Ghosting

by Edith Pattou

  Yes. More than me. Which is okay.

  Emma saying

  it’s okay that

  anyone

  is more

  anything

  than her,

  well, that was

  a moment

  to freeze

  in time.

  Thanks, I said again.

  Emma settled

  onto her back,

  looking up

  at the sky.

  Oh, and I wouldn’t give up on the whole marriage thing, she said. By the time you’re ready, I’m thinking maybe it won’t matter so much anymore who you marry, long as you love ’em.

  And then

  she suddenly

  jumped up,

  off the

  hammock,

  laughing,

  and pulled

  me off, too.

  C’mon, Miss Bridezilla, let’s go see if we can find some batteries and get that transistor radio to work.

  I followed

  her in,

  smiling at

  the crisscross

  pattern

  of the wet

  hammock

  on the back

  of her

  purple gown.

  The memory

  of that night

  makes me

  smile.

  And

  I think

  about

  how much

  I love

  my big sister

  and her

  uncanny

  way of

  surprising me.

  Out-of-the-

  blue stuff,

  sometimes

  bad,

  but sometimes

  very, very

  good.

  Sunday, August 29, 12:15 a.m.

  MAXIE

  We’re driving around aimlessly,

  eating fries,

  drinking milk shakes.

  How about we go to that new 3-D slasher movie, Brendan says. Body parts flying at you and shit.

  Cool! says Emma.

  Ew, giggles Chloe.

  I’m broke, says Felix.

  I don’t say anything.

  Emma turns around

  and stares

  at me.

  Then leans her head back

  and laughs.

  Holy crap, Maxie, she says loudly, I just remembered how freaking terrified you were of scary movies. Remember that sleepover in 4th grade when you hid in the closet and wouldn’t come out and your mom had to come pick you up?

  Like I could forget.

  But, hey, thanks, Emma,

  for the reminder.

  Yeah, I’ve never been big on blood and guts, I say, trying to sound like I think it’s all one big joke. Rules out med school anyway.

  Lame, I know.

  But Anil laughs.

  Something scary sounds good, says Emma.

  Brendan pops open another

  MoonBuzz.

  Scaring Emma sounds like my kind of challenge, he says.

  Great, I think,

  remembering with a shudder

  what’s sitting in

  the glove

  compartment.

  BRENDAN

  What about you, Bren? Emma says. Is there anything you’re scared of?

  And guess what’s the first thing

  that comes into my head.

  My dad. Which is bullshit,

  because I’m not. Not really.

  He hasn’t hit me since I

  started working out.

  Though I can’t lie, his words sometimes

  do a pretty good job.

  But I start talking about a double black diamond

  ski run I made once in Colorado.

  It was awesome.

  Closest I came to dying.

  Where was it? asks Emma’s friend Maxie.

  Mary Jane Mountain, I start saying, up in Winter—

  That’s where I learned to ski, in Winter Park! she interrupts, her face all lit up. I loved it there.

  I loved it there, too, I say, remembering. Felt like I was on the top of the fucking world. Never felt so free . . .

  And I did, too. Haven’t felt

  that way since.

  It was the next day, on the

  same run, that I broke my leg.

  Dad was pissed as hell.

  But it was so worth it.

  Bren? asks Emma.

  Sorry, just remembering that wipeout. Epic. Anyway, it’s you we want to scare, right?

  Right. She grins back at me.

  What about a little game of chicken on the railroad tracks? I say.

  Not funny, she says, losing the grin.

  She’s still pissed about what happened

  earlier this summer.

  I guess I did push it

  a little far.

  Okay, okay. I’m sure I can come up with something better, I say.

  MAXIE

  For just a second there,

  I found myself actually

  liking Brendan.

  When he was talking about skiing

  Mary Jane.

  But now I keep my eyes

  straight ahead,

  while he jokes about ways to

  scare Emma.

  Trying not to think about

  that gun

  and why he would have it in his

  glove compartment.

  I know. Let’s go ghosting, Chloe suddenly pipes up from the backseat.

  There’s a brief silence.

  Then Brendan turns around

  to look at her.

  That’s so hyphy of you, Chloe, he says, with a smirk.

  What’s hyphy? asks Anil.

  Nothing, says Emma. Just Brendan showing how gangsta he is.

  Yeah, let’s go ghostridin’ the whip, Brendan says.

  His smirk has turned into a laugh,

  but now I can tell

  that at least this time

  he’s laughing at himself,

  a white-bread lacrosse player

  pretending to be

  California hip-hop.

  And what’s that? asks Anil.

  Don’t encourage him, says Emma.

  Think we need a little demonstration, says Brendan.

  Brendan, don’t you dare . . . , says Emma.

  Ignoring her,

  he slows the car down.

  So you put the car in drive, Brendan says, and then you do this . . .

  And he opens his door,

  and suddenly jumps out of

  the moving car,

  doing these

  herky-jerky dance moves

  next to the car as it

  rolls forward.

  Get the hell back in the car, shouts Emma.

  She leans over, grabbing

  the steering wheel.

  He ignores her

  and then

  jumps up

  on the hood.

  Shit, says Emma, moving sideways into the driver’s seat.

  She steps on the brake slowly

  so Brendan won’t be

  thrown off,

  but he slides backward anyway,

  almost to the end of the hood.

  But then he wriggles back up,

  smooshing his face up

  against the windshield

  with a maniacal

  grin.

  Stop it, Bren, Emma yells, opening the car door wide.

  And he slides off the hood

  and jumps back

  in the car,

  shoving Emma into the

  passenger seat.

  You’re such a dick, she says, pushing back.

  Brendan just laughs.

  You guys, I meant ghosting, as in looking for ghosts, calls Chloe from the backseat.

  So she wasn’t talking about the

  ghosting I remember

  from when I was a little girl.

  the one with

  Toots
ie Rolls

  and running away,

  giggling.

  Like in a cemetery or something, Chloe adds, putting on some fresh lip gloss.

  Emma twists around

  with a big

  smile.

  Great idea! That’s the kind of scary shit I love.

  I know you do, says Chloe.

  Emma glances at me

  and even though I’m trying

  to keep my face

  blank,

  I’m sure she can read me.

  Like everybody

  always

  can.

  Unless it’s too scary for you, Maxie, Emma says.

  It’s cool, I say, long as there aren’t any flying body parts.

  Anil laughs again.

  Either he’s an easy laugh,

  or he’s nervous,

  like I’m nervous.

  Where could we go? Emma says. The cemetery on Elm, maybe.

  Has anyone here ever seen a ghost? asks Chloe.

  Wait, I know! says Emma. What about that house way up on the north side, near the big cemetery, the one on McKinley Road?

  No one says

  anything.

  Come on, you know, says Emma, impatient. Kids call it the “ghost house” because it’s all run-down and overgrown.

  Oh yeah, says Chloe.

  Perfect, says Brendan.

  And he turns the car around.

  ANIL

  1. When Chloe said ghosting,

  first thing I thought about

  was when you get a double image

  on a TV screen

  because of distortion

  or multipath image signal.

  That’s how much of a nerd I am.

  Not much of a believer in

  paranormal stuff.

  But I am a believer in karma.

  And the moment Brendan

  jumped out of the car

  and did that crazy dance

  I got a bad feeling.

  Bad karma.

  FAITH

  I’m in my

  bedroom,

  reading.

  Polly is

  restless.

  Wants to

  go out.

  Wants to

  go in.

  Mom and

  Dad are

  in the

  kitchen.

  I can

  hear them.

  Fighting.

  Voices loud,

  then louder.

  I creep

  out to

  the top

  of the stairs,

  and perch

  there,

  quiet and

  still, listening.

  You’re too soft, Mom says.

  You’re too rigid, Dad says.

  Emma runs this house.

  Let her have her fun.

  We’re the parents.

  They’re only young once.

  Suddenly

  quiet.

  Then,

  a sob in

  Mom’s voice.

  If I have to, I’ll leave. I’ll take the girls and leave.

  A door

  slams.

  ANIL

  1. Chloe lays her hand on my belt buckle,

  starts fiddling, like she wants to

  unbuckle it.

  I brush her hand away.

  She giggles.

  And it’s almost like one of those

  enchantment tales.

  The fairy dust falls away

  from your eyes

  and you see the frog as a prince,

  or prince as a frog.

  In this case, princess.

  Chloe Carney,

  just as beautiful as she was

  three hours ago,

  her hair the same gleaming honey color,

  her smile sweet,

  her blue eyes just as bright.

  But something between us

  has evaporated.

  like that crystal-growing science experiment

  I did as a kid.

  Except what was

  left behind then

  was something beautiful—

  translucent, multifaceted crystals.

  What’s left behind here isn’t

  beautiful or ugly.

  It’s just gone.

  And not because

  I’m seeing her drunk,

  or because of her giggles.

  And it’s not even gone on account of

  that smile of Maxie’s.

  (At least I don’t think so.)

  I just know I don’t belong here,

  with Chloe, with her friends.

  2. The problem is,

  I don’t want to make her sad,

  disappoint her.

  Still,

  we don’t fit anymore,

  we probably never did.

  And I think she knows it, too.

  MAXIE

  Brendan takes a turn too fast.

  My head jerks

  off the headrest.

  Jesus, Bren, says Emma.

  Felix’s eyes blink open.

  Could he actually have been

  asleep?

  He closes them again.

  I wish I were anywhere

  but here.

  From behind me

  I can hear Chloe giggling,

  then Anil’s voice,

  soft,

  like he’s deliberately trying

  not to be overheard.

  Well, sor-ry, comes Chloe’s voice, loud and annoying.

  She leans forward,

  tapping my shoulder.

  Any more MoonBuzz?

  Obedient,

  I open

  the cooler.

  Me, too, says Emma.

  I hand them both a colorful can,

  looking down at my

  ruined shirt.

  Why can’t I just say

  I want to go home?

  Is it because deep down

  I actually care

  what these girls think of me?

  Especially Emma?

  Like it would be some kind of

  social suicide

  to break up the party?

  Pathetic.

  I wasn’t like that in Colorado.

  It’s being back here,

  the new/old thing.