Shift

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Same me. Nothing was different on the outside.

  On the inside, of course, everything had changed.

  You and Zach are, like, secret lovers?” Megan whispered across the lunchroom table. “That is so hot.”

  “Not lovers.” I glanced beyond her shoulder to where he sat with Becca and her friends. “Not yet.” He’d given me a hello and a secretive smile as he’d passed our table, and I’d resisted the urge to stare as he walked away. Mostly.

  “You two’re the last people I’d expect to do this. You guys like rules, and not just for the sake of breaking them.” Megan clinked her bottle of iced tea against mine. “But it’s nice to see you happy.”

  “I look happy?”

  “You’re glowing.”

  “Glowing with guilt, maybe.” I snuck another peek at Zachary, who I noticed had sat across from Becca. When he ate lunch with us, he always sat beside me, close enough to touch my arm when I said something funny, or to use my utensils to illustrate a new soccer play.

  I popped the lid off my own iced tea and peeked under the cap, hoping it would have the same spiral as the one Zachary had given me last night.

  Nope—it had a checkered diamond pattern. But there was a spiral on Megan’s cap, lying on the table between us.

  “Hey!” Jenna and Christopher arrived, speaking their greeting in unison as usual.

  “Oh my God,” Megan said, “that belt buckle is a thing of beauty.”

  Jenna tapped the silver skull buckle with her long black-lacquered nails. “Do you not love it to death?”

  While Megan was admiring Jenna’s accessories, I switched our bottle caps so I could have the one with the spiral, feeling like an obsessive dork.

  “Aura, what the hell?” Jenna said as she slid into the chair next to Megan. “I thought for sure Zach was going to ask you to the prom the other day in the courtyard.”

  “No, he—” I shut my mouth without telling them he’d asked (and un-asked) me Friday night. No way I’d admit being that stupid. “He just wanted to show me his driver’s license.”

  “Now that he’s taking Becca, bizarre as that is, we made you a list of consolation prizes. Chris?”

  Beside me, Christopher nudged my arm with a sheet of paper. “Pick your top three and I’ll drop some not-so-subtle hints.”

  I examined the list of guys, all of them juniors on Christopher’s varsity lacrosse team. None of the names made me gag, but none of them made me glow, either. “Thanks, but I’m skipping the prom.”

  I was greeted with a chorus of “What!?”

  Megan ripped open her bag of Old Bay–seasoned potato chips. “Aura, don’t even think about it.”

  “You cannot not go,” Jenna said.

  “It’s a free country.” I squeezed the bottle cap in my hand. “Besides, I’ve decided the prom is so establishment. You guys should boycott, too. It would be totally punk.”

  “My dress is totally punk,” Megan said. “Prom punk. We’re going.” She patted the list. “Pick a dude.”

  “Why would they want to go with me?”

  Jenna snorted. “Maybe because you’re hot?”

  I knew what she really meant. Ever since people had found out that Logan and I had gotten semi-kinky after his death, guys had the wrong idea about me. They figured if I’d take off my clothes for a ghost, I’d do it for anyone who breathed. Especially on prom night, the national holiday for hookups.

  I folded the list, creasing the paper hard, as if to smother the possibility of a non-Zachary guy expecting me to kiss him good night—or more. “I’ll get back to you.”

  “By tomorrow, okay?” Jenna pointed at the paper. “Those options won’t last.”

  I shoved the list deep into my bag. Good.

  As Zachary walked into our seventh-period history class, he set a book on the corner of my desk. “For our project, what we talked about last night.” Then he went to his seat by the window, not waiting for my reaction.

  I picked up the book, a tourist guide to Ireland’s historical sights. One of the four photos on the front was a bird’s-eye view of New-grange. It showed the passage tomb’s enormous flat-topped mound, ringed with a brilliant white-quartz wall and covered in lush green grass.

  I lingered on the photo, thinking of my mother. Had she carried a book like this on her travels? Had she pored over it on the flight to Dublin, daydreaming of the places she’d see?

  A folded index card stuck out of the section labeled Accommodation. On the card’s outside fold was Zachary’s neat print:

  Read the bit in the book first.

  He had highlighted the caption under a photo of a small, ivy-draped stone castle. The entry read:

  Twenty kilometres from Newgrange, the snug but luxurious Ballyrock contains ten charming suites, two on each floor, outfitted with twenty-first-century comforts while maintaining an air of medieval mystery. Enjoy tea on a private balcony or cozy up with your beloved in front of an open hearth.

  Recommended for over-eighteens, as Ballyrock is not BlackBoxed and is confirmed to be haunted by a dozen or more ghosts.

  I unfolded the index card. Here Zachary had written in a tight, slanted script. Had he made it barely legible on purpose, so no one could read it over my shoulder? Seemed like something he’d do.

  Aura,

  I dreamed of you last night.

  A shiver zinged through me. I imagined his voice rolling the r’s, and dropping the t’s as if they didn’t exist.

  You slept in this castle, surrounded by ghosts who all wanted your time, who all wanted your eyes on them. But none came into your room, because I was sleeping beside you. And when you woke, your eyes were only on me.

  Someday I’ll take you to this place. I promise I’ll keep away the ghosts.

  Z

  I folded the note, then pressed it against my stomach to soothe the jitters. Afraid to look at Zachary, I stared at the photo on the page, wishing I could jump into it with him right now. The way the fog folded around the turrets made me think of how his arms had wrapped around me last night, and how they might wrap again, inside that very stone building.

  When I could finally lift my head without spontaneously combusting, I peeked at Zachary’s feet. That way I could see if he shifted his weight to look at me, without making it obvious I was staring.

  Finally his foot moved, then his hip, then his head onto his fist, in an attempt to look slightly bored, yet politely listening to Mrs. Richards’s lecture. All while casually turning in my direction.

  I looked at his face as his gaze flicked back to meet mine. He held it, held it, held it, while my entire body turned to flame.

  Zachary was waiting at my locker after class. I was grateful he hadn’t tried to talk to me at my desk, where my babbling idiocy would’ve attracted attention. Here the hallway noise would cover up the lust in my voice.

  “So what do you think?” he asked, like he was inquiring about the assignment.

  I opened my locker, trying not to fumble with the knob. “Possibly doable. The site, I mean.” Not you—you are supremely, impossibly doable. “Can you make it happen?”

  “I think so.” He draped his arm over the open door, then straightened up, as if realizing he’d fallen into a flirtatious posture.

  “Maybe, um . . .” I stared into my locker, drawing a complete blank as to which books I needed for homework. “Maybe we could meet tonight to discuss it?”

  “I’d love to.” His voice’s deep husk weakened my knees, but then he gave a harsh grunt. “No—bugger it, I can’t. Becca’s family invited me to come for their seder.”

  My mouth fell open. “Seder?”

  “It’s the Passover dinner.”

  “I know what a seder is,” I said, too quickly.

  “Sorry.” He twisted the loose coil at the end of his spiral notebook’s spine. “Tomorrow you’re going to Philadelphia for Easter, aye?”

  “My grandmom’s.” I retrieved the Faulkner novel I’d barely started reading.

&nb
sp; He frowned at his watch. “My dad’s picking me up in three minutes. He wants me to take him to the doctor’s.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “I think so, but he says I need practice driving. Can’t imagine why.”

  I tried to laugh, but my mind was stuck on him spending the evening with Becca and her family.

  “I’ll ring you over the weekend,” he said. “Or you ring me. Either way.” His smile faltered. “Bye.” And he was gone.

  “Bye.” I spoke softly into my locker, wishing it could swallow a scream.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  “Kill me now.” I glared at the ceiling of the Keeleys’ basement rec room, which doubled as Mickey and Siobhan’s rehearsal space.

  “So Zach is going to a seder at the Goldmans’. It’s not a huge deal.” Megan tossed a peanut into the air and caught it in her mouth, then aimed one at Siobhan. “Rachel had you and your aunt over for a seder a couple times. You weren’t going out with her.”

  “This is different.” I banged the back of my head into the squishy blue beanbag chair, hearing tiny particles spill onto the floor behind me. No wonder this thing was so flat. “If Zach’s meeting Becca’s family now, she’ll have her claws into him by prom. I am absolutely, definitely not going.”

  “Want me to find you a guy from our school?” Siobhan asked, then opened her mouth for another incoming peanut.

  “Yeah, a pity date for the prom. Because I’m not quite lame enough yet.”

  “Hey,” Megan said, “you know what’s a lamer prom night than dancing with a cute guy from Hunt Valley? Sitting in your living room watching a Law and Order marathon with your aunt.” She lobbed a peanut at my head. I winced and let it bounce off my cheek, my appetite too sour for games or food. “If you don’t want a blind date, then get out Jenna’s list and we’ll do pros and cons of each guy. Siobhan can be the judge if you won’t decide.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Siobhan opened her violin case. “But Mickey and I need to rehearse.”

  The yells of victorious boys came from upstairs.

  “Ugh.” Siobhan shoved her long, purple-streaked dark bangs back under a plastic headband. “This ceiling’s supposed to be soundproof.”

  Megan fished another peanut out of her trail mix bag. “Nothing can hold back the testosterone rush brought on by Age of Mangling or whatever game they’re playing.”

  I stared at the smooth white square ceiling tiles as a solution dawned on me. My first instinct was to analyze the idea from all angles, to see if it could really be that perfect.

  But it was analysis and hesitation that got me into this prom mess with Zachary. I pushed myself off the beanbag chair. “I’m getting a water. You want anything?”

  “Yes.” Siobhan waved her bow and rosin block. “I want my twin brother to get his ass down here.”

  Upstairs, Dylan and three of his friends were splayed out on the long black leather couch in the den. Mickey stood behind them, arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the huge wall-mounted plasma TV. I didn’t recognize the game, but it involved a lot of pink.

  “What is that?” I asked Mickey over the steady waka-waka-waka noise.

  “Ms. Pac-Man.” He kept his focus on the screen. “Dad got Mom a bunch of old arcade games for her birthday.”

  Dylan spoke up from his reclining seat on the near end of the couch. “Ms. Pac-Man looks all girlie, but it’s harder than regular Pac-Man. The mazes have more traps, and the ghosts are smarter and faster.”

  “Ghosts?” I examined the figures on the screen. “Is that what those blobs are supposed to be?”

  “They can kill you,” Dylan said, “unless you eat a blinky thing and then you can kill them.”

  “Guys, shut up!” Rashid jerked the joystick. “Trying to concentrate.”

  Kyle nudged him with a pale, bony elbow. “Dude, what are you gonna do when you’re a fighter pilot—ask the bad guys to hold still so you can shoot them down?”

  “This is different, so—aww, you suck.” On the screen, the little yellow mouth spun around and flattened like a popped balloon.

  “Your parents think eating ghosts is entertaining?” I said.

  “They’re not supposed to be real ghosts, like in Shade Hunter,” Jamal said. “This game’s from before the Shift. Duh.”

  Dylan grabbed the controller from Rashid. “My turn.”

  Released from the spell of the game, Mickey looked at me. “Did she send you up here?”

  “Which ‘she’? Megan or Siobhan?”

  “Whatever.” He slouched his lanky frame toward the basement door.

  I scowled, wondering why Mickey wasn’t happier, like the rest of the Keeleys, now that Logan had returned from shade. Maybe because Logan was still dead.

  I stood next to the couch, watching Ms. Pac-Man make it through the first level. Finally I got up the nerve to do what I came upstairs for. “Dylan, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  He grunted, lips pulled between his teeth as he focused on the screen.

  “Maybe when you’re done,” I said. “Or now.”

  “Something with Logan?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  I glanced at the other boys, all ignoring me. Kyle was paging through a gaming magazine, his long, skinny legs stretched out to prop his heels on the coffee table. Jamal was half-asleep, and Rashid was pawing through a bag of chips that reeked of nacho cheese.

  “I’ll ask you later,” I said.

  “Aura, what?” Dylan’s voice took on an edge.

  I toed the border of the Oriental rug, resisting the urge to fidget with the hem of my faded green Keeley Brothers cami. “Will you go to the prom with me?”

  Dylan’s hand slipped off the joystick. Jamal woke up. Rashid spilled neon orange chip fragments down the front of his T-shirt. Kyle froze in the middle of turning a page.

  Dylan’s friends all gaped up at me, looking much younger than sixteen.

  Dylan recovered his joystick, muttering “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” until he’d maneuvered Ms. Pac-Man through a tunnel that led to the other side of the screen.

  “Did you hear me?” I said.

  “Yeah.” Dylan’s knee jerked, making his heel quiver against the floor.

  “Well?”

  “Okay.”

  I hesitated. “Is that a yes?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay.” I backed up a step. “Cool.”

  Dylan’s friends were staring at him now, with the kind of awe usually reserved for World of Warcraft Feats of Strength.

  I gave up waiting for him to look at me or use a multiword sentence. “Mickey can help you find a tux, and we’ll do it all as a group, so you don’t need to plan anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, then. Um. Thanks.” I started toward the basement door.

  “Wait,” Dylan said.

  I turned quickly, my shoes squeaking on the hardwood. Was he going to back out? Had he heard anything I said? Maybe it would be better if we pretended the last five minutes hadn’t happened.

  “When is it?” he asked.

  “Second Saturday in May.” Please don’t say “okay” again.

  Dylan was silent for a few moments, still playing. “Yeah, all right.”

  * * *

  “Are you insane?” Megan threw a handful of peanuts at me. “He’s a sophomore.”

  I batted the flying nuts away from my head. “I’m sure in a tux he’ll look seventeen.”

  “Or he’ll look seven,” Siobhan said.

  “Besides, he’s fun to hang out with.” I turned to Mickey, looking for backup. “Isn’t he?”

  He gave a one-shoulder shrug as he adjusted the pegs on his acoustic guitar. “I wouldn’t know. He’s my little brother.”

  “So’s Logan.” I caught myself. “I mean, so was Logan.”

  “Dylan’s different,” Siobhan said. “Geeky.”

  I pointed at their framed original movie poster of The Empire S
trikes Back. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re geeky, too.”

  “Dylan’s a whole ’nother degree of geek. He collects action figures. It’s not too late to say you were kidding.”

  “No way. I’ll hurt his feelings.” Not that he had shown any feelings when I’d asked him.

  “He’ll probably be relieved,” Megan said. “Dylan wouldn’t know what to do with a girl if she came with an instruction manual.”

  Mickey scoffed. “Megan, you don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, so just—”

  We all flinched, waiting for him to finish the sentence with “shut up.” Megan gripped the arm of her chair, looking ready to flee.

  “Mickey, you don’t think it’ll be weird?” Siobhan asked, breaking some of the tension.

  “Of course it’ll be weird. But at least we know Dylan. It might be weirder to hang out with some Ridgewood asshat we’ve never even met.”

  “Then let’s set her up with someone from our school.” Siobhan turned back to me. “I swear he’ll be cute and not stupid. Then that way you can come with us to our prom the week after.” Her voice softened. “Like we always planned?”

  I stared at Logan’s abandoned black Fender Stratocaster propped on its stand like a memorial shrine. We’d planned it all when he was alive, before everything changed.

  Now I wanted someone who made things feel the same.

  So, Aura, do you like any of the boys at school?” my grandmother asked as she dumped a two-pound container of ricotta cheese into a birdbath-size mixing bowl.

  She’d asked that question since I was in kindergarten, even when I was dating Logan. But this was the first time she’d asked since he died. Another sign that my life should be turning a corner.

  I gave her a tentative smile as I grated a lemon for the ricotta pie. It was four thirty a.m., Easter Saturday, but I didn’t mind spending the early hours in the kitchen of her bakery, as long as it meant hanging out with Grandmom and sampling fresh cookie batter.