Wraith

by Edie Claire

  I smiled as I watched him catching yet another ride with a singularly unskilled surfer in mustard yellow shorts. The surfer wiped out on nearly every wave, allowing Zane to practice his rather eerie "this is where the board should be going" move, which involved his skimming over the water suspended in midair. This time he decided to shake things up, wiping out along with the surfer in spectacular fashion, flying head over heels in a back flip. Unlike the flailing mortal, however, Zane threw himself up in a perfect arc, coming down on the board just as it resurfaced, feet perfectly placed for the next ride.

  "Showoff!" I yelled over the wind, laughing. Zane grinned back at me, finishing with a stage bow, but my mirth was dampened a bit when I realized that the women under the umbrella were glaring at me.

  Crap. They no doubt thought I was yelling at the lousy surfer, who was floundering in the rough water, attempting to get back on his (apparently empty) board. I sunk back onto my beach mat, mortified. For all I knew, one of them could be his mother or something.

  I pulled my phone quickly out from my pocket, wishing I had had it to my ear just now. I could get away with talking to Zane in public as long as I had my phone around, but yelling on the beach was a little harder to explain.

  The phone had gotten a lot of use this morning. Kylee and Tara had begrudgingly forgiven me for ignoring their texts yesterday, but only after I agreed to describe for them every minute detail of my outing with Matt, no matter how many screens it took. I tried, but even leaving out everything to do with Zane and the shadows at Pali Lookout, it took fourteen texts to get them up to speed, and they still weren’t satisfied. Kylee kept asking questions about Matt I had no idea how to answer (e.g., Has he ever had a serious girlfriend? Do you think he’s the kind that actually dances at dances?), while Tara was apparently attempting to track our route geographically on some internet map site (e.g., Did you actually see Kailua Bay or did you just take H3 down to Pali Highway?).

  They asked questions about "the surfer guy," too, which I took care to answer a little more vaguely. I really wished, now, that I’d never mentioned Zane in the first place. I wanted so badly to tell someone the truth about him—but coming close-but-not-quite was proving more frustrating than satisfying.

  Another glider plane sailed overhead, heading for a landing at Dillingham Airfield across the beach road. The gliders were surprisingly loud, but since I’d always lived near air bases the ambience suited me fine. I looked up at the glider just in time to see Zane perched on the top of the tail. He performed a (rather pathetic) arabesque, then dived off and plummeted toward land at lightning speed. He stopped himself just inches from the sand in a dead halt, then relaxed onto its contours with a sigh—as if he had just finished a hard day’s work.

  My eyes rolled. "Were you this much of a showoff when you were alive?"

  His sweat-laden brow (fake of course, but effective) creased in thought. "Couldn’t tell you. But probably. I was a ham as a kid, that’s for sure. I distinctly remember posing for surf pictures in Malibu when I was nine. The flavor of the month was seriously impressed."

  "Flavor of the month?"

  "My dad’s latest girlfriend," he explained. "I only visited him a couple times a year, but it was never the same woman twice. ‘Malibu’ I remember, because she was a surfer herself. Got my dad into it—talked him into taking me for a lesson. One of the best days of my life, actually."

  His tone turned thoughtful. I relaxed onto my mat and studied him. With a face and body like his, I was not at all surprised to hear that his father had been a chick magnet, but it was interesting that he didn’t sound proud of it.

  "You got along okay with your dad?" I asked tentatively.

  "Oh, sure," he said dismissively. "He always tried hard to make me like him, when he was around. But he wasn’t really interested in being a hands-on father. He seemed proud to have a son; he was generous with the child support. But he had no idea how to deal with a kid. That’s why he always brought the girlfriends along. Malibu bought me ice cream, took my picture, told me I would be a great surfer someday. My dad spent more time watching her in her bikini."

  "You noticed that at nine?" I said skeptically.

  He shrugged. "So I was precocious. Dad’s genes, you know."

  He said it without a smile, seeming lost in thought. I got the distinct impression he wasn’t telling me all that he was remembering.

  "Zane?" I asked softly.

  "Yes?"

  "Have you remembered yet who you are… I mean, like your name? If you remember that much about your father, I was thinking maybe you could. Then we could look you up online… find out the rest. Maybe it would help."

  I watched, surprised, as a distinct flicker of apprehension shot across his face. He turned his head away from me and gazed out at the ocean. "I didn’t say everything was clear," he responded vaguely. He started to say something else, but stopped himself. After a moment he turned back to me, smiling again.

  "So," he said casually, "What do Kylee and Tara think about our man, Matt? Did you get the girlfriends’ seal of approval?"

  I blinked at the change of subject. Zane was good at those. "Well, they only know what I tell them, don’t they?" I pointed out.

  "You didn’t kiss him last night. Why not?"

  I blinked again. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me. He would have kissed you, but you stepped back. Why?"

  "I thought you were surfing then!"

  "No, you didn’t."

  He was right. I didn’t. But pretending to be indignant was more appealing than answering the question. "I’m not going to discuss that with you," I said firmly. "We were talking about your father."

  "Details of my life, details of yours. What’s the difference?"

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "You want to hear about my adventures as a nine year old, fine. You want to know what’s going through my head when I’m on a date with a guy, you have to give me something of equal interest."

  He smirked. "Such as?"

  "Such as… have you ever had a serious girlfriend? Do you like to really dance at dances?" Thanks for the material, Kylee.

  His eyebrows rose. "Good questions," he agreed. "I’d like to know the answers myself. Too bad I don’t. You want me to guess? Let’s say I had girls hanging all over me all the time, but I never really fell for any of them, because I’m off-the-charts picky. And I’m an awesome dancer, clearly. That good?"

  "No!" I protested. "You just made that up!"

  "Well, sure," he admitted. "But it’s probably true. You can’t know it isn’t, can you?"

  "Fine then," I blurted. "I didn’t kiss Matt because he didn’t know I was a dancer."

  Zane flipped over on his side and looked at me intently. "Really?"

  I took a breath. I had meant to make something up—something stupid or funny. Why had I told the truth?

  Sheesh, I was pathetic.

  "Maybe," I replied, thinking quickly. "But you can’t know for sure, can you?"

  A broad smile slid slowly across Zane’s face, accentuating his too-cute-for-words dimples. "Touché."

  He stood up and made a show of brushing nonexistent sand off his limbs. "So, where to next? Your wish is my command."

  I looked speculatively down the coast in the direction of Kaena Point, the westernmost tip of the island where mountain slid straight down to water and killer waves of fifty feet or more were rumored to break in winter. It was a sort of wild preserve; no paved road led there. According to Zane, the waves were considered unsurfable because of high winds and poor rescue access. The latter was significant, as the point also boasted rip currents like a river and undertows that could pull your shorts off. For his own purposes, of course, Zane loved the place.

  I was feeling adventurous. "Will you take me to Kaena Point?" I asked eagerly.

  I had expected sheer, childish delight. Zane always got pumped when I showed interest in his waves. But to my surprise, he frowned.

  "No," he replied. "That’s not a
good idea."

  I stood up in protest. "Why not? There’s a trail, isn’t there? I have a water bottle. I can hike a few miles."

  "I know you could; you’re in great shape," he affirmed quickly. But then his tone turned melancholy. "Believe me, if I were alive, I’d take you in a minute. But I’m not… and I won’t."

  I stared at him, confused. "Why not? What difference does it make?"

  He looked away from me, seeming uncomfortable. "Just think about it. It’s a long hike, the path is full of pits and rocks, it’s steep in places, and it can be treacherous. It’s the kind of place it would be really stupid to go alone, which is exactly what you’d be doing."

  "But I—"

  "Don’t you get it?" he responded, frustration breaking through his normally mild demeanor. "What would happen if you fell and twisted an ankle or something? It could be hours before anyone else came along—maybe even days. And what could I do? I couldn’t help you walk. I couldn’t bring you more water. I couldn’t even tell anyone where you were!"

  "I have my phone," I protested.

  "And what if you fell in the ocean?" he continued. "What then? Do I float around next to you and watch you drown? I don’t think so, Kali. I nearly got you killed once already. I’m not taking any more chances."

  I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. I could tell by his expression just how serious he was. He must have been deeply shaken by what had happened with the toddler—and I guess I could understand why. It had made him feel helpless. As much as he had already lost by dying, that feeling in particular must be salt in an open wound. Much worse torture, I was sure, than my hypothetically twisted ankle.

  I let out a breath. I was, for the record, perfectly capable of hiking six miles over rough terrain without fatally injuring myself. But I would prefer to make the journey with happy and willing company.

  I glanced at my phone. "It’ll be lunchtime soon anyway," I conceded, sitting back down on my mat. "Why don’t you go out and rip a few more? Then you can take me out to eat in Haleiwa. I think I’ll try one of those kalua pig tacos."

  He smiled with relief. "Sounds great."

  "You’re buying, right?"

  His green eyes twinkled at me. "As always."

  His form dematerialized in a flash, rematerializing on the nose of a board several hundred yards out over the ocean just as my phone rang. Expecting a check-in call from my parents, I raised it to my ear without looking at it. Matt’s voice on the other end surprised me.

  "Hey, Kali! What’s up?"

  Just admiring the abs on a dead guy.

  "Just chilling on the beach," I answered cheerfully. "And you? Aren’t you in school?"

  "Yeah, but it’s lunch," he replied. "Listen, there’s something I want to ask you. Are you free tonight?"

  My heart skipped. I hadn’t been imagining it after all, had I? As unlikely as it seemed, a really good-looking, athletic guy was actually interested in me. Not that I had self-esteem issues or anything. I mean, there was no reason a great guy shouldn’t be interested in me. It just had never happened before.

  I pushed the image of Zane forcefully from my mind, reminding myself, once again, that he didn’t count. Aside from the deadness thing, I was the only girl on the planet he could talk to... of course he was going to be interested in me.

  Matt, however, had other options. Right?

  "Yes, I’m free," I answered, breath held. "What’s up?"

  "There’s this dance at my school tonight—the Spring Fling. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. I would have told you about it yesterday, but I already had a date. The thing is, she’s home sick—she just texted to cancel. So I thought, I know it’s short notice and everything, but it would be a great way to meet some people, right?"

  My heart thudded against my sternum. It was perfect. A little too perfect?

  I fought off suspicion about the conveniently sick date. Hadn’t crazier things happened to me in Oahu?

  "Sounds great!" I said before I could think too much. "Are you sure it’s okay to bring in an outsider?"

  "Oh, sure!" he replied, obviously stoked. "Lots of people bring dates from other schools. You’ll get to meet people from all over. It starts at eight—can I pick you up around seven? I’d ask you to dinner, too, but I can’t get the car early enough to get out there in time—my sister has dibs this afternoon."

  He sounded genuinely chagrined. I had no doubt he was telling the truth about the whole situation—broken date, sibling rivalry, and all. "That’s fine," I assured, smiling to myself. Then a thought disturbed me.

  "Oh, wait!" I asked, my hopes plummeting. "Is this a formal? Because if it is, I don’t have a dress. I mean—I just packed for the beach, you know?"

  His answering tone was nebulous. "No… it’s not a formal. I mean, I don’t think it is."

  My brow furrowed. "You’re not sure?"

  There was a pause. "Well, the guys don’t wear suits or anything."

  I tapped my foot nervously on the sand. "What do the girls wear?"

  Another pause. "Oh, you know. Dresses and stuff."

  I took in a deep breath, fighting images of myself walking into a gymnasium packed with people I’d never met before, all of whom were wearing stylish formals… and I was in shorts and a cami with my sports bra showing. Or, worse yet, they were all wearing beach clothes and I waltzed in wearing a full-length, sequin-studded gown…

  I shuddered.

  "Matt?" I said tentatively.

  "Yeah?"

  "No offense or anything, but I really need a girl to tell me what they’re wearing."

  He exhaled thoughtfully. "Yeah, that would probably be good. Tell you what—I’ll ask somebody and text you. Okay?"

  I smiled again—tentatively. "Okay."

  "Gotta go now. See you later, okay? This is going to be fun. Promise."

  We said our goodbyes and hung up.

  My heart was still racing. I forced in a few deep breaths. This was good, right? This was just the opportunity I wanted, right?

  Crap, I was nervous. Why should I be so nervous? I liked dances. I could dance just fine—no worries about that. So I was used to going with a group of girlfriends rather than a date. What of it? Once you got there, everybody just rocked out in a big circle anyway, right?

  Unless they did things differently in Hawaii…

  My phone buzzed with a text. I whipped it out and hit the button. It was from Matt.

  Julia says casual dresses, like sundresses, and nice sandals. That good?

  I sighed with relief.

  Perfect. Thanx.

  I hit send and dropped the phone back down to my side, the wheels in my head turning rapidly. The nice sandals were no problem. But I had only one dress, casual or otherwise, and I had worn it last night.

  I cast a glance out over the water at Zane. He was piggybacking on the shortboard of a hotdogger, who was zigzagging through, up, and over the waves like a skater boy on caffeine.

  I wondered how he would feel about some shopping.

  Chapter 10

  The expression on Zane’s face could best be described as a "pained wince."

  "Shopping?"

  "It’ll be fun!" I cajoled, argument at the ready. Truth be told, I wasn’t much of a clothes shopper myself, but hanging with Zane was always fun. We’d had a blast of a morning so far, and the thought of having no one to talk to while I got psyched about the dance was too depressing. "We don’t have to drive all the way to Honolulu or anything," I assured. "I think I can find what I need at the tourist shops in Haleiwa. You can give me advice!"

  The pained expression deepened. "For how long? Like… twenty minutes?"

  I hedged. "Well, I will have to try a few dresses on."

  He considered a moment. "Dresses? Well, okay. But I’ll need to check out the changing rooms for you. Some of them can be pretty dangerous—"

  "Zane," I interrupted.

  "Yes?" he asked innocently.

  "You’re not going in
the dressing rooms with me."

  "Even if I—"

  "No."

  His lips twisted in chagrin. "Hmm… well, I suppose there could be other girls—"

  "Zane!"

  He chuckled. "Just kidding, of course. Even as a ghost, I’m always a perfect gentleman."

  "Liar."

  "Almost always?"

  "Can we change the subject, please?"

  His appearance morphed, in the blink of an eye, from dripping wet board shorts to a perfectly dry, bright green Hawaiian shirt and cutoffs. "All right, Kali. If you insist. Pig tacos in Haleiwa… and then shopping. But after this, you will officially owe me."

  I grinned. "Not a problem."

  ***

  The weather remained obligingly beautiful. Warm but not hot, with blue skies, bright sun, and just the right amount of flower-scented breeze. My high spirits seemed slightly out of place, even to me, in light of the realizations I’d come to last night about the recent "enhancement" of my abilities. Then again, I had a lot of practice at ignoring things I didn’t want to think about. And right now, I didn’t want to think about anything except finding the perfect dress and having a great time at the dance tonight.

  "First stop!" I said cheerfully, pointing ahead to a colorful shop perched mere inches from the cluttered, two-lane road that was Haleiwa’s main drag. I had parked the car in a tiny lot at the south end so we could walk the length of the village and back. It was not the most leisurely of strolls, given that Haleiwa’s mishmash of storefronts were often set perilously close to a street not nearly wide enough to accommodate the giant tour buses that frequently clogged it. But at least it had character. From high-end original art and hand-carved tikis to tacky shot glasses and hula dolls, you could find all things touristy in Haleiwa. What you wanted might be in a quaint little strip mall decorated with sweet-smelling flowers… but it could just as easily come from an ancient plantation shack with clapboard walls set right next to a dumpster buzzing with flies. Haleiwa’s variety was part of its charm.