Ghost of a Chance

by Lauren Barnholdt

  “What kind of family situation?” he asks, sounding suspicious.

  “It’s personal.” I’m hoping this will suffice, since obviously there is no family situation. I put what I hope is a serious look on my face and quickly rack my brain, trying to think of something I could use that wouldn’t technically be a lie. I could tell him about my dad’s high cholesterol. Although, that’s not really a pressing situation, and besides, I don’t want to tempt fate by exaggerating my dad’s health problems. I mean, that would so not be cool.

  Ooh, I could use the excuse of me getting a new stepmother. Of course, my dad and his girlfriend, Cindy, aren’t engaged, but they are in a pretty serious relationship. My dad gave her a promise ring so that she wouldn’t move to Virginia and everything. And besides, everyone knows teenagers have tons of problems when it comes to blended families. Especially me, since I obviously have abandonment issues due to my mother leaving me when I was young. Mr. Jacobi doesn’t know about that, but I wouldn’t mind telling him.

  Still, it’s always risky when you start talking about having a hard time at home, because teachers are usually quick to send you to the guidance counselor’s office. Honestly, has anyone ever really been helped by the guidance counselors? Mine is named Ms. Westlake, and I see her once a year to get scheduled for my classes.

  “That’s fine, Miss Williams,” Mr. Jacobi says.

  “Really?” Wow. He’s not even going to make me explain myself ? Yay! Looks like my luck is turning around.

  “Yes, really,” he says.

  “Thank you for understanding, Mr. Jacobi,” I say seriously, and then start to head out of the classroom. I want to go running out into the hall in celebration, but I control myself. Someone dealing with a pressing personal issue would not be running in jubilation.

  “Oh, Miss Williams?” Mr. Jacobi calls after me.

  I turn around. “Yes?”

  “I feel it’s only fair to let you know that if you don’t get this extra credit, you will be in danger of failing my class.”

  “Failing?”

  “Yes.” He licks his finger and turns a page in his grade book, looking for my name. How gross, licking his finger like that. I make a mental note to wash my hands every time he hands a paper back to me. Who knows what kind of germs I’ve been exposed to.

  “How is that possible?” I knew things were bad, but I had no idea I was in danger of failing the class.

  “Well, the midterm counts for thirty percent of your grade.”

  “But we haven’t had our midterm yet.”

  “Well, if you don’t do this extra credit, you would need to get at least a B on the midterm to make sure you pull up the rest of your grade. And if you do not achieve at least a B on the midterm, you will fail the class. And then, Miss Williams, I will be seeing you again next year.”

  Oh. My. God. Next year? With Mr. Jacobi? There’s no way I’m going to get less than a B on the midterm. I don’t care if I have to study for, like, a month straight. Of course, I don’t have Brandon to help me anymore. But still. Another whole year with Mr. Jacobi? I can’t think of anything worse than that.

  And do I really want to risk it? Just because I’m afraid of Madison Baker?

  I sigh. “I’ll be there this afternoon,” I say.

  “Great,” Mr. Jacobi says, and then he gives me a satisfied smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Ugh.

  Chapter

  4

  Why is it that when you have something fun to do after school, like going shopping, the day seems to drag on forever? And when you have something you’re dreading, the minutes seem like seconds and the hours seem like minutes? Before I know it, the day is over and it’s time to gather in the lobby to head over to the elementary school.

  Stoneridge Elementary is only a couple of blocks away from the middle school. It’s a brand-new building that was built the year after I graduated from elementary school. Which is really unfair when you think about it. Also, why did they build a new elementary school? Everyone knows that little kids don’t care about things like what their school looks like. They’re just happy to actually be in school.

  Anyway, whoever it is who’s in charge of these things (the principal?) has apparently decided that in an effort to save money, we’re going to be walking over to the elementary school instead of taking a bus.

  This fact is making Mr. Jacobi very angry.

  “Apparently, saving money is more important to some people than student safety,” he grumbles as he does a head count. “And now it’s up to me to make sure none of you get hit by a car.”

  He glares at the group of us, like he just knows someone is going to be stupid enough to get hit by a car. Not that I can blame him. I glance over at Jason Fields, who’s running around the lobby with his hands outstretched, pretending to be an airplane circling in for a landing.

  I can’t believe they think it’s okay for him to go and tutor elementary school students. I mean, look at him. He’s obviously like an elementary school student himself. He’s been doing that same move since second grade.

  Mr. Jacobi checks us all off on a list, and then we move through the door and out into the fall day.

  The air is colder than I expected, and I reach into my pockets to pull out my purple-and-lavender-striped gloves. My fingers instantly warm up, but a little shiver runs through my body anyway.

  Wearing the gloves reminds me of a couple weeks ago, when Brandon, Kyle, Ellie, and I all went ice-skating together. It was one of the first times that I felt like Brandon and I were a real couple.

  But that was before. Before everything turned into a huge mess, before Brandon broke up with me, before the three of them started hating me.

  I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry.

  I force myself to look straight ahead and focus on the horizon in front of me. I read somewhere that you should do that if you’re in a boat and you start to feel seasick. Something about how focusing on one spot is supposed to make you feel grounded. Maybe it’ll work for feeling sick to your stomach about your best friend and your boyfriend both ditching you.

  Surprisingly, my new focusing-on-the-horizon technique does make me start to feel better, but after a second or two I start to get distracted by the fact that I can see Brandon walking a few yards ahead of me. I let out a sigh of relief when I see he’s not walking with Madison.

  In fact, I don’t see Madison anywhere. Is it possible that maybe she decided not to do this whole tutoring thing? Leave it to Madison Baker to figure out a way to get out of it. She probably sweet-talked Mr. Jacobi into letting her quit. And her math grades probably aren’t any better than mine. I mean, I don’t see how they can be. She never takes any notes.

  I glance around, looking for Madison, and I finally spot her a few rows back. She’s chattering away to someone I can’t see. Probably one of her little minions, the puppy-dog-like girls who follow her around and make her feel important. Seriously, how can people not see through her?

  I sigh and keep walking. I can see the elementary school in the distance now, and I forget about my plan to keep my eyes fixed on the horizon. Instead I keep them locked on the ground, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

  If I have to be in a group with Brandon and Madison, I don’t have to be obsessed with looking at them. In fact, I really shouldn’t care about them at all. Brandon’s not my boyfriend anymore. He’s not even my friend. And so what he does is none of my business.

  I am a secure, confident woman. And if Brandon isn’t secure enough to handle the fact that I can see ghosts, well then, that’s his problem, not mine.

  Although.

  One quick look at Brandon wouldn’t hurt, would it? I mean, it’s not like I’m obsessed with him or anything. And when you think about it, it’s probably better to know where he is. You know, so that I can make sure to avoid him.

  I peek back up toward the front of our class, but I can’t see Brandon anymore. His perfectly
highlighted (naturally, of course—Brandon would never do anything like highlight his hair—he’s way too manly for that) head is nowhere to be seen.

  I glance behind me, but I don’t see Madison anywhere either. I’m about to kind of freak out when I spot her, walking with Allison Lee.

  Hmm. Maybe this whole not-trying-to-keep-my-eyes-on-them thing isn’t the best strategy. Maybe telling myself that I shouldn’t be watching them is going to make me want to watch them even more. It’s, like, too tempting.

  I slow down my pace a little bit and move to the left of the crowd. I walk even more slowly until, finally, Madison is ahead of me. I’m so stealth! She didn’t even notice that I was dropping behind her so that I could spy on her.

  Of course, this is probably because she’s totally self-involved. I mean, right now she’s telling Allison Lee all about the new pool her dad’s putting in just for her, and how he’s making it aqua because that’s her favorite color. Which is kind of ridiculous. I mean, aren’t all pools aqua? I highly doubt her dad got an aqua pool just because she wanted it.

  What if her favorite color was brown? Was her dad going to get an ugly brown pool? I doubt it. That would have been horrible for property values. And grown-ups are always worried about property values. At least that was the excuse my dad used when I wanted to paint ladybugs all over the outside of our house in the third grade. I was really mad at him at the time, but now I’m grateful. Could you imagine being in seventh grade and living in a ladybug house? How humiliating.

  I’m at the back of the pack now, and I quicken my step just a little bit so that I don’t fall too far behind. Now that I’m not walking as fast, I’m starting to get cold, and I take my hat out of my pocket and pull it down over my ears.

  “Cute hat,” a girl’s voice says behind me.

  “Thank you,” I say automatically. I turn around to see who it is behind me, especially since I thought I was the last one in line.

  It’s an older girl, maybe around eighteen or nineteen, with curly brown hair and full lips. Her cheeks are flushed, but in an adorable way, not in a wow-it’s-cold-out-and-I-look-a-mess kind of way.

  “Are you a volunteer?” I ask. A lot of times when we have field trips, they bring along some high school or college volunteers to make sure none of us get into trouble.

  She frowns. “I’m Madison’s sister.”

  “Oh.” I try to hide my surprise and just keep walking. “Well, if you’re looking for your sister, she’s right up there.”

  No way I want to get into a conversation with Madison’s sister. I mean, someone had to teach Madison everything she knows. Madison probably somehow charmed Mr. Jacobi into letting her sister chaperone us, even though it’s a total conflict of interest.

  “So, where are we going, anyway?” Madison’s sister asks, obviously not getting the picture that she should be hanging out with Madison and not me.

  And, wow. Talk about not being prepared for your job.

  “The elementary school,” I say, even though it’s pretty obvious, since the whole group is turning into the long, winding driveway. The long, winding driveway that has a huge stone sign in front of it that says STONERIDGE ELEMENTARY.

  “For what?”

  “To tutor kids in math!” I say, exasperated. “Did you not pay attention when you were asked to chaperone?” I realize it’s probably not the best idea to antagonize Madison’s sister, especially if she’s going to be in some kind of position of authority, but I can’t help it.

  Plus if she gives a really bad report about me to Mr. Jacobi, maybe he’ll kick me out of the program, and then I’ll have no choice but to not do this anymore. I glance at Madison’s sister out of the corner of my eye, wondering if she’s the type to tattle. She doesn’t seem like she is. She seems like she’s totally unconcerned with everything that’s going on. She’s not even wearing a coat, and it’s, like, forty degrees out.

  “What do you mean, chaperoning?” she asks. “No one said anything about being a chaperone!” She looks kind of panicked.

  “Relax,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You don’t have to freak out. I’m sure it’s not going to be that much work.” God. These spoiled rich kids are so entitled.

  “Oh.” She relaxes. “So it’s not like rolling a fireball up a hill for eternity or something?”

  I shake my head. “What are you talking about, rolling a fireball up a hill?”

  “You know.” She lowers her voice. “H-E double hockey sticks?” She has this really scared look on her face. What is up with this girl? Madison’s sister obviously has a screw loose.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I start to quicken my pace a little bit. Time to get away from this lunatic.

  “Hey!” she calls as I start to walk away from her. “What’s your name?”

  I think about giving her a fake one, but then I realize she’s probably going to find out my name soon enough anyway. I sigh. “Kendall,” I say.

  She nods. “Kendall. Pretty name.” I look at her for any signs that she’s being fake or sarcastic, but she’s not. “I’m Lily.”

  “Lily,” I say. “Okay, sounds good!” I turn around and start to walk back toward the front of our group, but she calls my name.

  I turn around. “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you one more question?”

  “I guess.” We’re almost at the door to the elementary school now, and I’m this close to getting away from her.

  She tugs on a strand of her hair and looks around, confused. “How come nobody can hear me but you?”

  * * *

  Great. Lily’s a ghost. How, how, how does this keep happening to me? Seriously, until recently, none of the ghosts I saw had any personal connection to me. Now, in the span of, like, a month, I’ve attracted Brandon’s mom, and now Madison’s sister. (And Micah’s sister too, but she doesn’t really count. I mean, I found Micah because of her, not the other way around.)

  I have a vague memory of Ellie telling me something about Madison Baker’s sister dying. But that was a few weeks before school started, and for some reason I just assumed Madison’s sister was a lot older than us. Like, twenty-five or something. Plus Madison wasn’t really on my radar at that time—I didn’t have a crush on Brandon then, so she didn’t really have any bearing on my life.

  I really should start asking everyone I know about their dead relatives so I can be better prepared for this. Or at least start keeping a list.

  “I don’t know why no one can hear you but me,” I say, turning and walking quickly toward the elementary school. I follow the line of my classmates into the school, letting the warm inside air envelop me like a nice cozy blanket. My new plan is to just ignore Lily. No way I want to get involved with anyone related to Madison Baker. Plus I kind of have no choice. I can’t talk to Lily when people are around. No one can hear her. They’ll think I’m crazy and talking to myself.

  Mr. Jacobi is standing in the lobby, looking down at a clipboard and talking to another teacher, probably from the elementary school. I didn’t realize it when I first walked in, probably because I was so distracted by Lily, but there’s already a bunch of middle school kids standing around in the lobby. Must be kids from other classes at our school who are also involved in the program.

  I look back up toward Mr. Jacobi. Why aren’t we getting this show on the road? I really want to get this over with. But he’s not showing any signs of being productive. He’s just chatting away with the elementary school teacher. She’s short and pretty, with long red curls and a fair complexion. Probably he thinks he’s going to make a love connection with her. At the expense of his own class.

  Lily’s in the corner now, frowning as she stands on her tiptoes and looks around. I hope she’s looking for her sister and not me. I quickly turn around and get very busy staring at the wall, where a bunch of second graders have hung up their art projects. Hopefully, if I don’t meet Lily’s eye, she’ll get the message that I don’t want to be bothered.

  Wow. Th
ese art projects are actually really good. One of the kids drew a picture of a donkey, and it looks just like a real donkey. Every time I try to draw pictures of animals, I always end up messing up the legs. But this kid really knows how to draw. I look at the name on the bottom. Drawing by Tatiana Shaw. She’s probably some kind of seven-year-old art savant or something.

  This picture’s probably going to be worth millions someday. That’s totally how people make big money in the art world. They have an eye for talent, and they snatch up paintings before anyone’s ever heard of the artist, and then, when the artist gets big, the buyer sells the paintings and gets rich. That’s what Ellie’s aunt used to do. Of course, then she ended up making a mistake and sinking all her money into this one artist whose art never really panned out, and she lost everything.

  But I’ll bet I could get this one really cheap, since the artist is only in second grade. Although I’m not sure pictures of donkeys are really that much in demand. And now that I’m looking at it, this donkey might actually be a horse. It has ears like a donkey, but its height is definitely—

  “Yo, girl,” someone says, and pulls my hat off my head.

  I turn around. Micah.

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. “It’s you.”

  “Yup. It’s me.” He grins.

  “I didn’t realize you’d be here,” I say. “I didn’t know eighth graders were participating in this program.”

  “Only some of us.” He grins and wiggles his eyebrows up and down, like he’s letting me in on some kind of secret. Then he leans in and says, “I’m actually very good at math. But a lot of people don’t realize that because I’m so good-looking.”

  I stare at him blankly, wondering if he’s joking. He doesn’t seem like he’s joking, but he can’t seriously think it’s okay for him to claim he’s so good-looking that a lot of people don’t know he’s smart, can he? Like, on what planet is that acceptable? Not to mention, you don’t even have to be good at math to be here. I mean, I’m here. So the standards are pretty low.

  “Well, that’s great.” I reach out and take my hat out of his hands and shove it into my pocket. Then I stand on my tiptoes and pretend to be looking around for someone. Lily’s still in the corner, and when she sees me, she waves. I quickly look past her, wondering what would happen if I just pretended I couldn’t see or hear her, like everyone else.