My Junior Year of Loathing (School Dayz #2)

by Jennifer DiGiovanni

  Normal is a better word for Ty. Worrying about Ty never keeps me up at night. It’s the main reason I don’t want to everything between us to turn into something weird or awkward.

  Anyway, miserable excuse number two: school. I’m drowning in homework. One bad grade, and I can kiss my new truck good-bye.

  Miserable excuse number three: Out of Tune. Colette’s features have, thankfully, been a hit. Her Guess the Student column and Becca’s Team of the Week profiles are carrying the paper right now. We can do better.

  Miserable Excuse number four: homecoming. I need to find sponsors for the parade float. Brian gave me a list of his golf buddies, and I should make time to follow up with emails and phone calls asking for donations.

  Miserable excuse number five: yes, I do want to go to college. I should probably be looking at schools or scheduling interviews.

  Still, I have no plans for Friday night, so when Ty asks me to go out with him, I say yes.

  ***

  Harmony is a time-warp town, where life remains mostly unchanged from the prior two centuries. Aside from the Revolutionary War exhibit at the museum, the movies are the most popular and easiest social option. Bella Pizza isn’t one-on-one date material, and I’m not a fan of the breakfast-all-day options at the Harmony Diner. Greasy eggs make me want to puke.

  Since we spent a good portion of the last movie not really paying attention to the on-screen action, Ty seems happy about my suggestion.

  On the way to the Multiplex, we pass the Westerly Estate. Lately, it seems as if all roads lead back to this lofty brick wall. When we stop at the light, my eyes dart toward the dark manor house, searching for signs of life. Ty turns his head, following my line of vision.

  “That place is an eyesore,” he says.

  “I know, right? I wonder why no one bothers to fix it up.” Although I hate playing dumb, it’s the best way for me to solicit opinions and possibly uncover more clues to the Westerly family’s mystery.

  Ty checks the rearview mirror. He winks one eye closed and then the other. “Someone needs to take a wrecking ball to the place.”

  “You don’t believe the rumors, do you? About the estate being haunted?”

  Ty’s eyes sweep over the wall and back to me. “I’ve never experienced any paranormal activity during the bonfires in the back field.”

  A shiver shoots down my spine. “I wouldn’t want to sit around a fire after dark and wonder about the ghost next door.”

  Ty grins. “Once in a while something strange happens, like a jacket or a six-pack goes missing, but no one blames the ghost.”

  A vague notion knocks at my mind. I shake my head, unable to make sense of anything in my current creeped-out state. To make matters worse, Ty’s sporting a new, shorter haircut tonight, and I’m a sucker for the crew-cut look. Huge distraction.

  “My grandfather worked at the estate when he was a kid,” Ty continues. “Said Westerly was beyond rich. He made millions in the stock market. By the time he built the wall he practically owned this town.” Ty nods toward the dark shadow of bricks. “Whatever happened back there, the wall still stands.”

  “It’s a monstrosity.” And a reminder, I silently add. There’s a story to tell. I’m sure of it. I just don’t know how to find it.

  “If you really think about it, it’s just a bunch of old bricks,” Ty says. “Nothing more than that. Most of the time, I don’t even see it when I drive by.”

  But I can’t stop seeing it. The wall has become a fixture in my life, whether I want it to be or not.

  The light turns green. Ty punches the gas and the Jeep lurches forward. “Hey, you should let me take your truck for a spin. Bet it’s an awesome ride.”

  I can’t resist a smug smile. “It really is.”

  For the rest of the night, I’m haunted by the image of a crumbling ghost town on the other side of the wall. I should read up on the history of the Westerly Estate … when I have more than five minutes of free time. I’ll go to the courthouse, pull land deeds, and research police reports from forty years ago.

  Half the movie flashes in front of me before Ty wraps his arm around me, reminding me of his presence. I rest my head on his shoulder, avoiding eye contact as I pretend to be engrossed in the screen. I let him pick this week, and we wind up sitting through a zero-brain-cells-required action-comedy.

  After the movie, Ty suggests swinging by Bella Pizza, where we find Will and Becca holding court with a group of junior-class regulars. On our way to order slices, Colette waves to me from her overflowing table of underclassmen.

  “Anything newsworthy going on?” I stop and whisper in her ear.

  “Depends. I was thinking of writing a ‘who’s dating who’ feature.” Her eyes slide to Becca and Will. “Are they together?”

  I laugh. “For weeks now. And I don’t think Becca wants her love life featured in your column.”

  Colette hides her face behind a napkin when she answers me. “Will likes attention. He’s front-page material.”

  I glance at Becca, swishing her straw through the ice in her empty cup. She doesn’t look like a fool in love, but she doesn’t appear unhappy, either. “Your call,” I say to Colette. “But … I wouldn’t.”

  I join Ty at the counter, where we order two slices and Cokes before taking seats with our friends.

  Becca scoots over to make room for us. “How was the movie?”

  I kick my long legs under the table, not very gracefully. “Interesting.”

  “That good, huh?” Will tilts his cup back and pours soda into his mouth. “Tomorrow night will be better. I’m sick of eating pizza with ten of my slow-ass teammates on top of me. I need to breathe.” He stretches his arms wide and smacks his left fist into Tank’s neck.

  “Who you calling a slow-ass?” Tank shoves Will’s hand away. The thrust knocks Will out of the seat.

  “Yeah, you heard me, boss.” Will’s chair topples to the ground. Tank rolls closer and the two meet, eye-to-eye, staring each other down until Will breaks into a disarming grin. “Course I meant it with the highest admiration. Save your face-busting for our next opponents, loser.”

  Tank winds up his arm and swings his fist around. Will ducks out of the way, laughing.

  Ty takes my hand. “Time to go?”

  Becca snatches her purse off the table. “Yes. Take me with you, please.”

  At the stroke of midnight, Ty walks me to the door. He leans in, sliding his arms around my waist. When his hands move under my sweater, brushing my bare skin, I back up and hit the door. His hands roam higher. I break off our good-night kiss.

  He squints at me in the moonlight. “Are you okay?”

  “Maybe this isn’t the best place … for … um … ” I tilt my head toward the side window, where a light shines behind the curtain.

  He drops his hands. “Got it.”

  I smile at him. “Thanks.”

  “Tomorrow night,” he says. “I’ll pick you up around eight.”

  And he’s off.

  ***

  After Ty leaves, I check the garage to make sure Mom and Brian are still out. They always leave lights on when they leave the house and tonight their safety precaution saved me from an uncomfortable situation. I grab my keys and drive to the Westerly Estate, hoping to catch another glimpse of the shadow in the window. If I look long enough, I’m sure I’ll figure out who or what’s inside.

  When I’m in front of the manor house, I pull my truck over to the shoulder and cut the engine. The sky is empty tonight, only a pitch black canopy overhead. Even the moon hides behind an invisible layer of clouds. I switch off the headlights, plunging myself into darkness.

  And I wait.

  My eyes drift closed and I’m about to nod off when I see it. A thin flicker of light, possibly a candle, dances behind the front window. The floating shadow appears, moving slowly back and forth. Someone—or something—is pacing.

  There’s a person in the Westerly manor house. Or a ghost.

  Chilly n
ight air swirls around the truck, picking up stray leaves and tossing them at the windshield. My chest tightens. I loop my fingers around the door handle and step out of the SUV. In the quick second it takes me to raise my phone high enough to snap a picture, the light disappears, along with the shadow.

  “No! Come back.” I dash across the paved road, stopping on the yellow centerline. I freeze, waiting for the shadow to answer, until the roar of an engine shakes my attention away from the dark window. Headlights shoot out of the darkness. A car careens around the curve, zooming right at me.

  The driver lays on the horn, swerving into the opposite lane, but close enough for me to reach out my hand and touch the hood. My heart lodges in my throat as the vehicle races away without stopping. I bend forward and rest my hands on my knees, trying to suck in deep breaths. When my blood resumes circulating, I sprint back to my truck, rev the engine, and speed home.

  ***

  Saturday morning, Brian flips a gasket when he notices the fifty wood poles stationed around his yard.

  “Why is Jack trying to annihilate my grass with spikes?’”

  I check out the wooden stakes, which looks like the aftermath of a failed vampire hunt. “He’s strategically placing a privacy screen. Sorry, I was supposed to tell you. He’ll stop by today to talk to you about it.”

  Brian sweeps a glance around the yard while slinging his golf bag over his shoulder. He’s not postponing golf for Jack. Nothing short of a death in the family causes Brian to miss a tee time.

  “It looks fine. Tell him to get the damn trees in before the November frost.”

  After Brian leaves, Mom sets off to tackle her list of weekend errands, leaving me to deal with the landscaping when Jack arrives.

  “Brian loved your placement, Jack. He also asked if you could please plant the new trees before the first frost.”

  Jack lifts a pole attached to a spiked metal wheel from the bed of his truck. “He knows I’d never plant after frost. We have plenty of time … another month at least.”

  “Terrific. Hey, Jack. Did you ever hear the story about the Westerly Estate? You know, the girl with the mean father who trapped her behind the big brick wall?”

  Jack stabs the spiked wheel into the dirt. “I know the story. Kids around here still talk about it, do they?”

  “I guess it’s one of the most exciting things to ever happen in Harmony. Were you living here when everything, uh, happened?

  “What happened?” Jack begins edging out another patch of grass, slicing through the soil with fierce movements.

  “Westerly, the girl’s father, built the wall to keep her away from her boyfriend. Then there was a freak accident of some sort. No one seems to know the details.”

  Jack lift his the edger and marks off the placement of another future tree. “Is that so?”

  “And there’s the ghost part.”

  “What ghost part?” Either Jack is slow on the uptake this morning, or he enjoys parroting, because this conversation is making both of us sound clueless.

  I enunciate slowly. “The part about the girl turning into a ghost and haunting Harmony. Or, perhaps an alternate version where her boyfriend’s ghost roams the cursed land of the estate, searching for the girl he loved.”

  Jack’s snaps his head around, his dark eyes serious. “Two different versions of the same story?”

  “It’s all a big myth, right?” I ask, praying for some sort of firm answer to help direct my future research. Jack is what my journalism teacher likes to call a primary source. He lived through the Westerly Wall Extravaganza. His answers may be the closest I’ll ever get to the truth.

  Before answering, Jack lets loose a phlegmy cough. The sound makes me fear a frog is attempting to escape his chest.

  “Interesting. There are some people who believe a ghost haunts the estate,” he says.

  “And which side of the fence are you on?”

  “Me?” His eyebrows shoot up and out, as if he’s shocked anyone would consult him on the matter.

  “Yes, you. If you had to bet your life one way or the other.” I step closer to maintain eye contact. “People”—meaning me—“have seen things lately. Suspicious things … behind the wall.”

  “What you’re seeing isn’t a ghost,” he mumbles.

  “Uh, sure. Of course. That makes perfect sense.” A sudden thought strikes me. The vague notion I couldn’t wrap my head around when Ty and I talked about the wall last night. I swallow hard. “Does the thing I’m seeing that’s not a ghost like to hang out in the woods?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Is his name Connor?”

  Jack stomps his boot on the ground. “Why don’t you ask Connor about it?”

  “So … there’s no truth to the Westerly story?”

  “That’s not what I said.” Jack finishes cutting out the dirt around the first stake and shakes the metal wheel loose from the ground. I plant my feet in the grass, waiting for him to finish. When he glances up from his work, a muscle jumps in his cheek.

  “Are you okay? You look kind of … white,” I say.

  “Fine,” he wheezes out, coughing again.

  “You know what? I think everyone’s lying to me and I hate it.” I throw my arms in the air. “Ghosts. Connor. Secrets hidden behind humungous brick walls. Really?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find the answers to your questions. You’re very … persistent.” Jack gathers up his tools. “Tell Brian I’ll be back later this week with his new trees.”

  And with that, Jack fires up his truck, abandoning me in the middle of my latest failed attempt at research. My eyes flick toward the woods just as a branch drops from the old willow tree. I take off like a woman possessed, tearing back inside the house, totally freaked out.

  Who or what is Connor? And why is he hiding in the Westerly Estate?

  I dash upstairs, flip open my laptop, and bring up the Internet. If Connor won’t tell me who he is, I need to find more information about him on my own. No one just shows up from Chicago for no reason and hides out in an abandoned estate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I spend the rest of the morning roaming the dusty corridors in my wing of the house. I find a mountain of clean laundry on top of the washer and begin folding. After hauling armfuls of clothes back to my room, I unpack my last three boxes from my old house—mostly my paperback collection—and arrange my bookshelves in rainbow order.

  When I run out of things to clean, straighten up, or organize, I reopen the photos I snapped of the supposed Westerly ghost on my laptop. Sunrays flashing in through the windows cast a glare on the screen. I snap the blinds shut and squint hard.

  Now it’s too dark. I hit print and reopen the blinds. When the paper spits out, I stare at the grainy photo until my eyes slide out of focus, as if that will magically change the image into Connor.

  It doesn’t. I need proof. Or an admission.

  At some point, I spread the printouts on my bed and fall asleep holding the crumpled papers in my hand. I wake when my phone vibrates and rings simultaneously. Becca’s number flashes on the screen.

  “Hey,” I say into the phone, shaking my head to remove the post-nap fog lingering in my brain.

  “Will’s parents left an hour ago, so the party’s on. Are you and Ty coming over tonight? Or do you need to go to a Brian Welsh shindig?”

  “Brian and Mom are planning a dinner at their club tonight. Do you think I can play sick?”

  “Start chugging ginger ale. It takes me at least four hours of complaining to fake out Gran with a stomach bug.”

  Mom calls me an hour later, but I claim to have a stomach ache. She appears in my room and feels my forehead for signs of fever. Satisfied that I’m not on the brink of dying, she leaves for her night out with Brian, after tossing me twenty dollars for take-out.

  I spend an hour researching ideas for homecoming parade float. Ty calls an hour later to make final plans. Before I shower and dress for the party, I microwave a veggie bowl for dinner.
Then I lose myself in my enormous closet, sifting through my growing wardrobe until I find the perfect pair of jeans and a deep-green tunic shirt.

  When Ty picks me up, we decide to spend a few minutes alone.

  Making out on the sofa proves to be uncomfortable and semi-disastrous. Unfortunately for Ty, I’m not ready to risk a lifetime of grounding by taking him upstairs.

  I check the time on the grandfather clock in the foyer. “I think Becca’s waiting for me.”

  Disappointment crosses Ty’s face. We should talk about our status as a couple, but he never brings up such a serious topic and my mouth goes dry every time I think about the awkwardness brought on by that sort of discussion. What if he’s happy with the way things are between us? For all I know, he’s got three other girlfriends. And I have a Connor. Kind of.

  Ty ditches the Jeep two blocks before Will’s house, and we hike the rest of the way to the party. The night breeze catches my hair, picking up loose strands and sending them in every direction. We enter the Gamen’s house through an unlocked side door and run into a wall of bodies huddled around a keg.

  Ty’s large presence gains him easy access to the beer. He hands me a cup, which I gulp down in record time. Tonight, I need to shake thoughts of brick walls and boys who live in the woods from my head. I will my senses to disengage from my brain.

  Three beers later, the room goes fuzzy, and Ty morphs into the life of the party. He dances alone in the center of the dimly lit basement, throwing his long arms up and out, while I observe from a far corner.

  “It’s always interesting to see the person you’re hooking up with drunk for the first time,” Becca comments, hiding a smile behind her plastic cup. When someone steps on the power cord and the music dies, Ty finds me and pulls me away from a group of girls.