Deadgirl

I lay in bed that night, all night, with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

I thought of Puck, out in the cold, that man-in-white still on the loose.

I’d figure out something, I told myself. Or Puck would find me.

Chapter Ten

Girl Problems, and Other Complications

When I felt suitably slept, which is to say that I’d finished reading Sabriel and then surfed the internet for a couple of hours, I went downstairs. One nice thing about a total inability to sleep—I’d never had more free time in my entire life. I thought summer vacation was bad—without sleep, I had more hours than I knew what to do with. The thought of learning piano or biology or becoming Batgirl all flitted through my mind, but I had a feeling it would just end up with me being ridiculously well-read.

How would it end up? I tried not to think about it.

Dad was at the breakfast table, reading the paper. Mom stood behind him, forking sausages from a pan onto his plate. It was the image of everything suburban. I made a face at my Mom, and God bless her, she recognized the absurdity.

“I know, June Cleaver, party of two.”

Dad smirked, just at the corners of his mouth, but said nothing. I assumed he knew better.

“I don’t suppose there are some sausages for a hungry daughter in there, too, eh?”

She smiled and gestured to the stove. Sausages. Scrambled eggs. Pancakes—wow. I wasn’t hungry, but after eating the Chinese food last night, and feeling half-normal just by doing it, I thought breakfast wouldn’t hurt. Plus it would go a long way to allaying Mom’s fears of anorexia.

When I finally scooted my chair back across the floor to go get ready, my mom cleared her throat. I glanced up to see her looking pointedly at Dad. I sat back down.

Here we go.

“Lucy, honey,” Mom began. “Whose birthday party is it?”

My head reeled. Whatever drug talk I’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. In fact, I’d let thoughts of Benny’s party and thus, Zack, run completely out of my head. I thought about lying, going with girl instead of guy, but I shrugged and told her.

“Benny,” I said. “Zack’s friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Dad said, not looking up.

“What?” I asked him, staring at his down-turned forehead.

“Babe,” Mom said. “Be reasonable.”

“I’m not reasonable,” Dad said. “I’m suspicious.”

I sat back in the chair, “Of what?”

“Boys,” he said, leveling his gaze at me without turning his head up.

“Oh come on,” I said. “It’s just a birthday party. It’s not a…bacchanalia.”

My mom’s face twisted in confusion, but my dad’s left eyebrow flicked slightly. Ha. I’d impressed him.

“The first bacchanalia were all female,” Dad countered.

“Bah,” I said. “Seriously?”

“He has a point, Lucy,” Mom said. “A stupid point, about an ancient Roman cult.”

Dad’s victorious expression soured somewhat at that comment. I enjoyed it, I’m gonna be honest.

“I just want to go and be…normal.”

Both Mom and Dad squirmed at that one. It was a cheap shot, invoking my disappearance. It had only been a week ago to the day, and I can’t imagine they’d gotten over it. I had, or at least I felt like I had. Maybe the pressure of my immediate, freaky concerns had shunted thoughts of my attack out of my mind. I couldn’t be sure.

Dad sat up and pointed an accusatory finger at me.

“Parents?”

“I think so—”

“Know so. Alcohol?”

“Well, I imagine one without the other—” I tried.

They didn’t look amused at my joke. I continued on.

“No.”

“Sex?”

“Dad!”

“Sex?”

“No!”

“Smoking?”

“Of course not.”

“Home by ten?”

“That is unfair,” I said. “It’s a party on a Friday night.”

Dad shrugged, “Could be nine.”

“Whoa,” Mom said. “How about eleven?”

I scrunched my fists together. “I’m fifteen now—”

“Exactly,” Dad said. “You’re only fifteen. You don’t even have a car.”

Well, that backfired.

“That means I can’t drink and drive. Eh? Eh?”

This time my mom’s face cracked a little. She tried to hide her smile, with only moderate success.

“Here’s the deal, Lucy,” Dad said. “It has been a week since—”

“Dad.”

“It. Has. Been. A. Week. You don’t know what your disappearance did to us, young lady. I am sitting here, terrified, every ounce of me screaming the word no. By all rights you should be grounded for a year and a half.”

I couldn’t hide the red glow of anger on my face, but at the same time, I could hear Dad’s voice straining. This wasn’t bluster anymore. He really was scared. For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of what it must be like on his side.

“10:30,” I said, finally, after a long pause. “And I’ll call home every half an hour.”

Dad sighed, deeply, and he looked exhausted. Mom traded glances between him and me, and I couldn’t tell who she was more concerned for.

“Fine,” Dad said. “But I want to talk to you after school, before you go. Do you understand?”

Daddy-anger welled up in me, but I fought the urge to shriek like a harpy at him. 10:30 wasn’t bad. I’d had to come home much earlier on other Friday nights, and none of those outings had been preceded by my near-death experience. Post-death experience.

“Okay,” I said. “Fine.”

“Go get ready, honey,” Mom said. “You’re gonna be late.”

School went by in a blur. Once the anger at my dad faded, and I told the chicks about me going to the party, the day brightened considerably. Wanda and Sara and Daphne had similar curfews and regulations, and Morgan wasn’t allowed to go at all.

The best part of my day was lunch—Zack grabbed me just outside of Art and tugged me to the side. Bless Wanda, she didn’t even blink or cast me a sidelong look. She walked on without me. The perfect wing-girl. She was starting to give Morgan a run for her money. Not that Morgan was a particularly useful wing-girl—she attracted far too much attention for such a position.

Anyway. I shook Morgan out of my thoughts and stared up into Zack’s eyes. I told my muscles to relax. I sent orders to the sweat-glands to stand down, and tried my best to smooth my hair through sheer willpower alone. My eyes drifted from his and slid down to his lips—I thought of the kiss in the movie theater. Our first fleeting moment together—and so far the only one.