3. Birthday Adventures with Ghosts #3
I let out a half-laugh, believing him immediately. Gideon isn’t a liar; never has been. “That’s silly. You would never hurt me! We don’t play rough or anything.” His mom is as weird as he is, which makes me laugh harder.
We stay like that until my laughter trickles out, locked in the moment like someone covered us in glue.
I like the way Gideon stares, the way he doesn’t look away no matter what.
I try to match it but always end up losing.
The girls at school say it’s uncomfortable; they swear he doesn’t blink. Of course he blinks. Everyone blinks.
This time, though, he looks away first, leaving my belly swarming with a ticklish fluttering. His gaze lands on the double doors behind me, his pupils widening, eating up the blue as his eyes go unfocused. “She says there’s something wrong with me. I think she might be right.”
My brows furrow, an uneasy feeling settling in my gut, snuffing out the flutterflies. “Like you’re sick or something?”
I don’t want him to be sick. Mom said Uncle Rodney was sick, the type of sickness you can’t cure with a doctor.
He nods, making my stomach sink way down deep, lower and lower.
“What if I did hurt you, Audrey? Sometimes my brain feels too heavy. I do things and I think about things all the time until it makes me—" He sighs, looking more tired than I’ve ever seen him. “Until it makes me sick. I don’t know why I can’t stop it.
Then there are times I just… just get so angry.
What if I got angry at you one day and you got hurt? ”
I flash him a wide smile, ushering away the unease in my belly. “Then I’d forgive you! Everyone makes mistakes. You’d still be my best friend.”
His attention snaps back to me, and the look on his face makes my grin falter, as weak as it was.
He’s staring at me again, but this time, it’s different.
It’s like I just told him the biggest news of his life.
Gideon is goofy like that sometimes; the weirdest things make him get all… well, weird. Weirder.
He clears his throat. “Aud—"
“Why in the hell is she down here?”
I startle as his mom all but jerks between us. Spinning on Gideon as she pulls me behind her, her filed nails prodding my arm painfully, even through his hoodie. “Where are her clothes?! Oh god, Gideon, so help me if you’ve—"
“She got them wet. I put them in the—"
“Where have you been all day? Huh?” her voice cracks, her long black hair greasy at the roots. “Were you at her house again!?”
I frown. At my house?
Gideon's mom takes a step back when he takes one forward, taking me with her. My sparkly slippers snag the rough carpet, making me stumble. “I told you I wanted to wish her a happy birthday.”
“Gideon, it’s okay,” I interject. I know I shouldn’t, it’s not polite to get into other people’s business, but he didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why she’s so—
“It is not okay, Audrey!” his mom yells at the top of her lungs, her voice straining with the force of it. It’s so loud in the small room, like a gunshot. I flinch, my eyes immediately welling with tears as I step away from her, jerking my arm free from her grip. My heart raging in my chest.
When I look around her thin body, Gideon is staring at me, at the tears now cascading down my cheeks.
I didn’t think it was possible for his severe eyes to get harder, colder.
When I stare back, I don’t see a trace of my best friend anywhere in there; it only makes my lip wobble more, my chin joining in.
My hands fist the too-long hoodie sleeves as he steps toward his mom again, getting closer despite her backing away.
Herding us both closer and closer to the double doors.
When he leans in and speaks, she flinches. The movement jarring and visceral. “You’re scaring her, Abigail. You should stop.”
“Son.”
All of my breath whooshes from me at the sound of Mr. Bell’s uncharacteristically stern voice, but I can’t take my eyes off my friend. The picture of him watery and distorted by my tears. His fists are shaking at his sides. I don’t want him to be upset; I don’t want it to be my fault.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. B-Bell.” I sniffle. “I-I just wanted to see Gideon for my birthday.”
The frazzled woman just glances over her shoulder at me.
Her own blue eyes red and watery, chest heaving before she abruptly heads back up the stairs.
Slamming past her husband, arching her body to ensure they don’t touch.
It’s something I’ve watched Mom do when she’s mad hundreds of times.
It feels awful, like someone you love so much hates the idea of touching you.
“Hey, enough of that,” Mr. Bell softly shushes my sniffling as he kneels in front of me, looking over his shoulder at his son. “Get her clothes, please.”
He seems to produce a tissue out of thin air as he turns back to me, offering a warm smile I’ve never seen on any other member of his family.
“Let’s get you back home. There’s no party without the birthday girl.
” His gentle, comforting tone unknots the rope holding my heart hostage.
He lets me use the upstairs bathroom to change, and I do my best to settle my sniffles before we reach my house across the street.