“Two weeks or so.”
“Cool. So, Mike, why did you call?” I asked, realising that he woke me.
“I was just thinking ‘bout ya, that’s all. The ice cream man came past, playing that stupid jingle. Made me remember the time he ran over your foot—when you chased him for your change.”
My left toes twitched. That stupid truck cost me six weeks off ballet and a permanently demented pinkie toe. “Well, I’m glad it brings you happiness to remember me in pain.”
“Aw, I really miss ya, kid,” he breathed the words out. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Okay.”
“Night, Ara.”
“Night.”
Chapter Six
“David! You waited?”
“Of course I did.” He laughed, watching me cross the road, still pulling my shoes on. “Stayed in the shower too long, did we?”
“No, I uh—” I placed my bag in his outstretched hand, a little puffed. “My diary was begging me to write in it—I was compelled to obey.”
“Compelled?” David nodded, smiling.
“Yeah, you know how it goes with these things,” I joked. “If you don’t do as the voices tell you, they just get louder.”
David stopped walking. “You hear voices?”
“What?” I frowned. “No. It was a joke.”
“A joke?”
“Yeah. You do know what a joke is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Just—”
“Just when it comes from me it isn’t funny.” I nodded.
“Not about hearing voices.”
“Why?”
“Because you faze out all the time. If you’re hearing voices as well, it might mean there’s something wrong.”
“Oh.” I dragged the word out, nodding my head, then shrugged. “Makes sense, I suppose.”
“Did you eat breakfast?” he asked accusingly.
“Yes, Dad,” I responded in the same tone.
“Sorry.” David laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve just noticed that you get a little…tempestuous when you haven’t eaten enough.”
“Tempestuous?”
He nodded.
Hm. “It isn’t my fault, you know. I have an ogre living in my belly. He makes me do bad things.”
“So…you faze out, hear voices, and blame your tempered outbursts on a fictional creature living in…” he looked down at my stomach, “—your belly.”
“Precisely. The boy catches on quick.”
“Well—” he shook his head, “—one thing I can say about you, Miss Ara, is that never a moment passes where I am not entertained.”
“Is that…a good thing?”
He chuckled once. “Yes. It’s a good thing, mon amie.”
Mon amie. I repeated the words to myself, unable to hide my grin. “Why do you speak French?”
“Why?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah. I mean, what made you want to learn French?”
He looked forward, both of us slowing simultaneously as we neared the big brown building. “I uh—I grew up in a community that was inhabited mostly by the French.”
“Oh. Cool. Where did you grow up?”
“Not too far from here.”
“And…they all spoke French?”
“Yes.”
I frowned. I couldn’t think of anywhere in New England that was grossly dominated by any one race. But, Mr I-Don’t-Elaborate had, indeed, elaborated. I wasn’t going to push for more. Not yet, anyway. I exhaled, looking up the stairs ahead of us, wishing it were Friday. “Do we have to go to school today?”
“Yes,” he said kindly.
“Well, I think we need an evasive action plan for Her Royal Dictator-ness at rehearsals today.”
David tossed his head back, laughing. “She was pretty moody yesterday, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s just ‘cause she’s trying to get things done. And I guess, if it weren’t for Em, this benefit concert really wouldn’t be happening.”
“Hm, yes, but if she wanted to get things done, then casting the football team in a comedy skit was a terrible idea.”
“Yeah, but it breaks the monotony of all the musical numbers.”
“Yes. How many do we have now?”
“Um, ten, I think.”
He nodded, slowing his steps to match mine. “Good line-up too.”
“Yeah. But Emily should be letting us practice our songs at lunch; not spend the whole period separated like kindergarten kids, painting ticket signs.”
“Well, if we hadn’t joined the pencil throwing fight, she wouldn’t have separated us.” He smirked.
“She shouldn’t have anyway. We’re not children; we’re practically adults.”
“Then we should act as such,” he said with a nod.
“Fine.” I folded my arms. “No mucking about today then.”
“I don’t know about that.” He tilted his head almost bashfully toward one shoulder. “I kinda liked mucking about with you yesterday.”
I couldn’t help it; I giggled a little. “Yeah, me too.”
“Then, we shall endeavour to attempt discretion, today.”
“Discretional chasing, giggling and poking each other?”
He chuckled. “Yes, except, now that I know where your ticklish spot is, I don’t need to chase you; I can just poke you whenever I please.”
“Not in English class, though. You know how ticklish I am.”
His smile grew, his eyes small with thoughts I wanted him to share. “Yes, and your infectiously sweet giggle is at my disposal.”
I tensed, noticing his eyes on my lower ribcage. “You wouldn’t.”
He clicked his tongue and winked at me. “You can try to stop me.”
I hugged my ribs and bit my lip, grinning. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
Emily leaned forward on her desk, eagerly engaged in Dad’s lecture. I hoped she was getting an A for all the extra listening she was doing. Then again, her interest wasn’t companionless today—most of the class seemed to be paying attention. My listening skills needed some work, however. Then again, get David out of my head for five minutes and I might be able to function.
“Now, who here believes in God?” Dad asked, holding his hand in the air; stunned silence replied. “It’s not a trick question, people. Hands up if you believe there exists something bigger than yourself.”