Spell Check Page 3

  Unsure of what to do, I helped to clean up the board and put things away.

  Jake left for a few moments only to return with sixteen candles clumped together in the middle of an orange-frosted cupcake. He’d lit the candles so they dripped a gallon of wax onto the faux frosting as his family and my best friend sang “Happy Birthday” to me.

  I blew out my candles and smiled at the cupcake, hoping no one really expected me to eat it with the candle drippings on it.

  “Sweet sixteen,” Kristin said. “Sweet sixteen and never been ki—”

  She broke off, realizing that wasn’t the most appropriate thing to say to the guy I’d crushed on since first laying eyes on him, and turned red under her sprinkle of freckles.

  I blushed too, thinking about being sixteen, having genuinely never been kissed, and sitting in Jake’s living room with Jake—the guy I wouldn’t mind kissing.

  Mr. Warren smiled with a little chuckle. “If she is sweet sixteen, Jake could—”

  “Brian!” Mrs. Warren elbowed him before he uttered whatever Jake could do.

  “Sorry, I’m just saying . . . Sorry.” He cleared his throat and looked at his feet.

  “Dad . . .” Jake now matched the shade of red that both Kristin and I had turned. Of course, a thrill of excitement and hope flickered through my shock. I wondered if Jake had felt that same thrill—that same flicker of hope. The way he scratched his hand through his hair and his eyes had opened wide enough to take up his whole face, I figured he probably didn’t.

  Oh well.

  Besides, Lisa would hang us both and Kristin too for the mere consideration of it. For real hang.

  I cradled my cupcake in my palm. “Well, it’s getting late, and my mom will be expecting me home sometime soon,” I said brightly. It wasn’t very late, and my mom thought I’d gone to a party that would go until ten thirty at least. “She was a little bummed to find out I had plans to go out tonight, and I’m sure she’ll want me home early enough that she can spend some time with me.” I said all this as I dug my bare toes in the carpet, hating the thought of pulling on holey socks again.

  “I’ll walk you guys out,” Jake said as Kristin moved toward the entry hall.

  Kristin slipped her shoes on and was out the door relatively quickly, leaving me alone with Jake as I tried to get my feet covered fast enough to keep from drawing attention to the hole.

  “I hope your birthday turned out okay—in spite of everything.”

  I smiled at him from where I was bent over, stomping my feet into my shoes. “You know . . . it did turn out to be pretty good. In spite of everything. I appreciate you getting me out of that tree.” I didn’t really want to bring it up again, but he’d saved me, and hadn’t really been thanked. My mom would kill me for not showing gratitude for such a service—karma and everything.

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “Well, it seemed you dedicated the whole night to saving me—saving me from the tree, saving my birthday. It was nice of you. Thank you.”

  “You are definitely welcome.” His bright blue eyes fixed on my face, and I felt genuinely welcome. I leaned in a little—not because I thought he’d kiss me, but because it couldn’t be helped. Everything about him drew me in.

  “Happy birthday, Ally.” He smiled wider, bringing me to my senses enough to make me lean back again. Had I really leaned? Awkward.

  “Good night, Jake.”

  I stepped onto his front porch and drew in a deep breath of iced air as the door shut behind me. “I am so in love with him,” I said out loud then hurried to turn around and look at his house to make sure he hadn’t opened the door or that no windows were open. I exhaled in relief and made my way to Kristin’s car which was already running and heating up.

  And I hoped that nothing else would humiliate me that night.

  Chapter Three

  Note to self:

  A troll is a lame birthday gift.

  You’re home early,” Mom said as she sat at her computer with her narrow, triangle-shaped reading glasses perched at the edge of her nose. She didn’t look up from the papers next to her as she typed into her keyboard. She had a tie-dyed head-wrap to keep her frizzy, dark hair out of her face while she worked. No one just glancing between us would think we were related, at least not until they looked at our eyes. I’d inherited her blue eyes and dad’s blonde hair. They used to say I was the best of both of them.

  “Yeah. It wasn’t a very good party.”

  “From that I’m guessing you got into another fight with Lisa?” She looked over her glasses to stare me down.

  Mom had a way of just knowing things. She always read the words really meant hidden behind the words actually said. I shrugged under her gaze. “Don’t worry; you’ll see my moment of humiliation on YouTube. I’ll make sure to forward you the link.” I started up the stairs, but my mom got up and reached me before I’d made it three steps.

  “So what happened?” Her hand on my arm forced me to turn on the stairs and face her.

  “She hanged me from a tree and recorded it while all her little witchy followers sprayed silly string at me. Then they left me there.” The tears stung my eyes.

  “They left you?”

  I don’t know why she sounded surprised. Of course they left me. That’s what mean people did.

  She looked sympathetic. She was the only person in my life allowed to look at me that way without it bugging me. She tsked and shook her head, leaning against the worn wooden banister. “You should have taken me up on the birthday dinner at Princess Pizza.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Princess Pizza, Mom? Really?”

  “What? You used to love that place.”

  “Yeah, back when I was six and thought that fake plastic princess heels made me beautiful.”

  “Those were some really tacky shoes,” Mom agreed with a laugh.

  “You were the one who let me wear them.” I leaned against the wall behind me.

  “You were the one who insisted.”

  “And who was the adult in that situation?” I smirked at her, grateful the tears stinging my eyes hadn’t actually fallen, and feeling better because my mom cared. I headed back up the stairs to my room.

  She followed me. “Any good parenting book will tell you to pick your battles.”

  “Oh, who are you kidding?” I laughed, entering my bedroom and flipping my cape off my shoulders. “You’ve never read any parenting books. Besides if I’d gone to Princess Pizza instead of swinging from a tree, I would’ve missed out on a pretend date with Jake Warren.”

  That caught her attention. “Heather’s brother? The guy you drool over whenever he comes to get his sister?”

  I grinned. “The very same. Getting hanged has its perks. Who knew?” I hung my cape up on a peg and kicked off my shoes. “Oh, that’s right. My socks have holes.” I wriggled my blue toe out of the hole for her.

  “Want me to sew them up?” She leaned into the doorframe.

  I grunted at her offering. “I want to burn them, not fix them.”

  She smiled. Bantering was Mom’s favorite pastime—that and reading astrology charts to find her fortune in the stars. She was easily what they called “eccentric.” But I found her to be comfortable. She was kind of like my socks. I hadn’t thrown the socks away because they were comfortable. And deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be burning them, but instead asking her to sew them up for me.

  “I am sorry about your birthday, Pumpkin. Tell me about your date.”

  I gave her the highlights. She laughed over Jake’s dad offering up his son’s kiss on the sweet sixteen altar. She also laughed that I got stuck with Miss Scarlet. Mom always helped me see the lighter side of things.

  She kissed my head. “I am sorry about Lisa. I wish you’d let me to talk to her mother.”

  “It would only make things worse.”

  She sighed in grudging agreement before pausing, jumping up, and darting out of my room. She returned with a few large packages and several envelopes
and dropped them on my bed. “I was saving these for dinner tomorrow night, but you look like you needed some cheer right now. Your dad dropped a present off earlier, but he wanted to see you when you opened it. I left that one downstairs.”

  “Dad was here?”

  “Yep. It’s just us girls tonight. He took Robison home with him for a sleepover.”

  “Isn’t it a school night?”

  She swiped her hand down her face in irritation. “Yeah. Your dad said he’d drop him off at school, which means Robison will be late again. He said he’d bring him home too, so you had better be right home after school so he can give you your present and leave.”

  “Don’t make that face,” I said to her. My cat, Cinders, jumped up on my bed and gave my mom a reproving look as though she agreed my mom shouldn’t be bagging on my dad.

  “What face?”

  “The one you always make when you talk about Dad.”

  “He’s a good dad, Pumpkin, but it didn’t make him a good husband.”

  I ignored that and focused on the brightly wrapped presents. Light reflected off the shiny surface of the orange wrapping paper. Cinders sniffed at the packages suspiciously.

  Having a birthday in October meant a few things.

  It meant nicknames like Pumpkin. It meant orange wrapping paper with black ribbon. It meant cakes with bats and cauldrons swirled into the frosting. It meant most birthday parties were costume parties. Most of the time punch had dry ice in it, and games consisted of pin the bolt on the Frankenstein while we listened to haunted noises off my mom’s playlist. I did have one pink party. That was the year we went to Princess Pizza. But it was still a costume party. Everyone had to come as either a fairy or a princess. My mom even dressed my brother, who was a brand new baby at the time, like a little elf.

  Time ultimately revealed me to be a Halloween personality instead of the princess personality, and all reminders of the color pink in my wardrobe had found their way to the Salvation Army boxes during mom’s annual purge/house cleaning. I no longer felt cheated by the Halloween birthday. It suited me.

  “So I can open these? I don’t have to wait for the sit-down dinner and cake where we’re all together as a family?”

  “You got hanged in a tree. I think you earned it.”

  Who could argue with that logic? I ripped into the pile of presents.

  There were a few cards from aunts on my mom’s side those had movie theater and iTunes gift cards inside. Bless the women in my life who knew I liked to be entertained.

  Mom’s gifts were a little more practical. She gave me a new hair dryer, the latest Janette Rallison book, some jeans I’d been wanting, a few shirts, and some piano music I’d also been wanting but had been too cheap to buy out of my own funds. Mom also gave me ten hand written coupons that said, “For: Car Usage. This ticket entitles owner to a one-time use of the family car for whatever whimsical reason she deems necessary so long as the car is not already in use by mother.” With the coupons came a copy of the car key hanging off one of the key chains from Mom’s shop. Scrawled on the side of the little cauldron key chain were the words, “Don’t mess with women of power.”

  “Any whimsical reason?” I asked.

  “Most any. The gleam in your eye makes me think I should have been more specific. No, you don’t get to take the car on a cross-country tour, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Huh, I hadn’t even thought of that one.” I tossed the key and its key chain up in the air and caught them. “Thanks for the great idea, Mom.”

  “Allyson . . .” She shot me a look—the kind only mothers gave—the kind that said, I find you both amusing and perplexing, but you can forget whatever it is you’re thinking.

  She tapped on the sheet music. “Oh, and your grandma said she’d be covering your piano lessons for another year to go along with her other present.” She pointed to the last package. “That one’s from your Grandma Peterson.” Mom pointed at the box as I’d freed it from its wrapping paper.

  I opened the box and peered inside. My eyebrows slid together in that way that my mom tried to get me to stop doing. She said every time my face scrunched like that, I was paving the way to becoming a wrinkly-looking old woman. But it couldn’t be helped. I pulled the gift from the box and held it up for my mom to see.

  It was a miniature troll figurine carved out of wood. The troll had a scepter in his right hand, and a stone with a flame etched on it resting atop his open left palm. It had jeweled-green eyes embedded into the wood. It seemed to grow warmer sitting in my hand. Warmer and warmer until—“Ouch!” I dropped it to my bed and stuck my fingers in my mouth to cool them down.

  Cinders and Mom looked at me curiously. “What?” Mom asked.

  I pulled my fingertips from my mouth and pointed. “Stupid thing burned me!”

  Mom picked it up. “It’s just wood.”

  “It’s just hot wood.”

  She ignored me and twisted it around in her fingers. “It is not hot. But . . . I gotta give the old lady credit. This is probably the worst sweet sixteen birthday gift in the entire world.”

  “Mom!” I yanked the troll out of her hands and threw it back in the box before it burned me again. Not that I really thought it would. That scorching feeling had to have been imagined. It had just been a long night. Mom hadn’t felt anything weird, so of course it hadn’t burned me. “Farmor is awesome. Be nice to her.” Farmor was what Robison and I called our dad’s mom. In Swedish, it literally meant, “father’s mother.” The Swedes probably started it to keep from getting confused over which grandparent they were talking about.

  “I didn’t say she wasn’t nice. I said her present was lame. Tell me you wanted an ugly piece of wood. I mean sure it might be a nice memento to buy when traveling the forests of Sweden, but honestly, tell me you wouldn’t rather have another gift card?”

  “Be nice,” I said again.

  Mom shrugged. The thing about my mother was that she was nice to everyone, so it was sort of freaky when she went off on my dad or any members of his family. She didn’t do it very often, making me wonder if she’d had a bad day in the shop or something. She’d been doing bills when I came home. So likely she was stressed about that.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, “let’s do something fun after the shop closes. I’d say we all need a fun day. Let’s go to Collin’s Cove. We can do the whole sit down dinner and cake on the beach thing.”

  The beach sounded great. There was no stress that a little sand and tide couldn’t fix. The cove was quieter sand and tide—more like ripples than waves, but they were good enough for us. Mom got up from my bed and moved to exit my room. She touched the cape Grandma Peterson had made me and smirked. “At least the cape was cool, and the piano lessons are needed. Makes up for the weirdness of the troll.”

  “What do you mean the lessons are needed? Are you saying I’m not any good?” I grinned at her. My mom loved listening to me practice and would seriously swallow her own tongue before insulting the musical part of me.

  “I most certainly did not say that. You know you’re amazing. Anyway, g’nite Ally.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, g’nite to you too. You need the sleep. You’re really on one, picking on my Farmor like that.”

  She sucked in a huge breath and rested her head on my doorframe. “Yeah, sorry, the bills for Under the Moon are a bit over the moon, so I’m a little grouchy. I’ll be over it by tomorrow. ‘Nite, Ally.”

  “G’nite, Mom.”

  She turned off my light for me, as was the ritual when she lingered in my room at bedtime.

  I cleared all the stuff to the side of my bed which allowed me room to sleep without having to take the effort of actually putting anything away. My whole body felt heavy with exhaustion. Cinders sniffed at my presents as she gingerly padded around them. She batted around the troll box with her paw until it fell to the floor.

  I looked over the side of the bed and found the troll had fallen outside of the box and was lying on its bac
k staring up at me with his jeweled-green eyes. I almost got up to get it, but decided sleep was more important. I left the box and the green-eyed troll where they were and closed my eyes—trying desperately not to think about Lisa or the clingers circling beneath me with their cruel grins and their phone cameras. Trying not to let the stinging behind my eyelids turn into real tears.

  My eyes snapped open in what felt like only moments later. I checked the clock. Midnight exactly. What my mom always referred to as the witching hour.

  I’d been asleep for just under an hour. I blinked, my sandpaper eyelids scratching over my pupils. My body should have been in a comatose state until my alarm went off, and even several minutes after my alarm went off. Yet my mind felt completely alert.

  I stretched, accidentally shoving Cinders off the end of my bed. She glared at me with her glow-in-the-dark eyes before stalking off with her back rigid and tail twitching stiffly behind her.

  “Sorry,” I whispered to her. If anything, her tail thrashed more to let me know she had no intention of forgiving me, and she disappeared into the hallway. I tried to go back to sleep, knowing school came early and I was kind of a grouch in the morning even after a full eight hours of rest.

  I shut my eyes again.

  Nothing.

  No sleep at all. My mind would not turn off. It kept rolling over the events of the night, counting up all the times Lisa had placed me in the blast zone, counting up all the times I’d wanted Jake to look at me, and then worrying over what it meant now that he had looked at me.

  No. Those weren’t good things to count or think about when trying to sleep. So instead, I counted sheep for a minute and then scoffed at whoever thought that actually worked. My mind had to stay active to remember what number came next. My eyes closed and snapped open again. I rolled over, punched my pillow, and scrunched my eyes closed hard to keep them from opening up on their own.