The part that bothered Lark the most, though, wasn’t even the fact her mother had been shitty her entire life. It was how close Lark had been with her older sister. She hated to admit it, but it hurt like hell.
“Besides,” Paloma continued, “I think you’ll have fun.” If this had been during the school year, Lark would’ve called BS on that, but the past two parties had been interesting, to say the least.
“The last two times I went with you to a party, I couldn’t even find you.”
“You mean, I couldn’t find you.” Paloma pointed a finger. “You wandered off somewhere.” So Lark had. But afterward, she couldn’t find Paloma.
“Remember when we played spin the bottle?” Paloma asked.
Lark rolled her eyes. “You act like that was five years ago. It was a month ago.”
“Just because you didn’t enjoy it doesn’t mean I didn’t.” Paloma sucked on her bottom lip and Lark wanted to hurl. She knew Paloma was imagining the kiss with Craig and how she’d gone right to town with it.
Lark mainly hated the spin the bottle incident because it had been in front of everyone. Her sister bringing up that night had Lark thinking about Auden following her outside after the game had ended.
“So?” Paloma drawled, her face pleading, preventing Lark’s thoughts from going in that direction.
“Yeah, fine. As long as Shannon doesn’t play shitty music the whole time.” Last time she kept rewinding “Every Breath You Take” over and over and over and over. She got it—Sting had a few issues with obsession. Could he be any more obvious?
The phone rang and Paloma snatched it up before Lark could—she always did that. “Hello? Yeah, she’s here.” She looked at Lark and started to hand her the phone. “It’s Imani.”
“I’ll get it in my room.” When Lark closed the door behind her, she picked up the phone. “You can hang up now,” she said.
Imani started to talk right away. “So I thought about what happened today at work with your brooding prince, and—”
“Wait a second.” Lark opened the door a crack, so she could see into Paloma’s open room, who was still listening on the phone. “I said, hang up!”
Grinning ear to ear, Paloma finally hung up. “Brooding prince, huh? You have a new boy toy who isn’t Scott? Tell me more!”
“Go listen to Madonna or something,” Lark grunted and slammed the door.
Picking the phone back up, Lark lay on her mattress and punched the pillow a few times to make it somewhat comfortable. “Sorry about that, Imani.” Lucy scampered forward to curl up beside her.
“Don’t worry. Sheena does the same thing to me.”
“Yeah, well, your sister’s eight, not seventeen—she can do stupid shit like that,” Lark said, laughing.
Imani changed the subject. “So I was thinking about Shannon’s party on Friday.”
“Have you been talking to Paloma?” Imani hadn’t mentioned anything earlier at work about Shannon having a party.
“No, why?” she asked, sounding confused.
Lark twirled the phone cord in her hand while staring at the record player, and the Depeche Mode vinyl beside it, on the floor. “She’s going to that party, too.”
“Oh good”—Imani chuckled—“we can now start our own group, like in The Breakfast Club. Can you guess which one you’d be and which one she’d be?” Lark automatically knew Paloma would be Molly Ringwald, and she’d be Ally Sheedy. But if she ever met John Hughes, she’d tell him he’d stolen her style for that movie because Lark had it first.
“I know which one you’d be,” Lark said. “The one who lights his boot on fire.”
“Oh! That gives me a fantastic idea. I might try that tonight, actually.” She heard Imani smiling through the phone. “But I was thinking, since Auden was at the last two parties we went to, he’ll probably be there.”
“I don’t care if he’s there.” She so cared if he was there.
“Third party should be the charm, right?” The last two parties were a charm. She just wasn’t sure if they made a difference.
“Imani, I swear I’m going to miss you at work.”
“Me and my humor?”
“All of you.”
“I’m not dead, Lark.”
Lark clapped her hands together. “So if we were to design our funerals, how would they be?”
A faint humming from outside interrupted Lark from paying attention to what Imani was saying. The phone slid halfway down Lark’s ear. Music. It couldn’t be, could it?
“Imani,” Lark said hurriedly, “let me call you back.” She hung the phone up before Imani responded and yanked the mushroom-printed curtain covering her window to the side. In the distance, a form was walking away, draped in a dark cloak. “Space Oddity” played from a flute, a darker tone to it than she’d ever heard from her vinyl. The person looked small and lithe, most likely feminine. As she went to lift her window, a flash of silver light flickered and the person was no longer there. The silver aura and music evaporated, causing her heart to clench in her chest before rapidly striking her ribcage over and over.
Lark let go of the window with shaky hands and stumbled backward. Something strange was going on. Ghosts. She’d never seen ghosts before, didn’t know if she believed in them until right then. People didn’t just turn into silvery light and disappear for no reason.
* * *
Auden pushed up from the bed and gripped the side of his head. His vision wavered as he fought the swells of pain pounding on his skull. He’d drank too much and now he was paying for it.
Thankfully, the sheets were fresh since Darrin rarely slept in his own bed. Auden didn’t understand why his friend always slept on that ratty pull-out couch.
Pressing two fingers to his temples, the previous night came back to him in a whirlwind, his drunkenness, his hallucinations. He wasn’t going to become schizophrenic like his father—he only heard and saw the things because he’d been too drunk. That was all.
Tossing back the covers, Auden slipped on his red Converse and headed into the living room. He found Darrin lying on his stomach, snoring lightly. His stiff red Mohawk was folded to the side.
With a light nudge, Auden kicked the back of the pale-yellow sofa. “Hey, do you have any aspirin or anything?” The throb felt like it was hitting a vein directly behind his left eye socket.
Darrin’s eyelids flickered open. “What, Dad?” His voice came out groggy.
Sighing with a smile, Auden cooed, “You’ve been a very, very naughty boy. Do I need to get the belt?”
His friend’s eyes widened into full moons and Darrin released a loud yawn. “I might have to use the belt on you if you say something like that again.”
“Seriously, do you have something to take?” Auden scanned the room as if he could find the magical Ibuprofen pill bottle. “My head hurts like hell after last night.”
Darrin sat up and stretched his arms as though he’d just come out of hibernation. “Yeah, there should be Tylenol in the cabinet next to the fridge.”