When I wake up the next morning, I decide to do my best to put what happened last night right out of my head. I have enough going on, thank you very much, without worrying about some creepy ghost.
Still, it’s easier said than done. I keep thinking about the ghost while I get dressed for school, about how she was so insistent that I add myself to the green paper. I’ve never had anything like that happen to me before.
Whatever, I think as I do my hair for school. Ghosts are always saying things that don’t make sense. Most of the time they’re completely out of their minds. I mean, look at Daniella. She can’t remember anything about her life, and she’s always talking about things that are slightly nonsensical.
Besides, I look way too cute to be worried about ghosts. The outfit Ellie and I picked out last night looks fab, and my hair is cooperating perfectly. By the time I’m done getting ready, I’m starting to feel a little more calm, and I bound downstairs. I say good morning to my dad, then pour myself a huge bowl of cereal. I’m going to need my energy if I’m going to get through the excitement of the day.
“You look nice,” my dad says.
“Thanks.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that boy I saw you at the mall with, would it?”
“No,” I lie. Talk about awkward. How am I supposed to tell my dad that I like Brandon? Or that I like any boys at all? Ohmigod. I just realized something. How am I going to tell my dad that I’m going out on a date if Brandon does ask me? I mean, my dad has never really said I couldn’t date, but maybe that’s because he assumes that I already know I can’t. But since he never said I couldn’t . . . Wow, this is confusing. And humiliating. Oh, well. I’m not going to miss hanging out with Brandon just because of a potentially awkward conversation with my dad. I take a deep breath and decide to just go for it.
“So, Dad,” I say, trying to sound all nonchalant. “If my outfit did, you know, hypothetically, have something to do with the boy you saw me with the other day, how would you feel about that?” This is something I’ve learned works with my dad. If I ask him how he feels about something, it’s different than asking him for permission. It opens up a dialogue instead of setting him up as the authority figure. It’s actually a very mature thing to do.
“Well,” my dad says. He’s cracking eggs into a bowl so that he can make his morning omelette. My dad has a western omelette every morning. He’s supposed to only have egg whites, but sometimes he lets a little bit of yolk slip in. “I suppose I would want to know exactly what’s going on with you and this boy.”
Don’t we all, I think. “Weeelll, what if he was maybe going to ask me to hang out?” I ask. “Could I hang out with him?” “Hang out” sounds way less intimidating than “date.” Even though, of course, that’s what it would be. Wouldn’t it? Is it possible Brandon’s just going to ask me to hang out because he wants to be friends? That would be horrible, and so I push it out of my mind, right into some mental “ignore” folder, like where I decided to put that woman ghost from last night.
“Like a date?” my dad asks. He’s frowning suspiciously into the frying pan.
“Or maybe, like, a group thing, or a study session or something.”
My dad hesitates. And then, finally, he says, “I guess that would be okay.”
Daniella appears beside me and rolls her eyes. “God, your dad is, like, sooo overprotective. I was going out on dates all the time when I was thirteen.” She thinks about it. “Of course, I was getting asked out constantly, so it made sense.” Ugh.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, deciding to ignore Daniella’s comment. Today is going to be great, I tell myself. Then I grab my bag and head out the door to catch the bus, Daniella trailing along behind me.
• • •
Okay. I really need to calm down. I mean, there’s no reason to get all riled up just because Brandon might ask me to hang out. I don’t even know if it’s going to happen for sure. Kyle is definitely not the best source of information. He probably forgets things, or messes things up all the time. Especially important things like who his best friend is going to ask to hang out.
Still. I can’t help getting butterflies in my stomach about it, and all morning I keep my eyes peeled for Brandon. When I pass him in the hall after third period, he says, “Hi,” and I feel my insides melt. But he doesn’t ask me to hang out. Maybe he’s waiting until later, when we have more time to talk?
By the time math rolls around, I am officially freaking out. I stopped off at the bathroom to reapply my lip gloss and reposition the chopsticks in my hair. Even so, I’m so wound up and jumpy that I’m one of the first people in the classroom.
“Well, Ms. Williams,” Mr. Jacobi says. “You’re here early.”
“Yup,” I say, holding up my notebook. “Here and ready to learn!”
“Good,” he says. And I’m not sure, but I think I hear him mumble under his breath, “You need all the help you can get.” Which is pretty rude when you think about it. Just because some of us aren’t so good at math, that doesn’t give him the right to make comments about it. Not to mention that he’s a teacher, and teachers really shouldn’t be snarky about students. . . .
Ohmigod. It’s Brandon. Brandon is walking in! He’s wearing khaki pants and this navy-blue long-sleeved T-shirt, and his hair is a little bit messy, but in a really cute, rumpled kind of way, and my heart does a flip and my stomach gets even more butterflies.
“Hmmm,” Daniella says, wrinkling up her nose and putting her hands on her hips as she watches Brandon walk into the room. “I guess he’s okay. I mean, if you like that type.”
“Shut up,” I whisper at her. The last thing I need is some ghost messing up my maybe-getting-asked-on-my-first-date-ever conversation.
“What?” Brandon asks. He’s over by my desk now. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“Um, no.” I laugh and reach my hand up to twirl my hair before I realize it’s in a bun. Oops. “Why would I have told you to shut up?”
“I don’t know,” he says, “since I didn’t say anything. But I’m pretty sure I just heard you tell someone to shut up.” He looks around the classroom. Besides us and Mr. Jacobi, there are only two other people in the room, and they’re all the way on the other side, near the windows.
“You must have been hearing things,” I say. Then I bat my eyelashes and smile at him in an effort to keep him distracted.
“I guess.” But he looks doubtful.
Daniella laughs. “Great,” she says. “Now he thinks you’re crazy. You better change the subject, pronto.”
I want to give her a dirty look, but I figure Brandon seeing me glare into the air definitely isn’t a good way to change his mind about the fact that I might be crazy, so instead I say, “So did you do the homework?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You?”
“Yup.” I did it last night, after picking out my clothes. Although I had a really hard time concentrating. “I don’t know how well I did, though.”
“I’m sure you did great.”
“No,” I say, sighing. “I don’t think I did.”
And then Brandon blushes. Seriously, his face gets all red. “Well,” he says, “I could probably help you with it.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” I say. “The homework’s already done.”
Daniella smacks her hand against her forehead, like she can’t believe how stupid I’m being. Which is ridiculous, since I’m not being stupid. Does she really expect that I can just do my homework all over before the bell rings in a minute? Just because she’s older and probably thinks the quadratic formula is super-easy doesn’t mean she has the right to just—
“No, I mean . . .” Brandon clears his throat. “I mean, I could help you study. You could maybe come over after school today.”
Oh. My. God. This is it! Brandon Dunham is asking me to hang out, just like Ellie said he was going to!
“Sure,” I say, all casual, even though a million fireworks are going off in my stomach. “That could be cool.”
“Cool,” he says, letting out a breath in one big whoosh. Is it possible he was nervous about asking me to hang out? “So, um, can you ride my bus home with me?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll just have to ask my dad.” He’ll say yes, right? He has to!
• • •
He does. Say yes, I mean. The only problem? He has, like, five million different conditions, including the following:
He has to pick me up before dinner. Which is actually fine with me, since I don’t really want to have to eat dinner with Brandon and his family. I mean, that would be kind of awkward, wouldn’t it? I’d be so nervous! What if his mom didn’t like me? What if I left and she was all, “Brandon! I cannot believe you brought that girl home. I think my son can do a lot better than her. She had some sort of ridiculous chopsticks in her hair!” And then Brandon would be like, “Mom, you’re right. I think I’m going to ask someone else out, someone with more normal hair who’s smarter at math.”
My dad has to be able to call Brandon’s parents to make sure it’s okay with them and that they’re going to be home. Which is actually a little bit insulting, because there’s no way that I would lie to my dad about Brandon’s parents being home. But I guess since I lied to him the other day about being at the library, he’s kind of suspicious of me. And I guess I deserve it. The good thing is that Brandon doesn’t even care that my dad wants to talk to his parents, and he texts me his dad’s cell number so that my dad can call him. Yay!
My dad called Cindy to ask if she thought it was okay for me to go to Brandon’s. (This one isn’t actually a condition, but it should def still be on the list since it is a problem.) Luckily, it sounded like Cindy was all for it and told my dad it was perfectly normal for me to be interested in hanging out with boys and blah, blah, blah. I’m glad she said yes, but I really do not want my dad to check in with Cindy every time I want to do something. And her getting involved in my love life, even if she is on my side, is a little too close for comfort.
“Whatever you do, don’t kiss him first,” Daniella says to me on the way out of school. I almost choke on my Jolly Rancher.
“Who said anything about kissing?” I say. “There’s not going to be any kissing. We’re just going to be studying!”
She gives me a look like That’s what you think, which starts the fireworks in my stomach all over again.
“When are you going to be able to go back and talk to Jen again?” she asks as we walk through the crowd of kids in the hallway. Luckily, it’s so loud and crazy that no one notices that I seem to be talking to myself.
“I don’t know. Tomorrow, maybe? Oh, no, wait. I can’t tomorrow. Ellie has a dance recital, and I promised her I’d go.” I shift my bag onto my other arm. “And let’s get back to the kissing, please.”
“A dance recital?” Daniella says, obviously so self-centered that she can’t focus on the more important issue, i.e., the potential kissing that could take place at Brandon’s. “Kendall, my moving on to wherever it is I’m supposed to go is more important than some stupid dance recital.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say. “And besides, I need to give Jen a cooling-off period. She thinks I’m psychotic.”
“She doesn’t need to cool off!” Daniella says. She puts her hands on her hips. “You need to do something! You know, this isn’t very fair, you just taking off to hang out with boys when you could be helping me. You’re pretty selfish, Kendall.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, keeping my voice steady, even though all I want to do is yell at her. “You don’t understand how this works. You need to trust me.”
But before she can say anything back, she just . . . fades away. I guess I stressed her out. Whatever. I don’t even feel that bad about it, because she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The last thing I need is for Jen to start thinking I’m some kind of stalker or something. What if she calls the police? Or tells her parents that I’ve been bothering her, and then they call my dad? I mean, talk about a big fat mess. And what’s up with Daniella calling me selfish? I’m trying to help her, but it’s going to take time. She needs to chill.
“Hey,” Brandon says, walking up to where I’m standing at the side of the school in front of the row of buses. “You ready?”
“Yes,” I say. I smooth down my shirt and start following him to his bus. It’s weird, being out here with Brandon, in front of everyone. I mean, everyone around us is just passing by, on their way to their own buses, not really paying any attention to us. I was kind of hoping that they’d at least notice we were together. Not that it’s important for people to notice us. It would just be, you know, more dramatic.
“Bus pass?” the bus driver asks when I step on. And she doesn’t sound too happy about it either. There’s a moment when I panic, because I seem to have misplaced my pass, but after a few minutes and a few sighs, I find it underneath the cover of one of my notebooks.
There aren’t enough empty seats on the bus, so Brandon and I can’t sit together. I’m disappointed at first (how cute would it be for us to be sitting together, knees touching, heads together while we talk?), but then I realize it’s actually okay, since it gives me time to collect my thoughts.
I end up sitting with this girl June Melfi, who is pretty annoying and kind of a blabbermouth, but her constant chatter calms me down, and by the time we get to Brandon’s house, I’m not nervous at all. Well, maybe a little. But nowhere near what I was earlier.
I text Ellie right before I get off the bus. At B’s house! Will cll u later xxo.
And then I take a deep breath and follow Brandon off the bus and into his house.
• • •
“Brandon has a girrrrrllll over.” Hmmm. Brandon failed to mention he has a crazy little sister. Seriously, I think the girl might be a bit deranged. And that’s saying a lot, coming from me. I mean, I can see ghosts.
First, it’s how she’s dressed. Like a ninja. Which is fine. I mean, I’m all for girl ninjas. But I do think that maybe you need to tone it down a little bit if you’re having people over. She’s about one second away from karate-chopping me.
“Grace,” Brandon says, taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack next to the door. “Please don’t karate-chop Kendall.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t really want to be chopped.” Brandon holds his hand out for my coat, and I hand it to him.
“What’s the matter?” Grace taunts. “Are you afraid?” She gets into a karate stance and holds up her hands like she’s ready for a good chop.
“No,” I say, even though I kind of am. “I just don’t feel like it right now.”
“Dad!” Grace screams, suddenly turning around and galloping off into the living room. “Dad, Dad, Daddy! Brandon has his girlllfriend with him!”
God, this is way worse than the stuff I imagined about his mom not liking me. A crazy eight-year-old who thinks she’s a ninja, and that I’m Brandon’s girlfriend? Not that I mind being called his girlfriend. I sneak a look at him out of the corner of my eye, to see how he’s reacting to being called my boyfriend. He seems a little . . . annoyed. Of course, that could definitely just be because Grace is annoying, and aren’t all older brothers usually annoyed by their little sisters?
“Hello,” Brandon’s dad says, coming out of the living room to meet me and Brandon as we walk into the kitchen. He’s tall, and he looks pretty much just like Brandon. He’s wearing a flannel shirt spotted with paint, and he’s blinking hard, like the light is bothering him. “Sorry, I was working and I got caught up.” He looks down at his shirt with a confused look on his face, like he can’t imagine where all that paint came from.
“Dad’s an illustrator for children’s books,” Brandon explains, “and sometimes he gets lost in his work.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “Hi, I’m Kendall. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dunham.”
“Please,” he says, “call me John.”
“Okay.” Yay! John! He wants me to call him John! Already on a first-name basis with the dad! That can only be a good sign.
“Would you kids like a snack?” Mr. Dunham asks. He crosses the room to the refrigerator and peers inside. “We have a veggie tray with dip, some crackers . . .” He opens the freezer. “Frozen potato skins, frozen mozzarella sticks, frozen zucchini balls . . .”
Frozen zucchini balls? That doesn’t sound all that appetizing. On the other hand, the rest of the frozen food sounds great. My dad never lets us have stuff like that. Well, usually not. That’s mostly because Cindy sent him this article about how eating organic is so much better, and how if you let your children eat processed foods they go crazy and become serial killers. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from sneaking stuff himself every once in a while.
“Potato skins?” Brandon asks, looking at me.
“Perfect.” I grin. God, we are so in sync! It’s like we have some kind of psychic connection. What are the chances that we’d both want potato skins?
“I’m going to have some too!” Grace screams. Then she pokes me with a plastic sword that she’s pulled out from somewhere.
“No, Grace,” Mr. Dunham (John?) says. “You and I are going to go into the living room and let Brandon and Kendall study in here.”
“NO!” Grace says. “I. WANT. POTATO SKINS.” She pokes me again with the sword, a little harder this time. Ouch.
“Grace,” I try, “how about when the skins are ready, we bring you some? Would that be okay? And then maybe after Brandon and I are done with our homework, we can play ninja.” Please, please, please let us have so much homework that we don’t have time to play ninja.
“I’m not a ninja!” Grace says. “I’m a karate master.”
“Well, then we can play karate master.” I think about adding “just as long as I’m not the victim” but decide to get into the specifics later.
She thinks about it. “Okay,” she finally says. Then she grabs her dad’s hand. “Come on,” she says. “I want to watch a movie.”
Once they’re gone, Brandon smiles at me apologetically. “Sorry.” He reaches down into one of the cabinets and pulls out a cookie sheet. I open the box of potato skins and start laying them neatly on the sheet as Brandon turns on the oven.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” I say. “She’s cute.” And she is. If you like hyperactivity. I don’t, but whatevs. I can’t exactly say that to him. No one wants to hear something bad about their little sister. Besides, why would I ruin this moment? It’s so cozy in here, cooking with Brandon. I place another potato skin on the sheet and look around the kitchen.
It’s done in butter yellow and white, and opens up into the dining room. It’s cheerful and bright, and there’s a picture of Brandon’s family hanging on the wall in the dining room. How cute! It’s a family portrait, with a light blue background and the whole family dressed up and smiling. Grace looks like she’s about four, and Brandon’s maybe nine? I wonder if my dad and I should get our picture taken to hang on the wall of our house. Like, a professional one. Of course, it would only be the two of us, so—
Oh. My. God. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. I drop a potato skin onto the sheet and swallow hard. Because I just noticed something about the picture of Brandon and his family. It’s his mom. Oh, she looks perfectly fine as far as moms go. Except for one thing. She’s the ghost who was in my room last night, telling me to add myself to the green paper.