Parallel Spirits

by Cassia Leo

“In fifth grade? You—”

  “—work fast?” he says.

  I suddenly realize I just agreed to let him show me his drawings, which are probably at his house, in his bedroom. And we haven’t even kissed. No, we have kissed; I just didn’t get to feel it because Mara was possessing me at the time. My mouth goes dry with panic. Where’s Mara?

  I manage to dodge questions from Mr. Avante about why I’m back so early with Nina. When I hop into the front seat of Conor’s car, Dizzy is resting his head on the shoulder of the passenger seat. I can smell his breath as I sit back.

  “Get back, Dizzy,” Conor commands as he presses on Dizzy’s chest to push him into the backseat. “Stay.”

  I smile and shrug my shoulders, unable to think of anything clever to say. Anytime now, Mara.

  “I guess he likes you,” Conor says as he reaches over and I shudder as he brushes the pad of his thumb over my jaw. “You have a little dog saliva there.”

  My hand shoots up to wipe it away and collides with Conor’s fingers. He grabs my hand and places my fingers over a sticky spot on my jaw. He lets go of my hand and looks over his left shoulder before he pulls away from the curb leaving me with a burning sensation where he touched me.

  We’re mostly silent as he drives through the streets of Payne Bay toward the hills, where the wealthier residents of Payne Bay live. All the houses up here are hidden behind eight-foot high stone fences and jungles of greenery. I can’t believe he lives here and he goes to St. Demetrius. Of course, that explains why he goes to St. Demetrius. The tuition is almost as expensive as a private college.

  He pulls into a cobblestone driveway where a tall iron fence stands open to receive him. The semicircular driveway curves around a patch of grass so green it appears painted. In the center of the patch of grass is a marble fountain with a copper sculpture of a woman holding a baby over her head as the water trickles from her hair. It takes a moment for me to realize the woman is Mary and the baby must be Jesus. I’ve never seen Mary and Jesus depicted in such a carefree manner. It’s disarming.

  Conor stops the car in front of the steps, which lead to a pair of ten-foot tall black double doors. The house itself looks like a modern castle with a gray slate exterior façade and arched windows that sparkle in the afternoon sunlight. The house is very intimidating.

  “I know. It’s way over the top,” Conor says. “But that’s my parents. They’re very concerned with appearances.”

  I look down at my cropped jean shorts and orange Sunwear T-shirt Frankie got me at one of his competitions. Suddenly, I feel very underdressed, especially if his parents are home.

  “You look fine,” he says as he reaches across the console and grabs my hand. He gives it a tiny squeeze as he smiles at me. “You look better than fine. You’re stunning.”

  There’s that word again: stunning. Does he really find me stunning? Conor’s face blurs and everything in the car takes on a soft edge.

  Mara’s back.

  I squeeze Conor’s hand in return and flash him a confident smile. “Let’s go see that drawing.”

  As we enter through the tall double-doors, I’m amazed at the décor. It’s so modern, all shades of black, white, and brown with splashes of green here and there, but there’s a definite feeling of history embedded in the curve of the mirror in the foyer and the dark wood banister.

  “You home is gorgeous,” I say and Conor shrugs as he sets Dizzy loose.

  “It’s not really my home,” he says, and I sense a bit of resentment in his voice. “At least, it won’t be once I graduate in two weeks.”

  “You’re moving out?” I ask as the sound of clicking footsteps registers in my ears.

  Conor and I both turn toward the doorway on our left. Through the doorway, the room appears to be some sort of study with bookshelves and cold marble floors. A woman appears in the doorway as she enters the foyer. She has dark hair and wears a lovely fuchsia dress that grazes her ankles as it flows out behind her. Her slender shoulders are a tanned olive color and her face looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine.

  “Conor, you didn’t tell me you were bringing guests,” she says as she smiles at me. Her smile is enchanting, but I sense tension behind it, like an animal ready to pounce. She knows I don’t belong here. “I would have made an effort to appear more presentable.”

  Conor stands behind her and slightly to her left. He rolls his eyes as if to say, “Don’t let her intimidate you.”

  I reach out my hand to her (well, Mara does) and his mother tilts her head as she takes my hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Martin. I’m Belinda,” I say in a cool tone. “You have a gorgeous home and that dress is stunning.” Mara has stolen Conor’s word and he smiles at me from behind his mother’s shiny black hair.

  “Very nice to meet you, Belinda. Please call me, Vanessa,” she replies as she places her other hand over mine so she’s cupping it between her willowy hands. She stares at me for just a beat before she releases me. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair now. I’m off to the salon to interview a stylist. And, oh, yes. Your aunt wants you to take Dizzy back tonight. Be good, Conor.”

  She kisses him on the cheek, before she exits gracefully through the tall doors. Conor’s face comes sharply into focus as Mara exits my body. He stares at me as if he’s waiting for me to say something about his mother.

  I smile at him. “She seems really nice.”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. “It’s all an act.”

  The way he says this makes me think of the last time I saw Frankie’s mom, before she abandoned him and his dad five years ago. She made us a plate piled high with grilled cheese sandwiches for our study snack, but something felt strange. Frankie’s mom had only cooked for us twice before. I’ll never forget the remoteness in Frankie’s eyes that day. He knew something was wrong. His mother left the next morning. I wonder how often adults act as if everything is okay when the secrets are actually burning them from the inside out.

  We climb the cream carpeted staircase that curves to the left and land in a wide corridor that could be a corridor in a fancy hotel. When we reach Conor’s bedroom at the end of the hallway, I’m amazed to find it’s not much bigger than my bedroom and even more sparsely furnished. He has a single nightstand next to a twin bed and a glass desk with a leather desk chair. The only other furnishings are the shelves above the desk and dozens of dazzling trophies and medals that stand out against the clean white walls.

  “You’ve been busy,” I say as my eyes are assaulted with so much glinting metal I begin to see spots.

  He glides toward the desk and picks up a sketchbook. “Appearances,” he mutters as he rifles through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for. “Trophies only mean something if they get you where you want to go. Sit.”

  I take a seat on his bed and I’m amazed at how comfortable it feels compared to my crummy mattress. “So… have your trophies gotten you anywhere?”

  Conor sits next to me and holds the sketchbook in his lap facing down so I can’t see the drawing. “I guess I can’t complain since you’re sitting here next to me.” He smiles shyly and my heart stutters. “But I won’t really know if any of this stuff matters until after I graduate.”

  “What happens after you graduate?”

  A guarded smile turns up the corners of his mouth as he stares at the backside of the sketchbook. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

  A secret. I hate secrets.

  I nudge him with my shoulder. “Let’s see that drawing.”

  He turns toward me and I’m suddenly aware of how fast I’m breathing. His lips look so naturally pink from this close up.

  “Don’t laugh, okay. I’m not exactly Leonardo da Vinci.”

  “Oh, just flip it over already.”

  He chuckles as he turns the sketchbook over in his hands. My breath hitches in my chest. It’s me. My gaze is cast downward and my wild, wavy hair obscures half my face. He’s drawn an elegant flower over my ear—a hi
biscus. I look pretty, except my eyes look… so sad. Is this the way I look to him?

  “It’s not finished,” he says as he closes the sketchbook.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you like it?” he says with the tiniest hint of desperation.

  “I love it,” I whisper with a nod. “I do.”

  Conor’s face lights up. “Do you want to see some more?”

  He shows me a few dozen more drawings, all of them of landscapes or single flowers. I’m the only human subject in the entire book. The sun beating through the tall window begins to feel oppressive.

  “Can we go outside?” I say as I stand from the bed.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just a little hot,” I reply, twisting my hair up into a knot to hold it away from my neck. “Can you take me home? I have a lot of homework to do.”

  Conor stands and tosses the sketchbook onto his bed. He appears disappointed as he takes a step toward me. “You can do your homework here, if you want. I can help you.”

  It seems everyone wants to offer me assistance these days. I’m afraid of what will happen if I take him up on this offer.

  “I can’t. My mom will be home soon and she’s expecting me to help her with some… organizing.”

  Organizing?

  “Okay,” he says with a smile. He knows this is a lie. He leans toward me and all I can think is that I can see every pore and every speck of stubble on Conor’s jaw. I close my eyes and it happens.

  His lips are so soft and they taste both sweet and salty. He slips his tongue into my mouth and goose bumps sprout all over my skin. He places one hand on the small of my back and the other on my face as he pulls my body against his. I feel as if I’m floating in his arms. It only lasts a few seconds before he pulls his head back. If he weren’t holding my waist, I would probably collapse.

  His gaze slides over every corner of my face. “Your skin is beautiful,” he whispers.

  Frankie’s words echo in my mind and I quickly push Conor away. “I have to go.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks as he follows me out of the bedroom.

  “I told you. I have homework.”

  What is wrong with me? This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Or is this what Mara wants? I’m beginning to think I don’t know the difference.

  Chapter 16

  Sometimes I wonder if I’m Lily or Mara. My human life as Lily lasted slightly longer than my human life as Mara. Or, maybe I’m defined by my experience as a carrier spirit. Questions like these once played on a loop inside my brain and tortured me every night. Did I belong to Darius or Samuel, Reno or… Tuket?

  After I jumped off the cliff into the ocean, my spirit fled Oregon. I don’t know what happened to Tuket. I don’t know if he was ever punished for killing Reno. I don’t know how my father and sister dealt with my death. They must have hated me for bringing shame upon the family with my forbidden love affair and suicide.

  I hated myself for so many years. After the accident on the beach with Darius, I lived with the shadow spirits. I spent my nights and days in the dark despair of the spirit realm as the shadow spirits fed on my misery. Even when I made it out of the spirit realm and back to Earth, I couldn’t leave the shadow spirits behind. I couldn’t see them, but I felt them all around me, dwelling in the gloomy corners of attics and bedrooms, draining my hope.

  There is no harsher punishment than that which is self-inflicted.

  My mother spoke those words to me in the old language when I was eleven, right before she died. I didn’t know it then, but I’ve learned a lot over the past 372 years. My mother died of cholera. I have never crossed paths with her spirit because she died in relative peace. Her spirit was not torn from her body the way mine was when I saw Reno murdered.

  How can Tuket be a carrier spirit? Why was his spirit ripped from his body? I wish I knew the answers to these questions. I may never know what happened after I leaped off that cliff, but I’ll be damned if I’ll allow Tuket to hurt Belinda the way he hurt me.

  Chapter 17

  I lie awake all night thinking about that kiss. Conor’s mouth on mine. His hand on my back. His hips pressed firmly against mine. When I kissed Henry Rosales two years ago, I was too worried about choking on my bubble gum to enjoy it. The kiss with Conor was all about feeling, tasting, sensing, and responding. When I kissed Frankie on March 23rd, it was… even more. So much more. I wish I knew what that meant, or if it means anything at all.

  I finally climb out of bed at 4:50 a.m. to take a shower. I’m showered, dressed, and made up by six a.m. when my mom creeps into the shower. I knock on the bathroom door and yell over the sound of the shower. “I’m walking to Frankie’s!”

  Something, a bottle of shampoo or something, falls in the shower. “Oh! You scared the heck out of me!” she screams through the door. “Why are you awake?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. I’ll see you later!”

  “Bye, honey! Remember your pepper spray!”

  Locking the front door behind me, I step out into the predawn darkness. Mist rises from the dewy lawns along Harcourt Avenue. I walk briskly past Mr. Avante’s house and turn right onto Jasper Street. I practically jog the three blocks down Jasper until I make another right on Susan Place. I wonder who all these streets are named after. Whoever Jasper and Susan were, they weren’t important enough to get their last names on the signs.

  I knock on the door at 4327 Susan Place, a midsize suburban home painted a burnt gold with white trim. My stomach is in knots as I wait for someone to answer. Frankie’s dad is an electrical foreman on a construction site, so he usually leaves the house by five a.m. I knock again just as Frankie opens the door.

  He’s still in his pajama pants and no shirt, squinting at me through the hazy gray sunlight. “What the fuck?” he mutters groggily.

  Hesitating for a moment, I finally push my way past him. He stands by the open front door with his hand on the door handle, still squinting at me as if he’s trying to figure out whether he’s dreaming.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I say as I drop my backpack next to the coffee table and lie down on his sofa. The darkness of the room and the comfort of being near Frankie have suddenly made me sleepy.

  He closes the front door and locks it; even taking the time to secure the chain. “Go to sleep. I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

  He wakes me an hour later, after he’s showered and dressed, to ask if I want some cereal. We eat our bowls of Cap’n Crunch in silence, then hop into his van and go to school. For a moment, as he drives down Mariposa Blvd. with just the relentless rumble of the engine between us, I get the feeling that this is how it would be if Frankie and I were a couple. Carrying on conversations in silence. Reveling in the comfort of the silence. When you know someone so well that a simple raised eyebrow or smile communicates an entire story.

  When third period rolls around, I feel anxious as if I broke some kind of friendship rule this morning. It’s not the first time I’ve shown up at Frankie’s house before school, but it’s the first time I’ve done it since the-date-that-shall-not-be-mentioned. As soon as he enters the classroom, he looks directly at me and winks.

  “What was that?” I say as he takes his seat in front of me.

  “What?” He twists around in his seat and reaches toward me, grabbing the sides of my desk, which is attached to my seat. He pulls my desk forward and the legs of my chair make a loud screeching noise as they scrape the tile floor.

  “What are you doing?” I say, slapping his hands away as everyone in class stares at us with that knowing look. Most everyone at Pacific High assumes Frankie and I are couple because we’re inseparable. I really don’t care what they think.

  Frankie smiles as he turns around to face the front of the classroom. I poke the middle of his back to get his attention.

  “Hey!”

  “You shouldn’t fall asleep around me,” he says, without turning around.

  “What’s that supposed to
mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  I get a sudden feeling he wrote something on my forehead while I was sleeping, but someone would have told me by now. What is he talking about?

  “You want to go to the beach with me today?” he asks as the bell rings and Mrs. Preciso begins erasing the white-board.

  “Are you going to give me another lesson?”

  “That depends on how you’re planning to repay me?”

  “I’ll buy you an iced coffee.”

  “I was thinking of something else, but I guess I’ll settle for coffee.”

  I’m stunned into silence by this comment. He leans his head all the way back so his face is upside down and his sun-kissed auburn curls are fanned out across my desk.

  I draw in a shaky breath, trying to appear unaffected by him. “I can see the inside of your nostrils,” I tease him.

  “I can see yours, too,” he says as he reaches back. For a split second, I’m certain he’s going to stick his finger in my nostril, but he taps the tip of my nose softly and smiles before he sits upright again.

  I can’t tell if it’s Frankie or me who did it first, or if we both did it at the same time, but I think we just crossed the line into dangerous friendship territory.

  Chapter 18

  I watch Belinda and Frankie from the shore as he attempts to teach her how to stand on a surfboard. It’s the kind of skill that most people practice on the sand, but Frankie has convinced Belinda that she’s ready to learn in the water. I guess I should be happy that I don’t have to watch in agony the way I do when she’s with Conor, but the idea of Belinda with Frankie—with Tuket—makes my skin crawl.

  But there’s something different about him and I can’t help but wonder what Tuket did to earn his body back. I guess it all depends on how he lost his body in the first place. My spirit detached from intense heartbreak, which is why I have to create love to restore the balance—only then will I earn my body back. But what happened to Tuket?