by M. J. Hearle
Winter thought back on that first moment she saw Blake in the graveyard. ‘I think so.’
‘I gotta tell you, it’s a little bit freaky. I mean, when was the last time . . .’ Jasmine stopped in her tracks. Her eyes widened dangerously, her golden cheeks coloured, and her bottom lip twitched ever so slightly. Winter had known Jasmine long enough to recognise these signs, and to heed them. A storm was coming, a Jasmine storm, and it would probably be wise to start looking for cover. Luckily the fury wasn’t directed at her. Winter followed Jasmine’s enraged stare and saw Sam standing at the base of the steps leading up to the entrance. He wasn’t alone.
Becky Layne – or Layne the Pain as Winter and Jasmine called her – was talking to him, though talking probably wasn’t the most accurate description. As they watched, Becky laughed uproariously at something Sam said, then touched his arm in a nakedly flirtatious gesture. She flicked her long blonde hair back over one shoulder, smiling up at Sam from beneath her eyelashes.
‘Excuse me a second,’ Jasmine said through her teeth, and marched towards the duo, her face approaching the colour of her vivid pink fringe.
As much as Winter would have loved to watch Jasmine eviscerate Layne the Pain, she had more pressing matters to attend to. She made her way past the gym towards the Rec Room, where the Times headquarters was located. Harry was sitting at his desk poring over some sample layouts for the next issue. It didn’t surprise her to find him here before school had started – Harry more or less lived in the Rec Room. At the sound of her approach, his head snapped up, beady eyes narrowing behind his thick glasses when he saw it was Winter.
‘Winter, I take it you received my email this morning?’
‘Yes, Harry. Thank you for being so patient,’ she replied, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. ‘As requested – your photographs of Pilgrim’s Lament.’ She dropped the photograph packet in front of him on the desk.
‘I have to admit, I had my doubts.’ He opened the sleeve and took out the photographs. ‘When Sorensen told me I had to use you as a photographer, I thought it was going to be a disaster. No offence, but you’ve never struck me as the sort of person who had a strong work ethic.’
‘I appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt,’ Winter replied through thin lips.
She watched closely as Harry thumbed through the pictures, taking no small satisfaction in the way his sceptical expression slowly changed to genuine admiration.
‘Not bad. I suppose we can work with these.’
‘Not bad? If you only knew what I went through to get them.’
‘Surprisingly, I really don’t care.’ Harry continued inspecting the pictures, oblivious to Winter’s exasperation. ‘Woah! What have we got here?’ he said, frowning as he reached the final photograph. It was the creepy graveyard image marred by the hazy black flaw, which Winter had forgotten to remove from the packet.
‘Very interesting.’ Harry brought the picture closer to his glasses.
‘Yeah, something went wrong with that picture when it was developed.’ The oddly textured darkness of the photograph made Winter feel unsettled again. There was something almost substantial about the flawed area where Blake should have been standing – as though it had form.
‘I don’t think this is a developing mistake.’
‘Why? Have you seen something like this before?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have. You’ve got yourself a Shadow.’
‘I know that.’
Harry shook his head. ‘No – that’s not what I meant.’ He sighed with frustration. ‘You never watched Mysteries of the Occult? Eleven-thirty Saturday nights?’
‘I must have missed it.’
Harry waved the picture at her. ‘This was taken in a graveyard, correct?’
Winter nodded, unsure how an environment could be connected to a developing error.
‘Well, what do you find in graveyards?’ Harry continued, as though explaining something patiently to a small child. ‘Dead people. A Shadow is the spirit of a dead person caught on film.’
He noted Winter’s incredulous expression, and seemed a little offended.
‘Look it up – it’s science.’
Despite the ludicrousness of Harry’s explanation – Science? Yeah, right! – a chill ran up Winter’s spine.
‘Can I keep it?’ Harry asked hopefully.
‘No.’ Winter took the picture from him, not sure why she was feeling so possessive about it.
She left the room quickly, ignoring Harry’s bemused expression. She couldn’t believe she was affected by what he’d said. It had to be a joke.
There was no such thing as ghosts.
Chapter 21
Not usually the biggest fan of gym class, today Winter enjoyed the distraction running around the school oval afforded her. Trying to keep up with the group, her eyes fixed on the sweat-stained back of the girl ahead of her, she was able to momentarily put Blake out of her mind. This was no easy feat. His sculptured features, flawless olive skin, the slight stubble roughening his chin, and most of all his dazzling green eyes kept intruding on her thoughts. It wasn’t only Blake’s face that muddied her thinking, but the graveyard photograph which seemed inexorably linked to him.
Throughout the day she was compelled to take the picture out repeatedly, studying the flaw for some evidence of whatever chemical reaction had caused the bizarre effect. There had to be a logical explanation behind the shadowy figure and Winter was determined to search the photograph until she found it. A ghost caught on film. Sheer nonsense, of course, but still . . .
After gym, Winter headed straight for the showers, having worked up quite a sweat. She took longer than usual, luxuriating in the hot water, imagining it washing away the concerns that plagued her. By the time she’d finished showering and dressing, the other girls had already left the bathroom. Winter looked at her watch and saw that she’d missed the final bell. School had officially finished ten minutes ago. If she didn’t hurry she’d miss Jasmine and have to get the bus home. Winter had been spoiled by owning her own vehicle. It would be frustrating to have to sit on the noisy, smelly bus while it took twice as long to get home as usual.
Quickly towelling her hair dry, Winter went to check her appearance. Unlike the other girls she didn’t care about applying lipstick or slathering foundation all over her face, but she didn’t want to leave the bathroom looking like a complete horror. As the mirrors were completely steamed over from the showering, Winter saw herself approach the basin as a greyish smudge, hazy and indistinct. There was something wrong with the reflection though. Something . . . Her heart leapt into her throat. It looked like three dark shapes were standing directly behind her in the swirling steam.
Whirling around, Winter saw only the wooden benches and row of blue lockers covered in a fine layer of condensation. Fearfully, she turned back to the mirrors. It was impossible! The dark shapes were still there. Trembling, Winter leaned forward and wiped her hand across the glass, clearing away the fog. There was nothing reflected in the mirror except her own pale face. She stood there staring at her reflection for a few seconds longer, until she was positive the glass didn’t hide anything else, and then escaped to the hallway.
She hadn’t made it very far when someone grabbed her arm, making her jump.
With relief, she saw it was only Sam.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said, looking mortified.
Winter shook her head. ‘You didn’t. I’m just – don’t worry about it.’ She quickly changed the subject. ‘How are things with you?’
‘Pretty good. The teachers have been really helpful, and most of the guys here seem pretty cool. I’m trying out for the football team tomorrow afternoon. Coach O’Leery seems to think I stand a good chance of getting in. I used to . . .’
He continued to talk as they reached the front doors and stepped out into the clear afternoon sunlight, Winter only half-listening to him. The bathroom experience had rattled her. Combined with t
he panic she’d experienced at the Velasco place, and on her balcony the previous evening, Winter was beginning to worry something was actually wrong with her. Denial had always been her friend – it had got her through the grieving process – but if these hallucinations continued to plague her she might have to talk to somebody. Ever since the funeral, the school counsellor, Mrs Morris, had been badgering Winter for a sit down – ‘We could talk about anything you feel like’ – but she’d managed to avoid it. Maybe it was time to take her up on her offer.
‘You haven’t seen Jasmine around, have you?’ he asked hesitantly, once they’d reached the bottom of the steps. Winter had been too preoccupied with her own worries to realise that Sam had been circling the subject of Jasmine throughout their conversation.
‘Nope, sorry. Not since this morning.’
Sam’s brow creased in bewilderment. ‘She seems angry with me about something. I don’t know what I did. We’re supposed to be going to this concert tomorrow night.’
‘Right, the Urban Ninjas. Should be good.’
‘Yeah, except I don’t know if she still wants me to go with her, or . . . I just wish I knew what I did wrong.’
‘I’m sure it’s no biggie.’
Sam wasn’t to know that as soon as Jasmine had staked her claim, there were certain silent rules he was expected to follow – the first being no flirtatious banter with other girls, especially Layne the Pain. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the first guy who had approached Winter with the hope of finding some inside track to understanding Jasmine’s behaviour. Winter sometimes wished there was a manual to Jasmine, outlining the complexities and obscure rituals that were necessary to keep her happy, so that she could slip it to these poor guys and save them unnecessary stress.
Sam nodded towards a cluster of girls standing on the edge of the basketball courts. Jasmine was standing with them. ‘Do you think maybe you could talk to her for me?’
‘Sure,’ Winter said reluctantly. She hated playing the intermediary in Jasmine’s silly melodramas. The poor guy seemed to be suffering, though – the least she could do was try to get him some piece of mind.
She left Sam pretending to check his phone, while surreptitiously stealing glances at Jasmine, and walked across the basketball courts towards the group.
Standing with her were three girls from Jasmine’s swimming team: Sally Jensen, Tina Mitts and Olive Mat-thews. Winter was friendly with them, but only because of her relationship with Jasmine. She sometimes got the feeling that if it weren’t for Jasmine, Sally, Tina and Olive probably wouldn’t make an effort with her.
‘Hey, guys,’ Winter said, hovering outside their circle. The girls – Jasmine included – seemed to be deep in discussion.
Jasmine beckoned to Winter, bringing her into the conversation. ‘Hey, Win, have you seen him yet?’
‘Who? Sam?’
Scowling, Jasmine shook her head. ‘No, definitely not Sam. Look over my shoulder.’ Winter began to do just that before being cautioned by Jasmine, ‘Subtly, Win! Be cool!’
As subtly as she could, Winter squinted across the football field to the small student parking lot. As school had only just finished the lot was still quite full, so it took Winter a moment or two to recognise the rusty white pick-up truck parked amid the other cars. And the guy leaning against the hood.
‘Pretty spectacular, isn’t he?’ Jasmine said, mistaking Winter’s shocked reaction for awe. ‘Tina thinks it’s Kristen Mackey’s new boyfriend. She’s been talking about —’
‘It’s Blake,’ Winter said quietly. The bathroom spectres, Sam’s distress, the haunted photograph, all the other thoughts and concerns that had been bouncing around her head were now forgotten. Blake was propped against the front of the truck, hands in his pockets, as if patiently waiting for someone . . . waiting for Winter.
Jasmine’s eyes widened in shock. ‘That’s Blake? Wow – you weren’t kidding, Win. He is totally out of your league.’
Winter shot Jasmine a look. Her friend shrugged an apology, but pointed at Blake as evidence for her remark. ‘Hey, I love you, Win, but look at him!’
‘Who’s Blake?’ Sally asked, and Winter realised vaguely that she’d become the centre of attention for the rest of the girls. They were watching her with a mixture of curiosity and incredulity that was a little insulting.
‘He’s this weird guy who saved Winter’s life and is now totally into her,’ Jasmine said, helpfully filling them in.
‘He’s into you?’ Tina asked Winter in amazement, not bothering to hide the inflection in her voice that suggested the idea of a gorgeous man liking Plain Jane Winter bordered on impossible.
‘He’s not into me. We barely know each other,’ Winter said self-consciously.
‘Why do you think he’s here then?’ Jasmine asked.
‘I guess I’d better go find out.’ Winter’s stomach churned with anxiety again. Just the sight of Blake was enough to make her feel stirred up and confused. She started towards the parking lot, feeling the eyes of the girls boring into her back.
She was halfway there when Blake saw her. He waved, as though worried Winter might not see him. There was little chance of that happening – even from this distance Blake was breathtaking. Winter could see his beauty affecting the other girls as they passed within his orbit. Most of them simply did a double take before moving on to whisper excitedly to each other, but one or two shameless individuals stopped to stare. With all the commotion he was causing, Blake might well have been some kind of famous rock star or celebrity. But he didn’t seem to notice the attention. Winter supposed he was used to being looked at.
‘Hey, Winter,’ Blake greeted her as soon as she reached his truck. Being this close to him made her feel hot, as though Blake was giving off an intense radiation that only she could feel. She concentrated all her efforts on not blushing.
‘Hi. What are you doing here?’ Winter didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but thanks to her nerves, the question came out much more bluntly than she’d meant it to. It suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet in the parking lot, as if the students milling about were all straining to listen to Winter and Blake’s conversation. She knew that it was probably paranoid nonsense, but she couldn’t shake the sensation.
‘I thought that with Jessie being out of commission you might need a lift home.’
‘A lift?’
Blake looked a little sheepish. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night because I was feeling so guilty about . . . yelling at you the way I did. Thought I’d try and make amends.’
Winter couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d convinced herself that she’d probably never see Blake again. ‘You’re sure? I can get a ride with one of my friends, or . . .’
In the distance Winter could see Jasmine and the other girls looking on with rapt attention. Even poor Sam, whom she’d forgotten about, was standing where she’d left him near the front steps, watching her conversation with Blake. Knowing she was being observed so closely made Winter feel painfully self-conscious.
Blake smiled and shook his head. ‘Winter, please get in the truck. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.’
Winter couldn’t hold back her delighted grin. ‘Okay, thank you.’
As he walked her to the truck, Blake whispered conspiratorially, ‘I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think people are staring at us.’
Winter laughed. ‘I think you might be right.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they have nothing better to do.’ And because they’re trying to figure out what a beautiful person like you is doing talking to me, she thought.
‘Let’s get going before they start taking pictures,’ Blake said, opening the door for her. While Winter knew he meant it as a joke, she couldn’t help but flash uneasily upon the graveyard photograph in her bag. She caught hold of herself – Blake was driving her home! He’d come to her school with the express purpose of seeing her. This was something worth obsessing about, not some weird photograph.
Blake hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As they drove through the parking lot, Winter noticed the gaping astonishment of Jasmine and the other girls. Instead of feeling awkward or self-conscious, she tingled with a sensation quite foreign to her.
Winter felt special.
Chapter 22
Holding two glasses of orange juice, Winter tentatively came down the stairs to the garage. Blake must have found Lucy’s old boom box and tuned it to one of the vintage FM rock’n’roll stations because she could hear the Rolling Stones’ ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ crackling through the speakers.
Blake was hunched over Jessie’s engine, squinting in the soft glow of the garage’s light. During the drive over he had offered to fix Jessie – which Winter eagerly jumped at. She didn’t care whether he succeeded in this or not, she was just grateful for the opportunity to spend more time with him. He glanced up at her approach.
‘I hope you don’t mind – I saw the stereo, and I work faster to music.’
‘No problem.’ Winter handed him one of the drinks. ‘Is orange okay? We’re out of grape.’
‘Orange is fine. Thanks.’ Blake gulped down the contents of the glass, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.
‘How’s Jessie looking?’ Winter asked, peering into her scooter’s exposed innards.
Blake scratched his chin. ‘Pretty good, actually. I think you just had a loose spark plug. The gas filter was also a bit clogged which wouldn’t have helped the situation. Easily fixed, though. I should be done within the hour.’
‘Take your time.’
‘I’m not in your way?’
‘Not at all.’ As far as she was concerned he could stay as long as he liked.
Blake nodded and bent over the engine again. While Winter watched him work, she tried to relax and enjoy the moment. There he was, his sleeves rolled up, working up a sweat, slaving away for her. It was the stuff of fantasies – yet Winter didn’t feel excited. Her mind kept returning to the change rooms, and those three ominous figures lurking in the misted glass. Winter shivered, feeling her arms break out in goose bumps.