Visited

VISITED

BY

JANINE CALDWELL

Visited

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Janine Caldwell

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, digital, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, reprinting, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher or copyright holder.

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Published by Janine Caldwell

For the stargazers.

CONTENTS

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1. SHOOTING STAR

2. THREE HOURS EARLIER

3. AFTERMATH

4. STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS

5. TOMMY

6. HOME AT LAST

7. A HEART-TO-HEART WITH AN ALIEN

8. MONDAY BLUES

9. BOULDERS HIGH SCHOOL

10. MY NEW BEST FRIEND

11. THE DANCER GIRLS

12. ASSISTANT COACH

13. WAKEUP CALL

14. TRYOUTS

15. THE BEGINNING OF THE END

16. CONFESSIONS

17. DÉJÀ VU

18. BREAKFAST WITH THE GREENES

19. SWIM PARTY

20. HAVE YOU EVER?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

REMATCH PART ONE

1. SHOOTING STAR

After the day I had, it’s high time to climb to my secret spot. From my bedroom, I hear Mom and her husband, Stan, shut off the TV in the family room before scuffling upstairs to the master bedroom, their voices muffled and low. I wait a few minutes to be sure they’re in for the night before sliding open my sticky bedroom window.

Armed with one of our many Mexican blankets, I pop out the window’s screen to climb through to the roof, working to avoid banging a knee or whacking my head in the process, while also balancing a full tumbler of soda in my hand. Quite tricky for a girl like me born with extra long limbs.

Of course, even though it’s the blackest of nights with a mere sliver of moon shining, it’s still no relief from the brutal heat. The moment I step out of my air-conditioned room, a blast of hot air smacks me in the face. Gotta love Arizona in the summertime. Since I’m always a sweaty mess around this time of year, it’s no surprise my tank top is already clinging to my back as I creep over our roof’s Spanish tiles. The last time I was up here a few of them were loose, so I’m careful to step on only the sturdy ones. When I reach the peak of the roof, I throw down my blanket to sit on, feeling the hard tiles even through the blanket’s thick wool.

I settle in, thankful as always to have the stars as entertainment. To escape reality for just a bit and go a little crazy, pretending I live in a galaxy far, far away. I’m sure this would rate high on the nerd barometer, but I picture myself living in an extraterrestrial world where there’s an order about things. Where everyone is given a clear path to who they are and what they should do with their life. A world unlike planet Earth. It’s this sort of thinking, my not-of-this-world imagination, Mom blames for my teenage angst. I disagree. My imagination is my relief. It helps me get through monstrously bad days. Like today, for example.

I hear an owl hooting softly in the distance before spotting a couple of bats nose-diving above me. Scrunching my nose at the creepy things, I sit tight until they’ve disappeared before relaxing back onto my elbows. I take long swigs of what’s left of my soda, awestruck by the view. As much as I complain about living in the desert, I admit our nighttime is spectacular. A black velvet backdrop with billions of holes punched through it, winking and glittering down on us.

The night sky has a way of calming me when nothing else can. Believe me, I know how weird this sounds, but I tend to feel more comfortable with the idea of floating in space, on the brink of discovering an alien world, than I am with being stuck here on Earth—the real world where I have no way to control or change most of what happens to me.

Just as I’m blowing the hair out of my eyes, wishing my life here could be different, a streak of white light flashes in the sky. Soon after, a shooting star dashes across the inky blackness, shockingly bright. All the other stars fade in the glare. There’s no way this is a regular shooting star, or as I’ve learned in science class, bits of burning dust and rock.

Not wanting to miss anything, I bolt upright and accidentally knock over my plastic tumbler with my elbow. It rolls down the side of the roof, but I ignore it, too fascinated by the meteor. Its tail seems never ending, but what’s even more amazing is that while it smears its way across the sky, it appears to change course halfway through its descent. As unlikely as this may be, it looks as if it’s now heading straight for my neighborhood!

What the heck is this thing? A UFO?

The thought gets me pumped and up on my feet. Forgetting I’m perched on top of an angled roof covered in unstable tiles, I wobble and have to adjust my footing to steady myself. Normally, I would’ve sat right back down, freaked out by the possibility of slipping off the roof, but I’m too distracted now. Whatever’s happening up there, I’m sure it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. I only hope someone else catches this phenomenon because I have no clue how I’ll explain this to anyone. It’s too incredible for words.

While my gaze is zeroed in on the sky, it suddenly occurs to me I should be recording this marvel on my cell phone. My science buddies will never forgive me if I don’t.

Come on, Joanna, use your brain. No one will believe you otherwise, and a video like this would go viral in no time. You could win blogger of the year!

Hastily, I grab my phone from my back pocket, but fumble it. It lands with a crunch on the roof before bouncing down the slick tiles, colliding with my forgotten tumbler. Both are cradled only by the flimsy gutter.

Crap! Not my phone! I literally just spent the last six months saving my allowance and babysitting earnings to replace my old phone that simply gave up one day after a marathon texting session with Tommy. If it drops over the side of the roof, it’ll be toast for sure.

Placing my hands on my hips, I shout, Seriously, Universe? Could you make this day any suckier? Ugh!

I drop down to my hands and knees, bitter to give up my star watch to rescue a stupid phone. Cautiously, I crawl over the roof’s tiles. The rough texture digs uncomfortably into the bare skin of my knees as I inch down the slope of the roof. Wishing now more than ever for Jedi powers to move objects with my mind, I stretch out my arm. For once, I don’t mind I have a wingspan of an NBA star as my fingertips flutter closely to the phone with my long reach. I almost have it when a few tiles move underneath me. They start to shift and come loose under my weight, taking me for a ride along with them.

I make like a pancake to stop myself from moving any closer to the gutter, not caring to have any part of skidding over the edge of my extremely tall, two-story house. The sound of tiles shattering on our back patio is evidence enough of the trouble I’m in, the danger of my situation if I keep slipping.

While my heart beats as though it’s going to break free from my chest, I choke back the scream building up in my throat as I carefully turn myself around, slow as a desert tortoise, to crawl back up the roof. Grasping for any remaining tiles in my reach, I start to drag myself up when more tiles spring up and break free. With nothing left to hold onto, I slide back down the slope of the roof until half my body ends up dangling in the air over the lip of the gutter. In no time at all, I learn the gutter isn’t made to support a human’s body weight because it buckles, sending my phone and tumbler plummeting to the ground.

It’s hard to ignore the ringing in my ears as I cling with everything I have. All I can think is, I can’t die yet. I’m only seventeen. A girl has to at least land her first real kiss before she can die, right?

Beads of sweat roll down my forehead and sting my eyes. I want to rub my face on my arm, but feel paralyzed, scared any movement will cause me to fall. When I accept I’m not able to haul myself back up on my own, I start to really panic.

Mom! Stan! Help! I’m straining to be heard over the continuous hum of the house’s air conditioning units. The roof... Hurry... Please!

All at once, the gutter under my waist breaks away from the roof and I begin to free-fall. My arms and legs flail through the air as I watch the roof get farther away from me. I lose my stomach in my throat, disoriented and dizzy.

In seconds, I slam down on the concrete feet first before dropping onto my back. My head is last to hit the concrete and takes the least of the blow. I would be happy about that, except the wind is knocked out of me and my insides feel jarred loose. As I’m blinking away tears, it feels like my legs and spine have splintered into fragments. I taste blood in my mouth, and when I try to move, I can’t. White-hot, blinding pain blurs my vision. I’m left wheezing fast, shallow breaths when someone kneels beside me.

Shhh. Don’t move, a deep voice says.

If I could flinch in shock, I would have. The boy belonging to the voice came out of nowhere and I didn’t recognize him. Through my fuzzy vision I try to make out his face, but only see blondish swirls of hair, backlit by the patio’s motion detector floodlight. He places his large hands firmly onto my body—one palm on my forehead, the other on my chest. His skin feels cool, smooth. For a moment I almost relax, but then another wave of unbearable pain seizes me and I don’t care who this guy is—I just want the pain to stop!

Hold on. I’m going to make you feel better. Just a few seconds more.

He applies more pressure on my body with his hands, but in my frantic state, I can’t pinpoint where exactly I’m injured. It seems every bone, every nerve ending has been set on fire. On top of that, the boy’s touch is hurting me. If only I had a voice, I would order him to stop what he’s doing.

But then, before I can do or think anything else, it’s gone—the pain, the blurry vision, the gasping for air—all gone.

My lips move, trying to form a syllable. When I fail, I simply close my eyes and exhale— not from pain, but from relief. Surrendering to this newfound calmness spreading throughout my body, I feel the heavy shawl of sleep dragging me down to a surprisingly comfortable and safe place to rest. And so I do.

2. THREE HOURS EARLIER

I snap shut my latest sci-fi novel and toss it aside. My gaze drifts out my bedroom window while I massage my thighs, sore from volleyball practice. Some could mistake my own backyard for a distant planet like the one described in this book. Beyond our fence lies miles of barren desert with prehistoric cacti, eventually merging into a scraggily, purple mountain range that looks downright mystical. It’s no wonder I’m always fantasizing about other worlds, they remind me of home.

Mom, of course, thinks it’s unhealthy to always have my nose buried in books filled with strange, made-up worlds, but I’m way too addicted to give them up. She attempts to steer me toward other genres. Say nonfiction for example, or a classic written centuries ago. I figure why would I want to fill my mind with stuffy historical novels that have no bearing on my life, when I could live vicariously through a kick-butt heroine fighting for her underwater world of merpeople? Sorry, but I’ll take a zombie-slaying protagonist over an emotionally suppressed Jane Austen character any day of the week. But, hey, that’s just me.

Joanna? Could you come down here please? Mom calls from somewhere downstairs.

Hmm, I’ve been summoned. That’s odd. I assumed she wasn’t aware I was even home.

Not relishing a move from my favorite reading corner, I scooch off my bed, and drag myself downstairs. I find Mom and Stan perched on the formal living room couch where we tend to only sit on special occasions like Christmas or for a birthday. They’re holding hands and looking lovey-dovey at each other, which makes me want to gag and spin right on back to the safety of my room.

There you are, she coos all smiley and shiny. She’s dressed in her favorite Chico’s outfit with the tiger print blouse she thinks is so hip and slimming. She says anything that can make her forget for even a moment she isn’t the size she wants to be should be elevated to runway gold status, worth the full retail price and then some.

My stepdad, having just arrived home from work, is still in his navy Stan Greene’s Floors and Windows polo shirt, paired with his plus-size khakis that have an unfortunate way of riding up and getting lodged between his thunder thighs.

This is... different, I remark, suspicious at our being so fancy. Maybe it’s Stan’s birthday, I think, which immediately fills me with dread for whatever they’ve planned for the evening. What’s up? I plop down sideways in a flowery upholstered chair, purposely hooking my legs over the arm in an unladylike fashion. I anticipate Mom’s disapproving frown, but she’s too busy getting lost in Stan’s eyes.

I clear my throat. Um, you did call me down here for a reason, yes? I mean, I was right in the middle of something. Although I try to convey this little meeting of theirs is an inconvenient interruption, the truth is I’ve been bored out of mind the last couple of days, almost eager for the start of school.

Mom turns to me, seemingly undisturbed by my impatience. Yes, we have something to tell you, Joanna. Some really fantastic news, right, honey? She squeezes Stan’s fat knee and giggles like a schoolgirl, her wood elephant earrings rocking back and forth.

Okay, I return cautiously. This can’t be good. The last time they sat me down like this was to announce they wanted to get married. After my initial shock, they carried on, asking me if I would give them their blessing. Like I had any choice in the matter. They were going to get married no matter how I felt, but I suppose they wanted me to think I had a say in it.

I narrow my eyes to study them, trying to determine what this is all about. Mom is definitely making her weepy face, while looking positively ready to explode. Stan, on the other hand, looks tense. His close-set eyes, two dull quarters sinking into a mound of pink flesh, are guarded. His wet, puffy lips are cracked into an uneasy half smile making him appear almost senile.

In roughly seven months from now, Mom begins, bouncing in her seat, you’re going to be a big sister! She pauses for a sign that I’ve understood the significance of her announcement, but I’m so caught off guard, all I can do is gawk back at the two of them with my jaw sweeping the floor.

We just found out today. Isn’t that wonderful? A baby! She claps her hands and I wonder if she’s waiting for me to applaud, too. Unfortunately, I’m still frozen in place by my shock. I rattle my head to jolt me back to life.

You mean... you’re pregnant?

Yes! Can you believe it? Between my fertility issues and my age, I thought getting pregnant again would be next to impossible, but my body came through for me. She rubs her tummy, smiling triumphantly.

I scramble around in my chair to sit upright. You mean you planned for this to happen?

The newlyweds exchange a nervous glance. Stan nods and squeezes Mom’s hand a little tighter like he’s trying to encourage her to continue. As if they’re both afraid of me, bracing themselves for a meltdown.

Well, yes, Joanna. She shrugs and glances down at her hand entwined with Stan’s. Of course the pregnancy was planned. You know I’ve always wanted more children. And now, because of this amazing man right here, my dreams are finally coming true. The two are at it again with their mushy, love fest display and I feel like vomiting all over her tiger print blouse to make them stop. I really don’t enjoy watching them be affectionate with each other. I’m not sure why it bugs me so much; it just does.

Wow. A baby? At their age?

Most of my other friends’ parents are long passed having babies. They’re starting to buy condos and compact cars, gearing up for their days of empty nesters, whereas Mom and Stan will be starting over from ground zero. But I guess as long as they don’t ask me to change any poopy diapers, I can get on board with the idea. It’s certainly not something I expected entering my senior year of high school, having a newborn around the house, but I suppose I’ll get used to it. What I don’t understand, though, is why they’re acting so high strung about it; sort of cagy-like. Unless this means...

So, uh, this baby, I say, cracking my knuckles absentmindedly. It won’t change anything for next summer, right? You know, for our trip? My gaze flickers between the now blanching couple, my heart soon shriveling to the size of a prune. Oh. I get it. We’re not going now, are we? Now I understand the problem; their hesitation in telling me this fantastic news. They were scared to tell me because they knew it meant killing my dream.

Stan pops up from the couch, his belly rolls jiggling with the effort. His mouth is screwed up like he just tasted something sour. He avoids direct eye contact with me, suddenly very curious at the handicraft of the ceiling and floor. He gives Mom a double pat on the shoulder before shuffling out of the room, his heavy steps slapping the ceramic tile while his labored breathing echoes down the hall.

Mom lets out a long sigh, her flushed happiness from moments before disappearing. What do you want me to say, Joanna? The baby will only be an infant by next summer. It’s not like I can drag him or her around with us to a bunch of foreign places full of germs for two months. And, if all goes according to plan, I’ll still be breastfeeding, which means I can’t leave the baby for long stretches of time. Oh my goodness, breastfeeding... She rolls her eyes and seems to get distracted by the thought, fixing her concerned gaze on the floor. "I hope I still