Afterlife Academy

by Admans, Jaimie

  “I really don’t need a lecture from you of all people,” I snap.

  “Fine,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “But I think the teachers are right. I don’t think you can go back. I think you just have to accept what’s happened to you and move on.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Let’s talk about something different.”

  “How did you meet all those people and how come they like you so much?” I ask.

  “Am I really that unlikeable?”

  “It would depend on who you’re speaking to,” I say. “I can see that you have potential but Wade and Soph might not agree with me.”

  “Potential, huh?” He winks at me.

  “Don’t get too full of yourself.” I grin. “You still have a scientific calculator in your pocket.”

  “Actually, I took your advice and put it in my bag,” he says, grinning back.

  His smile is kind of cute. How come I’ve never noticed that before? I suppose because Anthony has never had a reason to smile at me before.

  “I’m sorry,” I say suddenly. “For the way I treated you before.”

  “You’ve already said that.”

  “I know, but I really mean it. I want you to know that. I’m sorry for the way Soph, Wade, and I behaved, and if we ever get back home, I’m going to make sure it never happens again.”

  “What makes you think we’re going to get back home?” he asks around a mouthful of his baguette.

  “We will. We have to. Look…” I glance around to make sure no one is eavesdropping, then I lean in and tell him about the forum page I found on the Internet. “We have to find the way out. We can’t stay here forever.”

  “No, we graduate and move on to something else,” he says like I’ve lost my mind.

  “But don’t you want to go home?”

  He shrugs.

  “Don’t you miss your family?”

  “Look,” he says. “I’m not trying to be harsh here because I love my gran to bits, but she’s getting old. She was eighty-six last month. She’s too old to have a teenager around, and what happens if I get home and then she dies? I’d be on my own again.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I say. “You’d have me.”

  “Oh yeah,” he says. “Because you really want to be eating lunch with me right now. You’re not just here because I’m the only option. If Wade or Sophie walked in right now, you wouldn’t go running over to them and pretend you’d never so much as spoken to me.”

  “I wouldn’t.” I lie. And then I think about it. “No, I wouldn’t. You’re a really nice guy, and I know that we never gave you a chance before. If Wade and Soph were here, I’d persuade them to give you a chance too. I do want to be here eating lunch with you. It’s not just because no one else will speak to me.”

  “Hmm,” he says.

  Great. He doesn’t believe me. I’m trying to be nice and he doesn’t believe me.

  “I mean it,” I say.

  “So, what do you think Visualisation class will be like?” he asks, completely avoiding the conversation. “Do you think it will be like the pensieve in Harry Potter?”

  I stare at him. “Do you really think I’ve read Harry Potter?”

  He thinks about that for a moment. “No,” he says eventually. “Now that I think about it, I’m sure Cosmopolitan is about as complicated as your reading matter gets.”

  “Hey,” I go to protest, but honestly he’s right. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll go up to the library here and get them out, seeing as there’s nothing better to do.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Visualisation class is in what used to be the technology block at our old school. Ghosts probably don’t have much need for technology, so this must be much more useful. Soph and I always considered Technology a fairly useless subject anyway.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting to see when I walk in. Maybe some huge dark room with a lot of crystal balls? But it looks just like an ordinary classroom. There are desks set out in rows, the teacher’s desk is at the front of the room, the walls are plain, and there isn’t much else to see.

  Clearly I was expecting something more fantastical than this.

  I take a seat next to Anthony and he stays with me even though when we walk in a boy waves to him and pats the empty seat at his desk.

  It’s so weird to see Anthony being popular, especially when everyone hates me.

  The teacher who comes in is a young man. Most of the adults here seem to range from old to ancient. Apart from Narcissa, and honestly, who knows how old she might be, but I suspect it might be about a hundred years older than she looks.

  “Hello,” the man greets us. “Welcome to Visualisation class. For the benefit of our new arrivals, I am Mr Nathan. I understand that this class may be hard for you and you should be aware that nothing is required here. This is all about relaxing our minds and bodies and allowing our brains to let us see what we want to see. There is no pass or fail, so don’t worry about that. If you don’t want to participate, you are welcome not to come.”

  Personally I think all teachers should be that easy-going and all classes should be optional.

  “Now then,” he continues. “Visualisation is when our minds allow us to see the people we have left behind. We know this is a sensitive topic, so we do handle it with the utmost care. You all have group therapy sessions on your schedules, and there is a school counsellor available at all times for one-to-one sessions if you feel the need to talk about what you have seen. You are absolutely not forced to participate in this class. It can be hard to see friends and family carrying on their life without you, so no one is required to visualise. We’ll start with a relaxation exercise to open your minds. And let’s try to keep falling asleep to a minimum, hmm?”

  Everyone laughs at that.

  This is the most important class for me. It’s good we’ve got a nice teacher.

  “I want you all to relax. Just close your eyes and imagine that you’re in your favourite place from when you were alive. The nicest place you’ve ever been. Visualise yourself there. Feel the motions, hear the sounds, smell the smells.”

  I visualise lying on Wade’s bed. His arms were around me and we had a Marilyn Manson CD on. His choice. His parents were out for the day so we’d skipped school for the afternoon and gone to his house. We’d kissed for a while and Wade had copped a feel. We were lying down, just relaxing. Wade fell asleep and I laid there with my head on his chest, listening to his heart beating and breathing in the smell of his aftershave.

  “Now then,” Mr Nathan says quietly. “I want a volunteer. Who wants to visualise their loved ones? Once again, I must make extremely clear, this can be a hugely difficult thing to see. You do not have to do so if you’re not completely sure.”

  My hand flies up in the air.

  “I’m sure,” I say when he points to me. “I have to see them. I have to know my boyfriend is all right.”

  Mr Nathan nods.

  I go to get up but he tells me to stay in my seat.

  I’m sure he’s going to get the crystal ball out soon, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tells me to sit down with my eyes closed and to clear my mind of all distractions. Then he says that I have to concentrate on who I want to see and to think about a vivid memory involving the person.

  I do as he says. It seems like I’m sitting there for ages just thinking about the same memory of the afternoon lying on Wade’s bed. There is nothing in my mind. Honestly, I have no idea how I’m supposed to see Wade without some sort of magic crystal ball or something.

  But suddenly there he is. I see him. I’m sitting in class, in a chair in the old technology block, and I can see Wade as clear as day behind my closed eyelids.

  It takes my breath away.

  If I have any breath, that is.

  He’s as beautiful as I remember him.

  And broken.

  Really broken.

  I thought he might have been in hospital, but he’s not. He’
s on the couch in his parents’ living room. He’s so clear it’s like I’m sitting right opposite him. It’s like I could reach my hand out and touch him, but I know I can’t, and that thought makes a lump rise in my throat.

  Poor Wade.

  No, he’s not dead, unlike some people. But he’s hurt.

  His leg is in a plaster cast and is up on the coffee table in front of him. His arm is in a cast as well and held across his body in a sling. His face is a mess. His beautiful face. His gorgeous brown eyes are swollen and bruised, and there are gashes on his cheeks and neck. I can’t see any more because he’s wearing a long-sleeved top and jeans, but his body must be as bruised and battered as his face.

  Poor thing.

  He must be devastated. I mean, I’m sure he’ll heal up, but those cuts are going to scar, no question about it. Wade always said he was good-looking enough to become a model—I bet he won’t be able to do that with a scarred face.

  Wade will be devastated to be cut up so badly.

  And to have lost his girlfriend, obviously.

  I wonder if he’s in trouble for killing Anthony? I know it was an accident, but he did steal the car and drive pretty dangerously. Loads of people saw us. I don’t know the first thing about the legal implications of that, but he could be in big trouble.

  And he’s so badly hurt.

  My poor baby.

  I should be there.

  I should be there taking care of him.

  He needs me.

  I bet his parents are totally unsympathetic. I bet they think it’s all his fault and that he brought it all on himself.

  Which, okay, maybe he did. In a way. But it was an accident and no one deserves that much pain.

  I bet he really needs a hug.

  God, I miss hugging him.

  I miss him so much, it’s tangible.

  If I reached out my hand right now, I could touch the toes poking out the top of the plaster cast on his leg.

  Gently, of course.

  I know I can’t communicate with him. I know I’m not allowed and I know he can’t hear me anyway. But I’m so close to him and yet so far. It’s like I’m sitting right there with him. I’m sure he’ll hear me if I speak.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t seem to have heard me.

  I hear laughter filtering through the vision but I ignore it.

  “I know you’ll come for me soon,” I whisper again.

  I feel tears spring to my eyes.

  Then there’s a hand on my shoulder, and it makes me jump so much that Wade is gone.

  I blink furiously and find that Mr Nathan is standing there looking at me worriedly.

  “Are you okay, Riley?”

  I wipe away my tears and nod.

  But I’m not okay really. Not okay at all.

  This is the most unfair thing that has ever happened in my life.

  “I know you’ll come for me soon,” some boy at the back of the class calls out in a mock-girly voice.

  Oh, bugger. They heard that?

  “Danny, shut up,” Mr Nathan says.

  He turns back to me. “I know it can be hard, Riley. I know it seems like they can hear you, but they can’t.”

  “It was so real,” I whisper. “I thought it would be like me looking down on him from above or something but it was just like sitting in the room with him, like I have a hundred times before. It just felt so normal. Like I was there.”

  I wipe at my eyes again. I’m angry with myself for crying in front of these people who hate me enough as it is. Showing weakness is the worst thing I could have done.

  Great. Like they needed even more ammunition.

  I had completely forgotten that Anthony was sitting next to me until I feel his hand on my arm.

  “You okay?” he whispers in my ear.

  I nod briefly even though I feel anything but okay.

  I just want his hand off my arm.

  I suddenly feel guilty for thinking about Wade with Anthony sitting there. Yes, Wade is my boyfriend. Wade is the love of my prematurely over life. But even I can’t deny that the way he treated Anthony was wrong. The way we treated Anthony was wrong. Being here has shown me the way I treated a lot of people was wrong.

  But Anthony… He’s been so nice to me. Even though I didn’t deserve it, and if I had been in Anthony’s shoes I would never have spoken to me again.

  Wade crossed the line the night we died. Even before the crash. Making fun of Anthony’s parents’ deaths was cruel, even by my standards. We all knew that Anthony’s parents had died. It happened back when we were all first years. Anthony was off school for weeks and when he came back no one really knew what to say to him. He was vulnerable and quiet, and shuffled around the school with his head down and his maths calculator in his pocket. Where we should have been sympathetic, we made fun of him instead.

  Of course, Wade didn’t mean to kill Anthony. I don’t actually know what he meant to do, but the crash was an accident.

  But Anthony didn’t deserve to die.

  And hopefully neither did I.

  I miss Wade so much I can’t breathe.

  I have to get out of here.

  I shove my chair back and stand up while mumbling something about needing some air.

  Then I run from the room and sink down on the steps outside.

  The steps Wade and I sat on to make out sometimes during break time.

  I put my head in my hands and shove the thought away.

  This place is messing with my head.

  I need to get out of here.

  I need to forget all about Anthony. He thinks it was his time to go, fine. Let him think that. Glad we could help him on his way.

  But it wasn’t my time to go.

  I have to go home.

  Wade needs me.

  He needs someone to take care of him, and who better than me? I love taking care of him. I’m always giving him shoulder massages and bringing him lunch or cans of Coke from the vending machine.

  I have to go back to him. I can’t just leave him sitting alone on his couch thinking that he is responsible for my death. He must be beating himself up over it.

  Not that I know that for a fact or anything, but he looked pretty upset.

  I have to go back.

  That thought is all that is in my head as I march up to the main hall and bang on Eliza Carbonell’s door.

  CHAPTER 14

  She has to send me home. Even if she’s been dead for sixty-odd years, she still has to see the tragedy that’s going on here.

  It doesn’t take long before she answers the door and I push my way inside.

  I’m really angry. It’s wrong for them to keep me here. “I need to talk to you,” I growl.

  “Please, take a seat, Riley,” she says, but I am already sitting down. I might be seething mad but I have to appear calm and rational.

  “I thought I might be seeing you again soon.”

  “Clairvoyant, are you?”

  Okay, bad Riley. No sarcasm.

  “You just seem like the type that would have difficulty settling in.”

  “Actually, I’m not the type. I can settle in anywhere. I’m really easy-going. Unless I’m somewhere I’m not supposed to be.”

  I wait for her to sit back down in her own chair.

  “Look,” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on here. Some sort of big karmic payback or whatever, but you and I both know that I’m not supposed to be here.”

  “What makes you think that?” she asks without breaking eye contact.

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “The hair, the skin, the pink necklace. You haven’t noticed that I look, oh, y’know, slightly different to every other person in this school?”

  “Of course I’ve noticed,” she says. “But it’s not good practice to go around pointing out the students’ differences in public.”

  “Funnily enough, everyone can see anyway,” I say. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I don’t belong
here and we both know it. I’m not supposed to be dead. That’s why I still have my colour.”

  “I really don’t think that’s the—”

  “Yes, it is,” I insist. “There’s no other reason for it. It’s why I still feel so alive.”

  “Riley, you feel alive because just a little while ago, you still were. There’s a period of adjustment that takes anything from a few weeks to a few months to go through. Now, can I say something without you interrupting me for a moment?”

  I huff and nod reluctantly.

  “I know it’s hard, but everything is exactly the way it’s supposed to be. You are here because you are meant to be here. Riley, everything happens the way it’s supposed to happen. There is no other way because this is the way things are. Like I said, we know it’s hard, but therapy can help. There are requisite therapy sessions as part of the curriculum, but the school counsellor is available at all times and I’d really like to set you up a one-on-one appointment with him. Would that be okay?”

  I shrug.

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll have a chat with him and send you an appointment within the next couple of days.”

  “Therapy isn’t going to help. Therapy is a joke. I can’t settle in here because I don’t belong here. Why can’t you just save yourself a lot of trouble and let me go?”

  “I’m not keeping you a prisoner here, Riley. This is just the way things are.”

  “The way things are,” I mimic. “The way things are doesn’t matter. What matters is that my boyfriend is hurt and he needs me.”

  “You’ve had your first Visualisation class this morning.” She says this as a statement, not a question.

  “What difference does that make? Wade is hurt and he needs me.”

  “Riley, you have things more important than Wade to be worrying about at the moment, for a—”

  “What could be more important than Wade?” I interrupt. “He’s the love of my life. That’s pretty important in my book. Maybe it wasn’t in 1949, but it is now. The boy I love is hurt and lonely and he needs me.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about that, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, there is,” I shout. “You can do something. You can let me go home.”

  “I know it’s hard for you,” she says calmly. “But this is home now. This—”