The Guidance

by Marley Gibson

  He chuckles. "I just wanted to check out the service before I skedaddled."

  I repeat what he said to Miss Evelyn, and she laughs with tears in her eyes. "That sounds so much like Daddy. Please tell him how much I love him and that I'll take care of Mother."

  Mr. Lockhart lifts a hand to Miss Evelyn's face and strokes her cheek. Too bad she can't feel it. "Tell her I know."

  "I will," I manage to get out.

  He turns to the man standing next to him. "Wha'd'ya say we get out of here?" He points over to the left corner of the room. "See it?"

  I look over myself, but since it's not my time, the bright light is invisible to me. At least these guys recognize it. Before I know it, the two of them disappear into nothing, and my heart feels as if it will burst from the joy radiating in their wake.

  "He's passed into the light," I whisper to Miss Evelyn.

  She wraps an arm around me. "Thanks for everything, Kendall." She looks to Celia, who's finally put the damn meter away. "Let's just keep this between the three of us, okay?"

  "Sure thing."

  Then I hear the creepy laughing again. That soldier is here.

  In my head, I try to contact him. Why don't you follow them into the light?

  Ain't no light for me ...

  I'm going to have to find out who this guy is and get him to move along. And fast.

  Monday afternoon I'm armed with the peace offering Taylor suggested. After the brush with the men at the funeral home—and the laughing soldier—I realize life is too short to be miserable. Since Courtney makes me miserable, I've got to be the one to try to mend the fence.

  Courtney uses the scalpel and pokes our poor pickled pig in the chest.

  "Do you want me to do it?" I ask impatiently. We've been sitting here for ten minutes staring at this thing like it's going to jump up and crunk out for us. Everyone else in the lab is working quietly, getting along, and making progress.

  She snaps at me. "I said I'd do it and I'm doing it!"

  Something tells me that the girl who seems afraid of nothing doesn't have the courage to make the first cut. I can't help but snark off. "Today would be nice."

  Ice-cold gray eyes slice over my face, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The energy surrounding Courtney right now is black and damn near dismal. She's not a happy girl. A negative haze envelops her like a miasma of shifting darkness. For some reason, I get the sensation that Courtney's hatred for me, for Jason, for our ghost-hunting team, and, most of all, for the attention we're getting has opened her up to—for lack of a better phrase—the dark side. Not like I think Darth Vader and the Emperor are going to strike out from within her, but there's an evilness radiating from her. A door to her soul has been left wide open because of her unease, jealousy, and ill will toward me.

  Taylor's correct. I have to make things right with this girl.

  I reach over and carefully take the scalpel from her. She opens her mouth to snap at me, then stops. It must be the intensity in my eyes and the way I'm looking at her. Almost pitying.

  "What is your problem?" she finally asks, the words punctuated with venom.

  Be nice. "I'm worried about you, Courtney."

  She laughs derisively. "You're worried about me?"

  "Something's not right about you."

  "Oh, and you're an expert on who I am, I suppose," she says. "You've been in this school, what ... two months? Get over it, Ghost Girl."

  I wrinkle my face. "That's just it. My name's Kendall, Courtney."

  "Whatever."

  "No, it's not whatever. I'm a person. I haven't done anything to you. You have no reason to hate me."

  She rocks back on her stool, stunned and speechless for once.

  "You've got other things to worry about," I continue. "That C minus you got in trig might get you in trouble with the cheerleading squad. Instead of focusing all your energies on hating me, you should get your grades back up. You're a smart girl, you know?"

  The last thing I expect from her is a snide smirk. "What, did your geek sidekick Celia hack into the school's computers so you could read up on me and use that?"

  I roll my eyes. "No. Give me a break. I can read your thoughts. They're practically neon signs flashing above your head."

  She drops her eyes down, not meeting my stare. I also pick up that her parents are fighting and her allowance has been cut. She's worried that she won't be able to keep up with the latest fashion trends if she doesn't have money to buy clothes and accessories. She has a rep to uphold. Seriously? This is what's worrying her? Man, I wish I had her problems.

  Here comes the olive branch.

  "Look, Courtney," I say as I twirl the scalpel in my fingers. "It's mentally and physically exhausting worrying about someone completely hating you for no reason. I can't go on like this. I have a proposition."

  She sneers at me. "Sorry, you're not exactly my type."

  "Yeah, right. Don't flatter yourself." Be nice. Be. Nice. "We are stuck doing this project together that's, like, a big part of our grade. Can we put aside whatever differences we have and work through this? At least for one hour a day?"

  Courtney folds her arms across her chest and furrows her brow at me. I know she's concerned about grades too, so maybe this is the carrot I need to dangle.

  "I'm not trying to usurp your popularity or status here at RHS," I assure her. "I just want to do my thing and let you do yours. Which means stop calling me names and doing stupid shit like spilling food on me in the caf."

  "I do need to score well on this," she says, relenting, but her thoughts still mirror the evil mist of true abhorrence swirling around her.

  Time to try another route. I tug a book out of my backpack and slide it across the table. Loreen, who's been worried about this feud as well, thought the book might come in handy for dealing with nonbelievers.

  "What's this?" Courtney asks. She picks it up and reads, "So You Think You're Psychic: Now What?"

  "It's a really great read that explains psychic awakenings and what people go through. It even tells you how to recognize the signs, so you'll know someone's not faking or anything."

  Tossing the book to the table, Courtney asks, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

  "Read it," I say. "It might help you understand what I'm going through. That I'm a teenager just like you." Okay, I don't, like, throw up everything I eat, like she does, but that's a problem to solve another time. "I'm in a new place, trying to make friends and fit in, and I've got this really extraordinary thing happening to me that allows me to help people in a way I never thought I could. We're all born with psychic ability. It's whether or not we decide to recognize it and make use of it. That's all I'm doing, Courtney. Not trying to run your clique or rule the school."

  She reluctantly takes the book and tucks it in her bag. "Fine. Whatever."

  At least she took it. That's got to be a step in the right direction.

  I pass the scalpel back to her. "Wanna take a crack at this again?"

  Courtney holds the instrument, mustering up her nerve.

  "'Screw your courage to the sticking-place/And we'll not fail.'"

  "Huh?"

  "Sorry, Celia and I do it all the time. It's from Macbeth, act one."

  "Like the play Macbeth? What the hell does that mean?" she asks with a slight lift in her voice.

  "It means, do what you need to do to get the job done."

  And with that, Courtney Langdon, head cheerleader, my nemesis, and school beeyotch, slices down the middle of the pig and then looks up at me ... and smiles.

  Chapter Six

  "It's Friday night. Can I get a big woohoo?"

  Emily sits across the room from me in the rocking chair—literally sitting on my stuffed bear, Sonoma—and watches as I Snoopy-dance next to my bed.

  "I've got the football game tonight and then a date with Jason, which I haven't had in a really, really long time," I tell her. I don't necessarily have to talk out loud to Emily, since she can hear my thoughts a
nd I can hear hers. Sometimes, though, I just like talking to her as if she's a regular—i.e., alive—person.

  "Are you and Jason going to be kissing a lot?" Emily asks.

  My face burns, knowing that Emily has witnessed most of the make-out sessions between Jason and me. "Umm ... duh," I say with a laugh.

  "I think you two kiss too much."

  I roll my eyes at her and then dab mascara on the tips of my lashes. "You know, my mother is downstairs, thank you very-much."

  "I'm only looking out for you, Kendall."

  I spin around to sort of glare at her. "I appreciate it, Emily, but it's not like Jason and I are getting married tomorrow. We're in high school and simply having a good time."

  She frowns, as much as a ghost can. "I worry."

  "About what?"

  "That you're too close," she says quietly.

  I don't understand. "Too close how?"

  Her eyes are distant, as if caught up in a memory. "I was close to a boy like that once."

  Intrigued, I say, "Oh yeah? When was that?"

  "Before your time."

  I have so little to go on about Emily's past. She wears something resembling a patient's gown, which makes me think she passed away in a hospital. What did she die of? It's so foggy around her, and I'm unable to pick up anything. She's so pretty ... so young. How tragic that she died when her life was only beginning. "Was he your boyfriend?"

  Emily nods, her flowing hair shifting around her face.

  "What was his name?"

  "It doesn't matter," she says dismissively. "We're talking about you. You and Jason. All that kissing. Things are moving too fast with him, and it worries me."

  I run my fingers through my long, wavy brown hair that's looking pretty stylish tonight, if I do say so myself. "You don't have to worry."

  A sigh escapes from her. The doorbell rings throughout the house.

  "Keeeeeeeeeeeendall!" Kaitlin screams up the stairs. "Jason's here!"

  I grab the black military jacket off the bed and layer it over my Kill City gray hoodie. Then, I snag my Betsey Johnson shoulder bag. (A score off SmartBargains.com.) Emily watches me and I can almost hear the tsk, tsk in my head. Stopping at the door, I say, "Can you please give me some alone time tonight with Jason, Em?"

  She stands in front of me with her hands on her hips.

  "Seriously," I insist. "I appreciate everything, I really do. I just want to be as normal as possible tonight, hanging with my friends and going out with my boyfriend. Please promise?"

  After what seems like three years, Emily nods, blows me a kiss, and then quietly disappears.

  Tonight's all about having a good time. Fun and friends and some semblance of normal. Tomorrow, Mom and I head to the ATL for my appointment with the shrink, who'll be ready to analyze me to death and possibly diagnose me with all sorts of afflictions.

  Go be with your friends, Emily says, although I can't see her anymore. Yet somehow I know she's with me, like she has been my whole life.

  Jason shuffles me out the door of my house and toward his Jeep, where Taylor's waiting for us.

  "Your sister's coming on our date?"

  He shrugs. "She's just riding with us to the football game and then she'll hook up with Ryan and go with him in his car to the bowling alley later. You know, once he's showered and stuff after the game."

  Ryan MacKenzie has been Taylor's steady for these past couple of months. He plays on the RHS football team, so I shouldn't be too bent to have her tailing along with us. Besides, it's not like I'm going to attack Jason on the way to the stadium, whether Taylor's in the back seat or not. Puuuuuhleeeeze!

  At the stadium, we meet up with Celia and Clay, as well as Becca and her boyfriend, Brent "Dragon" Dragisich, a kind of biker dude who runs with the rougher crowd at school. More of Becca's rebellion from whatever's eating her. We all get along swimmingly though, and we enjoy watching our team kick a little ass on the gridiron.

  RHS wins a rollicking defensive game of matching field goals, and then we all head off to Radisson Lanes to bowl some balls. It doesn't hurt that they have the best local attempt at Chicago pizza. The owner, Brendan McDonough, is a transplant from Chicago himself and knows how to make a mean pie.

  We order a pitcher of Coke Zero (for the boys) and Diet Coke (for the girls) and a large pizza with sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, and extra cheese. Jason and Clay secure two side-by-side lanes, and we all slip on the ever-so-attractive (not!) bowling shoes that have been sprayed with that alleged sanitizing spray.

  Taylor holds her black, red, and white loafer and scrunches up her face. "I always wonder what kind of possible diseases reside in these."

  "I had a buddy get a plantar wart from 'em once," Dragon says with a crooked grin.

  Taylor's mouth drops open in horror.

  Becca smacks him on the forearm. "You're such a liar." She turns to Taylor. "Ignore him. He's an ass."

  Ryan slips into the seat next to Taylor. "No bacteria would dare attach itself to you, Tay."

  She melts into his hug and smiles in the most ridiculously cute and contented way. Next to me, I can sense Jason relaxing, knowing his sister is relatively happy for the first time since their dad walked out the door. I can't exactly pick up on his thoughts like I can other people's, but I know what a relief it is for him to just be himself and not constantly worry and watch over her. Like Emily does for me.

  Celia stands up and wipes her hands on her jeans. "Who's on what team?"

  "Guys against girls?" Jason suggests.

  "Not a chance," Becca chimes in, although she's a ringer when it comes to bowling. The girl has a left hook that would make professional bowlers blush. "Me, Dragon, Clay, and Celia against y'all," she says, pointing at Ryan, the Tillsons, and me.

  Jason keys all of our names into the computer system while Celia and Becca polish off the pizza. The place is really jumping tonight with RHSers and older kids hanging out by the pool tables. The energy inside the building crackles in a static-filled way. Laughter floats in the air above the zooming of the balls on the hardwood floor and the eventual kkk-whacccck against the pins.

  I sense a pair of eyes on me, so I scan the crowd, not knowing what to expect. Cold, steely gray orbs glare at me from nine lanes over, where Courtney Langdon, Stephanie Crawford, Farah Lewis, and Megan Bremer are with Jim Roach, Kyle Kadish, Sean Carmickle, and some other guys from the football team. Stephanie sees me and waves. Courtney turns her nose up at me like I've just committed a mortal sin. I wave back and smile. No reason to be rude or lower myself to her level. I can't believe that after my concerted effort to get on her good side, she still disses me. I don't get this girl. Maybe I never will. Maybe she's destined to be my sworn enemy from now through eternity. Wow ... dramatic much?

  Jason's warm hand slides over my waist, and he pulls me against his chest. "The hell with her," he whispers in my ear, and then kisses my hair. It's the sexiest thing ever and I feel loved and protected. With Jason around—choosing me over her—nothing can hurt me.

  "You're up, Kendall!" Celia yells.

  I nab a seven-pound swirly-design emerald green ball and jam my fingers into the holes. Something's not right though. A tingling sensation pulsates under my palm. Sweat rolls down my neck, making my hair feel heavy. My breathing deepens, and my head begins to hurt. It's the psychic headache I've been experiencing on and off since moving to Radisson. The same one that makes my mother lose sleep, worrying that I have a brain tumor or worse. Searing pain crawls up my right arm, and I can barely hold on to the marble ball. Blood courses through my veins, making them bulge and roll. It's like I'm fighting off something ... an infection? An injury?

  "You gonna throw it or not, Moorehead?" Becca teases.

  I take two steps and make a valiant effort to toss the ball down the lane. However, it slips right off my hand, bounces hard three times, and then slides gracelessly into the groove.

  "Gutter ball!" Dragon yells triumphantly.

  His laughter is swa
llowed up by the ringing sound in my head. I fall to my knees, unable to bear the immense hurt in my right arm, or the pounding of my temples as a terrible scream rips through my brain. Not mine. Someone's.

  The lights in the alley flicker and go out. The '80s Hall and Oates tune playing overhead comes to a slow stop. The electronic boards controlling everyone's score suddenly sputter and then wipe clean.

  Clay pounds his fist on the seat. "Oh, man! There goes my perfect score."

  Jason's at my side, ever my rescuer. "What's going on with you, Kendall?"

  "I'm not sure," I say and accept his hand up.

  Mr. McDonough yells to get everyone's attention and apologizes for the power outage. "Sorry about that. We've got a computer glitch up here. I'll comp everyone one game to make up for it."

  "That'll cost him a pretty penny," Celia mutters.

  There's more to it, though. It's not simply a computer glitch. "There's a spirit here," I tell her and Jason.

  His face falls. "Come on, Kendall. Not tonight. You promised."

  I search his eyes, trying to find understanding. "It's not something I can turn off, Jason. I can feel him. He's here." I stare down the lane, toward where the pins are swept away. "He's back there."

  Celia's smile hikes to one side. "And me without my ghost-hunting equipment."

  "Are you okay, Kendall?" Mr. McDonough asks. "You didn't fall down, did you?"

  "No, sir," I say. "I just ... Mr. McDonough, do you know if anyone ever died here at the bowling alley?"

  He scratches his head for a moment and then bobs it. "That's right. You're those ghost huntresses everyone's been talking about."

  Celia gives a thumbs-up.

  "You think I got a ghost?" Mr. McDonough asks.

  "Did anyone die here?" I press.

  "Actually, the guy who owned the place before me was killed in a freak accident. Saddest story too. The feller was trying to reset the pins, and he crawled up underneath the mechanism at the end of the alley to work loose the jam. Edgar Moncrief, who works over at the firehouse, told me the machine clicked on and crushed the guy's arm, then ripped it clear out of the socket."