Give Up The Ghost

by Crewe, Megan

  Clearly, he was not only a jerk, but also completely insane.

  “What would I want Tim for?” I said. “I didn’t even—He came after me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and he won’t dare deny that.” He pointed the mouth of the bottle at me, sneering. “You pretend you’re so high and mighty, but you’re the worst of any of us.”

  “Hold on. I don’t want anything to do with Tim. I’ll probably never even talk to him again after tonight.”

  “Good. You’d better. If you don’t leave him alone, then—”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “What if he doesn’t leave me alone?”

  “Not going to happen. There’s no way.” Matti shook his head. “And if you don’t back off, then someone will have to do something about it.”

  He plucked a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and stalked off toward the back door. In the living room, the music petered out as the playlist ended. Voices dropped and halted in the sudden quiet.

  My mouth was paper-towel dry. I drained the last of my root beer, but it just made my throat feel sticky.

  I’d been an idiot. Of course they assumed I was manipulating Tim. Forget that all I’d ever done was throw out the truth for people to deal with it—that I’d never forced anyone to do anything, except maybe face facts. There just wasn’t enough room in their tiny brains for the idea that Tim might want anything to do with me. And even Dad had asked me if this was a date. Wonderful. I looked like every other ditz at school, scrambling to get my paws all over Mr. VP. They thought I’d made him bring me to the party—what else did they figure we’d been doing? I cringed.

  Squaring my shoulders, I tossed my can in the sink. They could think what they wanted. It wasn’t like I could change their minds without getting into some long explanation of the dead and all, which they wouldn’t believe anyway. But I could make Matti regret threatening me. I’d been holding on to that dirt for the right moment, when Paul was most likely to listen, but if Matti wanted to push it out of me now, let him push.

  I strode into the front hall. Where was Paul? He had to be around here somewhere. A carload of girls had just arrived, prancing through the door, tossing their hair like a bunch of show horses, and I backed into the living room to let them pass. As I cocked my head toward the stairs to listen for Paul’s voice, a hand tapped my shoulder.

  “What?” I said, twisting around. The first thing I saw was a ripple of bronze hair. My heart plummeted.

  “I need to talk to you,” Danielle said. Her voice was quiet, but I could hear the edge in it. I turned to face her, my pulse skittering.

  Fine. If she wanted a piece of me right now, let her come and try to take it.

  “So talk,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes and gestured to a door by the stairs. “Not here. Come—”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said. Like I was going to let her haul me off somewhere to bitch at me—if she wanted to be nasty, she could do it where all her friends could see. “If you want to talk, talk now.”

  She glanced around. Everyone else was too involved in their own conversations to pay much attention to us. Crossing her arms over the ruched bodice of her dress, she shifted closer to the wall. I followed her.

  “All right,” she said. “But I don’t want to hear all your stupid comments that don’t mean anything. Let’s get to the real deal. What do you know?”

  I caught myself just short of gaping at her. She was asking me to spill everything I knew? Here, surrounded by all the people she’d dressed to impress? Since when did she even believe I had anything real to tell?

  She must have read the confusion on my face. “You’re obviously here for a reason,” she said. “After Paul heard you were coming, he suddenly thought maybe there were more interesting things we could be doing. So I want to know what’s going on.”

  Just like Danielle. Knowing it was going to come, determined to make it go her way, not mine. I wasn’t going to make it that easy for her.

  I lowered my head, examining my fingernails. “What part do you want to know? What happened Monday, or what happened today?”

  Danielle hesitated. In the same moment, Paul stepped into the living room, gesturing toward Leon. He saw us and froze. The color washed out of his face. Then he started across the living room toward us.

  “Dani, we talked about it. She’s just—”

  “Shut it, Paul,” Danielle snapped. “I’m asking Cassie.”

  Paul halted, stricken. Gunshots rang out from the TV upstairs. The beer bottles were clinking in the dining room, the chip bags crinkling, the fridge gasping open and thudding closed. But the girls on the sofa, the guys with their game controllers, the newcomers jostling through the hall, they all lowered their voices, watching.

  I looked at Danielle. She’d wanted to do this all quiet and secretive, but there wasn’t a chance of that now. I waited for her to make some excuse and slip away, but she set her jaw and shrugged.

  This was my moment. I should have been trembling with joy, but all I felt was a cold shiver that rippled right down to my gut. Maybe it was because of the messed-up situation with Tim; maybe it was the kindness Flo had offered; I didn’t know. But suddenly doing it like this, in front of everyone, didn’t seem like justice. It just seemed horrible.

  I turned away from her, from them, and walked to the door Danielle had motioned to before. It opened into a small den—computer desk, bookshelves, silence.

  Danielle came in behind me, frowning. “Look,” she said, tugging the door shut, “I’m sick of the hints and insinuations. Just spit it out. All of it.”

  Remember seventh grade, I told myself. Remember that first time she turned away.

  I dragged in a breath, and my mouth formed a hard little smile.

  “Well,” I said, “I’m missing some important details, like why you think your boyfriend’s such a catch when he spends most of his time being a prick, but basically . . . Monday morning he was groping Sharon Lietzer in the equipment shed after track practice. And this morning he invited her into his car, and she, um, provided some action below the belt.”

  Splotches of color rose in Danielle’s cheeks. “If you’re making this up . . .,” she said, her voice shaking.

  I looked her straight in the eyes. “I wouldn’t do that,” I said. “That’s not how I work, unlike some people. And if you’re worried about it, you can always check under the passenger seat. Sharon left her lipstick behind.”

  As the words spilled from my mouth, the door jerked open. Paul stared in at us. If the pallor of his face was anything to go by, he’d heard enough to know he was screwed.

  “I, uh, I guess you’re still busy,” he said, starting to back away.

  “Paul,” Danielle said, “stay right there or I’ll dump you without even looking.”

  “Just . . . just didn’t want to interrupt,” he muttered, going still. Danielle pointed her long, manicured fingernail at me.

  “You love this, don’t you, Cassie? You get to take your jabs at everyone and gloat about it, and wow, that must be so much fun.”

  “No, I—” I hate it, I almost said. I hate that you can’t all just own up to what you’ve done. I hate that if I don’t do something about it, no one will. At that moment, I even hated the pain on her face, I hated that Paul had thought it better to fool around on her instead of just breaking up, I hated that I had been the one to tell her. It was all a sickening lurch in my stomach and a hollow ache in my chest.

  “You’re all so full of crap—you expect no one to notice?” I said. “One person stands up to you, and—”

  Danielle tossed her hair. “Please, spare me. You’re just mad at me. I don’t like you much, either, so that’s okay. But don’t try and pretend this isn’t your stupid ‘revenge’ for stuff that happened a million years ago. We’re in high school now. Grow up and get over it.”

  She stepped out of the den and jabbed her hand toward the front door. “Let’s go, Paul. Sharon’ll want her lipstick back.”


  Paul shuffled around looking fierce, but as soon as Danielle reached the door he bolted after her. Their voices drifted in, muted, from outside: “Babe, Dani, it wasn’t that big a thing.” and Danielle’s bark of a laugh. Leon had started the music going again in the living room, and the babble of gossip flowed over the music.

  I slipped out into the hall and sagged against the wall, feeling it solid and smooth against my side. It was done. I’d slain her. So where was the joy? Where was the release? My mouth burned like I’d just thrown up. I inhaled the smell of onion rings and almost gagged.

  Tim emerged from the cluster of kids at the base of the stairs. I peered up at him without raising my head.

  If Tim knew what had happened, or cared, it didn’t show. He glanced toward the door and made the pained smile I’d always hated. For once, it seemed to fit.

  “There you are,” he said, and cocked his head. “Time to go?”

  I’d just ripped up three of his best friends. In a world that made sense, he’d be telling me to walk. But I wasn’t up to arguing.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Night had crept over the city while we were inside. The street got even darker as we walked away from the glow of the house. Paul’s Mustang was gone, leaving an empty rectangle on the cobblestone driveway. Danielle must have decided they’d put on a big enough show already. Tim’s Oldsmobile stood under a streetlamp, shimmering its brilliant baby blue. I let Tim hold open the door for me.

  The cool air followed me in, and the leather seat welcomed me. How many times had I sat there in the last week? I was too wiped to count. Right now it was nice just to feel something familiar. Resting the side of my head against the back of the seat, I gazed out the window. Beyond the circle of lamplight, the world was solid black. Like it was just me and Tim and the clunky old car.

  Tim started the ignition. The engine hiccuped a few times and settled into a steady hum. He rested his hand on the gearshift, still in park.

  “Someone said you and Danielle were friends?” he asked. In the shadows of the car, his eyes were only gray. “She never mentioned it.”

  “It’s not something she likes people to know.”

  “I take it that it ended badly.”

  I shrugged. In the house, they’d be able to look out the living room windows and see us sitting there.

  “Can we just go?”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  He sounded offended. How could he not care what they were saying? It should have bothered him more than it did me. Maybe he didn’t realize just what they were saying now.

  As he pulled onto the road, I wiggled down farther in the seat and propped my knees against the dashboard. To anyone outside, it’d look like I wasn’t even there. Maybe if I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t be.

  “So you’re just not going to tell me,” Tim said, abruptly. “I’ll have to ask Danielle.”

  My eyes flicked open, and I glanced at him. His expression was blank.

  “Whatever you want,” I said.

  “Fine. I’ll believe whatever she says, then.”

  What was this, second grade? “If you think that’s a good way to get me to spill my guts,” I said mildly, “you must think I’m an idiot.”

  “I don’t think you’re an idiot.” Tim exhaled sharply. “Don’t you realize that you’re a really hard person to talk to? I’m just trying to find a way that works, okay?”

  “Well, baiting me isn’t the way to go.”

  “What if I said I want to understand, you know, why this is important to you?”

  “Because it’s a fascinating story?” I snorted.

  “Okay, so look at it this way, then. If someone I hang out with, like Danielle, has done something so bad you’d want to get revenge on her . . . well, I’d like to know about it. I mean, should I be watching my back?” His lips crooked. “Maybe she’s a murderer or a perpetual liar or a kleptomaniac. How’m I supposed to know, if you won’t talk about it?”

  “There,” I said. “At least that’s a reason that makes sense. All right.”

  I thought I’d rattle off the facts fast and snappy, pare the situation down to the cold hard bones, leaving out the fat and the gristle. But as I opened my mouth, emotion welled in my throat, and I couldn’t speak. It was too much to squeeze into one easily digestible mouthful. I had to take a step back.

  “We started hanging out in third grade,” I said, staring into the dark space beyond the windshield. “That was when her dad got transferred here from Chicago. We hit it off, you know, like kids do. My mom used to say she couldn’t have pried us apart with a crowbar. We were best friends, if you can believe it. Until junior high. In junior high there was Jordana and this other girl who ended up going to Mountview instead of Frazer—Sloane—and we all called each other best friends.”

  That was how junior high worked. You clustered. One cluster might get along with another sometimes, depending on moods and feuds, but you were guaranteed your one group of three or four or five friends, for hanging out in the halls, for sharing lunches, for cruising the mall after school.

  The whole time, though, I’d kept thinking of Danielle as my real best friend. We had the extra four years between us, that back history of friendship bracelets and sleepovers and secret sharing. Jordana spent too much time flicking her skirt at the boys, and Sloane had nothing in her head until you put an idea there. Danielle was the one who got things going, who decided which halls we’d hang out in and which shops we’d cruise. Yeah, she was bossy sometimes. It bugged her that Mr. Hesse gave me more solo parts in choir, so I switched to band. No big deal. We were friends; you just did that stuff. And she was always fun to be around. She had a sixth sense for where the action was going to be, and if there wasn’t anything happening, she’d get something started.

  It had never occurred to me that someday she’d feel the need to start something against me.

  “So then what?” Tim asked. “You had a fight?”

  “No. It wasn’t like that. It’s . . . hard to explain.”

  A fight would have been better. If she’d thrown it in my face, accused me, insulted me, I could have argued, I could have explained. But then she’d have looked like a jerk. So she waged her war against me in whispers and passed notes, nasty phrases written on chalkboards, glares shot from across the room. And she waged it with an army. Within a week, it seemed like every girl in school giggled as they “accidentally” trod on my toes or bumped into me from behind. It didn’t take long before the boys were in on it, too, scrawling obscenities on my desk and kicking around the books they knocked out of my arms. Everyone else was doing it, why not join in? I started walking close to the walls and sitting in the back corners of the classrooms. And if I walked up to Danielle, all I got was her back. There was nothing to fight.

  “It sounds silly,” I said. “We were on debate team together—that was a big thing at school, and there was a guy on the team Danielle liked. The teacher in charge picked me to go to state finals, with that guy. I didn’t even know until it was on the announcements. But Danielle must have figured I’d hid it from her, maybe even convinced Mr. Bridges to choose me instead of her . . . I don’t know. Everyone was making a big deal about it, congratulating me, and then the guy asked me to go out for burgers to celebrate when she was standing right there—”

  “It bugged her that you were getting all that attention.”

  My back felt stiff. I squirmed upright in the seat. “I don’t know exactly what went on in her head. She stopped talking to me. I told Mr. Bridges I couldn’t do state, and I turned down the guy, but it was too late. She’d already made up her mind. And she never did things halfway.”

  Tim turned the wheel, hand over hand, and stopped with a smoothness that surprised me so much it took a few seconds before I realized we were in my driveway. Dad had left the porch light on. It painted yellow stripes through the railing onto the lawn. The windows were dark. I wondered
if he was lying inside there half awake, waiting for that click of the door before he could drift all the way into sleep, the way I’d used to wait for Paige.

  “And everyone just went along with her?” Tim said. He twisted sideways in his seat, pulling up one of his legs so the ankle crossed the opposite knee. Getting comfortable, like he thought we were going to be here for a while. My scalp prickled. Why was he so interested, anyway? Did I want him to know all this?

  “People liked Danielle,” I said quickly. “She chatted everyone up, she smiled with lots of teeth. You know.” I hesitated. “It didn’t help that a month later I was seeing dead people in the halls and freaking out about my sister. No one needed convincing that there was something wrong with me after that. Anyway, there’s always someone getting picked on, isn’t there? So when someone gets chosen, and it isn’t you . . . who’s going to stand up to be the new target? It’s not like every single person was harassing me, but anyone who wasn’t . . . they just stayed out of it, stayed away.”

  Tim nodded. “Girls are strange that way. With guys, you just punch each other until someone backs down, and the next day it’s done.”

  “Depends. I’ve seen the guys at Frazer pull just as much crap as the girls do. Everyone pulls crap.” I looked at my hands, my fingers twisting together on my lap. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. Your friends are full of it.”

  Tim’s gaze fell. He grimaced at the gearshift, scratching the back of his neck.

  “Yeah, well,” he said, “I’ve been noticing a lot more since Mom died. They’re jerks a lot of the time. I know. You know, they hardly came by my place after she got sick. It’s like I can’t even talk to them about her. They just get that look on their faces, and I can tell—they don’t want to deal, they don’t want to hear it. They don’t even care that . . . ” He swallowed thickly. “I just don’t know what to do about it. Maybe it’s a good thing there’s someone like you putting them in their places now and then.”