Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board (Weeping Willow High)

by Aarsen, Zoe

  I sighed. “I guess there’s not much I can do about that. I’m giving her plenty of reasons to be worried about me.”

  “That’s not the part that’s weird,” Trey said. “She left the door open when she left, and Maude came in. This freaked me out so much: the dog sat down and just stared up at the ceiling, blinking and watching. She knows something’s in there.”

  This chilled me; I so desperately wanted Maude to remain safe from the spirits trying to interact with me. “Was she barking?”

  “Not at all,” Trey said. “She just sat there, like she was watching TV. She barely even noticed when I left.”

  Mischa arrived not long after Trey bought an ice cream cone and walked home. She was dropped off by Amanda, almost half an hour late for her shift, and walked across the parking lot directly toward me, ignoring everyone else. “I’m here,” she announced. “But please, please don’t make me talk to her.” She gave Hannah an evil sideward glance across the lot, where Hannah was grinning and having the time of her life talking with Jeff and Tony about their morning of lawn work.

  I tasked Melissa with taking over my duties with Tracy at the card table, prepared to take the next job that came in and put in some manual labor, personally. Mischa and I both watched in agony, our conversation abruptly ending, as we noticed Pete’s car enter the parking lot. As expected, he climbed out of the car and shyly approached Hannah, placing one hand lightly on her shoulder and kissing her suspiciously close to her mouth.

  “Unbelievable!” Mischa muttered, tightening her grip on the handle of her rake. “So, she really is after him. She even looks different than she did back in September. I remember on the first day of school thinking she was kind of shy and could work it a little more. She’s wearing different clothes now, and more makeup.”

  I had noticed that, too. Maybe before Olivia’s death, Hannah had been holding back a bit, not wanting to overthrow the queen. But now that the queen was out of the way, she wasn’t the least bit shy about batting her long eyelashes anymore, and making it abundantly clear that she was the cutest girl at Willow High School.

  Pete’s flirtatious interaction with Hannah wasn’t the only surprise of the afternoon. The very next car to pull into the lot was a black Mercedes driven by none other than Mr. Richmond. Olivia and Evan’s dad was classically handsome, and he whipped off his aviator sunglasses in a practiced, smooth move as he stepped out of his car. He smiled directly at me and Mischa where we lingered near the card table, looking like a catalog model with his cleft chin and broad shoulders, wearing a classic navy cable knit sweater and khakis.

  “Can you girls tell me where a fellow can get some help with yard work around here?” he asked us in a deep, playful voice that made me wish my own dad was more like him, and less like a beach bum having a severe mid-life crisis, teaching two classes a week when he wasn’t repainting his boat.

  “You came to the right place,” Mischa said in her special, perky voice reserved for parents.

  Since Mischa and I had already committed to taking on the next task that came in, we climbed into Mr. Richmond’s back seat and made small talk about school all the way to the Richmonds’ house. Mischa had been close friends with Olivia far longer than I had, and Mr. Richmond asked her a litany of questions about her parents, her sister, and far-off plans for college. I cringed when I saw Evan’s pick-up truck parked in the driveway. Naturally, the Richmonds’ had a perfectly landscaped front lawn, so the most we could due to earn our wages for two hours was rake the leaves that had fallen from the trees near the curb, and weed in between the bushes and fluffy goldenrod planted around the perimeter of the house. I cringed as I pulled weeds near the ground-level window on the side of the house through which Pete had kissed Olivia on the night of her birthday. I fought the urge to peer through the hazy window to the Richmonds’ basement, not wanting to see the location where we had played Hannah’s game and relive those moments in my head.

  Nearing the end of our work at the Richmonds’ I felt a nagging urge to use the bathroom. I hadn’t gone since earlier that morning when I’d dashed into the ice cream shop. When Mr. Richmond stepped outside and said, “Looks like you girls are just about done out here,” I seized the opportunity to ask if it would be okay for me to use their restroom.

  Inside the Richmonds’ home, I was overcome with emotion simply from the familiar potpourri smell in their front hallway. Even though Mr. Richmond had just welcomed me into the house moments earlier, I still felt like a sneaky intruder, trying to be as quiet as possible, cringing at the sound of my own footsteps. Just as I was about to reach for the light switch in the bathroom on the first floor, I wasn’t sure what inspired me, but I felt a sudden and irresistible urge to sprint up the stairs to the second floor and use the bathroom adjoined to Olivia’s room. The house seemed silent and empty, and although Evan’s car was parked in the driveway, I thought it might be possible that he had gone somewhere with his mother. Once the notion of going into Olivia’s room entered my head, I couldn’t shake it. It was as if I was magnetically being drawn to that corner of the house. After standing in the bathroom in a state of suspended animation for at least thirty seconds, I finally spun on my heel and darted upstairs, my heart pounding.

  I was surprised to find the door to Olivia’s bedroom wide open. Late afternoon sunlight flooded the room through the windows, and I marveled at how unchanged it looked since the last time I was there. Olivia’s white comforter was still spread across her queen-size bed. Her stuffed Gund teddy bears still flanked her pillows like guards. A bottle of amber-hued perfume waited patiently on her dresser, and I impulsively lifted the heavy glass bottle to my nose to indulge in a whiff of Olivia’s sweet scent. Pictures of Olivia, Mischa, and Candace were tucked into the wooden frame around the mirror attached to Olivia’s dresser. In one picture, Olivia smiled brightly in Pete’s arms, and I realized it was a photograph taken at Homecoming the previous year. The piles of clothes that had been on the floor the night of Olivia’s birthday had been put away, and a stuffed unicorn, the kind that could be won by throwing darts at balloons at Winnebago Days, was set on the white wicker rocking chair in the corner. Standing in the center of the room, it seemed as if Olivia was simply not home instead of simply not alive; as if she could walk through the door at any second and ask what I thought I was doing in her room.

  Ignoring my bladder, I dared to open Olivia’s closet to peek inside, and saw the eggshell-colored strapless dress that Olivia had bought at Tart hanging in a clear plastic wrap on the rack, singled out from the other familiar clothes as if no one had altered anything in Olivia’s closet since the morning of the big game. I thought of Maude at my own house, staring up at the ceiling, and realized why it felt like Olivia might catch me red-handed in her room any second. Because it was very likely that her spirit knew exactly where I was.

  “What am I supposed to do next, Olivia?” I asked aloud, quietly, looking around her bedroom. “I don’t know how to prevent Candace from going on the trip with her dad. You have to give me some kind of sign.”

  I used the bathroom quickly, not even bothering to turn on the light. When I turned on the faucet to wash my hands, I observed that the squirt bottle of liquid lemon-scented soap that used to be in there had been replaced by a crystal dish of white soaps shaped like hearts. Then, the conundrum: wash my hands with a brand new, unused novelty soap and leave evidence that I’d been in Olivia’s room, or simply not wash my hands. After two hours of raking leaves and digging through dirt, I genuinely wanted to wash up. On an impulse, I washed my hands quickly with one of the creamy little white hearts, and then, feeling like a criminal, I wrapped the remainder of the soap in a tissue and stuck it in the pocket of my jeans. I bolted down the stairs, really not wanting any of the Richmonds to catch me snooping in Olivia’s room. Outside, Mr. Richmond already had the engine running, ready to drive us back to the shopping center.

  CHAPTER 14

  That evening, after Hannah declared the day a success
(twenty-two juniors had raised their funds for the ski trip, and the weatherman’s prediction that it might rain in the late afternoon had not come true), I accepted a ride home with Amanda and Mischa. “I’ve been thinking,” Mischa announced, “about what you started telling me on Sunday. If you’ve been able to make a connection with Olivia, then I want to talk to her, too.”

  I thought of the Ouija board in Trey’s basement, and decided it might not be a terrible idea to let her try. After all, Olivia had been better friends with Mischa than she had been with me. Perhaps she’d be able to give Mischa clearer directions, although I couldn’t help but wonder if that was the case, why Olivia had been lurking in my bedroom instead of taking up ghostly residence at the Portnoys’ house. “Can Trey and I come over tomorrow night? I have to work the Rake Sale all day, but we’ll be done by five.”

  On Sunday evening, Trey and I walked across town to the Portnoys’ carrying the board, in its box, tucked into a shopping bag, along with us in the dark rain. He rolled his eyes dramatically while I spoke with the guard at the station who stood watch over the entrance to the Portnoys’ gated community.

  “We’re here to visit the Portnoy residence,” I announced. “I’m McKenna Brady.” The guard nodded and phoned the Portnoys’ to confirm that we were expected guests.

  “What are these gates supposed to be keeping out?” Trey mused aloud. “People who don’t live here, like us?”

  I smirked, understanding his point, but not wanting to alarm the guard. There was relatively little crime in Willow, so the entire purpose of a gated community was lost. The gate served to represent a barrier between the wealthy on the inside and the less wealthy on the outside, as sort of a physical reminder to the rest of the town that we live here, and you don’t.

  The guard waved us through and we entered the community on foot, walking another two blocks past sprawling mansions with manicured lawns until we reached the brick home in which the Portnoys lived. Mischa met us at the front door, eating ice cream directly out of the gallon carton, causing me to experience a strong pang of resentment toward her for having such a tiny frame. “Let’s go up to my room,” she suggested. “My parents are out.”

  We climbed up to the second floor, and walked past Amanda’s room toward the end of the hall. Mischa’s room was decorated entirely in shades of purple, with lavender carpeting and a rich violet velvet comforter on the bed.

  “Have you guys used this thing before?” she asked skeptically as we sat down on the floor and Trey opened the board.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Only once, to try to contact whatever was creating such a commotion at my house. We are pretty sure it was Olivia who responded to us.”

  Mischa made a grunt that suggested she was satisfied with my answer. It was still early, not even dinner time yet, but already night outside due to the early setting of the sun, a sign that winter was fast approaching. “Should we turn off the lights or something?” Mischa asked.

  Trey nodded to suggest she should, even though we both knew that if Olivia wanted to make her presence known, a few photons from an energy-saver light bulb were hardly going to stop her. Mischa plopped down in between us after flipping off the light switch on her wall, and the three of us set the tips of our index fingers on the planchette. A dim orange glow filled the room from Mischa’s Snoopy night light, plugged into the wall near the headboard of her bed. Trey explained that we needed to move the planchette around the board to warm it up and summon spiritual activity.

  “Is this going to be scary? Should I, like, go to the bathroom first?” Mischa asked in all seriousness.

  “You should announce that we’re looking for Olivia. Just also say, only kind spirits are welcome here,” Trey instructed Mischa, irritation with her frivolity audible in his voice. He was being patient and cordial for my benefit only, I knew.

  Mischa looked to me for confirmation that she should repeat those words, and I nodded to encourage her.

  “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “We are trying to summon the spirit of Olivia Richmond. Only kind spirits are welcome here.”

  The three of us sat on our knees in breathless silence for nearly a minute, our fingers resting on the immobile planchette, waiting to be spooked by sudden movement. But I already had a strong hunch that our effort was going to go ignored by the spirit world. Everything about the setting felt wrong. It was too busy with the noises and energy of life; the heat coming through the vents was audible, a dog barking down the street could be heard, I could hear Mischa’s steady breathing and smell her anticipation.

  “I don’t think anything’s happening,” I announced. “Maybe you should try, Trey.”

  I could tell that Trey suspected the same thing I did; the Portnoys’ house was just not the right place to summon a spirit, but he indulged us and in a firm voice said, “We request to speak with the spirit of Olivia Richmond. We only welcome kind, well-intentioned spirits.”

  We waited another minute, and without her even saying I word, I could sense Mischa’s patience expire. She finally leaned back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest. “This is totally unfair and ridiculous. I don’t even believe you guys that you spoke with Olivia before. And that is really messed up, if you’d lie to me.”

  Trey ran his hands through his hair and the annoyance that I had sensed bubbling in him since we were at the guard station finally boiled to the surface. “We did communicate with Olivia, but to make this work, everyone has to be very serious about it, and not have some frivolous expectations of a horror movie scenario unfolding,” he snapped. “When it works, there won’t be any gusts of wind, or scary music, or-î

  Unexpectedly, with my finger remaining alone on the planchette, it began darting across the board. Trey and Mischa both fell silent immediately, watching my hand jerk from one corner of the board to another. The sudden movement took me by surprise, too, but even when I attempted to pull my hand back, I couldn’t. My finger felt affixed to the planchette, a slave to its will.

  “What’s happening?” Mischa asked in a terrified voice. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “It’s not a joke, I can’t lift my hand!” I exclaimed. The fear in my voice convinced her that I was not fooling around. The planchette came to rest pointing at the letter S. “Do you see that, Trey? S.”

  Mischa reached forward in an attempt to place her finger back on the planchette, and Trey grabbed her arm to stop her. “Don’t,” he warned.

  It jerked my fingers after a moment toward the letter T.

  Then O.

  It came to rest on the letter P.

  Mischa pressed her hands over her mouth in surprise, and her eyes were enormous. “What’s it trying to tell us?”

  “To stop something,” Trey snapped, stating the obvious.

  “But stop what?” Mischa gasped. I felt her fingernails digging into my right shoulder. “Stop playing with this board? Stop Candace from going to Hawaii? Stop trying to reach Olivia? Stop messing with Hannah?”

  But the planchette didn’t specify. It dragged my finger as we watched in silence to the N, the O, and then finally, the W.

  “What’s it doing? What does it mean? Stop what now?” Mischa shrieked.

  “Is this Olivia? Are we talking with Olivia?” I asked the board desperately.

  The planchette came to rest alarmingly at NO.

  An hour later, after we had boxed up the Ouija board and microwaved quesadillas in the Portnoys’ kitchen, Mischa was fuming that only I had been able to make any kind of a connection with a spirit.

  “It’s not fair! We were all trying. What makes you so special that they only want to talk to you?”

  I chewed and shrugged, not having any response for her. It didn’t comfort me much that the spirit world had chosen me as the lucky recipient of its messages that night. Especially because whoever had contacted us that night had not been Olivia, which meant that there were other spirits involved, who one way or another, knew about me.

  “Maybe
because of, you know,” Mischa shrugged, her eyes huge, frowning as if I ought to have known exactly what she was insinuating. She realized by my expression that I was clueless. “Your sister. Maybe she’s like a conduit between us and them. Maybe that was her, telling us to stop. We should have asked.”

  Trey cleared his throat, suggesting to Mischa that she should pipe down.

  “My sister’s been dead a long time,” I said, “and I’ve never had any mix-ups with ghosts before this year. So if Jennie was going to figure out a way to get in touch with me, I would hope it would be to communicate about something other than Hannah Simmons’ little game.”

  That night, I lay in Trey’s bed staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Why hadn’t Jennie ever reached out to me? If it hadn’t been too complicated or strenuous thing for Olivia to manage, then why hadn’t Jennie been able to figure out how to make contact?