Believing (Lily Dale #2)(12)

“Kiley?” For a second, she’s blank. Then, “Oh! You mean the health teacher? She seemed nice.”

Willow and Sarita exchange a look.

“Yeah, she puts up a good front . . . on the first day. They all do. Just wait. Have you had math yet?”

“It’s last period.”

“Then you probably have Bombeck, with Willow. He’s famous for being hard-core,” Sarita says. “My sister was straight A’s until she landed in his class. She still talks about him, and she graduated four years ago. My mom even had him and said he was really hard even back then. He’s been here forever.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll be okay.” Calla picks up her fork, trying not to wonder whether her own mom might have had Bombeck, and whether she went to school with Sarita’s mom. “I usually do pretty well in math.”

Straight A’s, actually. She’s been an honor-roll student all the way through high school, but she doesn’t mention that. She doesn’t want to sound like she’s bragging.

“Math is my strongest subject,” Willow tells her. “And even I’m worried. You don’t know Bombeck.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t get him for math,” Sarita says contentedly.

“So you have Davidson, right? And who do you have for English?” Willow asks.

As Sarita pulls her schedule out of her backpack to compare it to Willow’s, Calla toys with her fork. She’s reluctant to dig into her steaming, hearty sloppy joe lunch in front of the other girls. She should have gotten fruit, yogurt, and water, like they did. She wants to fit in.

Then again . . .

Mom was always telling her not to follow the crowd. Who cares what the other girls are eating? her mother’s voice asks in her head. Who cares what they think of you?

I kind of do, Mom. Just this once. Calla closes her eyes, barely aware of Sarita and Willow, who are chatting about a mutual friend. I can’t help it, Mom. I want to fit in here because . . . well, I don’t fit in anywhere else anymore.

Don’t worry, you will, her mother’s voice says, and she can hear it so clearly in her head that she wonders if her mother is actually here.

Focus. Maybe if you really focus, you’ll be able to see her.

She tunes out all the background noise, thinking about her mother. About how desperately she misses her.

Please. Please, Mom. If you’re here, let me see you. Please.

Gradually, Calla becomes aware of a strong presence. Someone is watching her. She can feel it.

She braces herself, opens her eyes, and looks up, expecting to see a shadow or even her mother’s ghost. Or . . . Kaitlyn’s.

Please let it be Mom this time. Please . . .





FOUR

It isn’t her mother.

It isn’t even a ghost.

Instead, Calla locks eyes with Jacy Bly, sitting one table away and looking intently right at her. He doesn’t jerk his dark gaze away, the way another guy might if he were caught in the act of staring.

No, Jacy just nods a little, as if he’s saying hello.

Calla nods, too. Just slightly. Hello right back.

Trembling—feeling almost like they’ve just had physical contact—she looks down at her untouched plate of food. Across from her,Willow and Sarita are absorbed in comparing their new class schedules.

Maybe Calla should be disappointed that the person she sensed wasn’t her mother. Instead, she finds her heart beating a little faster at the knowledge that Jacy was looking at her as though . . .

He’s interested. Definitely.

Great, but . . .

What about Evangeline? She has a thing for Jacy. She’s always talking about him.

But it’s not like they’re dating or anything, Calla reminds herself. And it’s not like Jacy’s going to ask me out, either, like Blue did. Twice.

Jacy’s too shy.

So there’s no need to feel guilty about Evangeline.

Yet, anyway.

Ten minutes and one uneaten lunch later, Calla finds Jacy falling into step beside her as she exits the cafeteria behind Willow and Sarita.

She sneaks another peek at him. His short black hair is spiky on top, as though he rubbed a towel over it after a shower and walked out the door. Tall, lean, and muscular, he’s wearing worn jeans, sneakers, and a plain white T-shirt. He probably threw them on without thinking about it, as casual about his appearance as Blue Slayton is deliberate. But the end result is the same. Jacy, too, is so good-looking he takes her breath away as she looks up at him.

“Are you glad you’re here?” he asks her quietly.

“Yeah. I am. Are you?” He looks taken aback, and she realizes what he thinks she meant. Her face grows hot and she blurts, “I mean, are you glad you’re here! Not, you know, are you glad I’m here. Because you wouldn’t be. I mean, you wouldn’t think about it. I mean . . . uh, are you glad you’re here?”

He flashes her a slow grin. “I’ve been here a while.”

What is it about Jacy that makes Calla shove her foot into her mouth every single time she opens it?

“But do you like it here?” she asks, and he shrugs.

“Things happen here that don’t happen anywhere else. Or, didn’t. Not to me.”

Her heart beats faster. “Me, too. Things happen to me here, too.”