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“It’s okay,” I said, releasing my grip slightly so I could look down at the worn cover. “I can see how she could be really … persuasive.”
A tingling sensation sprang to life in my chest and traveled down my arms and into my fingertips, making the book feel warm in my hands. I never would have said this to Noelle in a billion years, but there was this teeny-tiny part of me that wondered … what if Mrs. Lange wasn’t crazy? What if what she’d said was true and we could wield some kind of power? I’d seen some insane stuff since I’d started school at Easton last fall. Nothing supernatural, of course, but definitely crazy—things I never would have thought were possible even two years ago. What if this was possible too?
“Okay, forget this.”
Noelle plucked the book right out of my hands and tossed it back onto the mess of her bed. My fingers felt cold suddenly, and I tucked them under my arms.
“I say we concentrate on m
ore important things,” she said, her brown eyes bright.
“Like what?” I said, trying not to look over her shoulder at the book.
“Things based in actual reality.” She reached for her black-and-white plaid coat and opened the door for me, but I hesitated. “What?” she asked impatiently.
“Do you mind if I take that?” I said, gesturing toward the book. “I mean, if you’re not going to look at it—”
“Seriously?” She walked to her bed, picked up the book, and held it out to me. “It smells like rotting garbage and mold. Please take it.”
I reached for the book, but she snatched it back toward her shoulder, giving me an appraising glance. “As long as you promise me you’re not going to try anything in it. Because I really don’t think I could be friends with someone who actually believes in this crap.”
I held her gaze. “I promise.”
Her eyes narrowed further, but after a long moment she handed the book over. I stuck it in my messenger bag and pulled the flap down over it.
“As I was saying,” Noelle said as we stepped out into the hallway. “I think we should talk about throwing you the most kick-ass seventeenth birthday party in the history of birthdays. You’re a Lange now. I’d say you’re well overdue.”
Instantly, my shoulder muscles coiled.
“I’m not a Lange.”
I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice, but it didn’t entirely work. The thing was, I barely even knew Noelle’s dad, and I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to. But I was certain that I didn’t feel like part of their family. I was a Brennan, and I always would be.
Noelle rolled her eyes as she started to close the door behind us. “Whatever. Daddy did call you, right? He said he left you a message.”
“Yeah. He did. I just … haven’t gotten around to calling him back yet,” I told her.
I’d gotten the message yesterday morning, right after I’d left the hotel where Mrs. Lange had given us the key and sent us on our wild-goose chase. My mother and I had hit a diner for lunch and had just sat down in our booth when the phone rang—an unrecognizable 212 number. Later, after listening to the message, I’d lied to my mother and told her it was my boyfriend, Josh. Because how was I supposed to tell her that the guy who’d fathered me all those years ago was now calling me up, saying he wanted to be a part of my life? She’d chosen my dad. Chosen to forget her mistake and leave my biological father behind. And now … because of me … he was back.
So as of this moment, I had no intention of returning his call.
“Actually, Noelle, I wanted to talk to you about that…. Can we keep this whole sisters thing between us for now? If that’s okay with you,” I added quickly.
She froze with her hand on the doorknob. “Why?”
“I just … I don’t want to deal with all the questions and explanations and everything until I’m a little more used to it,” I said.
“Wow. I would think you’d be kinda psyched to be my sister,” Noelle said. Only she would have a big enough ego to say something like that without a hint of irony or self-deprecation.
“It’s not that,” I told her. “It’s just … it’s kind of humiliating, you know? I’m going to have to tell everyone that my mom cheated on my dad with your dad.” I looked at my water-stained leather boots, mottled after days of tromping around campus in the snow and sleet. “There’s no getting around that.”
Noelle’s expression changed utterly. It was pretty clear she’d never thought of the whole thing from my perspective before. “Yeah. Okay. I get it.” She closed the door with a bang. “But you still deserve a party.”
She had me there. Given that she’d faked her own kidnapping, scared me to death, and made me jump through multiple hoops to find her over the past couple of weeks—I’d say I deserved whatever good things she wanted to throw my way. A party might be just what the psychoanalyst ordered after everything I’d been through recently.
Her eyes flicked over me as if she was noticing my outfit for the first time and did not approve. “Where’s your coat?” she asked.
I glanced down at my jeans. “Oh. I guess I forgot it.”
