Текст книги "Famous Last Words"

Автор книги: Katie Alender

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

My mother was in her bedroom, folding laundry, when I knocked on the door.

She looked up at me, a bright smile on her face. “How was studying?”

Oh, right, my cover story – studying at Marnie’s house. “Good,” I said. “Do you have an extra shoe box somewhere?”

“An empty one?”

I sat down on the bed. “If I didn’t want an empty shoe box, I would have asked if you had shoes.”

“Ha-ha, smartypants,” she said. “I’ll go check my closet. Here, make yourself useful.”

She dumped a bunch of socks next to me, and I set to work matching them. It was weird touching anything Jonathan wore, even if it was on his feet.

A few seconds later, Mom came out, holding a pink box out to me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I got up to leave.

“Hang on, Wil,” she said. “Do you think you could stay at Marnie’s the last weekend in April?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why? What’s going on?” I’d been sitting with Marnie and the other Hollywood kids every day at lunch, and she was the closest thing I had to a friend, but we still didn’t feel remotely close. Still, I figured she would be cool with me sleeping over at her house.

A sunny smile bloomed on Mom’s lips. “Jonathan and I are going on a little trip to Palm Springs. If you’re not comfortable with my leaving, I don’t have to go, but since we didn’t get a honeymoon …”

“Of course you should go,” I said. “I’m a big girl.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Jonathan had to move a bunch of meetings around to make it work, but he says it’s no big deal.”

“Mom,” I said, rolling the matched socks across the bed to her, “he married you. Stop acting like you’re auditioning for something.”

“Oh, Willa,” she said. “It’s not like that.”

“It kind of seems like it is,” I said, studying the intricate hand-embroidered design on their white bedspread.

“I’m sorry if that’s the impression I’ve given you,” she said quietly. “But I’m very happy. So is Jonathan. And our greatest wish is that you’ll be happy here, too.”

“I’m fine,” I said. Unless you count the fact that I’ve opened a portal to the spirit world, I’m being stalked by a ghost, and my aura is the color of dirty rainwater. Other than that, things are awesome.

“ ‘Fine’ isn’t the same as happy,” Mom said.

Maybe not. But sometimes it’s the best you can hope for.

Back in my room, I put the ring – submerged in a plastic baggie full of salt – into the shoe box. Then I dug through the rest of my boxes until I found the Walter Sawamura book, still feeling conflicted. Why should I get rid of the book if that wouldn’t solve my ghost problem? What if I needed it? For that matter, why should I believe Leyta in the first place? Sure, she knew my dad’s name and the date of his death, but big deal – she could have spent the whole day Googling me.

But she knew things you can’t find online, I thought, feeling a nervous flutter in my stomach. Like the flashes and the headaches and the voices.

I studied the cover of the Walter Sawamura book. It looked way too innocent to have caused so much trouble. But a lot of things that look normal on the outside contain more than their share of drama – I should know.

I dropped the book in the shoe box.

Then I tucked the box behind the laundry hamper in my closet.

Some things I wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

For the rest of the week, Wyatt and I maintained a wary but respectful silence on all topics having to do with ghosts, murders, and psychics. During our weekly lab project, we even managed to be almost friendly to one another.

Things were calm at home, too. Once, sitting at the dinner table, I heard a dripping sound, but it turned out that the cleaning lady had accidentally left one of the powder room faucets on.

I found myself hoping that my visit to Leyta Fitzgeorge had shaken something free. Maybe the ghost had finished conveying whatever message it was trying to convey, and now it was gone.

Friday after school, I was sitting on my bed, conjugating French verbs, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I called.

The door opened a fraction of an inch. “Willa?”

“Reed?” I hopped up and went to the door, smoothing my hair as subtly as I could.

“I’ve been working in Jonathan’s office, and my eyes are tired from staring at the screen all day.” He smiled that crooked smile that made my cheeks heat up. “I thought I might go for a short walk – would you like to come?”

In what dark, ridiculous corner of the universe would someone say no to that question?

We made our way around the neighborhood, weaving from one side of the street to the other to stay visible to cars that might be zooming around the corners. I remembered the first walk I took in LA – when everything seemed totally foreign and weird. Now it felt almost natural to drift back and forth across the road.

“Are you all right?” Reed asked. “You seem quiet.”

“Sure,” I said. “All good.”

“You know what sets you apart from most girls in LA?” Reed asked.

I glanced up at him. I hadn’t realized that anything set me apart from anyone – except maybe my craziness.

“You don’t always make it about yourself,” he said. “You think more than you speak.”

Was it supposed to be the kind of compliment that sends you reeling? Because it did. My stomach felt like a pinwheel spinning in my body.

“Well,” I said, “maybe I’m thinking about myself the whole time.”

“Maybe.” Reed laughed quietly. “But I doubt it. You’re an outsider, like me.”

“I thought you were born in Los Angeles,” I said.

“I was. But I still don’t fit in. I don’t care about cars, or clothes, or money. I only care about the quality of my work.” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many girls lose interest in a guy when he doesn’t drive an expensive car.”

“I don’t get the car thing,” I said. “Who cares what somebody drives? I mean, say a person has the fanciest car in the world. What if he’s a jerk? I’d rather be in a falling-apart minivan with somebody cool.”

Then I wondered if my little speech made it too obvious that “somebody cool” in my eyes was … well, Reed. I felt a warm flush creep up my cheeks and clamped my mouth shut.

But Reed only grinned at me. “I completely agree,” he said. “Hey, how’s Langhorn treating you? Make a lot of friends yet?”

I shrugged. “More like friend. But she’s pretty nice. And then there’s one guy who … I mean, I don’t know if you’d consider us friends. We’re more like allies.”

“Sounds like a very meaningful relationship,” Reed said, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“The bizarre thing is that it kind of is,” I said. “I didn’t realize that you can appreciate someone’s company without actually getting along with them … at all.”

He laughed softly. “I’m not sure I follow.”

I’m not sure I do, either. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

I searched for a topic. “Um … movies?”

“Movies,” he said. “That’s something you never hear about in Hollywood.”

I gave his arm a little swat. “So what are your favorites?”

“That’s a tough question,” he said. “I’m a fan of the old classics, of course – like everybody else. All of the Lord of the Rings films, obviously … The Dinner Party … Little Miss Sunshine … Wall-E …”

“Seriously?” I said. “Little Miss Sunshine and Wall-E? That’s so cute.”

“Cute, huh?” He grinned and reddened slightly. “I also love Kill Bill, does that buy me any street cred?”

“Sure,” I said. “It takes you from a two out of ten to a three and a half.”

“What movies do you like?”

“I’m more of a book person,” I said. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings movies…. I read The Hobbit, though.”

“Willa,” he said, in mock disapproval. “This is a problem. We have to remedy this at some point in the near future.”

Watching movies with Reed? Um, yes, please.

“My favorite movie of all time is The Princess Bride,” I said. “Mom used to let me watch it when I was home sick from school.”

“Sophisticated cinema, there,” Reed teased, and I blushed, feeling like a little kid. A few seconds later, he stopped walking and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m in a weird mood today.”

“Weird moods are fine by me,” I said. “Weirdness in general is kind of my specialty.”

He smiled, and his eyes met mine. “You’re not weird. You’re … nice.”

You’re nice. The words were so simple, but they sent a shiver of happiness up my spine.

Back at the house, we stood on the front porch.

“Everyone wants you to fit into their mold, don’t they?” he asked. “But you don’t fit. Who cares? I never fit any molds, either.”

I held my breath.

“Willa, I —” He hesitated. “What if I told you – No, I shouldn’t.”

I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him and yell SAY IT, but I didn’t.

“Willa …” His voice trailed off.

I didn’t need any more words – it was enough to hear him say my name like that. It seemed as if we were in a little bubble with our own air. My heart felt like it was being pulled out of my chest, toward Reed.

We took a step closer to each other. His hands moved gently up to my face.

And then we were kissing.

It happened so fast that it took me a second to understand what was going on, which cost me about two seconds of enjoying the kiss, which let me tell you was a very sad loss of two seconds.

The kiss went on and on … like we were under a spell, neither of us willing to break it by stepping away. His lips were as warm and irresistible as the rest of him.

After a minute, we pulled apart and stared at each other, stunned.

“I – I can’t believe that just happened,” Reed said.

Boldness flared up in me like a torch. “I can,” I said.

He stepped back. His voice trembled. “No, Willa, you don’t understand. Jonathan’s your stepfather. And he’s my boss. He can never find out.”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” I said, relishing the defiant sound of my own voice. “Why should he?”

He wrapped his gentle fingers around mine, his eyes cast down. “I’m not going to ask you to lie for me.”

His thumb made a circle on my palm and left me breathless.

“You don’t have to ask me,” I whispered.

He reached up and touched my hair, smoothing it gently against my cheek. “Have a good weekend,” he said quietly.

The look in his eyes said he wished he could say more.

But we both knew he wouldn’t.

Monday at lunch, I was still half lost in thoughts of Reed and our kiss. The past week had been so blissfully ghost-free that I’d hardly even thought about the murders. An unprecedented sense of normalcy was slipping over me. I was even getting night after night of uninterrupted sleep. It was a little eerie.

“Earth to Willa,” Marnie said, interrupting my reverie. “I said, do you have plans Friday night?”

“Who, me?” I asked. “I never have plans.”

Marnie laughed, filling the air with music. “My dad got me tickets to the premiere of the new Kurt Conrath movie. Want to come? But there’s a catch – you have to help me kidnap Kurt and take him home and lock him in my closet forever and ever amen.”

“Um,” I said. “Okay. I’ll need to ask Mom, but … What should I wear?”

“All black,” she said. “Ski mask. You don’t happen to have a kidnap van, do you?”

I tried to laugh, but even joking about kidnapping stirred up unwelcome thoughts of the visions.

“Wear something trendy,” Marnie said. “A dress.”

I had no desire to be part of a huge, chaotic Hollywood function, but the alternative was sitting at home daydreaming about Reed and still waiting, slightly on edge, for more ghostly messages.

“I have a dress,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s trendy.”

“Don’t,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “Do not show up in a dress you wore to some auntie’s wedding, please.”

Oh. “Then I don’t have anything.”

“No worries. Just come home with me Friday.” She patted my head. “Mama Marnie’ll fix you right up.”

After school on Friday, I found myself feeling almost enthusiastic as I rode with Marnie to Hancock Park, where the streets were lined with old-school mansions. Her house was light brown with a pointy roof and colorful flowers everywhere. It looked like Hansel and Gretel’s cottage – if Hansel and Gretel had been millionaires.

Marnie’s bedroom was much pinker than I would have expected, with fuchsia walls and a huge white fairy-tale bed. A makeup vanity with a big round mirror was pushed up against one wall, and the chandelier above the bed dripped with teardrop-shaped crystals. The carpet (what you could see of it, anyway, between piles of clothes, books, and papers) was plush and white.

I set my overnight bag in the corner. This was going to be kind of a dress rehearsal for Mom and Jonathan’s Palm Springs trip.

“I like your room,” I said, to be polite.

“I hate it,” Marnie replied, heading to her closet. “My mom did it during her interior-decorator phase. They shipped me off to summer camp in Oregon, and when I came back, I was living inside a Barbie Dreamhouse. Only it’s more like a nightmare house. I swear, the color literally burns my retinas.”

“They won’t let you change it?”

She shrugged. “It gives me leverage when I want something from Mom.” She went into her walk-in closet and pulled out a gold-sequined minidress. “What do you think? It’s vintage. Mary Quant.”

“Um,” I said, trying to conceal my horror.

Her face fell. “You don’t like it? I was going to wear it with my white go-go boots.”

“Ohhhh,” I said. “It’s for you? In that case, I love it. It’s great.”

“Willa, you wear overalls on purpose. You think I would break the laws of time and space by putting you in sequins?” She tossed the vintage dress onto her bed, as if it were a T-shirt she’d picked up on clearance from Target. Then she ducked back into the closet.

When she came out holding a slim-fitting cherry-red dress with three-quarter sleeves, I could have hugged her. She handed the dress to me. The fabric was slinky and soft, and the design was simple – a plain high neckline, two pieces of red fabric forming a flattened X at the waist, and delicate gathers at the ends of the sleeves.

“Willa like?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Willa like very much.”

“That’s vintage, too,” she said. “It was my great-grandma’s, in the forties.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

She gave me an approving smile. “It beats overalls, anyway.”

Marnie had an array of powders, creams, and blushes that she kept in a case like a professional makeup artist. I was surprised to realize that I remembered how to apply it all – two years of not caring what I looked like hadn’t erased the muscle memory of blending eye shadow and making the fish-mouth mascara face.

After we both finished our makeup, Marnie ran her hands through my hair and made an unhappy chirping sound. “What about your hair? How retro are you willing to go? I’m thinking maybe an updo. Keep the ’40s vibe going.”

“I don’t know how to do anything like that,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“Oh, I do,” she said, dragging her desk chair into the bathroom. “Sit and prepare to be beautified.”

I was a little surprised, to be honest. Marnie seemed so low-maintenance. Only when I saw her vast array of hair-styling implements did I realize how much effort she must have put into looking low-maintenance. Twenty minutes later, after a lot of tugging and twisting and stabbing me in the scalp with bobby pins, she gave me permission to turn around.

“You,” she said, “look legit. I should get an award for this. Maybe I should be a stylist for a living. Dad produced a movie last summer about a model who’s also a spy – Runway, did you see it? Never mind, nobody saw it, it was a huge bomb – and the stylists gave me lessons.”

Her chatter melted into a hum in my ears while I stared at myself.

Marnie had made me into something … someone … from another era. My hair was pulled back to the nape of my neck in a low, thick bun that shined like it was made of pure silk. With the cat-eye makeup and the red lips, I looked like … a movie star.

“Stare much?” Marnie teased. “Okay, go get dressed. I have to transform my own raven locks, such as they are.”

She curled the ends of her hair in a perfect gravity-defying flip. Her lips were frosty pink and her eye makeup behind her glasses was thick and black, with tons of mascara. Then she slipped into the sequined dress while I put on my red dress, and we stood looking at the full-length mirror. Suddenly, I was enthusiastic, for real. The world of psychics and visions and ghosts and murders seemed far away – and getting further every minute.

Marnie went into the closet and reappeared carrying a pair of white knee-high boots for herself and bronze-colored thick-heeled pumps for me. “Ready, Willa? Let’s go gift the world a little awesome.”

A whole block of Hollywood Boulevard was closed off for the premiere. The traffic nearby was basically standing still. So the driver of our hired sedan had to drop us off three blocks away.

It was hard to feel fancy walking down a normal sidewalk, passing tourists and ice cream stores and falafel restaurants and souvenir shops. But after a few minutes, we heard smatterings of applause and cheering, and a booming voice on a loudspeaker. And when we rounded the corner, we were greeted by an overwhelming circus of people and cameras and signs.

The red carpet stretched before us. It was bordered on one side by a wall that had the Paramount Pictures logo printed on it over and over, and on the other side by hundreds of reporters and photographers.

Behind the photographers, held back by metal barricades, were throngs of fans. Because there were no movie stars present at the moment, the crowd was relatively subdued, chattering excitedly instead of screaming. A lot of them held signs saying things like KURT I LOVE YOU! or MARRY ME, EMMA! One guy held up a sign that said READ MY SCREENPLAY, OSCAR GUARANTEED!

There were balloons, banners, and movie posters set up all over. Groups of people wearing suits and fancy dresses stood on the red carpet, talking and laughing. They weren’t famous, but they looked like they belonged there.

We showed our IDs at the check-in table, and they handed us little passes with our names and seat numbers on them. We flashed those to a pair of ginormous security guys wearing ginormous suits, and they opened a velvet rope and let us through …

Onto the red carpet.

I paused for a moment, taking it all in.

“Do we have to walk in front of all the photographers?” I asked Marnie.

“Of course,” she said. “What, you want to skulk around in the shadows?”

I shrugged, and she looped her elbow through mine. “No,” she said. “We’re here, and we’re going to work it. Even if we’re not famous … they don’t know that.”

Then she started walking down the carpet. I expected to be ignored, but the photographers noticed us. Some of them took a few pictures. One shouted “Who are you?” as though we might actually be somebodies, which was pretty flattering.

Then we heard a commotion behind us, and screams rose up from the crowd. We turned to see a wave of people making their way onto the carpet.

“Those are studio publicists,” Marnie said, squeezing my arm so hard it went numb. “See? They all have earpieces. Someone huge just arrived. Oh my God – it’s him. It’s Kurt. He’s here. Hand me my smelling salts.”

The crowd of publicists parted, and a man walked through … a man you could only describe as a movie star. You could tell from forty feet away that he had a magnetic, unforgettable quality.

He’s still not as cute as Reed, I thought.

The fans began to shriek like a bunch of teenage girls, even though a lot of them were my mom’s age or even older. And the photographers went crazy, shouting “KURT! KURT! LOOK HERE! OVER HERE!”

“They want eye contact in their pictures,” Marnie said. “See how he’s moving his head a little? He’s trying to give all of them at least one good smile. God, I have to marry him.”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. We stayed in our spot, trying to look nonchalant, as Kurt and his entourage slowly made their way toward us and then through the lobby doors.

“Should we go in now?” I asked. It was getting cold, and my shoes were a smidge too small. Standing in one place made my feet ache.

Marnie shook her head. “Just a few more minutes. I don’t want people to think we’re stalking him.”

One of the reporters looked at me and cocked his head to the side.

“Are you from that new Disney Channel show?” he asked, raising his camera.

I opened my mouth to say no, but Marnie cut me off.

“Yes, she is!” she said, smiling brightly. “This is Bernadette Middleton. She’s also Kate Middleton’s cousin!”

Before I could say a word, three dozen flashbulbs exploded in my face. And the air was filled with photographers shouting, “Bernadette! Bernadette, over here! Look right here!”

“Put your hand on your hip,” Marnie whispered in my ear. “Turn your body at an angle … and smile!”

We finally went inside. Marnie giggled maniacally as we got in line for our free popcorn and sodas, on the lookout for more celebrities. “Bernadette, I can’t wait to watch your show on Disney Channel. When is it on again? Oh, WAIT.”

Part of me was a little embarrassed, but I had to admit that I was enjoying myself. Finally, I was feeling the glitter. I could see what all the fuss was about – why people worshipped Hollywood and wanted to be movie stars (or be their friends). It was exciting.

“Can you imagine actually being one of those people?” I asked. “Having the paparazzi go crazy over the fact that you, like, got out of a car?”

“Ugh.” Marnie stuck her tongue out. “No. I hate actors. They’re so needy. Look at me! Admire me! Some of the people my dad deals with are positively dismal…. No, thank you.”

We wandered around, munching popcorn and trying to eavesdrop on Kurt Conrath and his publicists.

“So who’s my celebrity alter ego going to be?” Marnie asked, patting the flip in her hair. “How about … Ramona Claiborne? That’s a good name, right? I was born in Australia, but I disguise my accent flawlessly. I just landed a new show on HBO. You do realize it’s not cool for someone as edgy as myself to be seen with a Disney Channel starlet, don’t you?”

“You’re so generous.” I grinned.

“I know. I’m a genuinely awesome human being. Or Ramona Claiborne is, anyway. Let’s go back to the red carpet,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “You can tell the photographers you talked me into admitting my true identity as Ramona.”

I laughed.

Then I realized she was serious.

“Marnie,” I said, “the movie’s about to start.”

It was true. Everyone was beginning to file into the theater.

“These things always start late,” she said. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can say we met through our acting coaches, and —”

“Marn,” I said. “I think we should go in.”

For a brief moment, there was something in her eyes that made me wish I’d gone along with it. We might have looked ridiculous, but it would have kept me from wondering if she resented me for having my own moment in the spotlight.

But I hadn’t asked her to lie to the paparazzi for me – she’d just done it.

I was being paranoid. Oversensitive. Marnie was only playing around. We were practically wearing costumes, for heaven’s sake. So she wanted to pretend to be famous for a couple of minutes – what was the harm in that? Wasn’t it weird and selfish of me to refuse?

But we’d missed our chance. We were already being swept toward the theater doors, and then we were ushered to our seats. The director of the movie got up and thanked us all for coming, and then the movie started.

It was a mindless romantic comedy, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and even Marnie was too lovestruck by Kurt to mock the happy ending.

Afterward, as we were leaving the theater, a lone photographer called out to us.

“Who are you lovely ladies?” he asked

I waited for Marnie to tell him we were none other than Ramona Claiborne, edgy actress extraordinaire, and Bernadette Middleton, teen celebrity darling and cousin of genuine royalty.

But she gave him her bored smile and said, “Just a couple of fans.”

Have you ever noticed that nothing in the entire universe is more comfortable than putting on pajamas after you’ve been wearing fancy clothes? The soft cotton felt like heaven on my skin, and my feet floated on clouds of happiness after being released from the too-small pumps.

Marnie and I brushed out our hair and flopped down on her king-size bed. We were still too pumped up from the premiere to sleep, so we stayed up and talked, rehashing the details of the evening and laughing. I realized it had been two years since I’d spent time like this with a friend.

“So Kurt didn’t propose,” Marnie sighed. “He must not have seen me.”

“Totally,” I said.

“That’s okay,” she said, leaning back against her pillow. “Love is for suckers.”

I didn’t answer.

“Did you have a boyfriend?” she asked. “Back in Connecticut?”

I hesitated for a moment, and then told her about Aiden. How we’d met the first day of freshman year, when he beaned me with a kickball in gym class. How we’d spent practically every waking moment together after that.

“Did your parents like him?” Marnie asked.

“Mom did,” I said, staring down at the bedspread. “But … we grew apart. And eventually we broke up.”

“It’s never ‘we,’ ” she said. “Who did the actual dumping?”

“He did,” I said, remembering the crestfallen look on his face as he told me how he couldn’t bear being shut out any longer. “He did it on the anniversary of my dad’s death.”

“No,” Marnie said, sitting up. “Are you kidding? What a horrible person!”

I felt a guilty little pang, because I knew it wasn’t that black-and-white. Aiden hadn’t meant to hurt me. He just couldn’t stand how much our dysfunctional relationship was hurting him. He was losing weight, losing sleep, losing control. It was so hard, for both of us. And in the end, he was the one who was strong enough to do something about it.

But I have to confess, it was kind of nice to have Marnie take my side.

“What about you?” I asked. “Have you had a boyfriend?”

Marnie pulled a pillow into her lap. She sighed and looked down at her hands. “Kind of. I wouldn’t call it a boyfriend, per se. It’s complicated.”

Marnie was the queen of taking simple situations – like being at a movie premiere – and turning them into complex puzzles – like pretending to be a pair of TV stars. For her to call something complicated was saying a lot. I was definitely intrigued. “What do you mean?”

She looked up at me, her cat-eye liner and dark mascara making her eyes seem giant and mysterious. “Remember how I told you to stay away from Wyatt Sheppard?”

My heart began to beat faster. Wyatt … and Marnie? Was that why Wyatt had warned me about her? Had they gone out? I assumed that Wyatt was too low on the social scale for her. Though when I thought about him now, with his dark eyes and square jaw, I admitted to myself that he was definitely sort of cute, in a hunky nerd way. And he was super smart. I could see how he could be Marnie’s type.

I nodded, dying to hear more.

Marnie leaned in closer. “Wyatt and I actually used to get along. We were … friends. Our parents knew each other, and they would hang out most weekends, so it seemed natural. We did your basic friend stuff – movies, going out to eat, wandering around. I don’t even know what we did, honestly. How do people not die of boredom before they can drive?”

I waited for her to get to the part where they dated.

“But as the year went on, I started to feel awkward about it. Like maybe he was a little more into the whole thing than I was. He started getting annoyed if I wanted to hang out with other people. Once he even accused me of flirting with someone else, and he was angry about it! I mean, how messed up is that? I can flirt with whoever I want.”

I held my breath.

“So finally, it sort of … imploded. He was supposed to come over and watch a movie, and I had a really busy day, and I tried to cancel but it was too late, and he showed up and he had brought a bunch of balloons. And he came in and was like, ‘Happy anniversary.’ And I was like, ‘Excuse me?’ And he was like, ‘It’s been six months since we started going out.’ And I was like, ‘Hold up, cowboy, I think you have the wrong idea.’ ”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Right? It was so weird. I guess I … went along with it, in a way? I mean, I tried to downplay it and laugh, like it was a joke. We watched the movie and hung out, and then he left, and I was relieved that he was gone. After that, I decided to spend less time around him. But he had this way of … showing up, you know? It was kind of odd.”

I nodded. “Kind of odd” was a fair way to describe Wyatt. Maybe even a little generous.

“So whatever, fine. I’m like, I can be nice to this guy, we’re friends, our parents are friends, yada yada. But then the next week, he comes over totally raging. Going on about how selfish I am and how I only think of myself …”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Seriously. I was pretty freaked out. And at the end of it all, he broke up with me.” She let out a helpless laugh. “I mean, we’d never even been of a status where we could break up. But he dumped me. And I was like, okay, at least now he’ll leave me alone. But then …” She plucked at the pillowcase and shook her head. “He started texting me, and calling me, and stopping by my locker. There was this blog thing with pictures of me, with, like, our names…. And then I realized he had my email password.”

My heart had begun to thud like a drum. I felt sweat beading around my hairline, but this time I knew it wasn’t because of any ghost.

“I thought about it and realized that every time he’d shown up someplace unexpectedly, it was a meeting I’d talked about in an email. Went to lunch with my aunt at Spago? He was there. Went to a secret sale at Nordstrom? He was there. It started to feel like he was … everywhere.”

“So what did you do?” I asked.

Her huge owl eyes blinked at me. “I told him straight out that he was a stalker and I was going to call the police if he didn’t stop.”

“And he stopped?”

She shrugged. “I guess. I stopped noticing it as much, anyway. And then he found his murder mystery to obsess over and I got out of jail free … so far.”

I didn’t know what to say. Yes, Wyatt could be argumentative and inconsistent. But something about Marnie’s story didn’t totally jibe with the guy I’d been spending time with. Almost like there are two Wyatts, I thought.

I certainly wasn’t going to tell Marnie that Wyatt and I had been hanging out, visiting local psychics, or that we regularly held perfectly pleasant conversations during chemistry class. So I said, “Wow. I’m sorry you went through all that.”