The Ghost Runner

by Blair Richmond

  I’ve been trying so hard to save the land that I haven’t truly realized how much I’ve neglected everything else. Now I’ll have to work overtime to save my grade, my role in the play, and, most of all, my friend. If there’s even any hope left for that.

  Finally, class is over, but before I have a chance to talk to Lucy, Professor Lindquist heads toward me. “Nice of you to join us, Ms. Healy,” he says.

  That’s when I notice that he’s strolling from desk to desk, returning the exams from last week. The exam I’d completely forgotten about.

  “Can anyone tell me what’s the easiest way to flunk an exam?”

  Lindquist directs his question not toward me but toward one of the guys in the class, whose eyes go wide with alarm. “What, did I flunk?” the guy says.

  Lindquist sighs loudly. “It’s a rhetorical question. You, sir, passed the exam, albeit barely. How about you, Ms. Healy? What would you say is the surest way one can fail an exam?”

  “By not taking the exam.”

  “That is correct.”

  So while the rest of the students, including Lucy, file out of the room, I stay behind and endure an extended lecture from Lindquist. He says he’s disappointed in me, that he thought I would be the leader of this class, that now he doubts whether I’ll even manage to pass.

  “I’ll make up the exam,” I say. “I’ll come take it anytime you want.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Healy,” he says. “I don’t allow makeup exams.”

  As I leave the classroom and head for Nate’s office, I feel drained and defeated. I was so hopeful that Lindquist would give me a second chance. And if I don’t pass this class, that means David won’t continue helping me in school. Which means my dreams of college are over.

  I pick up my pace, holding out hope that Nate will be more forgiving than Professor Lindquist.

  ~

  The drama department is on the other side of campus. When I finally get to Nate’s office, I hesitate before knocking. A part of me is hoping he’s not inside, so I won’t have to do this. But I know I have to face him eventually.

  When I first took the stage for my audition, I was terrified. But after I got the part and returned to that stage for rehearsals, I began to fall in love with it—the feel of the well-traveled wooden floor beneath my feet, the way my voice projected into the empty theater. Most of all, I liked the way I could become someone else. I feel as though I need to have that again—that ability to disappear for a while—in order to keep my sanity through all of this.

  I knock.

  “Come in.”

  I open the door. Nate is seated at his desk, laptop propped on his knees; it looks as if he’s checking his e-mail. His office is cluttered with books—they cover every available surface—and there’s a nice view of Mount Lithia out his window. I wonder if that mountain, too, is volcanic.

  “Take a seat,” he says, without looking up. As if he’s been expecting me.

  I do as instructed. I wait, but it soon becomes clear that he is waiting for me instead.

  “Nate,” I begin, “I’m so sorry I missed rehearsal.”

  “Three rehearsals. You missed three.”

  “I know that, and I can explain.”

  “No, I don’t think you can. Not only did you miss these rehearsals, Kat, you didn’t let anyone know, least of all your director. Not a phone call. Not an e-mail or a text. You do remember the rules that I mentioned on day one, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “And?”

  “You said that anyone who misses a rehearsal without calling in sick or dead or whatever would be let go.”

  “Then what are you doing in my office after missing three rehearsals?”

  “I can explain.”

  “I’m sure you think you can. And I’m sure you think that I’ll let this all slide because we have only a week to go before opening night and we have no understudies.”

  “No, that’s not it at all.”

  “I can’t let this slide.”

  “I know, but please hear me out. Please. I have been spending all my time trying to get back land that my father stole from me—land that will be destroyed if I don’t succeed. I should have called, I know that. But I’m here now, and it won’t happen again. I promise.”

  He stares at me, and I begin to think that I’m getting through. Maybe he can see the tears threatening to drip from my eyes, or maybe he’s actually listening to me, empathizing with me the way he has told us to empathize with our characters from the very beginning.

  “Kat,” he says.

  “Yes?”

  “I need your playbook.”

  “What?” I don’t understand. “Why?”

  “You’re no longer with the play, that’s why. I need to give it to the new Isabella.”

  I reach into my bag, fish out the worn playbook, and hand it to him. He turns away, tosses it onto his desk, and begins to tap away at his laptop again. I stand there for a moment, waiting, until it sinks in that this is for real.

  I’m out.

  I leave his office and wander down the hall. I want to see Lucy, but she’ll be in the theater by now, and I can’t go there. I no longer belong there.

  How quickly Lithia had become a place I thought I belonged—and how quickly it all disappeared.

  I think of Roman, of how glad I am that he’s back. The two of us, outsiders together. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be all along.

  That is, if he is able to stay in Lithia himself. I hope he is having better luck with his director than I had with mine.

  Twenty-nine

  The Lithia Theater Company offers free performances before the main shows—musicians, comedy troupes, dancers. The performances are held in a grassy courtyard bordered by all three theaters. People gather on the green on picnic blankets or stand along the cobblestone walkways that surround the park as they listen to the bands or watch the dancers.

  I’m one of those lingering around in the back—I’m hoping to find Roman around the theater somewhere. He doesn’t have a cell phone or any other way for me to get in touch with him, and he hasn’t yet checked in to the Lithia Springs Hotel. Even though it’s evening, the weather is still blazingly hot, and I can smell the parched grasses from the fields across the valley.

  On the stage is a couple from one of the season’s musicals, singing a duet. I watch them with both appreciation and envy. They worked so hard to get to where they are—the countless rehearsals, the rejections along the way. They stuck with it, and here they are.

  And me? I’m in the audience, which is where I’ll be at the Lithia College production of Measure for Measure. I know that Nate had no choice but to drop me from the play. Yet I can’t help turning the situation over and over again in my head, looking for a way to fix what I broke. It’s not that I want to excuse what I did. I just want another chance.

  Roman had told me he would resort to begging to get his job back. Maybe I should do the same. Maybe I should have refused to leave Nate’s office that day. But the shame of it—I can’t go back now and beg. What if Nate just sits there and dismisses me like before? I don’t know if I could handle another rejection at this point.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Alex, his co-op badge still on his T-shirt, as if he’s just gotten off work. “Sorry,” he whispers, careful not to disturb the show in progress.

  I motion to an alcove, and we step away from the crowd. When we are alone, I begin to speak but he cuts me off with a big hug. A hug is just what I need right now—Alex has always been so good at comforting me. My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t let go of him for the longest time. We just stand there, in a warm embrace, as hundreds of people with their backs to us watch the show.

  When I pull back, he is smiling.

  “I hope you can forgive me, Alex. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about it, Kat. I’ve made my own mistakes, as you know. I have no right to judge you after what I did.�
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  “But you couldn’t help who you were back then,” I say. “What I did—”

  He holds up a hand. “You did the best you could with what you knew,” he says. “That’s all anyone can do. Listen, being angry takes up too much energy. I just want to forgive and move on.”

  “You? I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness.”

  “Of course I forgive you. You were up against some evil people, and you didn’t know. Honestly, I might have made the same mistake if I were in your shoes.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Just don’t blame yourself anymore, okay? Because I don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Things have been so crazy between us lately,” he says softly. “I miss you, Kat.”

  “I miss you, too.” I really have.

  Alex leans in to kiss me, but I pull back.

  “I’m sorry, Alex.”

  “I know, too soon, too soon.”

  “It’s not that.” I don’t know how to tell him what I need to say.

  “Then what is it?” he asks.

  “Roman is back in Lithia.”

  Alex’s smile disappears.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “He wants his job back.”

  “That’s not all he wants,” Alex says, and I say nothing. I don’t want to fuel the fire by confirming Alex’s fear, though I think we both know the truth at this point.

  “For what it’s worth,” I add, “Roman is vegan now.”

  “He’s what?”

  “He says he’s been on a plant-based diet for more than a month.”

  “Roman would tell you anything, Kat.”

  “I know you believe that. And I know I’ve been way too trusting of people lately. But I do believe Roman.”

  “It won’t last.”

  “I think it will. And I’m proud of him. You should be, too. Isn’t this good news for everyone?”

  “I guess. But I have to admit I’m more shocked than proud. I thought I’d see hell freeze over before seeing Roman change his diet.” Then he looks me in the eye. “So are you two an item now?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know anything right now. I just want to be honest with you and with everyone. About everything. My life has been a nightmare. I’m flunking my class, and I lost my part in the play. Right now I just want to put my life back together again, as much as I can.”

  “I understand,” he says. He looks disappointed, and I have to admit that I am, too. I wish things could be clearer for me where Alex and Roman are concerned—but they never have been. And now that Roman’s a vegan, I’m more confused than ever about what, and who, I want.

  “Listen, I have a meeting to get to,” Alex says, “but this land situation—it’s not over yet.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m still trying to figure something out.”

  “Before you do anything else,” Alex says, “you promise you’ll call me first?”

  “Of course.”

  He turns to leave, but I reach out and grab him.

  “Can I ask you a question about something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Remember our talk about ghosts?” I say. “How I told you I’d seen a running ghost?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it Stacey?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I think you know who it is.”

  Alex hesitates.

  “Alex, I want you to be honest with me.”

  “The ghost is not Stacey.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just know. But I can’t tell you who it is. That you need to find out for yourself.”

  “How?”

  Alex is already backing away.

  “Alex, wait. Can’t you tell me?”

  “Find her, Kat. Ask her yourself.” He takes a few more steps away, then turns and disappears into the crowd.

  Why won’t he tell me?

  I shake my head, annoyed. It’s not like Alex to keep secrets. Unless—

  Unless it’s because I already know.

  Could it be? I don’t dare to believe that the ghost runner is who I think she is.

  There is only one way to find out. As Alex said, I have to ask her myself. Which means going back to the trail.

  I look at my watch, then look up toward the hills. I’m tempted to head up there right now, but already it’s getting dark. And I’m still not sure what I’ll find up there—at this hour, probably nothing but more danger.

  So I hesitate. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m surrounded by the Lithia Theater Company—but I can’t stop thinking that rehearsal for Measure for Measure is under way at the college, and I should be there. I’ve been losing everything that is precious to me, and I want to start fighting to get it back. One thing at a time.

  And what I hear in my mind right now are Roman’s words: If all else fails, I’ll beg. I need the theater more than it needs me.

  ~

  I stand in the back of the theater. On the stage are Virginia, Tyler, Ben, and a few others. By the looks of it, they’re rehearsing Act IV. Virginia is holding a playbook, reading my lines, her eyes glued to the page. Though I know she would love to have the part of Isabella, I also know, as Nate must as well, that she’s going to struggle to memorize all those lines in just a few days. And someone else will have to memorize her former lines, too, since now the role of Mariana needs to be filled. In a normal theater, understudies are prepared to take over at a moment’s notice—but here, in summer school at Lithia College, there are too few drama students for that luxury.

  I feel as though I’m returning to the scene of a crime. Nate is seated near the front of the theater, along with two technical assistants. I shouldn’t be here. The cast must hate me, as Nate clearly does.

  I’m following along with the scene, mouthing the words as Virginia reads them. Then, as she extends her arms wide, her script goes flying, and she stops midsentence. As she rushes to pick up the script, I suddenly find myself speaking the rest of the stanza:

  Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason

  For inequality; but let your reason serve

  To make the truth appear where it seems hid,

  And hide the false seems true.

  Everyone freezes as I approach the stage, speaking the lines, becoming Isabella once again.

  When the stanza is complete, I’m standing just below the lip of the stage, and the theater is silent. Judging by the open mouths of the actors and the wide eyes of Nate, I’ve made quite an entrance.

  “I’m sorry for the interruption,” I say. “And I apologize for my lack of commitment over the past week. This role is a privilege, not a gift, and I know I lost that privilege. But before you dismiss me, just hear me out. Please. I know you have rules. But, as this play teaches us, sometimes exceptions can be made to rules.”

  By some miracle, they’re still listening to me, so I continue. “I would not have failed you if it hadn’t been an extreme situation.” As I explain my circumstances, I see them all watching but can’t tell what they’re thinking.

  I take a deep breath. “I should have called Nate. I should have let you all know what was happening. But I was ashamed. I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself. I understand if none of you ever want to see me again—and if that’s the case, I will walk out of here right now. But if you give me a second chance, I promise you I will never miss another rehearsal. I will never complain. I will never miss a single line—no matter what is happening in my life outside this theater.”

  Nate looks around at the cast. The other actors are gathered around onstage, staring down at me.

  “You’ve got some nerve, barging in like this,” Nate says.

  “Isabella would have done the exact same thing,” I say.

  Nate smiles slightly, or maybe it’s more of a grimace. “I suppose she would have. But this isn’t just about Isabella. It’s about you. Are you saying that now that your problems are over, you are ready to grace us with y
our presence?”

  “My problems are far from over,” I tell him. “I’m saying that I never should have neglected this role in the first place. That I never should have made anyone else suffer for something that is my own fault.”

  Nate fixes his eyes on me for what feels like five minutes. “The decision is not mine alone,” he says finally. “You are responsible not only to me but to every actor in this room. If—and only if—the troupe wants to give you a second chance, I will allow it. Let’s take a vote. Who’s in favor of giving Kat another chance?”

  I watch as Lucy and Tyler and Maddie and Ben raise their hands. A few others are hesitant, but after a few moments, they raise their hands, too. Soon, all hands are in the air but Virginia’s; she is looking down on me with the darkest of glares. I can’t blame her, but I had to do this. I had to fight for my role. Winning this back makes me feel as if I have a chance at winning back my land, too.

  It also gives me hope that if I can be forgiven for this, maybe I can be forgiven for the other things I’ve done.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Nate says to me.

  I leap up the stairs onto the stage and wait for my next cue.

  Thirty

  The next morning, I’m back on the Lost Mine Trail.

  If the ghost is not Stacey, it can only be one other person. And I have to find out the truth.

  It has been a brutal run. It’s not even ten o’clock, and the temperature is already nearing the triple digits. The air is so dry I feel my skin tingle, as if every bit of moisture is being sucked out of my body. Not surprisingly, the trail is free of people on this blistering day. Wiser people are staying indoors, avoiding all forms of exertion. But not me.

  I’ve told myself that this is my last chance to save the land. I don’t know why I’ve gotten it into my head that the ghosts are trying to tell me something, but it’s all I have at this point, and that makes it easy to believe. This is their land, after all; they spend far more time here than the living.

  If I don’t have any luck today, I know that I’ll have to give up and move on. I’ve got rehearsal tonight, and, despite Professor Lindquist not letting me make up my exam, I’m committed to catching up on my studies. It’s not about grades in the end; it’s about learning. And one thing I have learned is that some battles can be won, and some must be accepted as lost.