Famous Last Words

I hardly dared speak, for fear of how my voice would sound. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It can’t be healthy.”

“Lots of things aren’t healthy,” I snapped. “We do them anyway. Like devoting our lives to studying a serial killer. I have to go.”

I stood up and grabbed my backpack, then turned to leave.

Wyatt’s soft voice stopped me. “But why? What’s the worst that could happen if you let yourself get angry?”

I turned around and stared into his eyes. You want eye contact, Wyatt? Here’s your eye contact. “The worst that could happen is that someone else could die.”

When I got home, Reed was sitting in Jonathan’s office with the door open. He looked up and waved as I walked to my room.

I got the feeling that he wanted me to go in and talk to him, but I needed a few minutes to myself. I’d spent the drive home deflecting a barrage of Mom-questions, and I hadn’t had a chance to process my conversation with Wyatt, especially the things he’d said at the end — things he had no right to even think about, much less say to me.

Instead I focused on the reason we’d talked in the first place: the list of items that he insisted were worthless, because they came from an “unreliable source.” But that list was proof that my experiences weren’t just the results of my overtaxed mind finally breaking down completely. Someone else knew, somehow, that those things fit together.

And that someone just happened to be a woman who billed herself as the Psychic to the Stars. I sat down with my laptop and Googled the name Leyta Fitzgeorge. A cookie-cutter website popped up.

Her number was listed, but I stopped short of calling her. Reaching out to Leyta Fitzgeorge might seem like the next logical step, but my most pressing goal was to clear away the drama in my life, and getting in touch with a psychic was a pretty obvious move in the opposite direction. So I set my phone on my desk. Maybe I’d call her later.

I changed from my uniform into slim-fitting jeans and a teal V-neck T-shirt that brought out the blue in my eyes, telling myself that this extra bit of care with my appearance had absolutely nothing to do with Reed’s presence at the house. It didn’t matter anyway, because when I went into the hall, there was no sign of him in Jonathan’s office.

As I went downstairs, I could hear him talking to Mom in the kitchen.

“And anything that could be considered office supplies — printer ink or pens or stationery — I can arrange to have delivered from the studio. Just drop me a text or an email the day before you need them, and I’ll take care of everything.”

When I entered the kitchen, my mother looked up at me. “Oh, hi, Willa.”

“Hi,” I said, more to Reed than to her.

Mom cleared her throat a little awkwardly. “Thanks, Reed. We’ll definitely let you know if you can help.”

“Absolutely,” Reed said. “Anytime.”

He gave me a little eyebrow raise on his way out, and I had to fight to keep the corners of my mouth from turning up as I went to the sink to get a glass of water.

“He’s very nice,” Mom said, after he’d been gone for a minute.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’m going to have to talk to Jonathan, though,” she said slowly. “I’m just not sure how I feel about having him in the house all the time.”

I set my glass down with a louder clatter than I’d intended. “What do you mean? He’s not here all the time.”

“You know what I’m saying.” She shrugged. “This is our home. Having a stranger here doesn’t seem like —”

“He’s not a stranger,” I said. “He works for Jonathan. He’s just trying to save money for college. You don’t have to kick him out. Where will he go?”

“Oh, Willa, don’t be so dramatic,” Mom said. “He can work at Jonathan’s office.”

“But there’s stuff that needs to be done here,” I said. “He doesn’t just do work on the movies. He handles a lot of random stuff around the house, too.” I fought to keep my voice light and unemotional, when really, I was flipping out at the thought of not getting to see Reed on a regular basis. It wasn’t that I had a crush on him — I mean, maybe I do, but so what? — but he was the only person in California who seemed to see me as the person I wanted to be.

My mother stood up to her full height (which was the same as my full height and therefore not terribly intimidating). “Anything that needs to be done here can be done by me.”

“Why?” I asked. “Because you’re suddenly some little wifey? What is this, 1950?”

She frowned, her eyes searching my face. “What on earth has gotten into you?”

Her question hit me someplace deep and raw. I looked down quickly, embarrassed.

Mom put the back of her hand against my forehead. “Are you feeling all right? Is it a headache?”

For once, it wasn’t a headache, but I nodded anyway. “A little one.”

“You’re not getting them a lot, are you?”

I backed away from her gentle touch, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. Forget it.”

Her eyes flashed, a little wounded. “If you have something to say to me, then we should talk about it. But I feel like what you’re trying to say doesn’t have anything to do with Reed anymore.”

I swallowed. Mom was always good at getting to the heart of things. But I wouldn’t even know where to begin now.

“Willa?”

I shook my head. “I’m not trying to say anything. I just wanted a glass of water.”

Mom’s cell rang, and it was Jonathan, so she excused herself and went out the sliding door into the backyard. I let out a breath, put my glass in the dishwasher, turned to leave — and saw Reed standing in the kitchen doorway.

He was hovering, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Oh … hey.” My words felt all stumbly and loose. “How much of that did you hear?”

“How much of what?” Seeing the skeptical look on my face, he gave me a sheepish smile. “All of it. Sorry I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to embarrass your mother.”

“She doesn’t mean any offense,” I said.

“Of course not. I didn’t take any. She’s totally right. This is your house now. Jonathan has to change his bachelor ways.” His lips twitched mischievously. “He might even have to take the Porsche to the car wash himself now.”

The subversive little glint in his eye was gone as fast as it had appeared — but I’d seen it. And I was pretty sure he knew I’d seen it.

It kind of made me want to grab him and kiss him.

Reed tilted his head. “So that’s what your real smile looks like.”

My breath caught in my throat. “What?”

“Nothing.” His fingers traveled absently up the side of the doorframe. “It was cool of you to defend me. But I don’t want to cause any strife between you and your mother.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said. “There’s never any real strife.”

He was less than two feet away. I could smell the boy smell of his perfectly rumpled jacket.

I looked up into his eyes. And he looked down into mine.

“Willa,” he said, “you’re …”

I held my breath.

The room was silent — for a few seconds, anyway. Then I heard:

Drip …

“Are you kidding me?” I said, looking up at the ceiling.

Reed took a jerking step back. “I’d better get back to work.”

I stared at him, watching for any reaction to the sound.

Drip …

Nothing. He didn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” I said. “And I have some homework. Not a ton, but enough that I should … do it. I mean, get busy. I mean …” I mean, ugh, SHUT UP, Willa.

Then we both started for the stairs at the same time, which was incredibly awkward. But what was the alternative, him standing at the bottom watching me go up? Or me watching him?