The Days Of Kelsea's

(29) Demi - First Attempt

"Hi," I blurt out. I bite my lip and then sigh. "Um, I was wondering if I could speak to Kale."

Her slight smile fades, and she runs her eyes across my face and wet hair and woollen coat. I give her a meek, hopeful smile.

"What's your name, honey?" She asks me.

I stare at her. Why won't the woman let me just speak to him? Isn't he nineteen? It's not like he's ten and she has to protect him from strangers.

"I don't know if you heard about Kelsea Richardson," I hear myself saying strongly. Because if Kale and Kelsea got serious, she would know. She would be concerned.

She definitely knows who Kelsea is.

"Yes." Her eyes drop to the ground, staring at my scuffed-up Converse. Then they lift to mine again, looking sad.

"I'm her best friend." I can't keep the slight pride out of my voice. "Demi."

And then Mrs Atticus blinks, and I expect her to call Kale. But instead, she steps back and I stare at her with all hope drained from me because I am not ever going to be able to talk to him and get answers.

"I just want to talk to him." I whisper.

Did she know about him and Kelsea when they became romantic, or not?

Why won't I just read the whole diary and then look for other answers? Because I'm impatient and unsatisfied.

"I know." Now she is staring at me as if I am crazy. "You can go up. He's in his room."

No one else seems to be in the house. As instructed, I go up the cream-carpet stairs, to the second door on the right, and knock. I don't know what to expect, and my heart has suddenly moved right up to my throat, my mouth, my tongue. I gulp as the handle suddenly flips down and the door swings open.

Kale just stares at me when our eyes meet, and slowly the headphones that cover his ears slide down onto his neck. I focus on a green button on his polo shirt, as he opens the door wider and leans against its frame.

"Alright. Let's go for a walk," is what he says, sounding like he totally expected this. I catch a glimpse of his room behind him in all its poster and music glory, and he loses the headphones and adds a hoodie, then shuts the door and strolls past me, down the stairs.

And he doesn't even know why I'm here, but maybe he does. And he wants to talk.

Outside, he kicks rocks as he we stroll. Neither of us say a word, and I don't know what Kale knows, or whether he knows how much I know. But I can't look away from him as we round the corner, noticing more facial hair then there was before, and the way he is holding his mouth as if something threatens to spill out.

"How do you know?" Kale finally asks. He stops in his tracks and just stares at me, his eyes wide.

"Know what." My voice is nothing but a spiteful monotone.

He narrows his eyes and leans closer to me, like he can't really see me. "Did she tell you?"

"Did who tell me what!" I exclaim, my voice high and penetrating the atmosphere. Such a contrast to before. I expect it to start raining, but it doesn't.

He seems to wince, then he pronounces her name. "Kelsea." He says it tentatively, hesitantly, testingly. I just stare at him.

"How do you know, Demi?" He wants to know. He looks so desperate. "She always . . . She never wanted anyone to know. Especially not you."

I groan and then sit down on the pavement. "I hate her!" I scream, running my hand through my damp hair. "I hate her! I hope she's dead!"

That's when Kale grabs me and hauls me up, his grasp painful and weakening. "Fucking tell me!" He exclaims. Not quite shouting. "Was it all just a load of bullshit, all that keeping it - keeping us, me and her - a secret? Did she tell you it all?"

"Everything's a load of bullshit!" I hear myself shout at him, trying to pull away, but his hands grip my arms tightly. "All of this!"

"Demi. What happened to her?" He asks quietly. I don't know how he isn't running away from me right now, or not calling an ambulance to take me away to a mental institution.

I pull away from him so hard, so hard that I fall backwards onto the road. Quickly he pulls me up once more, and shakes me.

"Why don't you tell me," I snarl.

He stares at me, looking thrown off track. Then his eyes widen. "I don't know."

"What?" I snap, straightening up.

"I said, I don't know!" He roars, then staggers backwards and runs a hand through his hair. And tears glisten in his eyes. And I stare at him for a long time, until I can't see for the blurriness of it anymore, and I run away quickly, leaving Kale Atticus to guess about how I do know about him and Kelsea.

And I collapse against a wall further on down the street, pull the diary out of my bag, then let a tear drip down onto the page where the story of when he had his first date with her is.