38

ALORA

JULY 3, 2013

The pages of Dad’s senior yearbook rustle as I flip through them, seeking one with his picture. I come to the attic at least once a day now and search through his trunk.

Since the end of May—when the scans revealed that nothing is wrong with me—Aunt Grace decided to drop the whole “remembering the past will make things worse” stance. Especially when the doctors said stress from not knowing what happened to my parents could have triggered my blackouts.

The attic door creaks, and Aunt Grace calls out, “Alora, I need you to run to town. I’m out of ketchup and brown sugar.”

I groan. The annual Fourth of July Jamboree is tomorrow, and this year Aunt Grace is determined to win the barbecue cook-off. She’s been on a tear trying to perfect a new sauce since she learned this year’s grand prize is five hundred dollars.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay,” she replies. The door creaks like she’s closing it, then she calls out again, “Why don’t you see if Sela can spend the night? I haven’t seen her around lately.”

I wish Aunt Grace would stop dropping hints about me talking to Sela again. She made the cheer squad, and her new friends don’t like me.

They, along with most everyone else in town, are still saying I’m to blame for Trevor’s wreck. After the coroner announced Naomi had been sexually assaulted, and the DNA didn’t match Trevor, people rallied to support the poor football star who won’t get to play in the fall. They’ve been saying if I’d never pointed the finger at Trevor, he never would have been hurt. Never mind the fact that Naomi’s killer is still out there somewhere.

The bad thing is a part of me believes them. If I’d just kept my mouth shut at the police station that day, none of this other stuff would have happened.

This whole situation is so messed up.

I trail a finger along a picture of Dad standing with the baseball team. I can’t help but wonder how my life would be different if I was still with him and my mother. My vision swims with more stupid tears. I rub my eyes hard. I’ve cried enough this past month to fill an ocean, and I’m sick of it. But I still think about how things could be different—better.

It would be so nice if I could go back in time and change everything.

And that makes me think of Bridger. If it’s possible, my mood sours even more. I can’t believe how much I miss him, even after he messed with me the way he did. After he took my necklace and stole Aunt Grace’s truck. Sure, he abandoned it in Athens with a lot of cash, which Aunt Grace gladly claimed. And it did help with some of my medical bills, but it wasn’t enough.

Aunt Grace decided a few weeks ago to sell the house back to Celeste. She said the money would get her out of debt and give us a fresh start. I wish she’d move us somewhere new, but she likes it here. Probably because she’s still hoping my dad will return.

Who knows? Maybe Bridger will come back too. Not for the first time, a nagging voice whispers, What if he wasn’t being a jerk? What if he was telling the truth? That hallucination was so real. I felt the other version of me.

Or was it in my head?

Bridger’s words come back to me. You wished you could go back to before all this started, right?

Before I can stop myself, I close my eyes. I wish to go back to the time when I was with my parents. I wish to go back to that day when I was six and see what awful thing happened to us.

The seconds become minutes and nothing happens. Feeling stupid for believing Bridger, I slam the yearbook shut and lean forward, resting my elbows in my lap. The best thing for me would be to let things go. Try to forget about the past. Get through the next two years, graduate, and get out of this town. Then I can truly start over.

The attic door creaks again and footsteps pad up the stairs. Just great. Now Aunt Grace is coming up here to get me. I need to go anyway. I gather Dad’s things and stack them in the trunk. Aunt Grace offered to get someone to lug it down to my room, but I told her no. I like coming up here. It’s comforting, having this space to myself.

The footsteps reach the top of the stairs and for some reason, the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

“I’m coming,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see Aunt Grace standing there with her hands on her hips.

But nobody’s there.

It feels like someone’s up here with me, but that’s impossible unless they’re invisible. My mind’s playing tricks on me. I hope I’m not going to have any more hallucinations or blackouts. I thought those were behind me.

I hurry out of the attic and down to the first floor, where the scent of freshly baked cake floats around me. My stomach lets out a loud growl.

“It’s about time you got here,” Aunt Grace says when I walk in the kitchen. She dips a spoon in the simmering barbecue sauce and tastes it. “Something’s still not right,” she mutters. “Come here. Tell me what’s missing.”

I glance longingly at a pound cake resting on the cooling rack as I take the spoon she offers me. The sauce is wonderful—somehow sweet and spicy at the same time. “It’s good. I think this will win.”

Aunt Grace shakes her head. “Good’s not enough. It has to be perfect.”

“So what do you need at the store?”

She points to a piece of paper on the counter. “Just a few things.”

I snort as I pick up it up. Aunt Grace’s “few things” consists of a full grocery list. Looks like I’ll be gone for a while. Fun.

“Oh, let me add something before you go.” Aunt Grace rummages through a drawer and pulls out a pen.

While I wait for her to finish, I try to figure out why she’s so into the whole festival thing this year. It kicks off tomorrow morning with a parade and continues all day. The courthouse square looks like someone vomited red, white, and blue everywhere, complete with arts and crafts, greasy food, dinky rides for little kids, and several local bands performing one lousy song after another. The day is capped off when everyone migrates to the rec department for fireworks.

I still can’t believe I’m actually going to the festival this year. Aunt Grace used to take me all the time when I was little, but the past few years I haven’t felt like going. Instead we sat on the river dock, watching the fireworks exploding over the treetops and eating Aunt Grace’s leftover birthday cake. I just didn’t want to be the only teenager having to hang out with an adult because I didn’t have any friends.

This year is going to be different. Aunt Grace decided we needed to join the celebration. She says I need to get out more. She thinks I’m being paranoid about everyone hating me in town, but I know better. I’ve seen the stares and heard the whispers, but I’m not going to ruin her birthday. If she wants to live it up at the festival, I’ll be by her side. Even if I hate it.

“So are you gonna see if Sela can come over?” Aunt Grace asks as she hands me her debit card.

“I might,” I say, just to get her off my back. “But she said something about helping her mom at the cook-off tomorrow.” I don’t know if that’s true or not. I haven’t talked to Sela since school got out.

Aunt Grace’s nose wrinkles. “All the more reason for me to get this barbecue sauce just right. I can’t let anyone get my prize.”

I grab her keys, shaking my head. “I don’t think you have to worry about anything.” I start to head out the back door, then realize I left my purse upstairs. “Be right back,” I call over my shoulder.

The doorbell rings as I get to the foyer. I open the door and try to keep my jaw from dropping.

Mr. Palmer is waiting on the other side.

“Hello there, Alora,” he says, lifting his small suitcase. “It’s nice to see you again.” He crosses the threshold, forcing me to take a few steps back. “I sure have missed this place.”

“What are you doing here?”

Mr. Palmer lets out a light laugh. “Work, my dear. I’ve been contracted to take pictures at the festival.”

“Have you talked to Aunt Grace? She’s selling the place so . . .”

A regretful expression crosses his face. “Yes. It’s a shame. But she said since I’m only in town for two days I could stay.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Great, now I get to see Aunt Grace flirting with him again.

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

“No, Aunt Grace is in the kitchen. I’ll go get her.”

Before he can say anything else, I fly out of the room toward the back of the house.

“Well that was fast,” Aunt Grace says as soon as she sees me, and then she frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Mr. Palmer is here. Did you tell him he could stay with us?” I ask in a quiet voice.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Yes. It’s not a big deal.”

“But why?”

Aunt Grace takes a deep breath. “I swear, I don’t get you sometimes. What does it matter? It’s a little more cash for us, and besides, I feel sorry for him. He told me he’s been divorced for a long time, and he hasn’t had any good cooking in years.” Now she grins like she’s pleased with herself.

I stand there a few minutes, feeling weird about the whole situation, while Aunt Grace greets Mr. Palmer. They make small talk for a moment, and then finally I hear their footsteps going upstairs.

I swear, if I catch Aunt Grace putting the moves on him, I’ll puke.