I’m waiting for a little sign of Ashlyn; I want one. In the way Ethan walks or stands or taps his shoes. And I want it for Kyle, too.
Maybe we did come here to watch Ethan, but we really came to see Ashlyn.
Snow White hands Ethan an oversized prop flower. His nose twitches and he lets out a big, squeaky sneeze that the audience laughs at, even Kyle. My fingers are digging into the seat, and my body fills with a panicky heat as Ethan starts to walk offstage. I don’t want him to leave before I glimpse something. Why couldn’t he play a bird and be onstage the whole time?
But before he disappears behind the curtain, he stops short. No one else notices because Snow White is singing another sap-tacular song at center stage, but my eyes are only on the kid in the corner. He turns his head slightly, probably to where his family is sitting, and he unleashes a toothy grin. It relaxes me, as if someone cut the string that tied me tightly. Because maybe Ashlyn never smiled exactly like that, but I know she gave that grin to Ethan.
And when Kyle turns to me, I know he saw it, too.
THE THEATER’S BACK door opens, letting some of the noise from inside slip out before it clangs shut. I tilt sideways around the front of the car. Kyle is halfway inside the trunk, frettingover Arm, and we share a nervous look.
“Are you going to talk to him?” Kyle asks.
“And say what?” I sort-of whisper. I don’t want anyone to overhear. “‘Hey, you know your liver? The part that’s not yours? It’s our friend’s! Wanna chat?’”
Kyle presses the hatchback closed. “It’s just a little weird that we came all this way to not even say anything to him.”
I can’t exactly argue with this. But as nice as it would be to talk to Ethan, there’s no way we can without it being suspicious. I do another front walkover—I’ve got residual energy like crazy—and Kyle hoists himself up on the front hood.
“The Montiels’ll get into major trouble if Ethan’s parents think they’re giving out information,” I tell him.
“And you’ll get into trouble for being nosy?”
I shoot him a half smile. “You’re technically my accomplice, so I wouldn’t get all judgy.”
Kyle holds his hands up in surrender. No arguing with that , either.
Sighing, I say, “Wasn’t Ethan so good in the play? He sneezed like a professional!”
“Totally believable sneezing,” Kyle murmurs.
“Yeah, he was great.” I rub my hands on my pants, sore after pressing against the concrete. “Do you think he’s like Ashlyn at all?”
“Ethan?” His eyebrows come together. “You mean, because of the . . .”
I tell him about Zoë and that movie. I don’t say that after seeing Ethan, I’m starting to hope that it’s true. “It’s not thesame, of course. I know he’s not possessed. But maybe he’s got something. A little bit of Ashlyn.”
Kyle stares across the small lot at the brick wall bordering it, and I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone bonkers. Then he says, “Like he brushes his hair five times a day now?”
Startled, I look up at him. “Yeah,” I say, grinning. “And listens to Whitney Houston every single morning.”
He laughs. “And can never remember his own phone number.”
“And hates the color coral because it can’t decide if it’s pink or orange.”
“And has to sit right in the center seat at the movies—or else.”
I groan, knowing just what he’s talking about. “And mainlines iced coffee.”
His eyes go round, and he sucks in a breath like he can’t get the words out fast enough. “What was with the iced coffee? And then she’d eat the ice, too. Who does that?”
We’re both smiling, facing opposite directions, and I’m warm all over despite the temperature having dropped. If things had been different—if I’d been different—it could’ve been this way, us cracking jokes about Ashlyn’s silly quirks when she was alive. God, she would’ve loved it.
Suddenly there’s giggling coming from the
Maybe we did come here to watch Ethan, but we really came to see Ashlyn.
Snow White hands Ethan an oversized prop flower. His nose twitches and he lets out a big, squeaky sneeze that the audience laughs at, even Kyle. My fingers are digging into the seat, and my body fills with a panicky heat as Ethan starts to walk offstage. I don’t want him to leave before I glimpse something. Why couldn’t he play a bird and be onstage the whole time?
But before he disappears behind the curtain, he stops short. No one else notices because Snow White is singing another sap-tacular song at center stage, but my eyes are only on the kid in the corner. He turns his head slightly, probably to where his family is sitting, and he unleashes a toothy grin. It relaxes me, as if someone cut the string that tied me tightly. Because maybe Ashlyn never smiled exactly like that, but I know she gave that grin to Ethan.
And when Kyle turns to me, I know he saw it, too.
THE THEATER’S BACK door opens, letting some of the noise from inside slip out before it clangs shut. I tilt sideways around the front of the car. Kyle is halfway inside the trunk, frettingover Arm, and we share a nervous look.
“Are you going to talk to him?” Kyle asks.
“And say what?” I sort-of whisper. I don’t want anyone to overhear. “‘Hey, you know your liver? The part that’s not yours? It’s our friend’s! Wanna chat?’”
Kyle presses the hatchback closed. “It’s just a little weird that we came all this way to not even say anything to him.”
I can’t exactly argue with this. But as nice as it would be to talk to Ethan, there’s no way we can without it being suspicious. I do another front walkover—I’ve got residual energy like crazy—and Kyle hoists himself up on the front hood.
“The Montiels’ll get into major trouble if Ethan’s parents think they’re giving out information,” I tell him.
“And you’ll get into trouble for being nosy?”
I shoot him a half smile. “You’re technically my accomplice, so I wouldn’t get all judgy.”
Kyle holds his hands up in surrender. No arguing with that , either.
Sighing, I say, “Wasn’t Ethan so good in the play? He sneezed like a professional!”
“Totally believable sneezing,” Kyle murmurs.
“Yeah, he was great.” I rub my hands on my pants, sore after pressing against the concrete. “Do you think he’s like Ashlyn at all?”
“Ethan?” His eyebrows come together. “You mean, because of the . . .”
I tell him about Zoë and that movie. I don’t say that after seeing Ethan, I’m starting to hope that it’s true. “It’s not thesame, of course. I know he’s not possessed. But maybe he’s got something. A little bit of Ashlyn.”
Kyle stares across the small lot at the brick wall bordering it, and I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone bonkers. Then he says, “Like he brushes his hair five times a day now?”
Startled, I look up at him. “Yeah,” I say, grinning. “And listens to Whitney Houston every single morning.”
He laughs. “And can never remember his own phone number.”
“And hates the color coral because it can’t decide if it’s pink or orange.”
“And has to sit right in the center seat at the movies—or else.”
I groan, knowing just what he’s talking about. “And mainlines iced coffee.”
His eyes go round, and he sucks in a breath like he can’t get the words out fast enough. “What was with the iced coffee? And then she’d eat the ice, too. Who does that?”
We’re both smiling, facing opposite directions, and I’m warm all over despite the temperature having dropped. If things had been different—if I’d been different—it could’ve been this way, us cracking jokes about Ashlyn’s silly quirks when she was alive. God, she would’ve loved it.
Suddenly there’s giggling coming from the
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