"That would hurt. A lot."
"So... telling me who is keeping you from talking would definitely cause you problems."
"Just thinking about telling you that makes my tonsils go cold," Luke said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Can I see you today?"
I contemplated just how idiotic that would be. Then I remembered. "Luke, Granna's in the hospital. My mom just left with Delia. They said she fell down or something. But--"
"Granna doesn't fall down," Luke finished. I hesitated. "Do you think that it could be--" "Maybe.
Do you want me to visit her? I'd be able to tell."
"She hates you."
"She's not the only one. What about us? Can I see you again? You can say no. You'd crush all my hopes and dreams, but it's an option."
I pulled on my shoes while I thought. I could probably blame my hormones for all this. For my complete lack of ethics. A friggin' pile of dead bodies and here I was allowing myself cold chills at the idea of seeing him again. Oh man, and if he kissed me again, I'd probably explode.
Earth-to-Deirdre. Snap out of it. We're talking killer here, remember? But maybe there was a reason for the bodies. Or maybe I was just being pitifully hopeful. Out loud, I reasoned, "So, 166
there just might be something to counteract what I saw in your head."
"I think I am allowed to say a definite maybe."
"And you aren't going to kill me."
The smile vanished from his voice. "I promise you that. If nothing else, I promise you that. I won't ever hurt you."
I wondered what it was like to have a normal relationship, where you didn't have to ask these sorts of questions. Would I feel the same about him if he just had a normal life and a normal past? I made my decision. "Then I'll see you later."
"You've made my day, pretty girl. I'm off to visit your granny. Keep my secret with you." The phone went dead in my hand.
***
Dave's Ice was officially dead. The hazy blue-gray sky of earlier had traded in its stifling heat for growing knots of storm clouds, and no one was in the mood to get ice cream. I leaned against the counter, staring out the large pane-glass windows at the gathering clouds and playing with the iron key, sliding it back and forth on its chain. I could think of one thousand places I'd rather be.
I didn't want to look at the clock, because it would just remind me how much longer I had to stay here. I didn't want to read old text messages from James, because that would just remind me how nobody had called and updated me on Granna yet.
167
"He gave you that, didn't he?" Sara interrupted my boredom. She leaned against the other side of the counter, revealing a lot more of her cleavage than I'd ever wanted to see. Even though she was wearing the same chaste Dave's apron I was, she'd managed to find a shirt that made it look like all she was wearing was the chaste Dave's apron.
I glanced up at her. "Yeah."
"I saw you guys on that first day, sitting out by the car. He really is cute." "Yeah."
Sara leaned toward me, conspiratorial. "And older. He's a senior, isn't he?" "Yeah."
She poked a finger in her ear and squinted out the window as if trying to see what I was looking at. "I know I said it before, but I just can't get over, like, that someone like you ended up with someone like him. No offense. Seriously, no offense."
Previously, on Deirdre's Life: in the last installment of our show, Deirdre receives casual put-down from Sara, and because Deirdre's socially paralyzed, she takes it without a squeak.
This week on Deirdre's Life: Deirdre fights back.
I rolled my eyes toward her. "I think older guys go for a more subtle look, don't you?"
Sara followed my gaze down into the cavern between her breasts. "I--uh--never noticed. Do they?"
"Yes," I said firmly, warming to my theory. "You know, younger guys want arm candy. Older guys want depth."
168
I swallowed a smile and went in for the kill. "It's why I wouldn't date any of the guys from school." I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with her--like we were friends. I wondered if this was how the other girls in high school were, the ones that babbled in front of their lockers about their boyfriends and the music they liked. Maybe they were all just pretending to be buddy-buddy, when really they knew nothing about each other.
Sara's eyes opened wide. " That's why you didn't date? I totally thought it was because you were some kind of freak."
On a scale of one to ten, Sara definitely scored an eleven on the Tact-O-Meter. I don't know how I could have been intimidated by her before. I shrugged. "That's what a lot of people say who don't know me. Their loss."
The awed look on Sara's face was worth a million bucks. The feeling I had pulsing through my veins was worth a million more.
And then Freckle Freak came into the shop, and my two million bucks went down the toilet.
Again, he was perfect and preppy, the collar turned up on his layered polo shirt and fingers linked in the pockets of his perfectly tailored khaki shorts, revealing half a dozen leather bands knotted around his wrist.
There was one big difference from when I'd seen him before, though--this time, I could tell he was a faerie. It wasn't the sharp herbal scent that accompanied him into the store. Rather, he had the same kind of mind-bending perfection as Eleanor, which I was beginning to think was the mark of a faerie. It wasn't that he was beautiful, though
169
he was--it was the way the beauty hurt to look at. Also, he glowed from within, healthy and warm, though the fluorescent lights of
