The Dark Divine(4)

MEMORIES




“You want it? Come and get it.” Daniel tucked the bottle of turpentine behind his back and lunged sideways like he was going to run away.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the trunk of the tree. I’d already chased him through the house, across the front yard, and around the walnut tree a couple of times—all because he’d sneaked into the kitchen while I was working and stole my bottle of paint remover without saying a word. “Give it back, now.”

“Kiss me,” Daniel said.

“What?”

“Kiss me, and I’ll give it back.” He fingered the moon-shaped knot in the lowest branch of the tree and flashed me a devious grin. “You know you want to.”

My cheeks flamed. I wanted to kiss him with all the longing in my eleven-and-a-half-year-old heart, and I knew he knew it. Daniel and Jude had been best friends since they were two, and I—only a year younger—had trailed behind them since I was old enough to walk. Jude never minded when I wanted to tag along. Daniel hated it—but then again, only a girl could play Queen Amidala to Daniel’s Anakin and Jude’s Obi-Wan Kenobi. And despite all Daniel’s teasing, he was my first real crush.

“I’ll tell,” I said lamely.

“No, you won’t.” Daniel leaned forward, still grinning. “Now kiss me.”

“Daniel!” his mother shrieked from the open window of his house. “You better come clean up this paint.”

Daniel shot straight up, his eyes wide with panic. He looked at the bottle in his hand. “Please, Gracie? I need it.”

“You could have asked in the first place.”

“Get in here, boy!” his father roared out the window.

Daniel’s hands shook. “Please?”


I nodded, and he ran toward his house. I hid behind the tree and listened to his father yell at him. I don’t remember what Daniel’s father said. It wasn’t his words that ripped me open; it was the sound of his voice—getting deeper and more like a vicious snarl as he went on. I sank into the grass, with my knees pulled to my chest, and wished I could do something to help.



That was almost five and a half years before I saw him in Barlow’s class today. It was two years and seven months before he disappeared. But only one year before he came to live with us. One year before he became our brother.





CHAPTER TWO

Promises, Promises





THE NEXT DAY, FOURTH PERIOD




My mother had this weird rule about secrets. When I was four, she sat me down and explained that I was never to keep one. A few minutes later I marched up to Jude and told him my parents got him a Lego castle for his birthday. Jude started to cry, and Mom sat me back down and told me that a surprise was something everyone would eventually know, and a secret was something no one else was ever supposed to find out. She looked me right in the eyes and told me in this real serious tone that secrets were wrong and no one had the right to ask me to keep one.

I wish she’d set the same rule for promises.

The problem with promises is that once you’ve made one, it’s bound to be broken. It’s like an unspoken cosmic rule. If Dad says, “Promise you won’t be late for curfew,” the car is fated to break down, or your watch will magically stop working, and your parents refuse to get you a cell phone so you can’t just call and tell them you’re running behind.

Seriously, no one should have the right to ask you to keep a promise—especially if they don’t consider all the facts.

It was completely unfair of Jude to make me promise not to have anything to do with Daniel. He didn’t take into account that Daniel was back in our school now. He didn’t have the same memories that I had. I didn’t intend to speak to Daniel again, but the only problem was—because Jude had made me promise not to—I was afraid of what I might do.

That fear gripped the breath in my chest as I stood outside the art-department door. My sweating palm slipped on the knob as I tried to turn it. Finally, I pushed the door open and looked to the table in the front row.

“Hey, Grace,” someone said.

It was April. She sat in the seat next to my empty chair. She snapped her gum as she unpacked her pastels. “Did you catch that documentary on Edward Hopper we were supposed to watch last night? My DVR totally had a meltdown.”

“No. I guess I missed it.” I scanned the room for Daniel. Lynn Bishop sat in the back row, gossiping with Melissa Harris. Mr. Barlow worked on his latest “prorecycling” sculpture at his desk, and a few students trickled into the classroom before the bell.

“Oh, crap. Do you think there’s going to be a quiz?” April asked.

“This is art class. We paint pictures while listening to classic rock.” I checked the room one last time. “I doubt there are going to be quizzes.”

“Boy, you’re crabby today.”

“Sorry.” I got my supply bucket out from the cubbies and sat in the seat next to her. “I guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

My tree drawing sat on top of the bucket. I told myself to hate it. I told myself to rip it up and throw it away. Instead, I picked it up and traced the perfect lines, my finger just above the paper so I wouldn’t smudge the charcoal.