Betwixt

"Bummer," he eventually says.

"Yeah, I know, Dad. I'm really sorry, but I just... I really hate it and don't understand what Mr. Moffat is talking about half the time. I just don't think I can do well this year."

"But you're doing so well in everything else."

"Yeah, well Biology's a little hard, but I love my other subjects."

Mrs. Fi

"We talked about you studying a range of subjects this year."

"I know, but I don't enjoy it. I want to transfer out of the class and do something I'll excel in."

Like they're ever going to let that happen.

The couple finish their silent conversation then look to Dale.

"Okay, well I'm open to discussing that."

What?

"We're really sorry it's not working out."

"Yeah, well I should have been up front from the start. I never wanted to take Physics."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I wanted to make you guys... proud."

"Oh sweetie." Mrs. Fi

Their conversation continues as they discuss other subjects that Dale might take. Their voices turn to static noise as I lean against the wall.

My eyes burn with unwelcome tears.

We love you, kiddo.

I can't remember the last time someone told me they loved me and they're just saying it like it's an everyday occurrence.

I notice Dale look over his shoulder. He slowly searches the room as he nods at his parents' comments.

He's looking for me.

I should call out and tell him where I am, but I can't.

Instead I creep out of the room.

The kitchen door is ajar, I squeeze through it, cross the road diagonally and turn down Piney Lane. A few hundred yards later, I'm walking around the back of my house and climbing the stairs. Mom always leaves the bathroom window open. I have no idea how I'm supposed to actually climb through it. I stand outside and look at the narrow gap. I might be able to fit through it... but with hands as dense as smoke, I have no idea how I'll grip the frame to pull myself up.

I let out an irate huff. I can't work this stupid ghost thing out. My feet seem capable of walking on solid surfaces and my butt seems capable of sitting on any kind of seat, so why do my hands glide through everything? Maybe it's a mind over matter type thing.

My eyes narrow as I study the window and will myself to believe it is a solid object that no part of my body can fall through. I decide that the faster I do this, the less thought will be involved. Taking a breath, I launch myself towards the window, my foot lands on the sill as my hands touch the frame.

Of course my brain then decides to remind me that this is all just ridiculous and my hands fly straight through the glass followed by the rest of my body. I land in a heap on the tiled floor. Jumping up, I do a little heebie-jeebies dance. I whirl back to look at the window, shudder once more then make my way through the house. It's cold, dark and silent.

I step into my room and look around my pristine belongings. My bookshelf is neatly lined with untouched books, the clothes are neatly folded into every draw or hung neatly on every hanger. My subtle bedspread is pulled tight to perfection... just the way I like it.

I frown.

Everything feels cold. Cold and gloomy.

Spi

"Mom?"

I step in front of her. She's in zombie mode again. Her fork is poised just above her food. It's like she knows she needs to eat, but can't quite make herself do it.

I look at the clock on the stove. 6.50pm. Dad is nearly an hour late, what else is new?

My mother blinks and finally comes to. She looks at the clock and huffs, throwing her fork into her bowl and stepping away from the counter. With practiced efficiency she goes to the cupboard and grabs a large wine glass. She selects a bottle, pops the cork and pours herself a huge glass. It's gone after four big swigs.

"Whoa, Mom."

She pours another glass and slaps the bottle on the counter. She goes to guzzle it then stops and gently places it down. A sudden sob spurts out of her mouth as she dips her head. Her blond locks fall over her face and her shoulders shake.

"Don't cry," I whisper.

She doesn't hear me and the sobs keep coming out of her, slow and pitiful.

I back away. I can't be here. I can't watch this again.

Stumbling out of the room, I run to the bathroom and fall back through the window. I don't even care. All I want right now is yummy warmth.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The kitchen door is closed when I return to the Fi

Does he think I can freaking fly?

I kick the rock at my foot and watch my boot whoosh through it.

This sucks.

I'm about to slump to the ground when the front door opens.

"You don't need to worry, Mary. He's being honest with us, that's the most important thing."

"I just want him to be happy. I don't want a repeat of-"

Mr. Fi

"That will never happen again. Don't be afraid. We have to trust him now."

She gives him a soft smile.

"I know."

With a tender gaze, Mr. Fi

"Have fun."

"I will. This couple are fantastic. So suited. These pre-marriage sessions have been great."

"Only one month 'til the wedding. I can't believe it."

Mr. Fi

"Can't wait to marry them."

"Bye sweetie. Love you."

"You too, babe. Home soon."

I watch them exchange one last adoring look before scampering up the stairs.

"I didn't know your Dad was a minister."

Dale jumps a mile as I walk through his open doorway.

Dropping his head in his hands, he mumbles something about whether or not his heart will be able to survive this then looks up at me.

"He's not anymore. He does counselling, funerals, weddings, stuff like that."

He sits back in his chair with a sigh and rubs his eyes.

There is an empty chair next to him. I take a seat and clear my throat so he knows where I am.

He turns my way.

"Hey, are you okay? You just disappeared."

"Yeah." I shrug, trying to sound casual. "I just went home."

"Everything okay?"

I don't answer him straight away, I can't. I just gaze at his computer screen. He's been researching first aid pages. I can also see his Twitter account open, but the page isn't up, so I can't scan it for my name. I glance at him and see the map book open beneath his hands. He's marking out routes to try and also has a page of questions he's compiling to ask my friends.