“Thanks. Congratulations, I guess. Hopefully next time you’ll be able to hear the whole set. I think it was a pretty tight show.”
“Trey said you were awesome. So … do you still want to hang out now?”
“Uhm, sure. Let me just put my gear away.”
When I’m done eavesdropping on Cecily and Marcus’s conversation, I look down next to me only to notice that Colin, who was holding my hand not three minutes ago, is suddenly over by the counter talking to Black Mop Head. I look up at the stage and Miles is still sitting there packing up his things. I decide to go show him the pictures I took.
I walk over to Colin and Georgia and interrupt them, rudely, asking for the camera. He gives it to me without question, and I march over to the stage, hoping that Colin’s eyes are still on me.
I climb up the steps and walk over to where Miles is sitting.
“Hey, great set tonight,” I say.
“Thanks. I’m Miles, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I’m Lucy. I’m kind of new here.”
“So I’ve heard. You seem to be making quite an impression in your short afterlife.”
“Uh-oh, should I be afraid?”
“Nah, all good things,” he says, and offers up another smile.
“Well, I wanted to show you these pictures I took. I think you’re gonna like them.”
He looks at me kind of funny, so I hand him the camera and let him flip through it to see for himself.
“Wow! These are unbelievable! It’s been a really long time since I’ve seen myself in a picture. You must be pretty talented.”
“You’re pretty, too. I mean you’re pretty talented, too, you’re talented … you know, with the music … is what I meant to say. On the keyboard and singing and stuff.”
Stop talking, Lucy, please stop talking!
“Right.”
Before I can say anything else embarrassing, I decide to call it a night.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna go now,” I say, taking back Colin’s camera. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe you will.”
I come back down from the stage and Cecily, Marcus, Colin, and Georgia are the only ones still here.
“We’re gonna go to the arcade for a bit,” Colin tells me. “Ready?”
I want to ask him to define “we” but I don’t need to. Georgia is standing right there, staring at me, and the person I used to be able to count on to help ice Georgia out is now the newest member of her entourage.
“Actually I’m just going to go home. Here’s your camera.”
“Are you sure?” he says, pulling me aside. “If Georgia’s the reason you don’t want to come, just don’t let her bother you, please?”
“Yeah … the thing is, what you should be saying right now is that if Georgia’s the problem, you’ll just tell her she’s not invited—especially since she doesn’t seem to have any trouble not inviting me places.”
He says nothing, and I’ve been crushed enough for one day.
It’s getting awfully tight in this compactor.
It’s been two days since everything went down at the Clairvoyance Café, but it feels more like half a century. I literally could not be any happier that it’s Friday.
Cecily and I are in the midst of what you could call a cold war. We’re not completely ignoring each other, but, boy, is it icy. Does it suck? Totally. But I refuse to back down. As far as I’m concerned, she’s playing right into Georgia’s hands. If she wants to choose Cheerleading and Georgia over Dance Club and her best friend, well, she’s just going to have to lady up and tell me to my face. I mean, yes, she did go out to the Spooky Soda Shoppe with them, which apparently is a “tradition” or whatever. But that doesn’t definitively mean that she’s decided to join the squad. Does it?
Or does it.
In the meantime, I have my own work to do for the Limbos, which I’ve been completely neglecting. I still need to get four people to sign up for the club—assuming Cecily is a no-go—and find a faculty advisor who has experience with this kind of thing. Maybe Ms. Keaner knows if any of the teachers used to dance, like, back in the day? I decide to go hit her up for answers before lunch. I want to ask her for the list of acts from the Winter Wonderland talent show, anyway, like Mia suggested. And it’s not as if I’m itching to go to lunch and sit in awkward silence with Cecily, Georgia, and Colin right now.
Not a chance.
The bell rings, and it’s time to go to my first-period class. When I close my locker door, Colin is standing behind it.
“Truce?” he says, holding out his hand to shake mine. He’s smiling again and his dimple is showing, so I’m pretty sure he’s trying to be flirty.
So not working.
“A truce suggests that we’re fighting,” I say, walking in the direction of my first class, Beginner’s Telekinesis. “I’m not fighting with you. I just don’t like the way you treated me.”
Colin follows me.
“Okay, in all seriousness, I’m sorry. I guess I still get kind of tangled up in Georgia’s stuff sometimes. I’m so used to saying yes to her that I forget, you know, to say no, or whatever.”
“So I’m supposed to just accept that you’re wired to let Georgia’s needs come first, and do whatever she wants?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I just mean … it’s hard to stop, like, a habit.”
“Yeah, well, habits are a lot harder to break when you don’t know if you really want to break them.”
“What does that mean?”
Brrrrring! Brrrrring! Second first-period bell.
“You should go. You’re going to be late,” I tell him, walking into my class.
The rest of the morning scrolls by in blurry slow motion, like an old movie. When the lunch bell finally rings I head straight to Ms. Keaner’s office.
“Oh, hello, Lucy!” she says, noticing me right away. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I reply. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course! As a matter of fact I was just going to summon you. How fortuitous! I have something I want to discuss with you.”
“Really? What is it?”
“You first, dear! Come on into my office and tell me, what’s on your mind?”
We enter her office and I sit down. It’s a weird feeling. The last time I was in here was my very first day in Limbo. I couldn’t even sit, and I kept falling through the chairs.
Flashback Friday.
(That’s a thing, right?)
“Well, I’m thinking of starting a new club. A Dance Club called the Limbos.”
“I see,” she says, thoughtfully. “That sounds like a lovely idea. Is this something you and Cecily will be doing together? Because, you know, it’s very hard work to start a club from scratch—especially as a new ghost who’s still getting her bearings. It would be ideal for you to have a partner to help you out, and I know you two used to dance together.”
“Uhm, I don’t know,” I say, honestly. “I thought Cecily was going to be a part of it, at first, but now she’s thinking of joining the Cheerleading Squad.”
“Ah, yes, that is a popular one. Not many girls get chosen. Georgia joins the ranks this year of the many fiercely dedicated and demanding captains who came before her.”
I can only muster a half smile.
“I trust you know about the rules you’ll need to follow to officially submit your club?”
“Yes, which is why I’m here,” I reply, getting back on track. “I need members, and I was hoping you had the list of acts from the Winter Wonderland talent show last year? Mia Bennett told me that there were a few dance acts in the show. I’d like to approach those students to see if they have any interest.”
“Well, aren’t you two clever! Yes, I believe I have it right here in this folder.”
She reaches into her file cabinet and pulls out a purple folder with flowers on it from the back of the drawer. She looks down the list of acts and gives me five names.
�
��Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?” she says, sweetly.
“Actually, yes. Do you know if any of the faculty members here have dance experience? You know, to advise the club.”
“As a matter of fact, it just so happens that Ms. Tilly has quite an extensive background in dance. She was a professional ballroom dancer, you know, in her past life.”
“Ms. Tilly as in Principal Tilly?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Would she even have time to advise a club? I mean, is that, like, allowed?”
“You’ll just have to ask her yourself, won’t you?” she replies with a smirk.
I move to get up, but she places her hand on my arm to stop me.
“Before you go, there is something I wanted to talk to you about as well.”
“Oh right, yes. What’s that?” I say, sitting back down.
“As you know, news travels fast around here, and it has come to my attention that you are quite the talented photographer. It takes a very special kind of ghost to be able to perform this craft well—it’s one of the trickiest and most temperamental art forms for us. I suppose I knew from the moment I met you that you had a most particular type of energy.”
“Well, thank you,” I whisper, humbly.
“Anyway, the Limbo Central Museum of Contemporary Art hosts an amateur night every fall, and I think you should submit your photographs. It is a competition, but anyone who wants to participate can. The winner gets a room in the museum all to themselves to exhibit their work for a whole month! Isn’t that exciting?”
“Very,” I say, stunned. “I’m so honored that you thought of me for this. Thank you.”
“Those photographs of Miles Rennert really speak for themselves, don’t they?”
I must look confused (mainly since I am), because she goes on to say this:
“You see, I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for this idea. Colin Reed showed the photos to me and suggested you might be a good fit for this. He participated last year.”
“Oh. So … when is it?”
“Ah yes, see dear, that’s the only—what do they call it? Catch. The show is right around the corner—it’s next Saturday on October thirty-first. They like to have fun, you know, with it being Halloween and all. That is when all the ghosts come out!”
She chuckles lightly to herself, and I can’t help but laugh a little, too. Then she continues, “The entry deadline is today, so you will need to decide by the end of the day.”
“I’ll do it!” I say, triumphantly.
This could not be more perfect. October 31—Halloween night—the night of Georgia’s stupid ghostday bash that I’m not invited to? Now instead of sitting home alone when all of my so-called friends are at her party, I’ll be rubbing elbows with Limbo Central’s elite artsy crew! There’s nothing like being with super cool, creative people to take your mind off of not being invited to the biggest party of the year. Right?
“Excellent!” Ms. Keaner says. “I’ll call the committee and alert them right now. Take these forms and fill them out, and drop them back here before the end of the day.”
“Thanks, Ms. Keaner!”
“You’re very welcome, Lucy.”
I decide to skip lunch altogether and go see if Ms. Tilly is in her office. If she’s not game to advise the Limbos, I’m going to need another plan. I walk into her office and tell the secretary I’d like a few minutes with the principal. While I wait, I start to get nervous. What if she asks me all kinds of questions about the club that I can’t answer? The official club petition form asks you to state a purpose for the club, why it’s important, and how it will incorporate ghost skills. I know that last part already, but what about why it’s important? I think back to when Cecily and I were dancing and try to remember all the reasons we did it. Why was it so empowering? Why did we work so hard and practice so much?
“Ms. Chadwick?” the secretary calls out. “Ms. Tilly will see you now.”
I enter her office, and my nerves kick into high gear. I mean, this is the PRINCIPAL! What was I thinking? Do I want this club so badly that I’m willing to throw myself to the sharks?! What person in her right mind knowingly—voluntarily—marches into the principal’s office and asks to spend MORE time with her?
It’s B.A.N.A.N.A.S.
“Ms. Chadwick,” Ms. Tilly says as I open the door, “please, come in.”
“Thanks.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Well, uhm, I’m sort of thinking of starting a new club.”
“Really? That’s ambitious for a new student. What kind of club?”
“Uhm, it’s a dance club. It’s going to be like ballet mixed with contemporary routines set to popular music. We’re going to stage it with backdrops and do the costumes and everything. We’re going to be called the Limbos.”
Ms. Tilly flashes me a big smile and then attempts to cover it up ever so slightly, almost as if her own reaction took her by surprise.
“That is ambitious,” she concludes. “I like the name very much.”
“Thanks.”
“So, what brings you to me, then? How can I possibly help you in your endeavor?”
“You can be my club’s faculty advisor.”
From the look of her shocked expression, no one’s ever asked her this before. That’s probably because no student is half as crazy as I am. And make no mistake, at this moment? I am.
Crazy.
After a few seconds, she still seems stunned. So I go on.
“See, I heard that you used to be a pretty serious dancer. A professional. You know, back when you were alive. And I really need someone who understands what being a dancer is all about.”
“And … what is being a dancer all about to you?” she asks, thoughtfully.
“It’s about discipline, self-expression, and hard work. But it’s also about being part of a community, you know? I was a ballet dancer, you know, before, and even though I felt like I was part of a group, I didn’t always feel like we had each other’s backs. So I want this club to be better than that. And … it’s a great way to feel connected to another person. When you share a love of dance with someone, it’s, like, completely different from anything else. I don’t know how to describe it … but it’s really overpowering.”
I finish talking and more silence ensues. I think about Cecily. How much fun we would have had doing this together. How important dance used to be to her—how we shared that so completely. It’s what bonded us together. And if that goes away, what happens to us?
“That’s very insightful,” Ms. Tilly finally replies.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
More silence.
I feel like I’m awaiting some kind of sentencing, like when I did something wrong and my parents were deciding how to punish me. It’s really nerve-racking! I start to doubt my decision to come in here. What if this was the worst idea EVER? What if she’s not only going to say no? What if she’s going to tell me that I’m not ready to start a club on my own or I’m not doing it for the right reasons and she makes me drop the whole idea completely?
Calm down, Lucy, this is not the end of the world. Take some deep breaths before your emotions attack THE PRINCIPAL.
“My answer is yes.”
“Yes!” I shout, jumping out of my chair. “Yes, like yes? You’ll do it?”
“Yes, that’s what yes means.”
“I can’t believe it. I thought for sure you were going to say no.”
“Nope,” she says, cheerily. “And in fact, I’m honored that you even asked me. I’ve never been asked to advise a club before. I think most students are scared of me.”
“Psh, scared? That’s silly!”
I must be having some sort of fit to be talking to my principal this way, but who cares. SHE SAID YES!!!!!!
“Okay, we’ll discuss details another time. Run along now—the fifth-period bell is going to ring soon.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you!” I cry, halfway out of her of
fice.
When I walked into school this morning, things were looking mighty drab. But now? I have to admit they are starting to turn. I have my handy list of people to scout out for the Limbos, I have the coolest, most powerful faculty advisor of all time, AND I’m enrolled in the amateur art night at the museum, which is WAY better than some stupid old ghostday party being thrown by someone I can’t stand.
Just then the bell rings, and everyone exits the cafeteria. I notice the herd of cheerleaders, all still dressed in their uniforms even though tryouts are officially O.V.E.R. Not that I’m surprised. Georgia will do whatever it takes to get them to follow her around for the rest of her life.
I spot Colin and switch gears. “Colin!” I call out.
He sees me and comes over.
“I just wanted to thank you for suggesting that art contest to Ms. Keaner,” I tell him. “I’m going to do it.”
“That’s great,” he says. “Your photos are really good.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Well, you thinking about me means a lot.”
He smiles. “My buddy who volunteers for the show said they were still looking for submissions—so it seems like fate.”
“Right.”
At that exact moment the cheerleaders parade by us, and I see Cecily in her shiny new uniform. Well, it’s not the exact uniform. She isn’t powerful enough to make the whole thing, so she just changed the colors of her existing outfit to gray-and-white. But she did manage to change the tutu into a regular skirt a couple of days ago.
Colin sees her walking toward me and he takes off to class, leaving us alone.
“So, I guess you’re officially part of the cheerleading squad now,” I say.
“I guess I am,” she replies.
“And you didn’t feel like you owed it to me to at least be up front and tell me that—I mean, before you started gallivanting around the school in uniform?”
“I don’t know,” she says, kind of coolly. “It sort of feels like I always owe you something these days, and this time, I just wanted to make a decision and do something that I wanted to do without having to get your permission first.”
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