Once again, I felt like I was stuck in the middle of a really bad dream. My friends and I had been touting protest signs for over an hour.
Sunday traffic wasn’t heavy, but those who did drive by didn’t seem to notice us. I didn’t know why I had this crazy idea onlookers would sympathize with my noble cause and join the protest.
The air was hot and humid, making my hair frizz even more than usual. Dark clouds overhead threatened rain. I silently prayed some of the wet stuff would fall on my head and weigh down my dandelion-do.
The flimsy sign I held over my head was feeling like a dead-weight. AJ and I had slept in this morning, but for some reason, I was still bone-tired.
That’s when I saw the Channel Seven van pull into the gravelly parking lot.
Great. They had to wait until the weather zapped my hair into a ginormous, magnetic frizz- ball.
Mindy walked across the gravelly road in her heels and business suit. Hadn’t she learned anything after last time?
AJ snorted out loud and Sophie squealed into her hands when Mindy fell over. Her whole body tumbled down like a crumbling tower of wooden blocks.
Her camera man rushed to pick her up and she managed to make it to the grass by holding onto his arm.
You don’t have to be a fashion diva to know grass and stilettos don’t mix, like sinking toothpicks through quicksand.
With each step, Mindy made this little high pitched squeaking sound, as she inched her way toward me.
When she finally arrived at our protest sight, I could tell she wasn’t amused by AJ’s gloating grin.
I shot AJ a warning look. I needed this woman on my side if I wanted to win my cause.
After Mindy glared at AJ, she applied fresh lipstick and then the camera was rolling.
“Mindy Mays reporting for Seven News where we’re live at Greenwood’s future site of The Crossover Mall for day two of a protest initiated by junior high student, Krysta Richards. Until recently, many Greenwood residents weren’t aware that The Crossover is also the site of an early pioneer burial ground. No one from Greenwood claims ancestry to the residents of this decrepit graveyard, but that hasn’t stopped Krysta Richards, who says the dead must be respected.”
I inwardly groaned at the tone the news reporter used when quoting me, as if this was all some big joke.
“Joining me now are Krysta and her friends, other Greenwood Junior High students.”
The camera briefly turned on AJ and Sophie. They smiled and waved their signs. Sophie squealed like a mouse. AJ was hooting and hollering like she was trying to distract the rival pitcher in a softball game.
Mindy waved her hand at them, like she was shooing away a cat. I guess she wanted them to be quiet.
They both took the hint, but only after AJ stuck her tongue out at the camera.
I wanted my own stilettos, so I could sink into the ground and hide.
“Krysta, have you gotten any response from the mall developers?”
The camera was back on me and I wondered if all my hair fit in the picture.
“No,” I sighed. “Not really.”
“Why should we respect these gravesites?” She swept her hand across the expanse of grass behind us. “No one even knows who’s buried here.”
Okay, now I was angry. “Why should that make a difference? We’ve all got family members who’ve died. We wouldn’t want anyone disrespecting their graves.”
Just then, I heard some commotion behind me. I turned to see Bryon high-fiving AJ and Sophie. My heart swelled. How did he get here? After he didn’t answer my texts last night, I was sure he was grounded.
Mindy rushed over to him with her wobbly- legged chicken walk. “I see another protester has joined the group. Could you tell us your name, young man?”
Bryon grinned at me and then looked directly into the camera. “Bryon Thomas.”
Mindy licked her lips, her eyes taking on a feral glare. “Are you related to mayoral candidate and mall developer, Cliff Thomas?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged.
Poor Bryon was Mindy’s lamb on the slaughter. I knew she was only interested in Bryon because his dad was running for mayor. Suddenly, I realized why she’d come back to my pathetic little protest—it wasn’t to dig up dirt on the cemetery. No, she was after a bigger story.
Heat filled my chest and flamed my face. I had the most awful feeling of being used.
“In what way are you related to Mr. Thomas?” Mindy had shoved the microphone so far into his face, Bryon was close to choking on it.
“He’s my dad.” Bryon grimaced, pushing away the mike.
Her eyes were alert. Her features sharpened. If she were a wolf, she would’ve been howling. “How does your dad feel about you protesting the mall?”
I could tell by the deep mar in his forehead and his twisted scowl, Bryon was unhappy with her questions. “You should ask him.”
She was unfazed. “Why are you out here, Bryon?”
For a moment, he looked like he’d walk away from the camera. So many emotions crossed his face at once that I couldn’t gauge his mood. His eyes glossed over and I knew he was on the verge of crying.
“My mom is dead. I wouldn’t want anyone tearing up her grave.”
“I see.” Mindy’s voice dropped, her mouth turning in a heavy pout. After what sounded like a forced sigh, she paused long enough to appear sorry for Bryon’s loss. “And here comes Cliff Thomas right now. Zoom in on this. I can tell by the look on his face, he is not pleased with this protest.”
I looked beyond the camera and past the gravelly parking lot. A luxury car had come to a screeching halt. Mr. Thomas bounded out, and in a few long strides, came storming up to us.
“Mr. Thomas!” Mindy crowed.
“Not now,” he growled, turning his back on the camera. “I’m just here to collect my son.” He scowled at Bryon and with a rigid arm, pointed toward the car.
Bryon wasn’t looking at his dad.
His pale puppy dog gaze was focused on me.
I wanted to melt at the look of anguish in his eyes. He was such a nice guy for doing this and I felt so bad for him. I couldn’t imagine having Mr. Thomas for a dad. What it must be like for Bryon to live with him. For once in my life, I actually felt grateful for my father.
Tossing up his hands in an apologetic gesture, Bryon slanted a crooked smile in my direction before he turned and shuffled his feet toward the car.
His dad stormed off behind him.
Mindy followed.
Rolling my eyes, I swore under my breath as my feet propelled me forward.
Here we go again.
“How do you feel about your son protesting your development?” Mindy called.
Mr. Thomas swung around, almost going nose- to-nose with the reporter. “I said, not now!”
She jerked her head back and I could see her limbs visible shaking. Then she chased them again. “Will this have any effect on your run for mayor?”
This woman was nuts.
Bryon had already taken a seat inside the car. He slouched down while he fumbled with the buttons on the stereo.
“Turn off the camera,” Mr. Thomas growled as he swung open his car door. “Please respect my privacy.”
“Like you’re respecting these gravesites?”
A strangely familiar, deep male voice rumbled behind me.
I swung around, half-believing who I saw.
“Zoom in on the cop,” Mindy squealed.
Dad, still in his security guard uniform, walked down the grassy hill toward us holding up AJ’s ‘Respect the Dead! Preserve their Past!’ picket sign. He threw the sign to the ground, pointing to the gravely drive. “These people deserve a proper resting place. Not crushed tombstones and a parking lot.”
Bryon’s dad actually slammed his car door and walked up to my dad.
My heart thumped so loudly in my chest, it threatened to explode my eardrums.
“They’re dead!” He yelled. “What do they care?”
Dad bridged the distance between them until they were within punching distance.
I was about to crap my pants.
Puffing up his chest, Dad looked Mr. Thomas square in the eyes. “So let’s just build over all the tombstones in Greenwood, even your late wife’s.”
Mr. Thomas took a step backward, wiping perspiration off his brow. “I don’t know who you are.” He spoke through a shaky voice. “You’ve got no business talking about my son’s mother that way.”
Dad folded his arms across his chest, his face a mask of stone. “And you’ve got no business desecrating a cemetery. There are mothers and fathers here, too.”
Without another word, Mr. Thomas turned and marched back to his car. Barely getting the door shut, he punched the gas and tore out of the parking lot with squealing tires.
Mouth agape, I stood there staring at the retreating dust cloud and then to my dad.
My dad.
This guy in uniform who actually appeared sober and in control of a situation.
From the corner of my eye, I spied Mindy standing in front of the billowing cloud of dust made by Mr. Thomas’s car. It made quite a dramatic backdrop.
She was grinning ear to ear before the camera lens turned on her. Then, she plastered on a grim expression, as if she was about to report World War III.
“Well, there you have it. Mall developer, Cliff Thomas, is in the hot seat today as he faces protesters accusing him of desecrating a burial ground. One of those protesters is his own son.”
The dust cloud inched toward her and she waved her hand in front of her face while choking on fumes. “So much discord in his personal life amid his bid for mayor,” she sighed. “How will this affect his future in politics? Will this stop construction of The Crossover Mall? We’ll keep you posted only here on Seven News, Greenwood’s information connection.”
My heart sank.
Was Mindy right? Had this protest really caused this much trouble for Bryon and his dad? If this interfered with his run for mayor, would he resent Bryon?
Would Bryon resent me?
****
Sitting in my dad’s car, I toyed with a crease in the corner of my ‘Respect the Dead’ poster. I still had a hard time believing I was in my dad’s car, that he’d come to support me and then offered me a ride home. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
My dad’s face had been difficult to read since I first saw him at the protest. He kept his stony gaze on the cracked windshield, both hands on the wheel. “This is important to you.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, not really sure what to say next.
Dad’s response was to squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m your dad. I should be doing this.”
The muscles in my neck and back tensed. Was I his charity case now? I didn’t want a dad who only did stuff for me because he ‘should’. I wanted a dad who really cared. “You don’t have to do things with me just because you’re my dad.”
“I want to, Krysta. I want to be a better father.” Dad stopped at a red light and turned to me, his eyes had softened.
“Okay.” I shrugged, feeling kind of choked up inside.
“You know…” He coughed into his hand and looked at me with searching eyes, like he was trying to find the right words to say. “I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with your other friends.”
“You mean spirits?” I laughed.
“Yeah. Adela used to do this kind of stuff and look what happened to her.” He sounded like he had to struggle to get out those last words.
The light turned green and he focused on the road.
I could tell talking about this was hard for him.
“I’ll be careful.” I tried to reassure him.
“That’s what she said.” He squeezed the steering wheel so hard that it looked like his fingers would snap.
“I can’t just ignore my powers.” I spoke with determination in my voice. If he really wanted to be my father, he’d have to accept me for who I was.
“No.” He shrugged. “I guess you can’t.” His voice trailed off as he kept his gaze firmly on the road.
I knew he was lost in thought somewhere, but at the moment, I didn’t want to know what he was thinking.
“I spoke with Garza,” Dad blurted.
I didn’t know if his change in subject was a good thing.
“What’d you talk about?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.
“He found the gloves. It’s all over for the boyfriend.”
“That’s good.” I exhaled, not realizing until that moment I’d been holding my breath.
I’d been kind of regretting that promise I’d made to my dad not to go back to the lake. Not a day had passed that I didn’t wonder what happened to Sunny. Would she be forever stuck in darkness or would her boyfriend’s arrest force her to accept her death and move on to a better place?
“He’s not contacting you again or he’ll have to deal with one pissed-off dad.”
“He was nice.” I tried to shrug off the dull pain that settled in my chest.
“I don’t care, Krysta. He’ll involve you with more cases—dangerous cases. Once was enough.”
“All right,” I murmured. Setting the poster at my feet, I slumped in my seat, feeling kind of deflated. Even though the thought of working another murder case frightened me, I wanted to see Garza again. He was my mom’s partner and I wanted him to tell me more about her.
We came to a stop at an intersection. I could see the pot-hole filled side street up ahead that lead to our apartment complex.
“I spoke with his supervisor.” Dad’s voice was barely audible.
I jerked, the dull pain in my chest deepened. “Did you get him in trouble?”
“No,” he groaned. Letting go of the wheel, he raked his hair with both hands. “I was asking about a job.”
My heart did a little flip. “You’re going to be a cop again?” I squealed.
“Maybe.” Dad rolled his eyes and flashed a lopsided grin. “I don’t know. It beats the hell out of the pay I’m getting now.” He grabbed the wheel again and accelerated down the road.
“Yeah,” I sighed.
My eyes bulged as we passed Mocha Madness. The lights were out inside. A faded ‘closed’ sign was hanging in the doorway. My heart ached and I wondered if my little escape would ever re-open. I chewed on my bottom lip, hoping I’d never need to get away from my apartment again.
“A teen girl needs a house, not a rundown apartment and she shouldn’t have to starve herself to afford nice clothes.” Dad sounded overwhelmed with emotion.
I had to do a double-take. His eyes were glossy with unshed tears.
“I don’t mind my apartment and I don’t starve myself.” What was up with him? Fine if he wanted to be a better parent, but he didn’t have to accuse me of being too skinny. I got enough of that from my friends.
Pulling into the complex parking lot, he turned off the ignition and faced me.
I didn’t like the look on his face. Kind of like AJ’s mom looked at her whenever she’d done something wrong.
“I know what you do with your allowance. I might be a lousy dad, but I’m not stupid.”
My arms and legs numbed and this car suddenly felt way too small. “I eat every day,” I spoke through a shaky voice.
Why was he doing this? Why wouldn’t people leave my weight alone?
“You don’t eat enough, Krysta.” He shook his head, his voice sounding heavy. “I need to be a better provider.”
“It’s my choice to diet. One day, I’m going to be a model.” But even as the words came out, I spoke them with less conviction.
Leaning over Dad cupped my chin, tears freely streaming down his face. “You grow more and more beautiful each day. God, you look so much like your mother. But, you’re not going to be a model, sweetheart. You and I both know that’s not your calling.”
Turning from my dad, I flung open the door and rushed to the apartment. I wrapped my arms around my midsection as silent tears streamed down my face.
Modeling had been my dream since before I could remember. Why did he have to burst my bubble? I could be a model and talk to spirits. He’d already said he didn’t want me involved in murder cases, so what other calling could I have? I hadn’t spent the last three years studying every fashion magazine, practicing every cosmetic trick, and starving myself, so I could give up on it now.
I was going to be a model. Wasn’t I?
Wasn’t that my dream?
My heart sunk to my feet as I wiped tear- stained cheeks with the backs of my hands, silently sniffling as I struggled with the jammed door handle and rushed inside the apartment. I could hear my dad’s footsteps behind me, but I didn’t want to face him at the moment.
Running into my room, I locked the door behind me. I fell face-forward onto the bed, tears soaking my worn comforter. For the first time ever, I was having doubts about my modeling future.