Page 130 of Cryptic Curse
I pet Ziggy’s soft mane.
“Have you seen Falcon?”I ask.
“He and Leif and a few others went into town for something,” she says.
Right.They went into town to look for girls, of course.
I’m starting to notice girls.Leif has a couple sisters, Scarlett and Laney.They’re both pretty.But the one I really like is a townie named Laura Wright.She’s blond and gorgeous and has eyes even bluer than mine.She’s a year older than I am, though, and last I heard, she had eyes only for my big brother.
That’s how it will always be.
Hawk Bellamy, as an individual, doesn’t exist.Only Falcon’s brother exists.
“Hey, snap out of it!”
Robin’s voice startles me, and I turn to find her giving me a strange look.
“You’ve been staring into space for a solid minute.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.“Just thinking about…stuff.”
Robin snorts.“Stuff, huh?Like Laura Wright?”
My cheeks heat up and I look away.“What?No!”
Robin gives me one of those knowing looks that makes me uncomfortable.She’s always been too perceptive for her own good.That’s why she’s so good with the animals.She knows what they’re feeling without them having to say it.Because they can’t say anything, of course.
I shove my hands into my pockets and head back into the house.Who can I talk to about Laura Wright?About the feelings that are coiled up inside me as my body begins these changes that are slowly making me crazy?
Certainly not my mother.
Not my brother.He won’t give me the time of day.
That leaves only…
My father.
My father, who I don’t even like much, but he always says we can come to him with anything.
Right.
Ted.
I can talk to Ted.He’ll understand.Maybe he’ll be able to help.
But he’s with my dad in his office.
Neither of them are available to me right now.
I let out a sigh.
Maybe Ted and my dad are done with their business.I head toward his office on the west wing of our house and get ready to knock when I hear something odd.
It’s muffled at first.Just a soft, broken sound that slips through the crack beneath the door, like the room itself is trying to hold it in.
But I hear it.I feel it.The way it catches, like something stuck in the throat—raw, unsteady.A choked sob.
It’s not loud.Not dramatic.It’s the kind of sound someone makes when they’re trying not to cry, when they’re losing the fight but still trying to keep it quiet.
