“He is gone!” Siobhan said with a snarl. “To us he’s gone. He’s dead, Dylan. Logan’s dead.” She spat out the last word, then covered her mouth. “Damn it.”
Mrs. Keeley moaned as she pressed her face against her husband’s shoulder. I felt Gina’s hand on my back and leaned against it to steady myself.
Dylan kicked a clump of grass into the side of the headstone. “This rain bites. I’m going back to the car.” He stalked off.
Released from his mother’s hold, Mickey sank to a crouch. He picked up a clod of mud from the gravesite and crumbled it in his fingers, muttering words I couldn’t hear. Siobhan stifled her sobs with her cashmere scarf.
I looked across the soggy cemetery for Logan’s light. I waited to hear his voice, complaining about the inscription or claiming he’d wanted black marble, or a carved granite guitar.
But he wasn’t here. Maybe he was starting to understand that these things weren’t for him. The funeral and the headstone were for those he’d left behind—his parents and Mickey and Siobhan.
Dylan and I were somewhere in the middle, alive but connected to the dead, left behind but not abandoned. These things did nothing but mock our memories of Logan.
Because we didn’t just remember him in living color. We remembered him last night, and the night before that, in violet.
Chapter Fifteen
I feel like a chauffeur.” Megan glared in the rearview mirror at me and Logan.
“Would you rather we all sit up front?” he asked. “Then I could just hover between you guys on top of the gear shift. Or sit on your lap.”
She stomped the brake pedal. “Asshole.” I hoped she was referring to the tourist who’d just staggered across the street from one Fells Point waterfront bar to another. “Next time, Aura, you drive.”
“My aunt always needs the car at night now.”
“Working late on my case, remember?” Logan began to imitate the VH1 Behind the Music announcer. “Was it the tragic end to a skyrocketing career—or was it just the beginning?”
“Stay tuned,” I added, fluttering my fingers to signal the commercial break.
“Speaking of tragedy, I can’t wait to see Dork Squad again, now that the bassist is out of a coma.” He slapped the seat in a flourish that made no sound. “Remember the first time we saw them? Well, not really saw, because that shithole in Dundalk was too small and we had to stand on the sidewalk.”
“I remember.” It had been so humid that night, we could barely breathe. But we’d made out hard in the alleyway near the back door, our shirts shoved up to feel each other’s skin. Tiny bits of dirt had stuck to my back, adhered with sweat, and fallen out on my floor that night when I undressed for bed. If the show had lasted two more songs, we would’ve done it right there, right then.
I looked out the window at the Fells Point crowds, remembering all the times Logan and I had nearly had sex. There was always something that kept any given opportunity from being just right—too cramped, too rushed, too lacking in condoms. And then when we finally had a comfortable place with plenty of time—my bed, two months ago—I’d chickened out. I’d let a little pain convince me something was wrong.
Because if we were really in love, I’d thought, shouldn’t our first time be perfect? Planets aligning? Clouds sparkling? Comets exploding?
I’d been such an idiot. And Logan had died a virgin. For all I knew, so would I, because I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
Okay, I could imagine it, and did, every time Zachary spoke my name. I imagined that tongue of his curling around more than a pair of syllables.
But I could also imagine the fallout, Logan’s anger and sadness and jealousy, and knew it wouldn’t be worth it. Not for a long time.
“Nelson’s isn’t a shithole,” Megan told Logan. “Just because they sell Guinness in bottles instead of on tap.”
“It’s a shithole by default, for being in Dundalk.”
She smacked the steering wheel. “God, Logan, you are such a princess. Ever since you guys moved out to the County, suddenly you’re all picky about where we hang out.”
I bent over to retie my shoelaces, hiding my smile. They used to have this same argument when Logan was alive. Hearing it again, hearing her speak of him in the present tense, made things feel normal.
“I’m just saying,” Logan went on, “when you’re a public figure, you gotta be careful where you’re seen.”
We both laughed at that. “Who’s a public figure?” Megan asked. “You?”
“Yeah, me,” he said. “Because of the band, and now because of this stupid lawsuit. Other people are constantly measuring our coolness. If you think that’s bullshit, you’re living in a dreamworld.”
I have a boyfriend who’s a ghost, I thought. Of course I’m living in a dreamworld.
“But if you’re cool enough,” I pointed out, “anywhere you go is automatically cool.”
Logan considered this for a moment. “I don’t think any of us are that cool. Yet.” He looked out the front window, then leaned forward and pointed across Megan’s face. “There’s a spot. Pull in there.”
“Fine. Stop shining on me.” She put on her turn signal, but as she approached the street where he was pointing, she flicked it off and gunned the engine.
“What are you doing?” Logan said. “That was a perfect parking spot. Half a block from Faces.”
“We’re not going to Faces.”
“But Dork Squad is playing.”
“And you can go see them yourself. Cool part is, I don’t even have to slow down for you to get out of the car.”
I pushed on the back of the driver’s seat. “Megan, come on.”
“Aura, we’re going to a new place in Canton. Jenna said it was totally beyond.”
I couldn’t remember ever going to that part of Baltimore with Logan. It was just a few blocks east, but until recently, it hadn’t had any clubs we would’ve liked.
“I’ve never been there,” Logan growled. “I’ve never even been past Chester Street.”
She paused. “I know.”
My throat tightened. “Megan, don’t do this to me.”
“I’m doing this for you.” Just as we approached the intersection of Aliceanna and Chester, the light turned green. “Sorry, Logan.”
“No!” he and I shouted.
The car sped forward, and he disappeared.
“Turn around!” Through the back windshield I saw Logan standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms. A white SUV bore down on him, not even slowing. “Stop!”
Before I could cover my eyes, the SUV zoomed through Logan’s body.
“He didn’t feel it.” Megan’s voice had softened. “He’s fine.”
“He’s not fine!” I gripped her seat. “He’s all alone.”
“Please. Logan’s never alone for long. He’ll find a party if it—” She cut herself off. “Sorry.”
“If it what?” I snapped. “If it kills him?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Do you see me laughing?” Megan accelerated, tossing me back against the seat.
“Pull over.”
“No.”
“I want to move to the front seat. I feel stupid sitting here by myself.”
“Now you know how I feel.” She turned onto a side street and eased the car to the curb next to a fire hydrant before putting on the flashers.
I unbuckled my seat belt and yanked the door handle, but it wouldn’t go. “Unlock it.”
“Just climb between the seats.”
“Unlock the door, Megan! I’m not a little kid.”
“Really?”
We sat there for a minute, maybe more. Megan retrieved an emery board from the storage space between the seats and started filing her nails. I stared at the house across the street, counting the fake bricks on its Formstone facade.
Finally Megan’s stubbornness overcame mine. I squeezed between the two front seats and ploppe
d into the passenger side. Then I snapped on my seat belt with an angry click. “You. Suck.”
* * *
Friday was apparently Underage Night at the Black Weeds club, so I showed my real ID for a green hand stamp, which got me unlimited nonalcoholic drinks for a five-dollar cover charge. Megan had a flask of rum in her purse if the scene turned out to be tragic. The line outside was a promising length, though, and I didn’t see anyone leaving as we entered.
We walked down a green-carpeted hallway illuminated by blinking teal, turquoise, and lavender ceiling lights. It looked like the Easter Bunny had projectile-vomited a Christmas tree.
“This place better not be glam,” I said to Megan.
“Jenna said they were remodeling. Besides, Siobhan said Connor’s the new bassist for this band Something Wicked.”
I stopped. “Is that the real reason we’re here?” I couldn’t face seeing parts of the Keeley Brothers scattered all over the city.
“Not the only reason. But Siobhan has to get up early for the SATs tomorrow, so she wanted me to see if they’re any good.” Megan tugged on my arm. “Come on, let’s give it a chance.”
We went through the wide wooden door into the club, and I knew I was the one with no chance.
It was like any other indie/emo/punk club, trying too hard with the starkness. The walls were dull brown wood paneling, splashed with paper flowers straight out of a first-grade art class (but too perfect to have been made by real children). They might as well have been captioned, “Check out our irony!”
Logan would have loved it. I would have loved it, if he’d been here. If he’d been here, the thump of bass guitar and the crash of drums would have filled me with something other than knee-weakening, soul-ripping anguish.
Megan saw the look on my face and seized my hand. “Bar.”
I followed, willing my feet not to stumble over what suddenly seemed like a very lumpy carpet.
“Two Cokes!” Megan shouted at the bartender, holding up our green-stamped hands. Then she plucked two red straws from the dispenser and bent one in half. “Short straw equals designated driver.” She put them behind her back for a moment, then held them up in one fist.
I saw the long one sticking out from under her thumb. I pulled on the short one.
She didn’t let go. “No, you need to drink more than I do tonight.”
“The rum’ll just make me cry.”
Megan’s face crumpled. “Aura, I’m so sorry. I thought coming here would get your mind off Logan.”
“I don’t want to get my mind off Logan.”
“But you have to move on.” She nodded to the bartender as he slid our sodas across the bar. I held her glass under the closest table while she unscrewed her flask and dumped the contents into the Coke. “You sure you don’t want a sip?”
“It’s no fun drinking without him. It’s no fun listening to music without him.”
“But when he was alive, we did those things on our own, and you had fun.”
“You’re not getting it.” The song ended, and I paused while Megan briefly clapped and cheered. “How would you feel if Mickey became a ghost?” I asked her.
She gave a bitter laugh. “Like he’s not already? I’ve seen him, seriously, six times since Logan died, including the viewing and the funeral. He’s always got an excuse.”
“He’s in mourning.”
“And I could comfort him. But he won’t let me.” She set down her drink. “Here’s what he does. You’re me, and I’m him, okay?”
“Huh?”
“Pretend! It’s a dramatization.” She pointed to her chest. “Try to hug and kiss me. Don’t let go until I make you. Just be me.”
I wrapped my arms around her neck, moving my mouth toward hers. She angled her face away so that my lips landed on the corner of her jaw. Her arms stayed limp at her side. I hugged harder. Megan finally gave me a quick, impatient back pat.
“Oh God.” I let go of her quickly and stepped away. “A back pat?”
“That’s when I get close enough to hug him in the first place.” She picked up her drink. “Usually he shifts out of the way too fast.”
I was speechless. What cave had I been living in, not to realize how much Logan’s death had screwed up everyone else?
Megan took a short sip. “We haven’t even had a real kiss since Logan died. With tongue, I mean.”
The band had paused while the lead singer told a story about the girl he’d written the next song for, so I kept my voice low and private.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Megan. “Why didn’t you tell me you guys were having problems?”
“It seemed mean to complain about Mickey to you. At least he’s still alive.”
“Yeah, but—” I stopped myself from pointing out that at the moment, Logan and I were a happier couple than Megan and Mickey.
“That guy behind you is checking us out.”
A tall, skinny boy with swooping black hair was standing next to a pillar, about twenty feet from us. When he saw us noticing him, he stepped back as if to hide behind the pillar.
“He’s totally your type,” I told Megan. “Go talk to him.”
“I can’t.”
I poked her arm. “You don’t have to spawn his children. Just talk. Or don’t talk. Dance.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t feel like dancing.”
Megan fidgeted with the ragged side seam of her black cami. “Then what are you going to do?”
I saw a side room with a small arcade. “Play games.”
“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she handed me her drink. “Here, I’ll drive home. I always puke when I drink and dance, anyway.”
I watched her approach the boy, who turned out to be really cute when he smiled. He must have given her a good opening line, because she laughed and put a hand to her cheek like she did when she blushed. It was good to see her really smile again.
The band started a new song, and Megan led the guy to the floor near the stage. I turned away, since I didn’t want to see Connor playing for some other singer not nearly as talented as Logan. Instead I carried both glasses to the darkened back corner of the bar area. A couple wearing Johns Hopkins lacrosse shirts popped up from a small table and went off to dance.
Score. I sat at their empty table and placed one of the glasses in front of the other chair to purposely make it look like I was waiting for someone to return any second. That way no one would talk to me.
“Hi.”
I sighed. No one alive would talk to me.
A violet boy stood next to my table. He was maybe two years younger than me and wore a vintage Cure T-shirt, the Disintegration one that a lot of emo boys like.
“Hi,” I said.
“Cool.” He gave a giant ghostly grin. “Most girls pretend they can’t see me.”
I tried not to grimace. I had a feeling girls had blown him off when he was alive, too.
“Can I sit down?” he asked.
“Without a real ass? Probably not, but go for it.”
He laughed as he sank into the chair, which wasn’t even pulled out. “You’re Aura, right?”
I froze in the middle of a sip. “How do you know my name?” It wasn’t like he could’ve heard it—or heard anything—from another ghost.
“I was reading about you online before I died. You help people pass on, right?”
I relaxed a little, glad he wasn’t referring to my alleged role in Logan’s death. “Not directly. I just translate for ghosts at my job.” I switched my phone to the calendar function. “If you need help, we could make an appointment.” Whatever it took for him to go away before people saw me talking to a dead freshman.
The ghost’s eyes bugged out. “That’d be awesome!”
“Let’s figure out where we can meet closer to my aunt’s office so she can hear your story. Have you ever been to—”
“Wait.” He looked confused. “Can’t it just be you?”
“Huh?” I put down my phone.
“Okay.” The boy placed his hands on the table. “The thing is … I died before I got to see real live tits. Not just on the Internet.” He hurried to add, “I wouldn’t touch you or nothing. Obviously. But even if I could, I wouldn’t do that to you.” He looked at his hands as he dropped them into his lap. “I just want to see.”
My mouth had frozen in an O. I couldn’t throw my drink in his face, or slap him, or knee him in the nuts. I couldn’t lose him without running to the bathroom, and I was not about to leave this choice table and spend the rest of the evening leaning against the wall.
“You want me to flash you,” I said.
He nodded vigorously, like I’d asked if he wanted fries with that.
“And then you’ll pass on.”
“That’s all I want. So, yeah.”
I could almost believe that a fourteen-year-old boy could find deep spiritual peace from a pair of real boobs.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Jake. Sorry, I should’ve said that before.”
“How did you die?”
He frowned. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Just tell me.”
“My stepfather ran over me with his car.”
I gaped at him. “You’re kidding.”
“I was standing in the garage when he pulled in. He told my mom he meant to hit the brake.”
“Do you think that’s the truth?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t look real surprised at the time.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re a ghost. You need justice.”
Ex-Jake seemed to ponder this for several seconds, then shook his head. “Nah. I really just want to see some tits.”
I groaned and put my face in my hands. “Go. Away.”
When I peeked through my fingers, the boy had disappeared. But what I did see was even worse.
Three tables over, Zachary was sliding into a large, semicircular booth with Becca Goldman. She crowded close to him, first flipping her dark brown hair over her shoulder, then twirling a strand around her finger.
I was now willing to give up my table. I grabbed my glass and stood up, turning to flee before he saw me. Unfortunately, I crashed into someone solid.
Shade Page 14