under my butt and set it on the shelf next to me, which held a volleyball and a soccer ball. Above the shelf, Nicki had plastered a poster of some guy with a movie-star tan riding a surfboard, glistening in the sun and spray. Feeling a lot paler and even more out of shape than I’d felt five minutes ago, I wrenched my eyes away from that picture.
Nicki opened another bottle and began to paint her pointer finger light blue. “What do you mean? Is she or isn’t she?”
Might as well say it. “No.”
“Why not?” She raised her eyes from her nails to my face. “Did she turn you down, or did you never ask?” She pointed the nail brush at me in the mirror. “Wait, let me guess. You never asked.”
She was starting to know me, all right.
“It was hard to find the right moment, in between electroshock and basket weaving.” Not that I’d ever had electroshock or basket weaving. But Nicki barreled on as if I hadn’t spoken.
“You should ask her,” she said.
“Forget it.”
“Why not? Is she already with someone? Into girls? Does she want to be a nun?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” She held out her hand, admiring her two colored nails.
I was beginning to regret that I’d come over here. Did I need her dissecting my nonexistent love life? How had we gotten on this topic anyway? “She lives too far away.”
“Where?”
“Brookfield.”
Nicki frowned. “That’s only, like, three hours away.”
“By car. Which I don’t have.”
She sighed. “You give up too easily.” Her voice took on a teacherish tone, in bizarre contrast to her dirty bare feet, too-small T-shirt with cartoon rabbits on the front, and gaudy nail polish. “If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to take charge. Be persistent.” She picked out a bottle of polish and shook it. “Take me—I’m looking for another psychic.”
I groaned.
“No, I’m serious. I’ll find a better one. I mean, I was kind of stupid to think a great psychic would be living in Seaton, the ass pimple of the country.”
“Nicki—” I softened my voice as much as I could. “Why don’t you give up on that?”
“Because I loved my dad. And I want to talk to him. Like I just finished telling you, I don’t give up.”
Well, that was simple enough. Too bad it was also impossible.
She slathered the next shade of polish on her middle fingernail, a grayish color this time. I made out the word “pewter” on the bottle, which was a good name for something so ugly.
“I’m going to take you to see Val,” she announced.
“What?”
“We’ll take Matt’s truck. I’ll drive, because I’ll bet anything you can’t drive a truck. All you need to do is buy the gas. And when we get there, I’ll even tell you what to say to Val, if you can’t handle that part, either.” She waved her hand, with its wet nail, in the air.
“You can’t drive.”
“I’m not old enough to get a license, but I can drive. Everybody in my family learns to drive when they’re, like, thirteen. I do it all the time.”
“We’re not going to see Val.” I wanted to see her so badly that my nerves buzzed, sizzled, nearly shorted out when Nicki announced her plan. But I wasn’t crazy enough to jump into Matt Thornton’s wreck for an illegal six-hour round trip with a girl who would apparently have fingernails in ten different colors by then and whose main interest in life was hunting down the spirit of her late father.
“Yeah, we are.”
“Why do you even care?”
“For one thing, I owe you for coming to the psychic with me. And I like driving. It’s fun.”
“But—”
“Besides, you need to stop secretly pining away for this girl. It’s agonizing to watch.”
“I’m not ‘secretly pining away.’” God, I hated that. It reminded me of Amy Trillis. My face stung, and I almost threw a pillow at Nicki. “Geez, stick to running your own life.”
“Don’t you want to go?” She turned to face me. “How long can you keep wanting something
Nicki opened another bottle and began to paint her pointer finger light blue. “What do you mean? Is she or isn’t she?”
Might as well say it. “No.”
“Why not?” She raised her eyes from her nails to my face. “Did she turn you down, or did you never ask?” She pointed the nail brush at me in the mirror. “Wait, let me guess. You never asked.”
She was starting to know me, all right.
“It was hard to find the right moment, in between electroshock and basket weaving.” Not that I’d ever had electroshock or basket weaving. But Nicki barreled on as if I hadn’t spoken.
“You should ask her,” she said.
“Forget it.”
“Why not? Is she already with someone? Into girls? Does she want to be a nun?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” She held out her hand, admiring her two colored nails.
I was beginning to regret that I’d come over here. Did I need her dissecting my nonexistent love life? How had we gotten on this topic anyway? “She lives too far away.”
“Where?”
“Brookfield.”
Nicki frowned. “That’s only, like, three hours away.”
“By car. Which I don’t have.”
She sighed. “You give up too easily.” Her voice took on a teacherish tone, in bizarre contrast to her dirty bare feet, too-small T-shirt with cartoon rabbits on the front, and gaudy nail polish. “If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to take charge. Be persistent.” She picked out a bottle of polish and shook it. “Take me—I’m looking for another psychic.”
I groaned.
“No, I’m serious. I’ll find a better one. I mean, I was kind of stupid to think a great psychic would be living in Seaton, the ass pimple of the country.”
“Nicki—” I softened my voice as much as I could. “Why don’t you give up on that?”
“Because I loved my dad. And I want to talk to him. Like I just finished telling you, I don’t give up.”
Well, that was simple enough. Too bad it was also impossible.
She slathered the next shade of polish on her middle fingernail, a grayish color this time. I made out the word “pewter” on the bottle, which was a good name for something so ugly.
“I’m going to take you to see Val,” she announced.
“What?”
“We’ll take Matt’s truck. I’ll drive, because I’ll bet anything you can’t drive a truck. All you need to do is buy the gas. And when we get there, I’ll even tell you what to say to Val, if you can’t handle that part, either.” She waved her hand, with its wet nail, in the air.
“You can’t drive.”
“I’m not old enough to get a license, but I can drive. Everybody in my family learns to drive when they’re, like, thirteen. I do it all the time.”
“We’re not going to see Val.” I wanted to see her so badly that my nerves buzzed, sizzled, nearly shorted out when Nicki announced her plan. But I wasn’t crazy enough to jump into Matt Thornton’s wreck for an illegal six-hour round trip with a girl who would apparently have fingernails in ten different colors by then and whose main interest in life was hunting down the spirit of her late father.
“Yeah, we are.”
“Why do you even care?”
“For one thing, I owe you for coming to the psychic with me. And I like driving. It’s fun.”
“But—”
“Besides, you need to stop secretly pining away for this girl. It’s agonizing to watch.”
“I’m not ‘secretly pining away.’” God, I hated that. It reminded me of Amy Trillis. My face stung, and I almost threw a pillow at Nicki. “Geez, stick to running your own life.”
“Don’t you want to go?” She turned to face me. “How long can you keep wanting something
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