Free Connecting by Wendy Corsi Staub

the news,” Dad says, channel surfing. “And there’s never anything good about that. I suppose we could just turn in, but I’m still on LA time.”
    “I’m not that tired yet, either.” Calla hesitates, then asks, “Dad, is there any chance you’re not going to stay in California for the rest of the school year?”
    Of course I’m going to stay there.
    That’s what he’s supposed to say, anyway.
    But what he really says is, “I’m lost there, Calla.”
    “You mean, you’re lonely?”
    He nods. “It’s just not what it was supposed to be. I keep wondering what I’m doing there—probably the same way you feel here.”
    “That’s how I used to feel, but not anymore. Now I like it.
    It feels like home, almost.”
    “Yeah . . . I can see that. I wonder if it would feel like that for me, too.”
    “You mean . . . are you thinking of coming here ?”
    “I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s just . . . there’s more for me here than there is in California . . . or in Florida, for that matter.”
    She’s silent, digesting that.
    Maybe he’s right.
    And maybe part of the reason is that he’s interested in Ramona.
    She didn’t miss the little glances and smiles the two of them exchanged all night. There’s no question that there’s some kind of connection between them.
    “What do you think I should do?” her father asks.
    “Me?” She’s definitely not used to him asking her advice. He’s the parent. Shouldn’t he know what to do? “I . . . I’m not sure, Dad.”
    She doesn’t even know what she should do.
    For a moment, she considers spilling the whole story to him—about the dream, and Darrin, and everything else connected to Mom’s death.
    But that would mean admitting too much.
    And it’s not like her father’s going to give her the green light to go off and investigate on her own.
    More likely, he’ll tell her to start packing her bags.
    It always comes down to that.
    You’re completely on your own, Calla tells herself grimly. It’s up to you to either find out what happened or put it to rest and move on.
    You just have to decide which it’s going to be.

SEVEN
    Monday, September 24
3:09 p.m.
    “Jacy!” Dumping her math notebook into her backpack, Calla hurries to catch up with him as he strides out of the classroom after the last bell. “Wait up!”
    Jacy doesn’t stop walking, and he doesn’t look back, but he does slow down enough to let her fall into step beside him.
    “What’s up?” he asks tersely.
    Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all, she concludes, fumbling with the zipper on her backpack, then slinging it over one shoulder.
    Bold confrontation’s never been her style.
    But then, it’s not like she and Jacy aren’t friends, right? If nothing else.
    And friends talk to each other.
    Which Jacy hasn’t done at all today. Or last week, either, for that matter.
    She’s been trying to convince herself that it might be her imagination that he’s been standoffish. But the other day, he was less than friendly in the cafeteria, and today, when she was really paying close attention, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t talk to her or sit near her or even glance in her direction.
    Which is odd, considering where they left off that night on Odelia’s front porch, when Calla was 99.9 percent sure Jacy would have kissed her good night if Evangeline’s brother, Mason, hadn’t ruined the moment.
    A few nights later, Jacy jogged by Odelia’s house as she was waiting for Blue Slayton to pick her up for a date. Of course, he didn’t know that was where she was going . . .
    Or did he?
    Jacy, like everyone else around here, is a gifted psychic.
    Anyway, Lily Dale isn’t just a small town filled with psychics; it’s a small town, period. Word gets around.
    So Jacy probably knows all about her and Blue—maybe he saw her talking to him in the cafeteria yesterday, even—and now he’s giving her the cold shoulder, because . . .
    Well, because he’s