Wraith

by Lawson, Angel

  “UGH,” I SAID IGNORING the chaos and echoing voices that filled the school hallway. I was shoulders-deep in my locker, trying to find my drawing pencil and eraser for art class that started in—I narrowed my eyes and checked my watch—five minutes.

  “They’re in your bag,” Evan said from beside me. I hadn’t seen him all morning. “In the front pocket. Where you left them after your last class.”

  “Oh, you’re right! I totally forgot!” I found the pencils right where he said they were. “I’m such an idiot sometimes.” If I could have kissed him, I would have.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  Crap. I did it again. Rule number one: Never talk to my ghost best friend in public. Especially school. It was harder and harder, though, to stop myself. Evan was such a routine part of my life.

  “No, um…” Evan disappeared and I could see the annoyed face of the girl next to me. “Just talking to myself…you know…looking for stuff in my junky locker.” A book slid to the floor proving my point.

  “Whatever,” she said, and turned in a huff, but not before I heard her breathe the word, “Psycho.”

  No matter how many times I heard it, the word stung. I wasn’t a freak. I was a perfectly normal 16-year-old whose best friend just happened to be invisible to everyone else. “Stupid Evan,” I grumbled, blaming the only person I could. I slammed my locker shut, turned and found myself face to face with another student.

  The new kid. The one from my class and the ruins.

  “Oh!” I gasped, because he was too close and looking too intently at me. This was disconcerting for several reasons. The first, because he looked a little possessed and a lot angry, with his short hair and intense blue eyes, and second because no one at school sought me out. No one, ever.

  After the infamous display I had with Evan when we first moved here, my status as freak had been solidified. Any hope I had for becoming socially viable at this school completely vanished. This simple fact bonded me to him even further, making him my lifeline. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  This kid, though, he looked at me and stood near me and he acted like he had something to say. He glanced over his shoulder, took a deep breath and whispered, “Who was that guy sitting behind you in English the other day?”

  Oh.

  My mind raced for an appropriate answer. “What guy?”

  His forehead wrinkled at my answer and his jaw tightened as he huffed. “The one that pulled your hair.”

  I gawked despite myself, shocked that he admitted it.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. No one sits behind me in that class.” I tried to say this with conviction and not as though it wasn’t pathetic that people didn’t like to sit near me.

  His eyes widened and I saw a faint redness travel up his cheeks. “Oh. Well,” he paused, and ran his hand over the back of his neck, looking flustered, “sorry.”

  With a mixture of relief and fear, I sighed and pressed my back against the row of lockers as he turned and walked away.

  That relief was short lived when I realized the new kid was in my art class. Currently three worktables over and shooting daggers at me with soulful blue eyes. Not that I noticed things like that. They really just were pretty and soulful and, well, a little angry.

  His name was Connor—I’d heard the teacher call it out at the beginning of class. Even though I’d been avoiding eye contact with him, it was hard to ignore his intense glare from across the room.

  Thankfully we were busy the entire period, completing drawings that were due before Christmas break. We had to choose someone to draw a portrait of, and I chose Evan. As class progressed, though, and piercing blue eyes followed my movements, it was all I could do to keep my fingers from shaking while I worked on my picture. How he knew about Evan or could see him was unimaginable. Was he crazy? Was I crazy? Part of me was never sure.

  “Looks like someone has taken a fancy to you,” Ava, my table mate, whispered next to me.

  “Huh?” I asked with a frown.

  “Over there.”

  I looked in the direction she pointed. I mean, I had to look, right?

  Connor stared at me, hard, and this time I noticed a smattering of fine stubble over his chin. Crap, crap, crap. My nerves were not helped by the fact he was so cute.

  “I don’t think I’m what he’s looking at.”

  Ava laughed behind her hand. “I don’t know, Jane, his eyes haven’t left you once since class started.”

  “He probably just heard I’m a freak or whatever.” I didn’t mean it to come out as bitter as it did. But really, it was only a matter of time before he heard the gossip anyway.

  “You’re not a freak.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well thanks, I guess.” Ava had never spoken to me much except for some comments here and there during class. Confused, I went back to work on the project in front of me. Hopefully, if I just ignored Connor, he would go away and things could go back to normal and maybe if I kept quiet Ava would continue to think I’m not a freak.

  “Whatever, Jane, I think he likes you, but maybe you have other interests.” She ran her fingers over the edge of my drawing, the pad of her thumb grazing his curls. Her nails were painted black, matching her hair and the rims of her inevitable thick-rimmed glasses. I was jealous of her blunt-cut bangs that made her look like a modern day Bettie Page. “He’s cute. Boyfriend?”

  My cheeks burned. “Definitely not.”

  “He’s not your brother, is he? ‘Cause if so, I want to meet him.”

  ”No, not a brother either. He’s just…” I searched for the word. Talking about Evan was weird. “A friend. From my old school. A really good friend.”

  Ava sighed and glanced at the portrait once more before focusing back on her own picture. “Well, let me know if he’s ever looking for a city girl. I’d love to meet him.”

  Checking the time, my eyes slid to the clock hanging over the door, and I caught a glimpse of Connor at his table. His brow furrowed in question and I suppressed the desire to run my fingers across the lines and smooth them. The idea alarmed and excited me, so I forced my eyes away from his and back to my desk. I needed to ignore this kid. Forget he existed. I had a feeling that he was nothing but trouble, and the more I ignored him, the faster he would go away.

  Yeah, right.

  “I THINK YOU SHOULD talk to him.”

  My boots made the leaves crinkle underfoot while we walked home. The whole day was strange and disturbing and I just wanted to get to the safety of my room. Evan had been pushing this whole “Pro-Connor” movement since we left the parking lot.

  “You should,” he continued when I didn’t respond. “If he can see me—well, I would be interested to see what he knows.”

  “He can’t see you, Evan,” I spat. I’d spent my study period thinking over my encounter with Connor. I had a theory. “He’s just messing with me. Somehow he found out about my outbursts or ‘episodes’ and he’s just screwing with me.”

  Evan shut up after that—for a minute at least—leaving only the sound of cars passing by and leaves crushing under my feet.

  “He can see me, Jane. I know he can.”

  I stopped and faced him. The wind had picked up and the loose strands of hair that escaped my pathetic attempt at a pony tail whipped around my face. He stared at me with sad eyes. Something was wrong.

  “Evan, you told me I was the only one who could see you. And that you were the only ghost I could see. Remember?” I waved my hands, risking looking ridiculous to anyone passing by. “We tested this. You can see other ghosts and I can see people but other people can’t see you. And for some reason I only see you.”

  We had tested it. No humans around me were ever aware of Evan. Not at the mall or the crowded farmer’s market on Saturdays, nor on the train or at sporting events. He was invisible to everyone but me. And Evan often told me of other spirits we passed by, but I could never see them.

  Somehow we were bound between two worlds.


  “I don’t know, Jane—but he can. I know he can. Sometimes I think I understand the rules between us, but then other times…they seem to change.”

  “Why don’t you talk to him then, if you’re so interested?” I asked.

  Evan stared at me. He was chicken, too.

  “Yeah, exactly,” I said, marching the rest of the way home in silence.

  “WHAT ABOUT NEXT WEEKEND? Maybe on Sunday? I think students get in half-price.”

  I forced myself to focus across the table at Ava, while she picked the chocolate candies out of her trail mix. “Sure…the art museum?” It came out as a question. You would think I would be more grateful sitting with Ava and her friends at lunch. Finally escaping my quiet corner of exile near the drink machines. After talking to me in art class she invited me to sit with them and then yesterday she brought up a trip to the Folk Art Museum. I’d agreed thinking it would never come to fruition but here she was making plans, while I ignored her to let my eyes drift to the table across the room.

  “Yes, the art museum. But I don’t blame you for the distraction. He really is cute,” she said.

  I fought back a blush. Connor sat at a table with several other guys, laughing. It wasn’t fair. He was here for a week and already had friends. I’d been here for eight months and had one (barely). Not only that, he was possibly crazier than I was, which only made the entire situation harder to swallow.

  “Stop,” I said, but continued to look at Connor. His hair was still short, but the hair on his face was thicker. “I’m not distracted by him. Sunday doesn’t work for me. My family gets back in town that afternoon. How about the next weekend? I will be dying to get out and do something by then.”

  Today was the last day of school before the Thanksgiving holiday. Fall had passed quickly and I was eager to have a couple days break, even if it did mean we had to make a three-hour drive to my grandmother’s house.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a loud peal of laughter from the group of boys sitting with Connor.

  “Totally. Not. Fair,” I muttered.

  “What’s not fair?” Ava asked.

  I scowled in the direction of his table, a little embarrassed that she heard me. “That. Him. Why does he have all those friends? Why are they nice to him? When I was new, it took me months to make…well, you know.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence between the two of us. “I know it was hard for you at first, but you can’t compare yourself to Connor.”

  “Why not?” I regretted the words the minute I said them. The reason why was clear. Everyone thought I was psycho. No one but me thought he was.

  “First of all, Michael Brooks and Trey Arnold have been his best friends since second grade. They weren’t going to abandon him just because he got in trouble.” My eyes narrowed in confusion, barely registering Ava’s movements as she packed up her lunch.

  “Wait…what?” I asked. “But he’s new…he just transferred here, right?”

  Ava shook her head. “No. He’s always been a student here. Well, he was until he got sent to some kind of boot camp or wilderness program or something for nine months. He just came back.” She lifted her head to get a better view. “I will admit though, he didn’t look like that before he left. The short hair is definitely new. They must have shaved it. Not to mention he looks like he grew a couple feet.”

  I turned discreetly in my seat in an attempt to get a better look at him. He was talking easily with his friends, while he leaned back casually in his seat and propped his feet on the bar beneath the table. His hair was still short but as the days passed, it lacked the tidiness from when I first saw him. It seemed the hair on his face grew faster than that on his head though, as his beard was spreading thickly across his jaw. He glanced in my direction, and our eyes locked for a split-second before he turned away, re-engaging his friends.

  “Boot camp? What did he—” The bell rang and the sudden clatter of chairs and trash being thrown away as students rushed out of the room to their next class.

  “I’ve got to run—math test—but I’ll see you in art, okay?” Ava called, swinging her satchel over her shoulder and darting toward the door.

  “Bye.” I waved, but my eyes were on Connor and his friends as he ducked out the door and into the swarm of kids in the hallway.

  NINETY MINUTES LATER, I’M perched on my stool next to Ava and waiting for Ms. Anderson to stop talking about shading techniques. I was dying to find out more about Connor. I couldn’t stop watching him, trying to envision his lanky frame and scruffy beard in military boot camp clothing. I shook my head to remove the ridiculous image from my thoughts.

  There was no way that kid spent time in boot camp.

  Ms. Anderson finally directed us toward our projects and I rummaged through my bag for my drawing pencil.

  “Hey,” I whispered to Ava who was already busy with her picture. “Do you have an extra pencil? I think I left mine in my locker.”

  She shook her head no and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  I walked over to Ms. Anderson’s desk and asked for a hall pass. She handed it over with a disapproving nod, and I bolted out the door and out into the hall. The corridor had that calm, cool feeling all schools have when everyone is in class. The only sounds came from a locker door slamming near the science wing and my footsteps echoing off the shiny floor. I turned the corner and gasped when I came face to face with Evan.

  “Watch it!” I whispered, peeking over my shoulder. “What are you doing?” I continued to walk toward my locker, with him hot on my trail.

  “I saw you come out here, so I thought I would drop in and say hello.” I turned to glare at him and was rewarded with a megawatt smile. “Hello.”

  “Evan. You need to go, and I have to get back to class. Ms. Anderson is PMSing or something and I don’t want to get detention.” My fingers spun the dial on my lock and I searched for my pencil, eventually finding it behind a stack of books.

  “Fine! But I need you to give that kid Connor a break. If he tries to talk to you again—just do it.” I looked at Evan suspiciously and noticed he refused to make eye contact.

  “No. Have you heard where he’s been?” My voice rose and I dropped it back down looking around for other students. I couldn’t afford getting caught talking to “myself” in the hallway again. “He was basically in kid jail!”

  Evan leaned against the wall of lockers, crossing his arms over his chest and fixed me with a glare. “You of all people should know not to listen to rumors.”

  A twinge of guilt manifested at his accusation, but I refused to give in. Yes, I listened to the rumors, but I’d seen him with my own eyes vandalizing public property. “I’m not talking to him. I’m not giving him the chance to make fun of me or whatever it is he’s up to. In fact it makes more sense now, with his background, that he was messing with me. He probably broke into my records and found out just enough to freak me out.”

  I’d begun walking again, leaving Evan behind me, pouting against the wall. “Fine. Just…” I looked back before turning the corner and saw he had vanished.

  “Ooof!” I exhaled when I slammed into someone hard. “Watch it!” I shouted.

  “You watch it.”

  I focused on the jerk I’d run into and who currently had his hands on my upper arms, holding me upright. The jerk who had crystal blue eyes and warm, firm hands.

  Connor. Of course.

  I shrugged my arms away from him and glanced away from his eyes and hair and his warm skin, and swallowed the apology that had been on my tongue.

  “Excuse me.” I attempted to dart around him.

  His hand gripped my arm, attempting to stop me. “Wait.” I twisted out of his reach. Now that I knew he was a troublemaker of some variety, I really didn’t want to tangle with him again. I didn’t want him to make fun of me.

  “Jane, right?” His feet moved behind mine, and the thick soles of his boots scuffed the floor. “Your name’s Jane, right?”

  “Leave me alone.”
>
  We were approaching the Fine Arts Hall and I assessed that in twenty more feet I could be back in the classroom, away from him.

  “Stop, okay? Just give me a minute.” His voice was low but laced with frustration, and I couldn’t help but turn.

  “What?” I half-whispered, half-yelled. “What do you want?”

  When he saw that I’d stopped, his shoulders—perfectly broad, in that not too wide, not too narrow kind of way, I noted—relaxed, and I saw the glimmer of relief in his eyes. “I want to talk to you for a minute. Dammit.” He rubbed the corner of his mouth. “I want to apologize, for the other day.”

  I eyed him. “Fine. Apology accepted. Finished?”

  “No,” he snapped. “I’m not finished. I apologize for my rudeness and just coming up like that. I know…I know that was harsh, but we need to talk. Away from school.”

  I shook my head in disapproval before he finished talking. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

  I took a minute to assess Connor head to toe. He wore a black T-shirt under an open button-down shirt, jeans and black work boots. There were multi-colored paint drops on the hems of his pants. He appeared normal and I knew he had friends and I knew he had been in trouble, but he seemed to know more about me than he should, and all I wanted was to stay invisible.

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I don’t want part of it. I know what the other kids say about me and you just got back and all, but everyone has finally left me alone. Just because it’s new to you doesn’t mean I’m willing to be your punching bag. Find someone else to mess with.”

  I said the words with as much venom and confidence I could muster, ignoring my shaking hands. I ran back to class, pulled out my drawing and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

  Several minutes passed before I heard the door swing open and Connor entered the room. He’d obviously waited outside so it wouldn’t appear we were in the hallway together—further evidence, in my opinion, that he didn’t really want to have anything to do with me. With my head down, I waited for the sounds of his stool to slide back as he settled into his seat. It didn’t happen. Instead, I sensed him hovering by my desk, taking the long way back to his. In reaction my heart hammered in my chest.