by Amy Sparling
I grab the sides of my head and wince in pain. "Oh wow, I just got a horrible headache all of a sudden."
Margret grabs my arm. "Sit down. I'll get you some water." She leaves the room and returns with some Advil, which I take since it can only make the bruises on my elbows and knees feel better, and then lets me sit on the train seat that's off limits to the public.
This is by far, the cushiest job I've ever had. I wish Brendan were here to see it. But if he were here then he'd still be alive and I wouldn't be living in Sterling, so… never mind. The best thing I can hope for now is to make new friends in this new life and try to forget about my old life. I am New Taylor after all. Old Taylor used to feel alone in this world when Brendan was her friend. New Taylor is even more alone than that.
"Margret," I say, leaving my spot on the train seat and finding her changing out a display of old ticket stubs. "Where would I go if I wanted to find some people my age?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe at the library? Or the beach?"
I laugh at her oldness. "What's wrong? Are you feeling a little homesick?" she asks, the wrinkles on her forehead growing deeper.
I shrug. "You could say that." My throat gets a big lump in it and my eyes start to burn. I bend down and pick up a gum wrapper on the floor. I will not cry here. Must stay busy.
"You'll meet friends once school starts back," she says, as confidently as if it were just so easy. She doesn't know that teenagers don't want to be friends with poor daughter of a washed up stripper-turned-waitress. The door opens; its creaking hinges catch both of us off guard.
I dash behind the counter and smile warmly at the new visitors. A lanky guy with shaggy unkempt hair and—ugh, a black leather jacket—walks in followed by a girl. They're both about my age, but from a totally different realm of teenager. The girl wears a billowy sundress over skinny jeans and has about a million bracelets, necklaces and rings accessorizing her look.
"Hey, Ms. Margret!" the girl says, waving at Margret. The guy walks straight to our bulletin board and scans all the local advertisements.
"Good morning Anna," Margret says. "Do you have some more flyers today?"
"Not today." Anna fumbles with the bracelets on her arm. "We heard a rumor about this girl." She looks around, her eyes stopping when they meet mine. "So it is true. Pax, she's here." Anna is at the counter before I have time to realize that she's talking about me. "Oh my god, are you really the new night shift girl?"
I'm almost scared to reply. "Yes."
"That is so awesome, you are like really brave," she says, smiling so wide I can see every one of her pearly straight teeth. "What's your name? I'm Anna."
"Taylor." I'm not trying to be a bitch, but it's really hard to be as bubbly as she is when I'm being treated like some kind of science experiment.
"It's so cool to meet you, Taylor. This is Pax." Anna motions for Pax to join us. He skims the rest of the flyers on the bulletin board and then joins her across the counter from me. He reaches out to shake my hand and I shake it back feeling totally weird because teenagers just don't do that sort of thing. "So how long have you worked here?" he asks.
"Are you British?" I blurt out, disregarding his question. I've never heard that accent in real life, just in the movies. "Yeah," he says as if he is asked that question all the time.
"I know it's crazy, huh?" Anna says, looking at him. "I told you, you look so American." She slaps him playfully on the arm. I think Anna has a crush on Pax.
"So how long have you worked here?" she asks me.
"A few days," I say. Margret has disappeared in the back room. If it's her sly way of trying to help me make friends, I'll kill her. When I said I wanted friends, I didn't mean the kind that bombard me with questions about my personal life and flirt with each other in front of me.
Anna leans over the counter, resting on her elbows. "How many times have you worked the night shift?"
"Just once so far, but I work again tonight."
"Will you tell us all about it?"
Pax nudges her with his lanky elbow. "Don't berate the girl." To me, he says, "We're just excited to hear about any new hauntings."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't seen any ghosts."
"Nothing?" Anna asks.
"Nothing." They look at each other and frown.
"Maybe she's just taking it easy on you because you're a girl," Anna says.
"Who? Margret?"
"No, Mrs. Kline." Anna's eyes get wild when she says it. "She haunts this place something fierce."
"She's all bitter about her husband's death on the train tracks," Pax adds, his eyes just as wild as hers.
"You can't possibly believe that," I say. "Ghosts don't exist."
Their jaws drop to the ground as if I had just proclaimed that I think the Holocaust never happened. They look at each other again, but not flirtatiously this time. Anna reaches out, placing her hand on my arm. "Taylor, do you believe in God?"
My eyes zero in on the silver cross necklace around her neck. It's such a weird topic to think about. Brendan believed in God, so I want to believe. But without any evidence, it is hard. "Sure," I say.
"Well then how can you not believe in ghosts?" Anna asks, all matter-of-fact like. "I'd say the two go hand in hand."
"Hand in hand," Pax repeats.
"I don't know, it just seems silly to me."
"We need to introduce her to Raine," Anna tells Pax. "He'll make a believer out of her."
"I've already met him." I shake my head. "If anything, he just makes me believe even less."
"What?" Pax's eyes go all wide. "You met the Raine, and you still don't believe?"
"If you're talking about the creepy guy in the leather jacket who skulks around late at night, then yes." They stare at me, waiting for me to continue. I shrug. "We went to the train station together last night, and nothing happened. It was boring and lame."
Anna pops out her cell phone. "What's your number? You're coming out with us this weekend."
Great. Here's the part where I show how much of a loser I am and scare away my potential ghost-believing friends. "I don't have a phone." Her eyebrows scrunch together as she stops typing in her phone. "Well, what's your Facebook?" I shake my head. She tries again. "E-mail?"
"Nope."
Pax steps forward. "What time will you get off work on Friday?"
"Eight."
"We'll come get you at eight-fifteen, cool?"
Wait, so they just found out I'm a total loser and they still want to hang out with me? "Sure," I say. I smile a little and they smile back. It's as if an unspoken agreement just took place between me, the loser and Pax and Anna, the cool British guy and the petite hippie girl. Although it's not exactly a BFF keychain, it is my first time to have people to go out with. Brendan would be proud of me. For the first time in a long time, I'm proud of me too.
Margret putters around the museum singing to herself for the rest of the day. "You can't fool me," I tell her as soon as a family of tourists leaves. "I know you left me there to survive on my own when Anna and Pax were here."
"Oh, hush," Margret says. "It was perfect timing, you were just talking about wanting friends. They are good kids too."
"You know I'm not sociable though, and it was awkward." I slump into my train seat that is no longer off limits with how much I break the rules and sit on it. "What is it with people being obsessed with ghosts around here?"
"The island is incredibly haunted dear, especially in this historic part. People travel from all over the country to witness the hauntings."
"Everyone here is crazy." I fall back into the train seat, covering my eyes with the back of my hand like a Victorian maiden.
The bells on the door jingle. I jump up to resume employee stance but get dizzy from standing up so fast. Purple stars fill my vision. I stumble off the train seat and find a wall to lean against. A hand touches my shoulder. "You okay?" The purple fades away and my vision returns and, ugh, I'm staring right at Raine's neck.
"Cool." I try not to touch the spot on my shoulder where his hand had just been. He goes over to the bulletin board and tacks up a flyer. I pretend not to care about him or his flyer and go stand behind the counter. He waves to Margret before leaving without another word.
I wait until he walks out of sight to rush over to the bulletin board. His flyer is just sharpie scribbled on a piece of paper.
VIP tickets for sale. Call Raine.
Chapter 14
After work, I drive around town to clear my mind and avoid being at home. Even though the apartment is small, when Mom isn't home it feels entirely too big and isolating. I'd rather walk than drive, but I'd also like to avoid another random run in with Raine, because twice is charming but three times is just creepy.
I drive along the seawall, admiring the ocean to my left and the variety of shops to my right. The island is a mix of tourists and native beach bums, historical sights and brand new million dollar condos.
A monument on the seawall catches my eye. It's a big metal statue surrounded by concrete benches. Skateboarders hover along the edges, using the seating areas as ramps to grind across. I park in a line of parallel parking spots along the beach. My wallet is on the dash, and leaving it there would be begging someone to steal it. Without even thinking, I reach over and tug on the glove box handle. It's locked.
A million emotions come back to me. It was three months ago, just before the accident. Brendan was driving us to a restaurant for my birthday and he got pulled over by a cop. "Shit," he said, digging through his wallet before the cop got to his window. "Where did I put my insurance card?"
"Is it in here?" I asked, reaching for the glove box. "No!" he yelled, shoving my hand away. "Stay out of there."
And then, if I wasn't totally embarrassed enough, he turned off the truck, reached over and locked the glove box right in front of me.
I hadn't thought of that moment again until now. Even though the truck is now technically mine, I will never open that glove box. Whatever horrible secret Brendan was keeping from me can just stay a mystery forever.
Hiding my wallet under the seat, I get out and walk up to the statue. It's taller than I am. It's a man's torso coming out of the ground. One arm is wrapped around his wife. The other arm is reaching toward the heavens. He has the worst look of agony on his metal face. I read the plaque at the base of the statue.
On September 1, 1908, the worst hurricane in recorded history struck Sterling. With winds of over 150 mph, and a storm surge of 16 feet, most of the island was devastated. When Sterlingites returned home, they found more than half of the island's residents dead and over 3,000 buildings demolished.
After the storm, Sterling built the seawall and raised the island several feet to protect it from future hurricanes.
Chills creep over my arms as I finish reading. Half of the island's population died in one hurricane? No wonder people think this place is haunted. A guy on a skateboard whizzes past me. I sit on the cold bench and stare out at the ocean. It's dark now, but people are still swimming under the glow of the moonlight.
I think about Anna and Pax, and how they want to hang out with me even though they have no idea who I am. No one ever randomly talked to me at home, but then again I grew up in that small town and everyone knew me as the loser kid. Maybe this really will be my chance for a fresh start.
When the tourists pack up and head back to their hotels and the hobos walk around asking me if I have a cigarette I can spare, I decide to head home. I walk down the seawall back to the Ford, casually glancing behind me every so often to make sure no one's about to stab me or anything.
I'm walking past a restaurant with a rainforest theme when I hear a loud boom. Smoke and fire gush out of a massive fake volcano on top of the restaurant. I stop, mesmerized at the outpouring out sparks, flame, and orange glowing lights that trickle down as make believe lava. Cool. When the show is over, the glowing volcano goes dark again, I keep walking, looking for other interesting things on the seawall.
And then I see the billboard. Towering over A+ Pawn shop and Bad Boyz Tattoo parlor is a huge picture of Raine, illuminated with a row of spot lights. He's standing with his arms crossed, leather jacket, sunglasses and that drop dead sexy smoldering gaze. Tsunami Ghost Tours of Sterling Island, it says in bold letters. Voted the nation's number one ghost tour, six years in a row. Come see the legendary Ray Tsunami's son, Raine Tsunami show you the most haunted places on the island in this intimate tour. Five days a week.
Raine Tsunami? I laugh out loud. It all makes sense now. The jacket. The silly way he posed when he accused me of wanting to steal his job. Raine is some kind of celebrity on the island.
I think about the billboard the whole way home. So Raine doesn't hide out in the shadows because he's a serial murderer. He's a ghost tour guide. It's probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard of, and what's worse is that he probably truly believes in ghosts too. I lie on the couch remembering the night in the train station. He's a total weirdo. Charming, and adorable, yes. But still a weirdo.
Chapter 15
There's only one grocery store on the island and it's incredibly overpriced. Mom and I debate over if it would be cheaper to drive several miles onto the mainland and find a cheaper store, or to just suck it up here and get over it.
"I don't understand why you're so obsessed with real food," Mom says, making air quotes. "TV dinners are easy and affordable."
I ignore her. "We need to get enough food to last all week." I grab a shopping cart from the stack outside the store. The handle is sticky. "I have a hundred dollars. And I'm getting us real food."
Shopping is no fun. Mom and I strategically plan out all meals beforehand, choosing stuff with the least amount of ingredients as possible, because they're cheaper. If there's an off brand, Mom insists that we get it, regardless of how disgusting it may be. In a way, she's just as horrible at meal planning as I am. I haven't missed my dad so far, but right now all I can think about is his homemade grilled cheeseburgers and spaghetti with meatballs.
"Honey, I'm really excited that you have a job you like," Mom says in her serious voice. "And I'm so proud of you for working that night shift for more money. But I think you should start looking for something that maybe pays more per hour, you know?"
I grab a box of crackers and check the sodium content before choosing it, something Brendan always did for health reasons unknown to me. "Why? We're doing alright."
She drops a box of wine into the shopping cart. If she's getting wine then I'm getting ice cream. Now I just need to remember it when we get to the frozen food isles. "We're doing okay you mean, and it's not enough because we need to get a bigger apartment. You need your own room."
"What? No, I'm fine."
"You're practically an adult now, you need a room."
"No, I don't."
She grabs not one, but two bottles of Margarita mix. "Well maybe your mom would like a bigger place, have you ever thought of that?" she says. Her cheeks turn red.
"Why?" I ask, afraid that I may already know.
"I might be starting to date soon, and well, it'd be nicer if you had your own room."
"Oh, Mom…" I say, trying to process this. She's never had a boyfriend, not that I've known of. "Gross."
"It's not gross," she says, but she laughs. "So I hope you'll agree that we need a two bedroom apartment soon."
"But the cheapest two bedroom apartments on the island are like twice what we're paying now," I say. My hoarded money wouldn't even put a dent in bills like that.
"Which is why you should look for a better paying job."
"Like what? I'm not even eighteen. And Margret has been making pretty convincing arguments for going back to school in the fall."
"Hell, just get your GED," she says, waving the thought away with her hand. She examines a row of canned beans. "I actually have a great opportunity for you," she starts. She doesn't need to finish her thought because I know what she's getting
at.
"Mom, I'm not going to strip."
"God, no!" She laughs that kind of laugh she uses when she's waitressing. The big-tip-getting laugh, complete with a hand smoosh to her chest. "But you could be a hostess…or a server."
"At a strip club?"
"Not just any strip club, obviously I'd want you working where I can keep an eye on you. I talked to my boss and he said you could apply for a position at Twin Peaks."
"No, Mom. Just – no."
"It pays fifteen dollars an hour plus a cut from the tip jar."
"I don't care."
"Taylor, you have to help me here. I've always been able to count on you to help make our situation into a family."
"Fine," I say. Because being an asshole to anyone else is easy, but hurting my mom's feelings is always more than I can bear. "I'll think about it."
Chapter 16
Friday comes way too fast and I'm not even mentally prepared by the time eight o'clock rolls around. It's been so long since I've hung out with anyone besides Brendan, and now I'll be with several people my age. At least they didn't appear to be stuck up or judgmental. Well, besides judging me for not believing in ghosts. Of course, it's been my experience that people judge you more once they see where you live. I vow to make sure they never find out.
"Do you have big plans tonight?" Margret asks as we finish closing up the museum. I know she knows I have plans; she just likes to remind me. And to think I had spent all of my seventeen years wishing I had a loving grandma like in the movies. Margret is basically a loving grandma and she's staring to get on my nerves.
"Tay-lor." She waves her hand in my face. I jolt out of my daydreams. "Yes," I say. "Anna and Pax are meeting me after work, remember?"
"Oh, that's right," she says, all coy-like. Yeah, as if she didn't remember. "Do you think Raine will be there?"
"I don't know."
"I bet he'll be there." She puts all the day's donations into a bank deposit bag and zips it closed.