The Haunted House Project

by Tricia Clasen

  “Ooo-kaaay.” There’s a long, awkward silence.

  “I found my mom’s journals.”

  Another silence, but this one isn’t awkward. I can hear his breathing. I know he’s just patiently waiting for me to say more. A few seconds later, I launch into the whole story of the weekend and everything that’s happened. I tell him about the rings and the words and the smells. He doesn’t say anything.

  When I run out of things to say, I exhale. “That’s it.”

  “I see,” he says. “That’s a lot to take in.”

  “Yeah. I’m starting to feel confused. Should I stop the experiment and talk to my dad or Paige?”

  “I don’t know, Andie. It seems to be working.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If you tell them now, and things go back to the way they were, you’ll never be able to try this again.”

  “I know. So you don’t think I should.”

  “Maybe not yet. But it’s a tough choice.”

  “Isaiah?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thanks for listening.”

  “No problem. Really.”

  “I better go. My dad will be here soon, and they’ll be closing the library.”

  “You’re at the library?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  He laughs. “Because I’m sitting on the front steps. I was working on homework.”

  “Stay there.”

  I collect my books and walk/run as fast as I can to the front door. Isaiah is sitting on the steps, wearing a red polo and khaki shorts. It looks like a school uniform. But I’m happy to see him. I call out his name as I pass through the front door.

  He stands up, and I jog to him, and then stop short. We’re only a few feet apart, and now it’s weird. I kind of want to hug him, but that would be super weird.

  “Are you leaving?” I ask.

  “Yeah, my mom’s on her way.”

  We wait on the steps in silence until his mom pulls up. She leans out the window and waves at me. “Need a ride?”

  I shake my head. “My dad’s coming.” I feel so proud to say it. So normal. And I actually believe maybe things could be again.

  Twenty minutes later, after I’ve tried to call my dad three times and texted him twice, I realize how wrong I was. As I pull my straps over my shoulders and start the trek back home, I wonder if disappointment is the new normal.

  When I get home, I find him sleeping on the couch. Maybe passed out.

  I stomp my foot and huff. Then I kick the basket of afghans next to the couch. He still doesn’t move, so I yell “Thanks a lot!” and then run up the stairs. Either he doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t know how to respond, because I don’t see him again all afternoon. At dinnertime, I find a note on the kitchen table.

  Sorry about the movie, Andie. I fell asleep. Maybe next week.

  Right.

  I’m so mad I grab a pillow and scream into it. I really thought things were going to change. Things have to change. I sit up in my bed and pull my phone out of my pocket.

  Isaiah is short of breath when he answers. “Hey.”

  “He didn’t come.”

  “How’d you get home?”

  “I walked, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t know what to do. What am I doing wrong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Isaiah, you’re the smart one. Help me figure it out.”

  He doesn’t answer right away. I can hear him breathing though. His voice is thin and tentative when he speaks. “Maybe it’s time to stop. I’m a little worried about you. My mom says—”

  “What did you tell your mom?”

  “Nothing. I mean, not about the project or anything, Andie. Just that things had been hard. Anyway, she asked if you had ever been to see anyone as a family. Like Mrs. Carter, but not Mrs. Carter. A real psychologist.”

  I’m gripping my phone so hard my hand hurts.

  “Never mind,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “I’ll figure something out. Thanks for listening.”

  “Andie, don’t—”

  “I gotta go. Still have some other homework to do. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  When I end the call, my brain goes into overdrive. Anything to avoid thinking about what he said. I focus on what happened with my dad.

  What caused him to change again so quickly? Was it the music? What’s the pattern here? Paige seems to respond almost instantly to the signs of Mom. Her entire mood shifts. Dad is hit or miss. More miss than hit, actually. And it’s almost like the reminders hurt him more than they help.

  I look for patterns, and I come up with a possibility. He needs direct messages. He always has. It’s right there in Mom’s journals. He’s Mr. Fix-It, but he avoids real problems. Everything I’ve tried so far—the body spray, the iPod—they’re too subtle. They remind him but they don’t tell him anything, whereas Paige so desperately wants a sign that she hears the message right away.

  I have to work on them differently. I fall asleep trying to come up with a new plan.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday morning talk is all about two things: boys and the upcoming rec night.

  Becki is obsessed with Gavin Dolan. “Do you think he’ll be there? What should I wear?”

  Gisela smiles. “Definitely a dress.”

  “No way,” Leah says. “Go casual. Otherwise you look like you’re trying too hard. Plus, you want to be able to play the games.”

  I laugh with everyone else until Becki turns to me. “Do you think Isaiah will be there?”

  She says it with a singsongy voice, clearly teasing me. I kind of feel like she just pulled my hair or something. Why would she bring that up?

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh come on, admit it, you liiike him.” Then she makes a face with her tongue sticking out.

  I sigh. “Whatever.”

  I want to get up and leave, but I can’t let her know she’s getting to me. That would just make her tease me more. A few minutes later the first bell rings, finally giving me permission to head off to my locker. Gisela catches up to me. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “What’s up with her?”

  “I’m not sure. I think she’s kind of stressed out.”

  I roll my eyes. Stressed. She doesn’t know stressed.

  “Anyway, I know it’s not very nice.” She pulls her book bag up tighter on her shoulder and tucks her curly brown hair behind her ear.

  “Yeah,” I say, staring at my feet.

  “Are you okay?”

  When I look at her face, her eyes are so open. She looks like she really wants to know. I take a risk. “Sort of. I mean, things have been pretty cruddy at home, but I’m trying to make things better.” I pause. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Sure.” She pushes her hair back behind her ears and tilts her head to the side.

  “I found the coolest thing this weekend. My mom kept journals. I haven’t told anyone in my house I found them yet. I sort of want to keep them to myself, you know?”

  She bites her lip and nods. “I guess.”

  “Plus.” I lower my voice and lean in. I feel pretty sure this plan is working, and I’m exciting to have some good news to share with Gisela for a change. Still, I drop my voice so no one else hears. “I’m doing a kind of experiment on my family that seems to be helping. I’m sort of making them think my mom’s ghost is around.”

  “Huh?” Her eyes go wide and then narrow. I realize how crazy I must sound.

  “Not like that. Not really. Just little things. Like, a song playing on the radio, or a scent in a room.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, I think it’s helping, actually.”

  “Helping with what?”

  I glance at the clock. We only have a few minutes. “We’ve been kind of falling apart. I think my mom can put us back together.”

  “You could talk to us, you know,” she says. “How bad has it been?”

  There’s definitely not enough time to answer that question, s
o I shrug.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “That’s a much tougher question than you’d think,” I say. “But it’ll get better.”

  Gisela gives me a small smile and squeezes my arm. The bell rings again, and I race to class.

  I have an individual session a couple of times a week. At least it’s not group, and it gets me out of gym, which means no stinky locker room for me today. Whoo hoo!

  Usually, Mrs. Carter waits for me with an open door and a big smile. Today, I meet a closed door. Did she forget? Maybe after last week she decided she doesn’t want to do the one-on-one sessions either. I knock a few times and wait. I hear a faint “Come in” and I turn the knob slowly.

  Mrs. Carter is sitting at her computer, with her back toward me. I pause for a second while she hammers away at the keyboard. “Do we, um, have a meeting today?” I ask.

  The typing stops. She glances at the clock, then swivels around to face me. “I wasn’t sure you would show up.”

  My brow crinkles, and I suck in my lower lip. Despite what happened last week, I’ve never been good with confrontation.

  “I thought I was supposed to be here.”

  She sighs. “Andie, you’re not required to come, you know. I want you to show up each week because I think it’s good for you. But obviously you’ve been holding back. I thought you might have decided our sessions weren’t helping you.”

  Oh, well played, Mrs. Carter. I love how she twisted that around and put it right back on me. She’s always good about that when I’m trying to figure stuff out with her.

  “It was a bad day.”

  “So I gathered. There might have been more effective ways to deal with that bad day than to take it out on Brian though.”

  She motions toward the chair next to hers. Keeping my head low, I slide into it.

  “Honestly, Mrs. Carter, I think he kind of deserved it.” I don’t look up when I say it, so I have no idea whether she’s able to keep her face as open and friendly as it usually is.

  “Do you believe people deserve to have their feelings hurt?”

  “I’m not sure that’s fair. He hurts our feelings all the time; he just never notices. He acts like none of us have real problems and goes on and on about his. I know I blew up, but maybe he needed to hear it.”

  “I see. So, are you admitting then that you have real problems? Because I was under the impression that you were fine; it was everyone else who was having problems adjusting.”

  Dang, maybe she’s better than I thought. “I never said that.”

  “Not exactly, but you talk a good deal more about the problems your father and your sister are having than you do about your own feelings.”

  “What’s going on with them sort of is my problem.”

  “Most certainly, but it’s not your only problem, is it?” My dad’s words swim through my head: Let’s just keep our problems to ourselves, okay? Should I trust her anymore? Suddenly she seems sneakier than I’d remembered.

  “Why did you call my dad last week?”

  “To ensure you were safe.”

  “But I thought you weren’t going to share anything we talked about with him.”

  “You know we don’t have the same confidentiality agreement as a regular doctor and patient, Andie. This was serious, and our group session wasn’t the only indication I had that things had escalated at home.”

  My head snaps up and I glare at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Other people are concerned about you, sweetie. Teachers and friends.”

  Stupid growling stomach. It had to have been my math teacher. But friends? Who? My mind instantly settles on Isaiah. He told his mom that things were bad at home for me. What exactly did he tell her? I’m an idiot for trusting him. Becki was right; he’s just a geek and there’s a reason he has no friends. Everything suddenly makes sense. I know exactly why he can’t keep friends. He isn’t trustworthy.

  Mrs. Carter interrupted my thoughts. “Are you ready to share more about how things are at home?”

  No. But I shrug. “It’s been better.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Maybe your phone call? I thought what we talked about here was between us!”

  She settles back in her chair and runs a hand through her hair. “Hmm, so you think my contacting your dad is a problem. Is that the only reason things aren’t going well?” The question weighs too much; it must be loaded with something. Everything’s gotten too complicated, and I don’t want Mrs. Carter’s help anymore. I can’t tell her anything more about my dad, but I don’t know how to lie either. I just want her to leave me alone. I feel like I’m trapped in a microwave. It’s small and hot, and the only escape is for someone to press the button and open the door. I’m turning around and around, getting dizzy.

  “Andie, are you haunting your family as your mom’s ghost?”

  Isaiah told her everything.

  I feel like I’ve been ambushed, and now I’m boiling over. I want to pick up my chair and throw it against the wall. But I need Mrs. Carter to back off. I need her to think I really am just fine. So I form a tight smile. “Huh? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Have you been doing things to make your family think your mom is trying to communicate with them?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Please don’t lie to me. A friend came to me very concerned that you might be doing something unhealthy.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Really.” I hate Isaiah. I hate him so much right now. “I wonder if maybe that person is confused.” I guess if she’s not going to name names, I won’t either. “My sister smelled something that was like my mom’s perfume the other day and she saw a picture that made her feel like she should be trying harder. Just stuff that happened.”

  For a second she stares at me. She’s waiting for me to break. I don’t. She is going to have to be the one to give in. “You’re sure. Because your friend was pretty certain.”

  “I’m sure. I’m sure my friend”—ex-friend, I think—”just misunderstood what I was saying. Everyone knows how into ghosts I am.”

  This seems to actually convince her. Even Mrs. Carter knows about my love of ghost stories. We’ve been meeting for months, and sometimes I don’t want to talk about the hard stuff.

  I’m in a daze when I leave her office. I’m so stupid. How could I have trusted Isaiah? During lunch I march into the library. I spot him instantly, his eyes trained on a computer screen.

  I get close, kneel down next to him, and whisper in his ear, “Not cool, Isaiah. I don’t know what you were thinking, but no wonder you can’t keep friends.”

  He looks like someone kicked his puppy as I stand up and walk away before he can speak.

  I’m shaking too much to join everyone at lunch right away, so I end up in the bathroom, where I splash cold water on my face. It does nothing to cool my raging temper.

  By the time I meet up with my friends outside, there are only a few minutes left until the bell rings for class. I’ll have to face Isaiah again in science, but at least he’ll know that I know and won’t try to talk to me. I hope.

  Becki, Leah, and Gisela are huddled in a tight semicircle. Their heads are bent close together and they’re whispering. They might as well be a poster for middle school mean girls—except, they aren’t the mean girls. I know I’m interrupting something though, because Gisela and Leah stop talking the minute I approach. But Becki’s back is toward me. Leah waves her hand in front of her throat trying to get Becki to stop talking, but it’s too late. I hear her say, “It’ll be fine, Gisela. You did the right thing.”

  “Did the right thing about what?” I ask as I complete the circle. Becki takes a step back, changing the shape of the circle to more of an oval. Leah follows suit. Gisela doesn’t move, and she stares at her feet.

  Becki tosses her hair and smiles at me. “Oh nothing. Just a stupid class thing.”

  Gisela looks up briefly and smiles, but it
’s a weak one.

  Leah steps forward and puts her arm around me. “How are you doing?”

  I feel my eyebrows rise, and I tilt my head. “Fine. Why?”

  “Well, Andie, we know that—”

  Becki cuts her off. “She’s fine. Just look at her.”

  The whole thing is so weird. I don’t know why I’m so dense, but it doesn’t occur to me until we are about to walk back into the school that someone other than Isaiah could have told Mrs. Carter. In the space of like ten minutes, I completely forgot that I’d told someone else what was going on.

  I’ve been betrayed by the person I trusted more than anyone.

  The four of us are walking in pairs. Leah stays by my side, and I suddenly stop.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, turning to face me. Becki and Gisela keep walking. They must not have heard.

  “It was Gisela.”

  “Huh?”

  “Did Gisela talk to Mrs. Carter?”

  Leah doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. The panic on her face is all the response I need. I leave her standing there and try to catch up to Gisela and Becki, but it’s no use; they’ve already been folded into the crowd.

  And now I dread going to science class and facing Isaiah for a whole new reason.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He’s not there.

  And I want to throw up.

  I don’t see him the rest of the day.

  The nausea never goes away.

  I avoid Gisela. After lunch I was desperate to confront her, but the rest of the day I just worry about Isaiah, and I don’t want to see her. I can’t handle what she did to me. Why would she do that? She didn’t even get all the information. She just jumped to a conclusion.

  Which, of course, is what I did, too. As mad as I am at Gisela, I’m madder at myself. And I’m mad at my other friends, too. All this time they’ve been trying to ignore what’s happening with me, and then, instead of helping me, they go behind my back? And try to cover it up?

  Who are my friends, anyway?

  I look for Isaiah after school, but it’s pretty clear he must have gone home early, which makes me feel even worse. I pull out my phone as I start to walk toward home and try to call him, but he doesn’t pick up. I don’t know what to say on a message, so I don’t bother to leave one.