I’m surprised. Lord knows he deserved it, but I still don’t know what to think. Mikaela would probably prefer to keep Cody all to herself, if she had the option. If he didn’t have a thing for someone else. Maybe she wouldn’t even be telling me this if she thought there was the remotest possibility of something happening between the two of them.
She’s looking at me expectantly. So I say, “Maybe I will talk to him.” I smile, a little weakly. In reply, she gives me a quick, fierce hug.
“You’ll get through this,” she says. I’m not sure about that, but I can’t help being relieved anyway.
By the time we return to the lunch table, the group is already starting to scatter. Andy and C.J. are heading to the parking lot to try to sneak a cigarette before fifth period. I wander over, trying to look casual. I peer over David’s shoulder at his latest sketch—a surprisingly realistic scene of the group eating lunch—and compliment him. He looks up, startled, and grins, ducking his head shyly. I move down to the table to Cody and try to figure out what to say.
“So, ring in the new year with a bang?” Cody asks, smiling sardonically.
“Well, there was some family melodrama,” I say. “I don’t know if I’d call that a bang, exactly. More like a whimper.”
“T. S. Eliot,” Cody says with a nod. “Nice.”
“Yeah, we read that one in English class last semester.”
“Mrs. DeMarco?” He grins at me. I don’t smile back.
“Yup. Second period. You?”
“Fourth,” he says. He cocks his head, his expression mildly curious. I look away from him for a moment, watching Becca as she touches up her black eyeliner.
“So did you hang out with those Wiccans again on New Year’s?” I ask pointedly.
“Nah, Becca and Mikaela and I hung out at my house,” he says. “I’m seeing Rennie and her group next week, though, if you want to come.”
“Uh, no thanks.” I look away, scowling. “That’s exactly what I don’t want to do.”
“Hey, I already said I didn’t know they were going to put you on the spot like that.” He meets my eyes with an intense ice-blue stare. A challenging stare. “But I meant what I said that night.”
“What, that you thought it was all a joke? A trick?” I cross my arms.
“No!” He lowers his voice so that only I can hear. “I mean, if you ever want to practice your … ability, or just talk about it or something, tell me.” He looks contrite now. “I promise. I won’t tell anyone else about it. I won’t say anything about your power unless you tell me it’s okay.”
I frown. “Okay. Thanks.”
“So … do you think you might want to try to practice sometime?” He doesn’t quite look at me, just fiddles with the zipper on his jacket.
“I—don’t know. Maybe.” I feel confused, off-balance. The bell rings, and we gather up our bags and books. I start walking toward my fifth-period physics class. Cody falls into step beside me for a minute.
“Really, Sunny,” he says, leaning close enough for me to feel his breath on my ear. “Just think about it.” He smiles and starts walking off toward the history classrooms. I stare after him, watching him go.
He says he wants to help me practice. He wants to help me gain control over my underhearing. And I told Mikaela I’d try to give him a chance.
I’m afraid to say no, sort of. Problem is, I’m also afraid to say yes.
When I get home after school, I immediately go upstairs to change into sweats and then flop down on my bed with some physics homework. Angular momentum and collisions: Calculate the momentum of the cue ball as it hits the 8 Ball. That stupid 8 Ball again. At least this time it’s a regular, non-stolen 8 Ball.
I hear a knock at the door. Hear my mother say, in an icy voice I’ve never heard before, “It’s him. I don’t believe it.”
I rush back downstairs. Mom, Dad, and Auntie Mina are gathered tensely near the closed front door like a huddle of penguins.
“What’s he doing here ?” My voice comes out plaintive.
“Not now,” Dad says, making a shooing motion with his hand. I ignore him.
“You sure you don’t want me to send him away?” he says to Auntie Mina.
“No,” Auntie Mina says, her voice firm. “I’ll do it.”
“Well, we’ll be right here behind you.” My mom puts an arm around Auntie Mina’s shoulder. “We don’t want him threatening you.”
Auntie Mina nods and opens the door.
“Hello, Randall,” she says without a single tremor in her voice, though her hands are clenched together, white-knuckled.
“Mina.” Uncle Randall is dressed in a dark, perfectly pressed three-piece suit, and he’s holding a single yellow rose—Auntie Mina’s favorite color. He says a few perfunctory hellos to my parents and smiles ingratiatingly. “Madam, I’d like to request the pleasure of your company at the Armstrongs’ dinner party. Your chariot awaits.” He gestures at his Mercedes, parked on the street.
My mouth drops open. He’s going to a party. Auntie Mina has been here, crying her eyes out, and he thinks she’s going to want to go to a party with him? I start to say something, but my mom hushes me. I fidget, feeling like I want to burst.
“I don’t think I’m up for a party,” Auntie Mina says carefully. “Not on a Monday night. I appreciate the thought, but … ”
Uncle Randall’s still holding out the rose. He realizes she’s not going to take it, and pulls his arm back. “What does it matter if it’s Monday? You don’t have work in the morning,” he says pointedly.
“No, not yet,” she says patiently. “I’m still waiting for a job offer.”
There’s a long, tense pause.
“Okay, look. Mina. Can we talk for a minute?” he says. “Please?” His cajoling tone makes me grimace.
“Okay,” Auntie Mina says. “Go ahead.”
He clears his throat meaningfully. Auntie Mina stays silent, and my parents and I stay where we are.
“All right,” Uncle Randall says shortly. “I’ll get to the point. I want you to come to this party with me, but I also want to find out when you’re coming home.”
Auntie Mina swallows visibly. “I … need some time before we can have this conversation.”
“It’s been almost two weeks. How much time do you need?” He’s almost hissing now, as if he doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “We planned to attend this party months ago. The Armstrongs are expecting to see you. What am I supposed to tell them?” My dad jerks a little, and my mom places a hand on his arm.
“I don’t care what you tell them,” Mina says, frowning. “Tell them the truth. And I’m still figuring things out. I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”
There’s an ominous silence. Uncle Randall glances at his watch. “A few days, then,” he says. He holds out the yellow rose again until she finally gives in and takes it from him. Then he says, in a curt voice, “I’m not sure what you think this is going to accomplish, but I hope you get it out of your system.”
He turns around abruptly and walks down our front steps to his car.
And then my dad does open his mouth, but before he can say anything, Auntie Mina reaches out and shuts the door. She sags, leaning against the door with her head in her hands.
“He treats you like a child!” My dad is incredulous; angry. “And he thinks you’re planning to go back to him as if nothing happened?”
“Ali!” My mom reaches out, massages one of his shoulders. “Let’s all go into the kitchen. I brought home some pie from work. Come on. We’ll talk more in there.”
They can talk. All the words I’d been planning to say have dribbled away. It’s one thing to underhear Uncle Randall thinking awful things. It’s another to actually hear him say them aloud, to have his words thunder and echo in the air between us.