"Do you want to talk about it?" Kinley sounds tired through my cell.
"Um, talk about what?" Does she know about last night, about Linzy's ghost? No, that's impossible. How could she?
"Troy and the kiss."
My stomach knots up. I'd almost forgotten about my humiliation. "Oh that. It kinda pales in comparison to everything else that went on, huh?"
I'm lying on my bed, clutching Mr. Floppy, the stuffed bunny Dad got me when I was seven and afraid to go to the dentist. He has two buck teeth (the bunny, not Dad or the dentist) and somehow this was comforting to my seven-year-old brain.
"Yeah, I can't believe Linzy's dead and you found her. That had to be horrible."
Last night's events went from bad to worse. I don't want to see Troy for a while, and I'll never get the image of Linzy's bloated face out of my mind. But seeing her on my bed and then talking to her almost makes the dead part unreal. If I share this with Kinley, she'll hang up and think I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy. But part of me wants to know, too. What if Kinley did believe me?
"Do you believe in the supernatural?" I hold my breath.
"The TV show or vampires and werewolves?"
"More like ghosts. Like what happens to us after we die."
"Well, we go to heaven or hell, right?"
I'm not sure of my spiritual beliefs, and I don't want to get into a discussion on religion. One of Dad's super religious uncles loves to corner people and preach at them. I avoid him every Christmas Eve celebration. It's the one holiday we travel back to New York for.
"Do you think it's possible that our spirit can hang out here for a while before moving on?"
I listen to the silence.
"No. If that was possible we'd see their spirits, right? And I've never seen any."
"What if only some people can see them? Like mediums." I definitely don't think I'm gifted or anything. This is the first time this has happened to me, and I've been around death my entire life.
"Nah, that just sounds like something people say when they want to feel special or get attention."
My chest tightens. That's what Andrea said in the end—that I was trying too hard to be her friend after the Aaron ordeal. I guess I texted too many times and was pushy. He accused me of wanting attention, being needy. It's not true. I only wanted a friend. I don't want Kinley to think that's what I'm after though.
"Why?" she asks.
I shrug even though she can't see it. "Just wondering."
There's a knock on my door, and Dad sticks his head in. "Chief Williams is here. She'd like to ask you a few more questions."
I nod then say to Kinley, "I gotta go. Call you later?"
"I'm probably never leaving the house again, so I'll be here."
The Abbotts and Dad have given us stay notices. We aren't allowed in town without adult supervision. I don't mind so much at the moment, but I have a feeling that it'll get super annoying over time. At least the Abbotts never said a word about Dad not being with us last night. I don't think they realized he showed up afterwards.
I hang up and go to the window. The chief's car is in the driveway, behind Dad's. Reporters are all over the street, mostly in the Quinn yard, some in ours. Good thing we have A/C. I wouldn't be able to keep my windows shut and drown out their noise without it.
I head into the kitchen and stop short when I realize Troy's at the table beside his mom. Dammit, Dad. Thanks for not telling me every name on the guest list. I glance down at my oversized tee, plaid PJ shorts, and pink fuzzy slippers. The ones with the hole in the side. I know how I look at a time like this shouldn't be important, but it kinda is.
When I look back up, the Chief, who'd been talking to Dad, glances at Troy for a second. He averts his gaze to the table. I don't know what's worse—having to face Troy or having his mother know what happened.
"Good morning, Piper." The chief motions to a chair next to her, across from Troy.
I swallow hard, take it, and keep my gaze on my hands, which I place on the table. I can't bear to look any of them in the eye. Dad will know I'm hiding something just from the guilty expression I'm sure covers my face. Him finding out I tried to kiss a boy would be a social death sentence.
"I was wondering if you remember anything more about last night?"
I shake my head immediately. Not that I had time to think about it, what with a visit from a ghost, but I doubt there'd be more info anyway. I already told her it all. "No, nothing more."
"And how is the press? Have they become a nuisance yet?" She directs this one at Dad.
"When are they not?" he asks wryly. "For the most part they're behaving, but we haven't tried to go outside yet."
They talk about the reporters, and I steal a quick glance at Troy.
He catches my eye and smiles. Not the bright and happy kind but enough of one for me to think he's not mad. Not that he has a reason to be. I didn't do anything wrong, other than assume he wanted to kiss me, but sometimes people get weird when you invade their personal space, or when they know you think of them in a way they don't reciprocate. Like Aaron.
I can't believe I made the same stupid mistake as when I was in Georgia. What's wrong with me? I could've sworn the signs were there, though. As it turned out, Aaron got close to me because he was a fan of Dad's. Is that why Troy's been so nice? He doesn't seem interested in Dad. Maybe the chief told him to act nice?
I take a deep breath, and the chief glances at me then her son. To Dad she says, "Can we talk in your office?"
"Of course."
They rise and leave the room. It's almost as if she wants Troy and me to be alone. But that's silly. No parents want their hormone-filled teenagers alone.
When Dad's office door slides shut, I take the bull by the throat, or whatever that saying is that Dad says, and ask, "How are you?"
What I really mean is how are we? Do you hate me? Can we still be friends? But I don't want to sound any lamer, so I keep my mouth shut.
"Okay. People think because of my mom's job I've been around dead people before, but I haven't. Other than my dad."
"Me too," I say way too enthusiastically. "I've seen pictures."
He nods and smiles. "I once opened a file Mom brought home from work. It was a guy who had his neck sliced in a collision. It was pretty gruesome. I was eleven. This was when Mom was a regular detective. She doesn't usually handle cases anymore, but the Quinns called her directly when Linzy turned up missing."
That explains why she didn't ask one of her minions to handle it. "Are they close?"
He shakes his head. "No. I think it's just because Shayla and I used to date."
Suddenly Linzy passes through the back door and scares the crap out of me. I try not to gasp, but Troy looks behind him. The safety chain sways back and forth.
"That's weird," he says. "There are no windows open."
I shrug. What can I possibly say?
Linzy walks through the table and jumps onto the counter. She walks back and forth along the granite before plopping onto the edge.
"About the other thing," Troy says.
I have to backtrack to figure out what he's talking about, and then it hits me. Warmth leaps onto my face, and I just want to die. Well, not dead die, like my neighborhood friendly ghost, but at least burrow under the table.
"If I led you on…" he begins.
I hold up a hand, hoping to stop any further embarrassment. "No, really, you don't have to say anything. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."
God, this never gets any easier.
Linzy jumps down and sits between us. "What happened? Give me the deets."
No way. I don't need a ghost in my business.
"It's not that I think you're ugly or anything," he says.
I scoff. "Gee, thanks."
"He's a charmer. No wonder Shayla dumped him," Linzy says.
Guess Shayla told everyone that lie.
Troy fidgets in his seat. "No, I mean, it's not that I didn't…don't want to kiss you…"
Oh yeah? I sit a bit straighter in my chair.
Linzy widens her eyes at me then makes kissing sounds.
"So I wasn't reading you wrong? You…" I can't get myself to ask if he likes me.
"Well…" He adds a lilt to the end of the word that has me thinking he's about to add a "but."
Linzy continues with her juvenile kissy face and noises to match, then Dad's office door slides open.
Troy jumps out of his chair. "I gotta go, but I'll see you around, okay?"
Before I can reply, he's in the hall, headed for the front door.
"Piper and Troy sitting in a tree…" Linzy begins singing.
How old is she? We teased our friends with that in elementary school. Maybe middle grade, but not as mature teens.
She wraps her arms around her body and turns her back to me, pretending someone is hugging her. She continues with the kissing sounds. Obviously one of us is far from mature.
"What is your malfunction? You're such a baby," I say through gritted teeth.
"Who are you talking to?" Dad asks.
I spin around. He opens the fridge and waits for an answer.
I giggle and shrug. Again. Linzy's rubbing off on me.