The Edge of Forever (19 page)

Now I’m pissed. Trevor is so used to getting everything he wants, but it’s time he realizes I’m not a prize for him to win. “Just leave me the hell alone. I don’t want to dance with you.”

By now the people dancing near us notice something is going on. They stop dancing and gape, but nobody does anything to help. Figures.

Trevor doesn’t say anything at first. He takes a long swig of his beer and shrugs. “Whatever. You’re nothing but a bitch anyway.”

And then he leaves, heading toward the back of the house. With Trevor gone, everyone resumes dancing.

“What was that about?” Bridger asks.

I shake my head, feeling deflated. “It’s a long story.”

“Why don’t we go outside and you tell me?”

That sounds perfect.

As we try to extract ourselves from the den, I search for Sela. She’s on the far side of the room with the Brainless Twins, talking with a group of girls, including, of all people, Kate. Jealousy cuts through me.

Outside, the night air is cooler, but it feels nice after the stuffiness inside.

There’s nowhere to sit in the front yard, so Bridger leads me around back. A large outdoor light illuminates the entire area. A patio set and lounge chairs line the inground pool. All but one are taken. Bridger goes straight to it.

Once we’re perched on the lounge chair, I tell Bridger about everything Trevor has done, even following me in the forest.

Bridger rubs one of his fists with his other hand. “Somebody needs to kick his ass.”

“No,” I say. That’s the last thing I want. I mean, Bridger just got here and he’s got his own problems to deal with. He doesn’t need to worry about my issues. “The best thing to do is ignore him. He’ll get the hint and find someone else to chase soon enough.”

The words sound good. I wish I believed them.

Bridger glances toward the house. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Sela stands outside the French doors on the patio, scoping out the backyard. I wave until she sees me.

“Hey,” she says when she gets to us. She plops down between Bridger and me, forcing us to make room. “I’ve been looking everywhere for y’all.”

I’m sure she has.

“It was too hot inside,” Bridger says.

“Tell me about it,” Sela says, fanning herself. “It’s like a freaking oven in there.”

“Where are Jess and Miranda?” I ask. It’s not like them to be far from Sela when she’s around.

Sela heaves a dramatic sigh. “They’re dancing with two guys we just met. And I didn’t want to stay in there all by myself.”

“Okay,” I drawl. So Sela’s new besties ditched her. Somehow, I can’t make myself feel sorry for her.

Sela babbles about this and that for a few minutes. Bridger and I answer when she asks a question, but otherwise just let her talk. Then out of nowhere, she says, “Oh, I almost forgot! Did you hear about Naomi?”

“No. Why?” I ask.

“Get this. Kate told us that Naomi’s been boohooing nonstop since Trevor broke up with her. And when she tried to talk to him again yesterday after school they got in a huge fight. Anyway, she didn’t bother going home last night, and nobody has seen her all day, either.”

A chill crawls over my skin. It’s probably nothing. I’m no fan of Naomi, but I wonder why she’d go all drama queen, especially over a jerk like Trevor. It’s even weirder for her not to tell Kate where she went.

“Have her parents called the police?” I ask.

“Kate didn’t say, but I imagine they have by now. I’m sure she’s holed up in some hotel, drowning her sorrows in ice cream.” Sela does this exaggerated shiver like the thought of eating ice cream is too horrible to imagine. “The whole thing is ridiculous. Guys are so not worth it. No offense, Bridger.”

“None taken,” he replies.

Sela gazes at the house like it’s one of those fruit smoothies she’s always drooling over. “I’m bored.” She jumps up and faces Bridger. “And
you
promised you’d dance with me. Remember?” She extends her hands toward him.

Bridger’s mouth forms a perfect O and he looks at me like I can get him out of it, but I know Sela. She won’t shut up until he dances with her.

“Go ahead. I’ll be fine out here.”

“I don’t know,” he says slowly.

“You can come, too,” Sela says to me. “Nobody said you had to stay out here by yourself.”

I shake my head. The last thing I want to do is go back in that house. Trevor adores being the center of attention, meaning he’ll most likely stay inside with everyone else.

“Oh, good lord,” Sela says. She grabs Bridger’s hand and pulls. “Alora’s a big girl. She can take care of herself for a few minutes.”

I smile up at them. “That’s right. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Bridger keeps looking back over his shoulder at me as Sela leads him back to the house. I can’t help but grin. It’s weird, him being so protective. He doesn’t even know me.

But I think I’d like to get to know him better.

That thought surprises me. I must be losing my mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about Bridger in any way other than friendship.

A group of guys suddenly spill out of the house. They’re loud, laughing at something that’s probably lame.

Trevor is with them.

My muscles tense and I quickly scan the yard, trying to find someplace to hide. If I try to circle back around front, he’ll see me. If I stay put, he’ll see me. The only other option is to head to the small pool house behind me.

I force myself to walk.
Try to look casual,
I tell myself. Nobody will notice me if I stay calm. I’ve done a good job of staying invisible at school most of the year. Maybe that’ll be true here.

I’m shaking by the time I reach the building. I press my back against the brick wall and hug my arms close to my chest, telling myself to calm down. Trevor was with his friends. Surely he didn’t see me sitting by the pool.

“What are you doing?” a slurred voice asks.

My eyes snap to my left, where Trevor is standing at the corner of the pool house. I push off the wall and take a few steps backward. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“Why do you have to act like this?” he asks, advancing toward me. “All I wanted to do was dance with you.” His face is hard and ugly. Angry. “But no, you throw yourself at the first guy who comes along. Kate’s right. You ain’t nothing but a skank.”

I should run away, but I can’t move. I’m still shaking, but not just in fear. From somewhere deep inside, a hot flame fans anger through me. “And you’re nothing but a self-centered asshole. You think you can just decide you want to go out with me and I’ll fall at your feet? Think again. I’ll never go out with you.”

The satisfaction of saying how I really feel doesn’t last. He rushes toward me, getting in my personal space. It takes every nerve I have to make myself stay still.

The smell of beer hits me as Trevor brushes past, knocking my shoulder. “You’ll be sorry you said that.”

22

BRIDGER

APRIL 14, 2013

Y
esterday at breakfast Alora cleared her plate and went back for seconds. This morning, she’s pushing her food around with a fork.

Something happened to her last night. She won’t say what, and that’s irritating the hell out of me.

I close my eyes and think back to the party. The sea of faces swimming before me began to blur together after a while. Any one of them could be Alora’s future killer. But if I had to bet on it, I’d pick Trevor. And I bet he’s the reason she’s so quiet now. I just wish there was something I could do to make her feel better.

Grace sweeps into the dining room with a pitcher of orange juice. As she refills glasses, she frowns at Alora. “Sweetie, do you feel all right?”

“I’m fine,” Alora says in a flat voice. “I just didn’t get much sleep.”

She does look tired. But I know a leave-me-alone excuse when I hear one.

“Maybe you should try meditating,” the crazy woman, Mrs. Jamison, says. “That works wonders, doesn’t it, Charles?”

“Oh, yes. It relaxes the body and the mind.” Charles checks his watch and pats his wife’s hand. “Are you finished, dear? If we’re going to leave on time this afternoon, we should get started.”

By “get started,” they mean scour the property again for ghosts. That’s what they did all day yesterday and late into the night, according to Grace. I want to roll my eyes so bad.

Grace keeps her face blank as she says, “Good luck with that.”

“Thank you. The spirits are restless today. I can feel it in my bones,” Mrs. Jamison says.

After they depart, Mr. Palmer says, “I should be going too.”

“I thought you were staying until the end of the day.” Grace puts the orange juice pitcher down and props one hand on her hip.

“I need to head out earlier than I thought I would.” He rakes his fingers through his hair as he stands. “Although I do hate leaving such wonderful company.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay longer. Especially since I barely saw you yesterday,” Grace says.

“No, I really need to get going.”

“Do you need help with your luggage?”

“No.” Mr. Palmer’s voice is sharp and reverberates throughout the room. Then he smiles. “I’m sorry. I mean I can handle it.”

“Oh, okay. At least let me walk you out.”

Mr. Palmer seems uncomfortable, his smile forced. He nods at me before heading to the foyer. Grace follows.

When they’re out of earshot, Alora lets out a sigh. “I’m glad he’s leaving.”

“Why?” While Mr. Palmer does have an oddness about him, he doesn’t appear overly strange. I’ve barely seen him around since I got here.

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe it’s because I’m sick of seeing Aunt Grace acting like a teenager around him.”

“Or maybe you just don’t like his glasses.” I try to make the comment sound like a joke, but I’m serious. People in the past relied on glasses. In my time they’re practically unheard of, except for those idiotic Purists.

For the first time since last night, Alora cracks a grin. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. They’re the dorkiest things I’ve ever seen.”

Now that Alora has stopped looking like the world is about to end, I want her to stay that way. Even though I’m dying to find out what upset her in the first place. “So, what are you going to do today?”

“I really need to study for this test I have to make up tomorrow,” she says, her eyebrows raising.

“Okay, so why do I get the feeling you have something else in mind?”

Alora glances at the foyer, where Grace is still talking to Mr. Palmer. She whispers, “Because I do.”

I whisper back, “And what would that be?”

“I’ve been calling the numbers for every John Miller around Atlanta I can find, but it would help if I knew exactly where he used to live.”

I think for a moment and grin, realizing what she has in mind. “You want to go back to the attic.”

“Yes, but Aunt Grace will be here all day and she won’t let me up there.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Alora bites her lip. “Can you distract her for a while? Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes so I can sneak up there again.”

A half hour later, I’m still sitting in the dining room with Grace and the ghost hunters.

Alora went upstairs right after Mr. Palmer left. Her excuse was that she wanted to take a nap. When Grace came back to clean up the dining room, I asked her if she had time to tell me about the history of the inn. Grace was surprised, but she agreed. The Jamisons came through soon after and joined us.

Grace is in the middle of a tale about a Civil War soldier who was supposedly buried on the property when I spot Alora on the stairs. She waves for me to join her.

“I’m sorry,” I say, interrupting Grace. “I forgot that I’m supposed to . . . call someone right now.”

“Really?” Grace asks.

Standing, I say, “Yes. It’s about my father.”

“Well, okay.” Grace looks at the Jamisons. “Do y’all want to hear the rest?”

At their enthusiastic encouragement, Grace continues with the story while I slip out. “That was smooth,” Alora says when I get to the top of the stairs.

“Hey, it worked.”

From the way Alora is beaming, I can tell she found something. “What did you get?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

She leads me to her bedroom and locks the door behind us. I inhale the scent of something floral. It’s the same smell that always lingers on Alora. And I can’t stop staring at everything. It’s so purple.

Vika would have hated it.

I close my eyes and tell myself to get a grip. Alora and Vika are two different people who live, or lived, in two different centuries. Of course they’re different.

Alora grabs a blue book off her desk and takes it to her bed. I hurry over and sit next to her.

We study the cover first. It’s a marbleized blue with a silver eagle and the words T
HESE
A
RE THE
D
AYS
. . . 1988 stamped on the front. The spine crackles as Alora opens it, and a musty smell filters out as she flips through the pages.

“This is Dad’s senior yearbook.” She flips back to the front. The first pages are covered with notes and signatures of students who went to school with her father. She finds what she’s looking for on the first printed page—the name of her father’s hometown.

Larkspring, Georgia.

The place her aunt wouldn’t even tell her about.

Alora hands the book to me. She then goes to her desk and activates the laptop.

After a minute, she types something. “That’s all I needed. I keep getting too many hits for John Miller, but this will help me narrow it down.”

I could probably find the information way faster than she will with her computer, but I can’t exactly whip out my DataLink in front of her. I join her at the desk.

When Alora gets a hit, she lets out a triumphant whoop and takes out her phone. “He lives in Covington now, just outside of Atlanta,” she says as she dials the number displayed on the laptop screen. The transformation from gloomy Alora is nice. I find myself smiling with her and my pulse races.

I tell myself it’s because we’re closer to finding answers.

Her eyes grow wide after a few seconds. “Hi, is this John Miller?”

I listen as she asks questions and answers some in return, growing more excited. While she’s talking, I wonder if she has something in here that could help me figure out her past. I take in everything. The neatly made bed, dresser with girl stuff sprinkled across the top, her desk. The desk has the laptop and the stack of yearbooks. There’s also something else, a deep purple book. It’s blank on the front. I wonder if it’s a journal.