“Yes, I did.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I almost say no. This whole ‘journey of discovery’ has been a bit of a bust. Taking a deep breath, I slide into the chair across from her. “I think I saw my father in a dreamscape last night.” I nervously drum my fingers on the tabletop. “Is he a ghoul named Tim-29?”
Her face is a cool mask. “Yes, that’s him.”
I cross my fingers. “You’re lying.”
“Never. Tim-29 is your father.”
Mom’s words hit me like a punch to the gut. It’s one thing to suspect your dad’s a ghoul, it’s another, much nastier thing for your Mom to confirm it. I shake my head from side to side. “That can’t be right.”
She purses her lips. “It was a one-night thing. A woman has needs.”
Okay, that’s downright disgusting. “Way too much information, Mom!”
“You seemed to be having a hard time understanding. I wanted to give you a little context.”
I drum my fingers on the tabletop. Something about this doesn’t add up. “I don’t know.”
Mom looks directly into my eyes, her gaze steely and firm. “Have I ever lied to you, Myla?”
I swallow past the knot in my throat. “No.”
“Tim is your father. I realize it’s unconventional. That’s why I kept it from you for so long.”
I twist my lips into a yuck-face. “I still can’t believe you got busy with a ghoul.”
“Attraction comes in many forms. Take Walker, for instance. His grandmother was an archangel.”
I groan. More disgustingness. “You do realize I haven’t eaten.”
“Come on, now. Be open-minded. This kind of thing happens all the time. It’s nothing to get mopey about.”
I frown. “I’m not mopey.” I just want to eat ice cream and cry like it’s my job, that’s all.
Mom raises her eyebrows.
“Okay, maybe I’m a little bit mopey.” I lean back in my chair, letting the news wash over me. “How come I don’t look like, you know?” I pull the skin back on my face.
“You won’t look like a ghoul until you die as a mortal.”
“So, instead of dying, I’ll become a gray-skinned zombie someday. I guess that’s kind-of a bonus.” My head’s officially spinning. “Anything else you want to share?”
“I think that’s enough for one morning, don’t you?”
“Yes, totally.” I hitch my thumb toward the door. “I’m going to play depressing music and get ready for school.”
“I’ll get out the Frankenberry.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I slink back to my room, blast Taylor Swift, and change into the rattiest sweats and t-shirt I can find. Ghouls are some of the grouchiest, most overbearing pains in this astral plane. And they are my people. A gloomy weight settles over me.
I walk back to the kitchen. Every step’s an effort, like my limbs are loaded down with rocks. My mind’s sluggish too. I barely notice breakfast, the long drive to school, or walking through the front doors to Purgatory High. I meander through the sea of students.
It’s official. I’m in the midst of an epic self-pity-fest.
From down the crowded hallway, Cissy spies me and waves. “Hey, Myla!”
I step up to her locker, my brain still a blur. “Morning.” I’m pretty sure Cissy gabs on about some change to gym class. I can’t process her words, so I do my best to smile and look interested. Then, I hear something that sounds like blah-blah-blah Ryder library blah-blah-blah.
I blink and shake my head. “What did you say, Cis?”
“You’re going to the Ryder library after school today, right?”
“Yup.” Maybe I can read up on being a half-ghoul. Yay.
“Great. See you later!” She steps into the crowd. I start the long slog over to History class. Looking up, I half-expect a little black storm-cloud to hover over my head.
I reach my classroom and settle into a chair in the last row. Zeke slides into the seat across the aisle from mine. Blech.
“Hey, Myla.”
“Hi.”
A genuine grin warms his chiseled features. “Did I tell you what Cissy did the other day?”
“No.” I’m pretty sure he starts talking about Cissy, but I’m having issues with my attention span today. I can’t understand a word. Instead, I focus on his cheery face and animated hand gestures. It’s like watching a kitten chase a ball of string. He’s so happy; I can’t help but smile. After a while, his words become clear.
“My parents really like her.” Zeke tosses his mop of golden hair. “They’re showing her the ropes of diplomacy; she’s a natural. Like at this political dinner, she smiled and made small talk with some of the most boring losers ever. It was great.”