I lean against the wall and watch as Dale's Dad, what's his name again?
"Charles, can you pass the pepper please?"
That's right.
He hands his wife - Mary? Yeah, I think it's Mary - the pepper and gives her a private smile. Man, they look so in love it's sickening. I mean, ewww. How old are these people?
I ignore the thought that my parents used to look at each other that way and instead return my attention to the fact Dale is being a stubborn ass. I can't believe he doesn't trust me. After all we've been through today.
I cross my arms and shoot him a few death glares, but he's oblivious.
"So, Dale, how are you getting on with Mr. Moffat?"
"Yeah, okay." Dale nods.
"Okay? I was sitting next to you for half the class and you didn't take one note," I call across the room.
Dale's shoulders tense and he shoots his parents a close mouthed smile. My eyes narrow. Stepping towards the table, I decide to play the bitch everyone knows me for.
Squatting down beside the Finnigans, I do my best to throw a squirm jamboree for my untrusting companion.
"Actually Mr. and Mrs. Finningan, your son is probably failing physics."
Dale shovels a fork full of rice into his mouth and glares in the direction of my voice.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he gets a big, fat F on his transcript." I grimace. "Not so great for college apps, am I right?"
Leaning forward, Dale clears his throat and shuffles in his chair.
"If I were you, I'd be asking to see his school work, because if the amount of notes he took today were anything to go by, he might not be doing so well in other areas either."
The fork drops from Dale's hand and in spite of the fact he can't see me, he manages to aim a black glare right in my direction.
"Dale, sweetie, are you okay?"
He holds his breath for a beat, then shakes his head.
"No, actually. I need to tell you guys something."
"What are you doing?"
I step back from the table as his parents both lean forward, looking concerned.
"The truth is..."
"Are you insane, right now? They won't believe you can hear a ghost!"
He sighs.
"I think I'm failing physics."
Confusion stunts my next statement.
Mrs. Finnigan looks disappointed and Mr. Finnigan leans back with a thoughtful expression.
"Bummer," he eventually says.
"Yeah, I know, Dad. I'm really sorry, but I just... I really hate it and don't understand what Mr. Moffat is talking about half the time. I just don't think I can do well this year."
"But you're doing so well in everything else."
"Yeah, well Biology's a little hard, but I love my other subjects."
Mrs. Finnigan's lips bunch together, and then she looks at her husband. They have one of those silent conversations that only married couples seem capable of.
"We talked about you studying a range of subjects this year."
"I know, but I don't enjoy it. I want to transfer out of the class and do something I'll excel in."
Like they're ever going to let that happen.
The couple finish their silent conversation then look to Dale.
"Okay, well I'm open to discussing that."
What?
"We're really sorry it's not working out."
"Yeah, well I should have been up front from the start. I never wanted to take Physics."
"Then why did you?"
"Because I wanted to make you guys... proud."
"Oh sweetie." Mrs. Finnigan reaches across the table and grabs Dale's hand. "We'll always be proud of you and you know, your honesty right now is just making us prouder. We love you, kiddo."
Their conversation continues as they discuss other subjects that Dale might take. Their voices turn to static noise as I lean against the wall.
My eyes burn with unwelcome tears.
We love you, kiddo.
I can't remember the last time someone told me they loved me and they're just saying it like it's an everyday occurrence.
I notice Dale look over his shoulder. He slowly searches the room as he nods at his parents' comments.
He's looking for me.
I should call out and tell him where I am, but I can't.
Instead I creep out of the room.
The kitchen door is ajar, I squeeze through it, cross the road diagonally and turn down Piney Lane. A few hundred yards later, I'm walking around the back of my house and climbing the stairs. Mom always leaves the bathroom window open. I have no idea how I'm supposed to actually climb through it. I stand outside and look at the narrow gap. I might be able to fit through it... but with hands as dense as smoke, I have no idea how I'll grip the frame to pull myself up.
I let out an irate huff. I can't work this stupid ghost thing out. My feet seem capable of walking on solid surfaces and my butt seems capable of sitting on any kind of seat, so why do my hands glide through everything? Maybe it's a mind over matter type thing.
My eyes narrow as I study the window and will myself to believe it is a solid object that no part of my body can fall through. I decide that the faster I do this, the less thought will be involved. Taking a breath, I launch myself towards the window, my foot lands on the sill as my hands touch the frame.
Of course my brain then decides to remind me that this is all just ridiculous and my hands fly straight through the glass followed by the rest of my body. I land in a heap on the tiled floor. Jumping up, I do a little heebie-jeebies dance. I whirl back to look at the window, shudder once more then make my way through the house. It's cold, dark and silent.
I step into my room and look around my pristine belongings. My bookshelf is neatly lined with untouched books, the clothes are neatly folded into every draw or hung neatly on every hanger. My subtle bedspread is pulled tight to perfection... just the way I like it.
I frown.
Everything feels cold. Cold and gloomy.
Spinning on my heel, I descend the stairs to the living room and force myself not to look out the window. There's a light on in the kitchen. I follow the amber glow and stumble across my mother. She's sitting at the kitchen counter, picking at a microwave meal.
"Mom?"
I step in front of her. She's in zombie mode again. Her fork is poised just above her food. It's like she knows she needs to eat, but can't quite make herself do it.
I look at the clock on the stove. 6.50pm. Dad is nearly an hour late, what else is new?
My mother blinks and finally comes to. She looks at the clock and huffs, throwing her fork into her bowl and stepping away from the counter. With practiced efficiency she goes to the cupboard and grabs a large wine glass. She selects a bottle, pops the cork and pours herself a huge glass. It's gone after four big swigs.
"Whoa, Mom."
She pours another glass and slaps the bottle on the counter. She goes to guzzle it then stops and gently places it down. A sudden sob spurts out of her mouth as she dips her head. Her blond locks fall over her face and her shoulders shake.
"Don't cry," I whisper.
She doesn't hear me and the sobs keep coming out of her, slow and pitiful.
I back away. I can't be here. I can't watch this again.
Stumbling out of the room, I run to the bathroom and fall back through the window. I don't even care. All I want right now is yummy warmth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN