t agree. I knew I could have studied harder this summer. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that this didn’t bode well for my senior year.

  Chapter Three

  Brent adjusted his tie and messed up the lapels of his suit coat to hide the blood. He ran his fingers through his hair until it returned to its normal, artfully-messed style and then used a clean part of his shirt sleeve, one that would be hidden under his coat, to clean up the rest of his blood. I found a mirror, blotted away the blood on my lip and smoothed down my wind-tossed hair. We deemed ourselves presentable and turned back toward the stairs only to find two rather large men blocking our path.

  “Is everything okay up here?” One of the big men asked. They both wore serious expressions and dark suits. If I had to guess, I would say they were security. They studied Brent and me and looked around the silent hallway. “We thought we heard something.”

  “Oh, that was the air-conditioning vent. It made a horrible sound,” Brent said.

  The two men exchanged an unreadable look before one of them turned back toward us. “Students are not supposed to be up here.”

  “Sorry.” I grabbed Brent’s arm, slipped past the two beefy men and led him down the stairs. When we reached the first floor I said, “Let’s find Steve and Cherie and get out of here.”

  Brent nodded and we went into the backyard to look for them. A tapping on the microphone had us all looking toward the platform at the far end of the event tent as Headmaster Farnsworth took the stage. Like cattle being corralled into a pen, the crowd pressed forward. Brent and I had no choice but to go with the flow or be trampled in the process. My adrenaline had worn off and my body began to shake. Brent noticed. He grabbed two glasses of sparkling cider and pushed one of them into my hands.

  Our headmaster smiled out at the audience, and began a long-winded speech about the importance of the internship program, thanking all of the people who had planned the event. I didn’t care what he had to say. All that mattered to me was leaving the house before Sophia came back.

  The headmaster’s voice droned on in the background, “I’m pleased to turn the stage over to Bryan Pendrell, our Board President and CEO, and the sole living descendant of our school’s founder.”

  That got my attention. I’d never seen Bryan Pendrell except for his picture on the school website. Everyone clapped while Mr. Pendrell stepped up to the microphone. He appeared to be in his mid thirties with wavy, dark brown hair, a smile far too white to be natural and dark eyes. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief and then clutched the sides of the podium.

  “Um, thank you ah, for coming tonight. We’re glad we uh, had such a great turn out.” He cleared his throat again as he leaned closer to the mike and I cringed at the static feedback.

  “Wow, he never would have passed Mr. Cooper’s public speaking class,” Brent commented. “This is painful to listen to. He even makes your public speaking skills look good.”

  I almost choked on my apple cider. Brent laughed as he took my glass from my hand.

  “Jerk,” I said between coughs, patting my chest. Brent winked when he handed me back my drink.

  A scattering of polite applause erupted around the tent and I tuned back in to Mr. Pendrell’s speech. He had paused to dab sweat from his forehead and glanced off to his left as though searching for someone. “When Dr. Marks, uh, our assistant headmaster left us last year, we were um, saddened, but we were ahh, lucky enough to have lured uh, enticed Mr. Jamie Crosby to fill that position . . .”

  “Wow. They got Crosby to come back? The man is a legend.” Brent took a drink, his eyes now glued to the stage.

  “ . . . to take the vacated position. As most of you know he um, lobbied for the, p . . . pa . . . passage of the new um, education proposition that you will all vote on um, during the next election, and had even ah, deferred, his own campaign to help out his alma mater. We—”

  In an act of mercy for all involved, Mr. Crosby cut off the rest of the introduction. “Thank you Bryan.” He patted the CEO on the shoulder and took control of the mike. He gave us all a big smile. “I’m grateful to be back at Pendrell Academy. This school shaped me into the man that I am, the man my father wanted me to be. I won’t take too much time up here. I’m not a very good speaker and I don’t want you get any ideas with the tomato appetizers I saw being carried around. I never looked good in red.” He laughed a little, the rest of the crowd chuckling along with him. His little joke fell flat to me. The man was polished and comfortable in front of a crowd, and I didn’t buy the humble, self-deprecating act.

  “I’m happy to be able to work with the seniors this year and head up the Alumni Internships. We have a talented group of students here. I hope that through the year those talents grow and flourish.”

  More applause. Mr. Crosby waited until it died down before he spoke again, going on to the importance of the internship program. When he was done, Mr. Crosby bestowed on us a toothy smile, one that could charm a snake. The man had a great career ahead of him in Washington. At the end, Crosby and Pendrell shook hands for the cameras, and then exchanged a look that seemed to communicate a mutual feeling of loathing.

  I was going to comment on it but Brent spoke first. “There’s Steve and Cherie. Let’s go.” I gave our assistant headmaster and school CEO one last look before following behind Brent.

  v

  A half hour later, Brent and I sat at a booth at Miguel’s Jr., my favorite fast food restaurant, bringing Steve and Cherie up to speed on the Sophia attack.

  “Another year, another ghost,” Cherie said, her blue eyes twinkling. She rested her elbows on the gray-flecked table holding tight to her burrito. “I can’t believe I was downstairs and didn’t hear a thing? Did anyone notice?”

  “A couple of people came upstairs, but Brent blamed it on an air-conditioning vent.”

  “And they bought that?” Steve asked.

  I took a drink of my horchata. “It’s more believable than a ghost attack.”

  “I guess that’s true.” Cherie took a huge bite of her burrito, a determined glint in her eye. “Just so you know,” she insisted, once she had swallowed, “I’m not going to get left out of the adventure this time.”

  Despite her brave words, they weren’t as forceful as they would have been a year ago. Our encounter with Thomas and Pendrell’s curse had slightly tarnished her love for the paranormal. She still thrived on it, but a hint of caution had bled into her enthusiasm.

  “Forget the ghost, who’s the guy?” Steve asked. “What’s-his-name, how did he get those pictures?”

  Brent pointed his taquito at Steve. “That’s what I’d like to know. Ghosts are Yara’s territory and the rest of us aren’t much use there, but we can do something about the flesh and blood problems.”

  “Let’s not talk about any of this.” I lifted my hands together and begged.

  The guys nodded, but Cherie said, “I’ll give you twenty-four hours. After that, ghost talk is fair game.”

  “Deal.” I poured salsa onto my bean and cheese burrito.

  “Man, this is good!” Cherie said, taking another bite of her food. “I only had a cheap salad from the vending machine at lunch.”

  “Too busy making out with Steve to get a real lunch, huh?” I teased, laughing at her unapologetic expression.

  “You bet she was,” Steve answered. He bit into a salsa-laden chip with a loud crunch.

  “And I should have eaten instead.” She smirked at Steve who placed his hand over his heart pretending he had just been stabbed. “You know, being a senior will have some definite advantages. Specifically, being allowed to have a car. It means we won’t be stuck on campus nearly as much as we were last year.”

  “You’re supposed to use the cars for internships, not for late night candy runs,” Steve said. “I know you. That’s what you’re planning, isn’t it?”

  “It might
be.” Cherie pouted her lips and gazed upward as though pondering her one great love. “I have a special relationship with chocolate. When I need it, I need it.”

  Brent pulled me in closer and squeezed my shoulders. “Personally, I’m all about the five hours of off-campus time we get on Saturdays.”

  Steve crinkled his empty burrito wrapper and tossed it on our tray. “I’m looking forward to the senior prank. I want to leave our mark on the school.”

  “I’m game, as long as whatever you’re planning doesn’t get the whole senior class in trouble. You know Audrey would never forgive you if the administration killed all of our other senior events as punishment,” I said. Audrey was in the running for valedictorian, but had already nabbed the title of Most Involved. She was in practically every school club and organization, and had a hand in planning almost every event.

  “A little faith, please,” Steve said. “Besides, the only time the seniors got in trouble was when the pranks went wrong. Like the year the statue of Christopher Pendrell broke when they tried to move it.”

  “Or the year they brought goats into the administration building and they caused all that damage,” Brent said.

  “Don’t forget when they added mustaches to all the portraits of the Pendrell presidents and no one could get them off,” Cherie added. “Or—”

  Steve reached over and covered her mouth with his hand. “Okay. I see your point. So a few times people couldn’t pull off the prank and the whole student body suffered. But my plan will be brilliant.”

  “I know it will, ‘cause I’m going to help,” Cherie managed to say around his hand. Steve grinned and moved his hand away to swoop in for a kiss.

  I changed the topic to one I’d been dreading. “Hey Brent, remember how I have that family dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah,” Brent said. “Steve and I have a video game night planned.”

  Steve leaned across the table to fist-bump Brent and they started talking about the first person shooter game they were going to play.

  I cut into their conversation. “Um, yeah. About that . . . they want you to come, too.”

  “To dinner? Like, with your parents?” Brent asked, his voice filled with dread.

  “Yes. My dad’s especially looking forward to it.”

  At the look on Brent’s face Cherie belted out a laugh, spewing soda across the table. “You’re going to love her dad,” she managed between coughs. She laughed harder and I knew she was thinking of what my dad did to the boys I brought home.

  “Your dad?” Brent rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed hard. “Any chance I can talk you into a movie instead?” He smiled at me with the grin that made my insides melt like ice cream on the fourth of July.

  “Unfortunately, this is one dinner we can’t put off. I’m sorry Brent, they were adamant.” I patted him on the back and gave him puppy dog eyes and a small pout. “You’ll come won’t you?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

  v

  The sun still shone brightly as I backed out of my newly-assigned parking space in the student lot. Brent had come with me to pick up my parking sticker and he fidgeted in the seat beside me, still nervous about dinner at my parents’ house. I enjoyed the new experience, this sense of freedom from getting to drive my car. If my bruised wrist hadn’t started tingling as I turned onto the only road that led off campus, I probably would have been able to pretend that I hadn’t been attacked by a ghost the night before.

  When my dad was transferred to Brazil last year, he had known it would be temporary and that there was even a chance of coming back early, so rather than sell their house, they had kept it. Now that my dad’s company had sent him back to the States for the year, I was happy I could visit my parents at home and not in some random apartment. After yesterday’s attack, I needed the familiarity and comfort of my own space. Cherie had wanted to come but her parents had volunteered her for something that would look good on her college applications.

  I stopped at a red light, turned my head, and allowed myself to enjoy the handsomeness that was Brent.

  He noticed my staring and asked, “What?”

  “As if you didn’t know. You’re not the type of guy that a girl gets tired of looking at.”

  “Oh. Well in that case, you’re welcome to look all you want,” he said and gestured to himself. “You’re allowed to touch, too.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  I lowered my voice into its sexy-husky range. “I was hoping you’d say that.” With my flirtiest look on my face, I rubbed my hand slowly up his arm and then pinched him firmly on the shoulder.

  “Ow!” Brent rubbed his shoulder and grinned. “Not what I had in mind!”

  “It wasn’t?” I asked innocently.

  “Nope. To repay me for that undeserved pinch I get to choose the music.”

  “Sorry, but the driver gets to pick the station.”

  The light turned green and I put my foot on the gas pedal. “So, a few things you should know about my family,” I began, as we drove. “First off, my grandma can see ghosts.”

  “I had no idea,” he deadpanned, changing the radio away from my jazz station to his favorite.

  “I know that’s old information to you, but it’s usually my opening line. It’s always been the hardest part to explain to my boyfriends.” I swatted his hand away from the radio dial and changed it back. “Don’t mess with my radio.”

  “Boyfriends, huh?” Brent asked, sitting up taller in his seat. “How many are we talking about?”

  I shook my head and smiled, deciding to ignore the question, and drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. “Vovó is probably going to talk your ear off all night. She wants to know everything about what happened last year, and the thirty times I told my version of the story apparently weren’t enough for her.” I bit my lip thinking. “My mom will love you, but my dad … ” I cleared my throat, wondering how thoroughly I should prepare him for that experience. Too much knowledge could do more harm than good. I was so lost in thought, I missed the turn down my street. I flipped an illegal U-turn, almost causing an accident with the black sedan behind us.

  “Are you trying to kill us again?” Brent gripped his seat.

  “Ha, ha,” I said as I pulled up in front of my house. I parked the car and glanced over. “Are you ready?”

  “Of course.” Brent leaned back in the seat like he didn’t have a care in the world, but I didn’t miss the way he’d been chomping on his fingernails the whole way here. Ever since I’d known him, Brent had been a nail biter, except for the short period of time when Thomas had been in control of Brent’s body. Thomas didn’t share that habit, but he hadn’t been able to keep from cracking his knuckles. Every time Brent bit his nails it gave me a sliver of peace, proof it was still him, and not Thomas.

  I opened the door and drank in the sight of my old house with its tan stucco and gray siding. The windows were framed with blue shutters, and the porch encircled with a white railing. It felt much longer than a year since I had been here, staring out of my second story window, preparing to go to Pendrell. It all looked smaller than I remembered, but I knew it was the same; only I had changed.

  Brent straightened his shirt as he came to stand beside me. “I’ve never done the meet-the-parents thing before.”

  Given his extensive history of short-lived relationships, that didn’t surprise me. Before me, he had been a little afraid of commitment and had barely been on more than a handful of dates with any of his previous girlfriends—if you could actually call them girlfriends, which, personally, I preferred not to.

  “Don’t worry, they’ve never maimed any of the boys I’ve brought home. Yet.”

  “That makes me feel so much better.”

  I gave him a small grin and a shrug as I strolled up the front walk past the perfectly manicured lawn. I was about to put my key in the lock when the door swung open.

  “Yara!” Mom’s blue eyes flared with joy as she grabbed me and pulled
me into a bone-crushing hug. My family was big on hugs.

  “Is that my querida?” Vovó’s voice called. I couldn’t help but smile at her nickname for me. Dear one, beloved. Vovó was loving with everyone, but she only used that nickname on me.

  Mom pushed the door open wider and ushered us inside. Even after a year-long absence, the house smelled the same, like my mother’s favorite vanilla scented candles and the yeasty smell of fresh, homemade bread. Vovó walked down the hall wearing her gardening clothes and carrying a basket of herbs.

  “Our poor garden is so neglected,” she informed my mother with a tsk before giving me her own hug. I breathed in her familiar scent of orchids, sweet and musty.

  “Mom, Vovó, this is Brent,” I said, pulling myself away and putting my arm around Brent’s waist.

  Brent stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you Mrs. Silva.”

  “Brooke, please,” Mom said, taking his hand in both of hers.

  Vovó pursed her lips, examining Brent from head to toe. “Ah, Brent. The boy who distracted Yara from her training this summer.” Then her face broke out in a grin, her laugh lines crinkling around her eyes. She winked at Brent. “I can see why now.”

  “Vovó!”

  “I’ve got eyes, Querida.” She pulled Brent into a hug, careful not to touch his back with her dirty hands. “It’s good to meet you. Come, come.” She guided him into the kitchen, dropped her basket onto the kitchen counter, and washed the garden soil from her hands. Mom went to the stove and stirred the pan. The smell of sizzling onions and garlic hung in the air and teased my taste buds, making my stomach growl.

  Brent sat at the battered wooden table, tracing one of the many indentations where a family member had pounded with a fork or spoon while making a point. Our family dinners were never boring. I leaned against the granite counter, taking in the room. It all felt so familiar. A feeling of homesickness hit me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed being in my own home.

  The kitchen’s tan walls were broken up by long windows with a patchwork of natural light streaming through. One wall held so many unframed pictures that they seemed like wallpaper, hiding the wall’s true color. We had a family room but we always ended up in the kitchen, snacking and talking about our days. Its walls were more than sheetrock and plaster, they were part of our home and had soaked up the memories that had been formed here. I was so lost in the feeling of home I almost didn’t want to talk about what was on my mind. But I knew I had to get it over with.