Give Up The Ghost

by Crewe, Megan

  The breeze lifted over me, carrying the scent of the lake all the way up from the bay. Without thinking, I followed it.

  As I meandered south, my gaze slid over the windows of the houses I passed. In one or two on every street, I caught glimpses of faces that weren’t quite right. They would lean right through the glass, or hover with the sunlight passing through them instead of hitting the skin. A translucent little girl waved at me from a balcony, but I pretended I couldn’t see. She didn’t expect me to. After that, I kept my eyes on the pavement.

  Finally, I reached the busy four-lane road that separated the residential neighborhoods from the park by the bay. The cars roared by while I waited for the light to change. A couple of vehicles that looked more like cardboard boxes than cars sagged on their wheels in the beach’s barren parking lot, waiting for owners who were probably visiting the nearby seniors’ center. It was too early for after-work joggers and too late for nannies to bring their screaming charges to the playground. The perfect time. I followed the parallel green and blue lines in the middle of the bicycle path down to the playground, where I crunched across the pebbles to the swing set and flopped down on the only untangled swing.

  A long time ago, this had been Paige’s favorite place. She’d come down to the beach all the time, with her friends, with her boyfriend, Larry, showing off her newest swimsuit or charging around on her roller skates. Always ended up jumping in the water. Before she’d decided I was the most annoying kid on the planet, she used to let me tag along.

  I swayed from side to side, bumping against the other swings. The lake was behind me, out of sight, but I could hear it. The waves rose and fell against the sand like the breath of a person sleeping. Off to the east where the beach got chunky with rocks, there was a battered plywood fence that leaned over so far in spots it touched the ground. Just beyond the fence stood the old fishing hut, and its dock, snaking twenty, maybe thirty, feet into the water.

  No one fished in the lake anymore—most of the fish had succumbed to acid rain—but that didn’t stop the hut from stinking like a seafood restaurant’s Dumpster. You had to go out on the dock to get away from it. Out to where the boards sagged and creaked with patches of rot and needly splinters.

  Right near the end of the dock, there was a nail where she’d have hooked her clothes before diving in. She hadn’t known that the wind would whip up, snatch her dress, and toss it out onto the waves. There’d been six of them there, and not one had thought that the start of a thundershower might be a bad time to go skinny-dipping.

  I closed my eyes, but the sound of the waves just got louder. It’d been stupid to come here. Sure, I was alone. The ghosts raised by the lake were only in my head—the one place I couldn’t walk away from.

  After a while, the breeze started to cool off, tickling goose bumps on my arms. Laughter drifted into the playground. I opened my eyes as a bunch of elementary school kids raced across the pebbles, claiming the remaining swings. Must have come from the public school down the street. I’d been sitting there my whole spare hour. Final bell would have already rung at Frazer.

  Enough moping around. If I didn’t head home soon, Paige would start fretting about how late I was.

  As I ambled along the bike path, shoes scraped the grass behind me. The footsteps matched my pace. The parking lot came into view, and I walked a little faster. The person behind me sped up, too. Great. Some joker was trying to creep me out. Gritting my teeth, I turned around to tell him off. I almost tripped over my feet.

  Coming to a stop on a patch of turf, his bony hands stuffed into the pockets of his khakis and his eyes fixed on me, was Mr. VP himself.

  The last time I’d been followed was in eighth grade, by a bunch of guys who thought it’d be funny to throw rocks at my legs and see if I could dodge them. Other girls, maybe, would have been flattered by Tim’s determination. But this was me, and all I felt was freaked out.

  “What are you doing here?” I said. “Are you stalking me or something?”

  “What? No. I—It’s—” Tim cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders back, seeming even taller as he did it. The sun behind him bleached his hair white. He stepped toward me.

  “Look, I was skipping history,” he said, “and I saw you leaving. That note—you got the note, right? I wanted to talk to you, and it looked like you weren’t going to stick around. So I followed you.”

  Clearly our definitions of stalking differed.

  I glared at him. “And then you hung around watching me? Real cool.”

  “You, like, kind of . . . ,” he started, then revised. “It didn’t seem like you’d want anyone bothering you. So I waited.”

  “Well, guess what? I still don’t want anyone bothering me.”

  It would have been a grand dramatic exit, me storming off with my chin high, if Tim hadn’t shifted in front of me and blocked my way, his arms outstretched.

  “I’d like to leave now,” I said, trying to maneuver around him. He moved with me.

  “Just wait, one minute, please.” He half closed his eyes the way he had when the girl had given him the chocolate bar: heavy-lidded with pain.

  “You can’t say anything that’ll stop me from ratting out Paul,” I said, “so you might as well save it.”

  He blinked. His eyebrows drew together, then broke apart as he laughed. “You think I’m here because of that idiot? You can bash Paul all you want. It sounds like he has it coming.”

  “Oh.” I shifted my balance from one foot to the other, eyeing him. “So what do you want, then?”

  The laugh had left him grinning—for real, not the usual pained expression. I could see how he could have charmed a thousand girls, smiling like that. It suggested that we were in on it together, some joke on Paul. For a second, I half believed he wanted to help me put an end to that guy’s crap. Curiosity held me there, waiting to hear what he would say.

  “You know stuff,” he said. “You find out everything that happens at Frazer, and no one knows how.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “Well, how do you do it?”

  “I thought you already knew,” I said. “Isn’t that what your note said?”

  “Well, some people say maybe you’re psychic, or it’s some weird magic, like witchcraft. There’s got to be something.”

  This time, I laughed. “You think I’m a witch?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. His smile disappeared. “That’s why I’m asking you.” He moved forward, and I stepped backward, shifting so I had a clear path toward the parking lot.

  “So you lied?” I said. “That really makes me want to talk to you.”

  “I didn’t think you’d listen to me if I didn’t say something that would get your attention. . . . I guess you’re not really listening anyway. I’m sorry, okay? I just—you obviously can do something no one else can, and I thought, it seemed like . . . I just want to know what you do.”

  “And why did you think I was going to tell you? That’s the part I’m not getting.”

  “I—I need to know,” he said, lamely.

  “Okay,” I said. “Whatever. You want to tell me what for, at least?”

  “What?”

  “What do you want to know for?” I asked. “Why’s it such a big deal that you went to all this trouble?”

  He sighed. “It’s just—it’s important.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “You don’t usually expect people you’ve never talked to to spill their guts just like that, do you? Why do you want to know?”

  “I told you, it’s important. Can’t you just believe me?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who followed me all the way down here. If you can’t be bothered to tell me—”

  He stepped forward again, giving me an excuse to move closer to the parking lot. “You’re making this really hard, you know.”

  And that was the end of my patience. This was, of course, all about him. He had the right to follow me, to watch me
, to demand answers, but I didn’t have the right to ask the most obvious question. Who the hell did he think he was?

  “Why should I make it easy?” I asked, edging farther away. “You haven’t given me any reason to say anything to you. I hardly know you. We’ve never even talked before.”

  Tim stared at me. Apparently he thought his asking should be reason enough.

  “Fine,” he said, his voice shaking. “If you want to make it hard, I can handle hard. You want to swear me to secrecy? I’ll swear on my mom’s grave. Will that make you happy?”

  The strap of his shoulder bag slipped down his arm, and I gained a car length as he yanked it back onto his shoulder. My feet slipped off the grass and onto the parking lot pavement. He strode after me, his face tight.

  I couldn’t believe him. Angry at me, as if I was somehow harassing him. And bringing his mom into it for a pity play—was he trying to win an award for jerkdom, or what?

  “Hey,” I said. “I don’t owe it to you to tell you. I don’t owe you anything. So there’s one person in the world who doesn’t jump when you snap your fingers. Deal with it.”

  Then I turned and walked away.

  I tried to make that last little speech brutal enough to stop him cold. But I was only halfway across the parking lot when his sneakers hit the asphalt behind me, hurrying to catch up. The air shifted as he reached toward me.

  “Okay, look, if you’d wait a second—”

  My hands clenched in frustration. He wasn’t going to leave me alone. Instinct yanked me forward. I didn’t want to listen anymore. I just wanted to get away. Head down, I sprinted toward the traffic lights.

  The lights were changing to red as I scrambled over the median and jogged toward the elementary school. A horn blared, and I realized Tim had raced through the red light after me. What would it take for this guy to give up? I did the only thing I could think of: I ran faster.

  “Cass,” he shouted, “will you stop? This is stupid. I’m just—” He lost the rest of his sentence in a gasp of air. I dodged a sidewalk shelf of produce, skidding on the pulp of a fallen tomato. As I barreled toward the curb, a woman pushed her stroller around the corner and smack into my way. I stumbled to the side, arms flailing to catch my balance, and Tim snatched at my shoulder. The base of the stroller crashed into his knee. The baby started wailing like the world was ending, and Tim toppled over like a tree, his bag flying. He caught himself before his knees hit the sidewalk and crouched there, panting. The bag thudded onto the cement a few feet away. A couple of books spilled out.

  I glanced down at them, lying faceup on the sidewalk, and froze.

  One was Thirteen Conversations with the Dead. The other, The Idiot’s Guide to the Afterlife. Spooky clouds decorated the covers, shot through with beams of moonlight, here a crystal ball, there a crooked tree. My stomach twisted.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tim was saying to the stroller lady. His voice echoed, the way outside sounds do when you’re miles away inside your head. All I saw was the books. Swallowing the acid taste in my mouth, I knelt down to pick one up.

  The table of contents read like a cheesy TV exposé: “Dealing with the Dead,” “The Mystery of the Medium,” “Signs of the Spirits.” The illustration showed a gypsy woman sitting at a table with a bowl of water, ghostly figures swirling in the air above her like smoke from a pie she’d left in the oven too long. Any other time I’d have laughed and tossed the book away. That woman and I had zilch in common. But the guy who’d been carrying it had just chased me across two blocks like a maniac.

  He couldn’t know. It was impossible . . . wasn’t it?

  I stood up, gingerly. Tim was hunched over, helping the stroller lady fix a wheel that had gotten stuck off-kilter. She popped it into place, glared at me like it was my fault some guy had decided to terrorize me, and rolled the screaming baby away. Tim reached for his bag, shoving the other book into it. I watched and waited, my teeth clenched so tightly my jaw started to ache. He turned, looked at me, and saw the book in my hand.

  “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” I snapped. “Pretending you don’t know anything, acting all clueless. What’re these about, then?”

  His mouth tensed. “Give me that. I was just . . . It’s none of your business.”

  “None of my business? Excuse me, aren’t you the one who just chased me down?”

  He was staring at me as if he had no clue what I meant. Crap. Maybe he didn’t know. And I’d almost—

  “Never mind,” I said. “Forget it. I’m getting out of here.”

  I threw the book down, whipped around, and stomped off toward home.

  This time, he let me go, only his gaze trailing after me. I could feel it on my back. In a way, it was worse than if he’d charged after me again. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I could tell that whatever it was, it meant only trouble.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Paige barged through my bedroom door the next morning as I was getting dressed. “Maybe looks are the wrong thing to focus on. I think you need to get a hobby,” she announced. “Or find a cool place to hang out.”

  I didn’t like the sound of this. “What for?”

  “If you’re doing something interesting, people’ll want to get to know you. Maybe you’d be happier.”

  “Who says I’m not happy?”

  Paige rolled her eyes. “Please. I’m your sister, I can tell. When was the last time you had friends over or went out to a party?”

  “Maybe I prefer the company I already have,” I said. The kind that talked to me regardless of what I was wearing or what anyone said about me. The kind I could count on not to have a sudden change of heart and ditch me.

  “Sure,” Paige said, sighing. “Anyway, first you should—”

  Before she could continue, I burrowed into the closet where I could pretend to be deaf. In the dusty dark, squished between a sweater and a pair of corduroys, my breath was even louder than her voice. Everything in there smelled like the fabric softener Mom had used since I was a baby, soft and powdery. When I was little, she washed my sheets every week and my whole bed smelled like that. It was the smell of sick days, lying in bed with Mom hovering over me, blowing cool air like a ghost’s kiss on my fevered forehead. If I stayed in there long enough, the hot press of the clothes made me feel like I really did have a fever.

  This time, remembering those moments with Mom made me think of Tim. Or rather, Tim’s dead mom.

  That whole thing yesterday had to be because of her, of course. That was what the books were for. But he’d also been so persistent about talking to me. Just how much did he know? And how did he know anything at all?

  The side of my face tingled as Paige seeped through the clothes and leaned close to me. “Are you okay, Cassie?” she asked.

  I hauled myself out of the closet with a burgundy hoodie and black cargoes. “I’m fine,” I said.

  Was it possible Tim had seen his mom the way I’d seen Paige that first time? What if that was why he wanted to talk to me? But those questions just led me back to the first—how had he known to pick on me? If I’d screwed up badly enough that he’d figured something out, did other people know, too?

  Paige was scowling at my choice of clothing.

  “You always wear stuff that’s so dark,” she said. “It’s depressing. How about a little color for once?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, wobbling as I stepped into the pants, “and don’t forget to wash behind my ears and floss after breakfast. I already have a mom, thanks.”

  Paige stared at me, her eyes wide, her glow dimming. Then she flickered and swooped toward the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. I couldn’t see her expression, but I didn’t need to. I’d watched her trail Mom around the house. I’d been there every time she’d burst into my room, wailing, “She won’t talk to me! Why won’t she talk to me?” and thrown herself down onto the floor in a heap. That one fact took Paige forever to learn. I had a mom, and she didn’t, n
ot anymore.

  “She’s been away a long time, hasn’t she?” Paige said. She glanced up at me, her eyes sunken into the shadows of her cheekbones. I could feel my arms hanging awkwardly at my sides. How could I comfort someone I couldn’t touch?

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like usual. Dad said she’ll be home on the weekend. It’s on the calendar.”

  “Right. Like usual.” Her lips smiled, but the rest of her face didn’t.

  Not that it would matter when Mom came back. She’d be just as far from Paige as now. As far as everyone living was, except me. I’d been so angry with Paige for pushing me out of her life back then, and now I was all she had. This wasn’t exactly how I’d wanted it to be. Or what Paige would have chosen, if the lake had given her a choice.

  “You know,” I said, “I think this outfit needs something.” I opened a couple dresser drawers, pawing through until I found it. A thin cotton scarf, sky blue, that Mom had

  brought back from Greece or Sweden or somewhere. Paige brightened as I looped it around my neck. I posed.

  “How’s that for color?”

  I was sure it didn’t go with the shirt, and I was sure Paige could tell, but she grinned anyway.

  “Perfect.”

  She glided with me to the top of the stairs, and stopped. Dad was downstairs in the kitchen, chopping something for his breakfast omelet.

  “See you,” I whispered, and headed down to the front door.

  Outside, everything smelled like dirt, making me wrinkle my nose. It’d rained again last night, and the air felt like a cool, damp towel against my skin. I hurried toward Frazer, trying not to think about the fact that I’d be stuck in the same building as Tim all day. So many opportunities for him to corner me. So many things that made me cringe when I tried to imagine discussing them with him. If he knew, if anyone else knew—what mattered was, how was I going to deal with it? Would it be better to deny everything?

  I turned the corner and the school building came into sight. A troop of seniors had taken over the side stairs. They leaned against the railing, passing a joint from hand to hand. I hesitated at the edge of the lawn, suddenly unwilling to face anyone. Out of habit, my gaze drifted to the little ash tree that stood near the edge of the sidewalk. Its branches dipped in the breeze, the space beneath them empty.