Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4)

by Joy Elbel

  I emerged from the dressing room and handed Shelly the green dress back. “Here. I made up my mind and I’m sticking to it. I’m going with the red one.”

  Shelly sighed and slung the dress over her arm. “I knew you would but you can’t say I didn’t try. It’s really a shame. That one wouldn’t have even needed any adjustments—it was practically made to fit you. Oh well. Rachel made her final decision, too. I’ll go find someone to take your measurements for alterations.”

  Rachel and I were asked to get back into the dresses we chose so that they could see what needed altered. We took turns yelping as they jabbed into us with their straight pins, tucking this and folding that. I asked that they take the dress in as much as they could across the stomach area to compensate for water retention and potato chip bloat. In my head, I roughly counted the number of weeks until prom and PMS would be a slim possibility that night. The next time I put this dress on, it would fit me perfectly.

  Once we were done and my mind was not preoccupied with mermaids or manatees, my thoughts went back to Clay’s reaction when he saw me in that dress. I glanced around the store but found no sign of him anywhere. He wasn’t able to stray far from my side these days so I knew that he was still close by. The longer he was tied to me, the more his heart was going to break. Finding Sophie needed to jump to the top of my list of priorities. He still loved her—if he didn’t, he would be able to talk about her. His feelings for me weren’t real—they were just infatuation but he would never believe that until I found his real true love.

  He stayed suspiciously out of sight for the rest of the day and I let him hide in peace. It couldn’t be easy to be in love with someone—or at least think you were in love—with someone who didn’t love you back. His emotions were far more alive than he was. I had to find the piece that would finish the puzzle of his life. Even with somewhat of a plan in place, one thing still worried me. What would happen if he didn’t like what the finished product looked like?

  18. Weathering the Storm

  A weekend of semi-fun activities made returning to the snake pit otherwise known as high school even more painful come Monday morning. The only thing I had to look forward to was a short week. With Sunday being Easter, there was no school on Friday. Zach and I decided to take that day to go on a road trip to Ohio to check out the campus and hopefully get an idea of where we would be living in the fall. Since I had something to look forward to, the week therefore had to suck as much as it possibly could.

  Mr. Raspatello forced me to spend time with Brooke to plan out the bake sale. This, of course, amounted to me sitting there while she told me what we were going to do. Correction. I sat there while she told me what to do. Words cannot explain how badly I wanted to give her a piece of my mind. But I knew that the more times I rocked the boat, the worse I would get treated. So, I kept my mouth shut and mentally used Rachel’s PMS driven idea—to sucker punch Brooke in the gut while crying. The results were more gratifying than I anticipated.

  The first track meet of the season had me more nervous than a poltergeist in a roomful of priests. Even with Clay as my secret weapon of motivation, I was afraid that I was going to choke when my big moment arrived. It wasn’t the 100 meter that I was worried about—if I lost at that event, I lost. But if I screwed up the relay, well, there was no telling what Misty would do to me in retaliation.

  Saturday would be my first day back to work and oddly enough, I was looking forward to it. News of epic weirdness spread through the school like wildfire but no one else in town seemed to have heard about it. I was able to drive through town without constant finger pointing. When I ducked into the grocery store for five minutes, no one threw holy water on me, either. It wasn’t much, but I took it as a good sign. Good signs were hard to come by—I had to dig for them, but they were definitely still there.

  I knew that it was going to be an up and down kind of week but the way it all played out in the end was beyond my scope of imagination. Things were pretty normal until Wednesday when I stopped at Roseman’s Floral Emporium on the way back from practice. It was the last place I expected to find anything out of the ordinary.

  Clay was all too happy to accompany me to his grandmother’s flower shop once again. He was feeling a little less sad about the last visit and was eager just to see her once more. The stop was only supposed to be a quick one—long enough for me to discuss my corsage and boutonniere order for prom. When I discussed it with Shelly, she was excited to hear that Mrs. Roseman would be interested in buying some of the Heart of Scarlet roses growing at the mansion. She was willing to donate several more dozen so that Clay’s grandmother could make some extra money. Today, I was supposed to deliver that news. As it turned out, Mrs. Roseman had something even more interesting to discuss with me.

  “Rosie!” she exclaimed as I walked in the door. “I was hoping you’d come back!” Clay began whispering about the fact that she didn’t remember my name, worried that her mind was slipping even further. I discreetly turned my head and whispered back that it was at least a good sign that she remembered me at all. He nodded in agreement, though clearly not convinced given the expression on his face.

  I turned my attention back to her and said, “I told you I would be back—I’m a girl of my word. Scout’s Honor.” As soon as I said those words, I realized that if she had any memory left at all, she would instantly think about Clay. I was right.

  “My little Clayton was a Boy Scout. Did you know him when he was alive?” Even though I had already answered that question for her the last time we spoke, I pretended that I hadn’t. “No, I just moved to town last summer.”

  With an odd look on her face, she leaned forward over the counter and peered directly into my eyes. “But you know him now, don’t you?”

  Her comment sent chills throughout my entire body. How did she know? Did she overhear me talking to him the last time we were in the shop? If she did, wouldn’t she have said something that day—especially since she couldn’t be certain that she would ever see me again? I’d faced significantly stronger opponents than her, but her comment unnerved me. I stuttered back to her in response.

  “N-no, I, I don’t know him. I moved to Charlotte’s Grove in June.” As a practiced liar, I should have been able to manage better than that. She caught me so far off guard that I panicked. My ability to lie convincingly was fading quickly now that I was able to tell the truth. While it was a sign of positive character development, it did absolutely nothing for me at the moment.

  “Are you sure about that?” she said with a smile. “Because a little birdie told me otherwise.” She shook her finger at me in a disapproving grandma kind of way, like she could tell that I was lying to her. I could feel my palms starting to sweat and face get hot. I picked a terrible time to try to stop lying.

  The sound of Clay gasping in shock at her words did nothing to calm me down. He was supposed to be my invisible support, not another source of anxiety in moments like this one. If this was how he cracked under pressure, Thursday’s track meet was going to be a total disaster.

  “A little birdie? Who might that have been?” I replied, aiming the question at both Clay and his grandmother. I needed to know who told her and I needed to know now. While anyone in town could have revealed my not-so-secret secret to her, there were very few people who knew about my connection to Clay. Sure, Lucas “met” him in the tunnel that night but I highly doubt he paid enough attention to remember his name. No one at school had directly mentioned Clay in their taunts which led me to believe that other forces were at work here. Someone else was the source of her knowledge. Someone who potentially posed an even greater threat to me than anyone else in town.

  Clay shook his head, still obviously dumbfounded by her accusation. Mrs. Roseman furrowed her brow and sighed heavily. Neither were the responses I was hoping for.

  “I can’t remember who it was. Someone saw you the last time you were in here and told me something about you. I don’t remember everything they said,
but I do recall them saying that you are friends with Clay.”

  Her use of the present instead of the past tense in referring to my friendship with Clay made me even more anxious. “Who was it? Think hard. I need to know who you talked to.” I could hear the desperation in my voice. Which one of my friends had betrayed me now? The list of suspects was short. Was there no one in this world that I could truly trust?

  “Oh honey, I have no idea. It must have been someone who came in to order flowers right after you did but that was days ago. They were right, weren’t they? You do know my Clayton. How’s he doing? Does he know exactly how he died? Is he at peace now?”

  “I don’t know him!” I shouted as I ran for the door. “I don’t know him.” While this incident was the only thing Clay cared to discuss, it was the last thing I wanted to even think about. Which one of my friends had betrayed me now? And what would they have to gain by doing it?

  Shelly, Zach, Rachel, and Rita were the only ones who knew about Clay specifically and in great detail. Zach wasn’t insecure enough about our relationship to expose this secret in an attempt to rid me of Clay a little faster, was he? Or could Rachel be misguidedly trying to help her brother by doing the same? Would Rita go to such extremes to try to force me to be comfortable with my connection to the paranormal? She also could have done it out of spite during the time that I was ignoring her. I couldn’t think of any possible motive when it came to Shelly so I assumed that if it was her, it had to have been an accidental slip of the tongue. Regardless of how it happened, it happened. Now I had the added burden of trying to figure out which of them slung an entire cutlery set into my back.

  I decided to ask each one of them and analyze their responses. I knew them all well enough to be able to tell when they were lying. At least I thought I knew them all well. I would start with the least likely suspect—Shelly—and move upward on the list from there.

  When I calmed down enough to explain to Clay why his grandmother’s comment rattled me so much, he finally got it. He didn’t protest when I asked for privacy during my conversation with Shelly and I thanked him for understanding. When I broached the subject with her, she had no idea what I was talking about. According to Shelly, she’d never even met Mrs. Roseman let alone spilled any of my supernatural beans.

  With absolutely no reason to think that she wasn’t telling me the truth, I walked away disheartened. Shelly was the only one on my list of suspects whom I thought may have done it accidentally. If it had been Shelly’s fault, that would have been the easiest pill for me to swallow. But now, I knew that someone else did it and did it on purpose. I mentally reviewed the remaining names on my list and decided who to ask next.

  Even though it would be close to closing time by the time I got to Something Wick-ed, I decided to head over there tonight to get it out of the way. On the drive there, I tried to decide how I would respond if I found out that it was her. While I definitely wasn’t going to be happy with her, I already knew that Rita was one bridge that I was better off not burning. She’d been a big help to me on so many occasions—I would have to let this one little indiscretion slide.

  A half hour later, I walked out of the candle shop feeling worse than I did after my conversation with Shelly. It wasn’t Rita, either. That left only Zach and Rachel—neither of whom I was looking forward to questioning. I could only take so much emotional turmoil in one day and I surpassed that limit hours ago so I chose to wait until morning to talk to them. Rachel, of course, was the next interrogation in line.

  With his new vehicle now at his disposal, Zach was super excited to pick me up for school that morning. I, however, was not. It would have been so much easier for me to wait until after my talk with Rachel before spending any time with Zach. He noticed my odd mood the very instant that I took my place in the passenger seat. I used sleep deprivation to explain why I wasn’t very talkative and he didn’t ask any more questions. It was, in fact, the truth—at least part of it anyway. How could I be expected to sleep with this kind of black cloud hanging over my head?

  Feeling the need to get it over with as soon as possible, I practically pounced on Rachel as she got out of Daisy. The stupid eyelashes on her car were even more annoying to me while I was in this kind of mood. I couldn’t even look at her unbearably happy car without wanting to gouge my own eyeballs out. Skipping the formality, I got straight to the point and asked if she was the one who ratted me out. What I got was a straight and what felt like an honest answer. No. That left Zach as my only possible betrayer.

  Now what? I hoped all along that it would never get to this point. I really thought that I would discover the truth long before I got to him. There was no way that I was going to ask him about it at school. I would wait until Friday while we were on our way to Ohio before dropping this bomb. At least that way, I would know that we were alone—minus Clay, of course. And that I would have him cornered with no chance of escape for several hours while I pummeled him with questions and accusations. That thought kind of put a smile on my face. What can I say—I was starting to hit an epic level of PMS irritability.

  I continued to use lack of sleep among other excuses for the next couple of days to explain why I wasn’t myself. While it wasn’t the original source of my foulness, by the time Thursday arrived the track meet was the main source of it. I was scared to death that I was going to make a fool of myself. I shouldn’t have worried about that. Unfortunately, I forgot that even though we were working together on the same team, Misty was still my number one enemy. That black cloud hanging over me had transformed into a squall line of menacing cumulonimbus.

  The torture started as we boarded the bus for Graysburg. I was one of the last ones to get on because Zach insisted on kissing me about a thousand times for good luck. Even though I was still mad at him, I wasn’t mad enough to refuse a single one of his kisses. This, of course, was probably what precipitated at least the first attack.

  As I pushed my way clumsily toward the back of the bus to claim the seat Rachel apparently worked very hard to save for me, Misty piped up with a nasty comment. “Hey everybody! Make way for the Virgin Scary!” This set the entire bus into a fit of hysterical laughter. Everyone but me and Rachel, of course. While I had to admit that I was shocked that she’d come up with such a clever moniker for me, it made my face feel like an angry inferno. I was both embarrassed and furious at the same time.

  Hastily, I sat down without a word and shoved my gym bag under my seat. Misty was sitting a few rows in front of me and I mentally tried to glare holes right into her cranium. If I were ever going to have powers beyond what I already possessed, I prayed for them to surface now. When her head didn’t explode into a spray of blood and what little brain matter she possessed, I sank back against the seat and sighed. It was like she wanted me to fall apart so that I would be responsible for us losing the race later. Why couldn’t I ever get the upper hand when it came to her?

  The hour long bus ride helped cure my anger but it was replaced, mile by mile, with anxiety. I was all but throwing up by the time we arrived. When I rose from my seat, my legs felt like they were going to buckle. As I steadied myself on the back of my seat, sarcastic snickers erupted from the girl who had been sitting behind me. She had perfect blonde hair and a perfectly out of proportion bra size. She was a Misty Mini Me, a perfect recruit for the Dark Lord’s army.

  My first reaction was to try to scare her the way I did that freshman in the hallway. I wiggled my fingers at her and in the most menacing tone I could muster, I declared, “Hocus pocus!”

  I knew how stupid I sounded long before she started laughing at me. What was I thinking? I just made myself look dumber than ever which was a feat in and of itself. My situation was bad enough as it was—why did I have to keep doing things to make it worse? I needed to learn how and when to keep my stupid mouth shut.

  “Come on, Red Lightning,” Rachel said as she nudged me with her elbow. “Just put that rage to work for us out on the track, okay?”


  I did nothing more than nod my head for fear that another idiotic phrase might pop out if I dared to open my mouth. My senior year could be described as tragic at best. Silently, I reminded myself that it was almost over and that my time of being forced to live in Charlotte’s Grove was, too.

  When we got to the locker room, my anger dissipated and morphed into a near panic attack instead. This was it. My big moment. This was even more epic than my turn on stage at the Bantam. If I messed up, people from two different towns were going to be there to watch me do it. I was going to need Clay’s support the minute I walked out of that locker room.

  I slung my bag onto the bench beside Rachel’s and dug inside for my track shirt. This was the first real team sport I’d ever been involved in and, nerves aside, I was excited to put on my uniform. It was my chance to fit in, my chance to belong to something like everyone else. It was my opportunity to feel normal and less like the freak that I actually was. It felt like I was a monster dressing up as a person for Halloween. It felt like—

  It felt like I’d been sucker punched in the gut is what it felt like. When I pulled my shirt out of the bag, I noticed immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. While it looked very similar to the one that I’d placed in my bag earlier that day, it was definitely not the same one. I’d been set up. By Misty. Again.

  The raven that should have adorned the front of my shirt was replaced with a red ghost. Above that—in BOLD lettering, no less—was the phrase “I see dead people”. When I held it up to get a closer look, I heard Rachel gasp. That’s how I knew there was a surprise on the back side, too.

  As I flipped it around to see what was on the back, Rachel gasped again when she saw what the front side looked like. I was torn between rage and tears when I saw the rest of it. In the spot where my last name should have been, I found something else. “Virgin Scary” stretched across the shoulders in the same lettering as that hideous phrase on the front.