Manifest

by Artist Arthur

  I turn away from him because the questions are filling up my mind. Who killed Ricky? Why am I the one who has to help him? Where did Sasha go? How does Ricky know they have something to tell me?

  And then without another thought, my hand is going up until it’s raised high in the air and Mr. Lyle is looking at me impatiently. His dark brown face is grim as he folds long arms across his chest. I gulp, trying to find the nerve to speak. He looks like he’s just waiting for me to ask him something so he can shoot it down.

  “Yes, Miss Bentley. You have something to contribute to the lesson?”

  “Ah.” I hesitate and swallow. The entire class is looking at me now. I feel like I have something hanging from my nose or my bra is showing, they’re staring with such weird expressions. Then I steal a glance at Ricky and he’s waving his hand as if to tell me to get on with it.

  “Um, can I be…excused?” I finally manage and clear my throat afterward.

  Mr. Lyle’s mustache kind of twitches as he presses his thick lips tightly together then moves to his desk and scribbles on a notepad. I get up from my seat and am about to take the slip of paper from him when he attempts to come around the desk and bumps his leg. There’s a clinking sound, then muffled laughter from the students. Mr. Lyle is really pissed at me now even though I’m not the one who bumped into the desk. With one hand he’s holding the hall pass and with the other he’s rubbing the side of his leg near his pocket that looks like it’s stuffed full of something, keys probably. I hurriedly take the hall pass from his hands before he can say another word or I change my mind.

  The minute I’m outside the classroom, the door shut behind me, I’m too afraid to move. For one, I don’t know where I’m going. And for two, Sasha and Jake don’t know me. What could they possibly have to tell me? Unless it’s something about Ricky, about his killer. But how would they know to tell me? I wonder if they’re ghost whisperers, too.

  I know he’s there even though I don’t see him. Since there’s nobody else in the hallway I just ask, “Do you know what they want with me? Is it about you?”

  He’s right beside me now. I don’t know. I just know that they’re waiting for you and they seem pretty hyped about talking to you.

  “If you know that much, how come you couldn’t just hang around and hear what they’re saying? That way you could just tell me what they want.”

  Because I’m not on your payroll.

  I stop walking at his smart retort. “And I’m not on yours. So if this has something to do with what you want from me then it’ll have to wait until I’ve decided whether or not to help you.”

  You haven’t decided yet? What, am I, like, on probation?

  “No. According to your story, you’re stuck between here and eternity. And you need me to get you there, so if I were you I’d be a little more polite.”

  Polite? Man, please, that’s why you’re walking around in a funky mood all the time. Somebody should have snapped you out of this Lifetime network depression a long time ago.

  “I am not depressed!” I shout as I stop walking and turn to face him.

  Yeah, you are. And for a spoiled brat that’s like the end of the world.

  I take a step toward him and he starts to smile.

  What? Are you going to hit me because I pissed you off?

  Ooh, it is so tempting. But could I punch a spirit? With my luck, probably not. “Forget it,” I say with more exasperation than I want him to hear. “I don’t even know where I’m going.”

  They’re in the basement, by the boiler room.

  I almost ask how he knows but keep my mouth shut. Ricky is getting on my nerves. I think about this as I stomp through the exit doors and down the stairs. He is right behind me but I am through talking to him. I am also through listening to him.

  Because more and more what he says sounds too much like right.

  nine

  “You’re sure she saw you?”

  “Duh. Yes, I’m sure. She was standing right next to me. How could she not have seen me?”

  Jake makes a sound that seems like he isn’t really feeling Sasha’s dramatics. He actually sounds worried, which I should be since I’m the one ducking under and around pipes spewing steam all over the place. What kind of people meet in a boiler room?

  Anyway, I keep walking toward the voices, wanting to get to them and get this over with as soon as possible. They’re still a couple of steps away and they both have their backs turned to me. When I trip on something and start my descent to the floor, the last thing I expect is for Jake to appear instantly, wrapping his arm around my waist and lifting me up before I actually kiss the floor.

  “Hey, be careful down here,” he says, his voice cracking like he’s going through puberty.

  I am about to ask him how he got to me so quickly when Sasha walks up to us.

  “You came. Great,” she says with a smile I swear is permanently etched into her face. Kind of like the Joker on Batman, but not as weird-looking and definitely not with that grotesque makeup. Actually, Sasha’s makeup looks good, perfect. Words I immediately associate with her entire persona.

  “I need to get back to class.” I hear myself and cringe at how weak that sounds. I’m in the tenth grade, with a hall pass. I’ve got permission to be out of class. Not to be in the boiler room with two other kids, but that’s just being picky.

  “We really need to talk,” Jake says.

  That’s when I notice he still has his arm around my waist. I make a move to get out of his grasp but my feet feel weird. I look down at them and gasp. They’re not touching the floor.

  “Oh. Ah, sorry,” Jake says then lowers me to the floor.

  Okay, now this is just too strange. First Sasha disappears, then Jake, who by the way is only about five inches taller than me and probably fifteen pounds heavier, lifts me into midair and just holds me there. Talk about Freaky Friday, except today’s Monday.

  I start looking around, past Sasha and past Jake, to the one person down here who I think is normal—normally dead. I don’t see him. Ricky picks the oddest times to appear and disappear. I wonder if he’s hovering above somewhere, hidden in the pipes maybe, just watching and listening.

  To my right Jake makes a move. He lifts his hoodie over his head and tosses it to the floor. Beneath it he wears only a white T-shirt. Rolling up the sleeve, he turns to the side and taps his right arm. I look because I’m assuming that’s what he wants me to do and, damn, he has the exact same birthmark as me.

  “And,” Sasha says, lifting her shirt so that her stomach is showing.

  So I could see the same M-shaped birthmark on her right side. The same one I’ve had all my life. The one Jake has on his arm.

  I look back up to both of their faces. They’re staring at me as if I should say something. I can’t. I’m too stupefied to speak. What is it with this mark? Why do we all have it? And why do I even care? I should go back to class. Leave the ghost, the spitting steam pipes and these two weirdos behind.

  “Yeah, I know, totally strange, right?” Jake says. “But it means something. I’m sure of it.”

  “He’s right,” Sasha says, turning back to me. “It means we’re all connected. That we all can do things.”

  I know I must look like a total idiot, standing there with steam shooting out behind me, my mouth hanging open but no sound coming out.

  “I…I…can’t do anything,” I finally manage to say.

  “I think you can,” Sasha says.

  Then I ask, although I already know the answer and because lately I seem to be a glutton for punishment, “What can you do?”

  She smiles, her white teeth a smooth contrast against her olive skin. “This.”

  Then, to my horror, just like she did in the hallway, Sasha disappears. I spin around looking for her and when I get back to my original spot, she’s there again.

  “You,” I start to speak, shaking my head in disbelief even though I know what I just saw. “You can disappear?”

  She no
ds her head, smiling like I’d just complimented her. “I can disappear from one place and reappear in another.”

  “It’s called teleportation,” Jake offers.

  “Jake’s got it, too.”

  I turn around so fast I almost fall, but Sasha’s hand on my elbow keeps me steady. Jake looks around, for what I have no clue. He reaches out suddenly and grabs one of the pipes from the ceiling. I gasp, expecting any moment to either have more steam spewing throughout the humid space or water to spray all of us. Neither happens and Jake proceeds to bend said pipe until it’s in the shape of, what else, an M.

  “Jake’s superfast and superstrong,” Sasha informs me.

  Too strange. I can’t handle it. I jump at the sound of Jake dropping the pipe to the floor and move away from both of them. “What are you?”

  Jake slips his hands into his pocket. “I think the better question is, what are we?”

  “I’ve got to go,” I say, turning away from them, from whatever this is.

  “You can’t go,” Sasha says, pulling on my arm again.

  God, I’m sick of people pulling on me these days. I yank away with more force than I mean to, but it’s okay because I want her to know I’m serious. “I can and I am. This is…It’s…” I can’t seem to find the word.

  “It’s weird. We know,” Jake says, lifting one of his hands from his pocket to scratch his head. His hair’s too long for a boy, touching the collar of his shirt and curling over.

  “But the thing is, we’ve known for a few months now. Ever since we turned fifteen, to be exact. My birthday is in July,” Sasha adds.

  “Mine’s is August first.”

  They both look at me like I’m supposed to chime right in. But my mind’s moving awfully fast so I already know where this is going. “I turned fifteen July 31st.” If they were saying what I thought they were saying, which was that these freaky powers came when they hit high school, then I was definitely not connected to them. The first time I heard a ghost I was in elementary school.

  “Hmm, a summer baby thing.” Sasha’s biting her bottom lip.

  “No, it’s more like a creepy thing, for psycho people. I’m leaving.”

  I’ve taken about five steps when Jake’s voice stops me.

  “So, you’re saying there’s nothing weird happening to you? There’s nothing you can do that nobody else can, that nobody else should be able to do. You can tell us, Krystal.”

  I shake my head. I couldn’t tell them, just like I couldn’t tell Janet or anybody else.

  “We’re not here to judge you. We’re just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  Sasha sounds so calm, so matter-of-fact, like all this was as normal as summer vacations and hideous prom dresses.

  Then I’m whispering; it’s familiar as it rolls through my mind and out of my mouth before I can think to stop it. “I can’t hear them, I can’t see them, they’re not real.” My mantra rings in my mind.

  “Who’s not real?”

  I spin around at the sound of Sasha’s voice directly behind me. Did I say that out loud? I know I was thinking it. I’ve been thinking it for days, since Ricky first followed me home from the bus stop. But considering he’d visited me every day since then, and that I’d actually met his girlfriend—both of whom are dead—my little chant method couldn’t possibly be working.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly.

  “You said you can’t see them. Who don’t you see?” Jake had moved closer so that they were now both standing on either side of me, blocking me in.

  My chest tightens and I lift my hand to rest over my heart trying to still its abnormal thumping. My throat feels dry like it’s stuffed with cotton. I can’t possibly talk, can’t possibly answer their questions.

  But what if they’re right?

  What if I’m not the only one who’s not normal?

  They’re both eyeing me, Sasha folding her arms over her chest and Jake just staring at me with those eyes that look like a lost puppy. I’m trapped. They know. I might as well come clean. Right?

  So I take a deep breath and figure if they even think to tell a soul about what I’m about to say, I’ll retaliate by telling that they’re hiding in boiler rooms, disappearing and moving things with their eyes. Yeah, and we’ll all be wheeled away to the nearest nuthouse.

  “Ghosts,” I blurt out, afraid that if I stall another minute I won’t be able to say it. “Well, the online definition calls them spirits.”

  “What?” Sasha asks.

  Jake takes a step closer to me, his hand going to my elbow. “You see ghosts? You’re clairvoyant?”

  “Ah.” I swallow again and fold my arms over my chest like Sasha had hers. Jake keeps touching me. It’s eerie and it’s making me more nervous than I already am. “Um, yeah. I’m all those ‘clair’ things. I can see, hear, sense and converse with spirits of the dead.”

  Sasha tilts her head and smirks, like she doesn’t believe me. “That’s not a superpower.”

  “Where do you see them? At graveyards and stuff?”

  I shake my head, not liking Sasha’s attitude but touched by Jake’s quick trust in my words.

  “No. Anywhere.”

  “Wow. Awesome! A real live medium. Do they ask you for help? Can they hear you? Are any down here right now?”

  “She’s lying,” Sasha claims. This is the first time I’ve seen her not smile, like her whole mood has changed instantly.

  Okay, so now here comes the drama. This is why I stay to myself, why friendship and connections are such a nono in my book. Girls are catty by nature, Janet told me that when I first started elementary school. Even if I didn’t try, there’d always be some type of competition between girls. So now, even though I didn’t tell her to invite me down to this sweaty boiler room and even though I don’t know how she ever saw the birthmark on my neck or why she thought it was okay to approach me, Sasha and I were at odds.

  She had what she called a superpower; she was convinced that I did, too. But when I tell her what I can do, she calls me a liar.

  Not happening.

  “Look, I didn’t come to you, you came to me. So if you don’t believe what I’m saying, that’s just too damn bad.” I take an aggressive step toward her, pointing my finger at her as if there were somebody else in the room and I wanted to make sure she knew I was talking to her. Actions that seem out of character for me but feel really good.

  Sasha doesn’t move a muscle. She does arch an eyebrow, the right side of her mouth curving up into a half smile, half smirk. “Prove it.”

  “What? How am I going to prove to you that I see and hear spirits when you don’t see or hear them? That’s just ridiculous.”

  “She’s got a point, Sasha,” Jake says, then clears his throat after Sasha gives him the evil eye.

  “Name a ghost you’ve seen and tell us what they said to you.”

  “How does that prove anything, if I name somebody you don’t know?”

  “She’s…”

  “Shut up, Jake. I don’t need you to tell me she’s got a point. But we’ve proved our power to you, you’ve got to do something to prove yours.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.”

  Tell them I’m here.

  Oh, great, now he decides to appear.

  I sigh heavily, seeing Ricky walk right through one of those big fat pipes. The steam halos around him so he looks like he’s in one of those gruesome zombie movies, only his face looks a lot better.

  “One’s here right now,” I say because I’m sick of Sasha looking at me with doubt.

  Jake immediately looks around the room. “Where?”

  “Over there.” I point to the pipes. “He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, boots and an earring.”

  “He sounds like a thug,” Sasha quips. She doesn’t want to believe me but I see her eyes darting around the room trying to check things out.

  Tell them my name.

  I shrug. “His name’s Ricky Watson.”

  Sasha’s
mouth opens then snaps shut.

  “The hip-hopper?” Jake asks in a whisper.

  “That’s what he says.”

  Ask them if they know anything about what happened to me.

  This has got to be the craziest week I’ve ever had. No, correct that, the craziest year. Rolling my eyes isn’t going to change things. That’ll only make me look more lame in Sasha’s eyes. Not that I care what she thinks of me. She’s the one with the disappearing thing going on.

  “Ricky says he needs my help to find out what happened to him. That he can’t, like, cross over to the other side if I don’t prove he wasn’t killed by his friends or something like that. So, do you guys know anything about that?”

  Sasha and Jake both exchange bizarre looks.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Like I said before, I’m outta here.”

  “Wait!” Sasha screams. “If he’s contacting you then we’ve got to help him. It’s like our job or something, right, Jake?”

  Jake’s head is already bobbing up and down, thick locks of brown hair falling into his eyes. Man, he needed to go to the barbershop.

  “We should start by talking to people he knew. Doesn’t he have a brother that goes here?”

  “And then we should probably talk to those other guys at the table.”

  That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Ricky rubs his hands together, his tongue snaking out to run across his bottom lip. You should have hooked up with these two sooner, they’re about business.

  “What?” I say and am both flattered and creeped out when three sets of eyes turn in my direction.

  “You two,” I say, pointing at Jake and Sasha. “Are you crazy? How are we going to investigate the death of a student? We’re not cops. We’re tenth graders.”

  Then I turn to Ricky. “And you. I told you I hadn’t decided what to do about you yet, so back off.”

  Ricky holds up his hands and shakes his head. Whoa, you feeling yourself now, Krystal. It’s about time.

  “Shut up!”

  Sasha’s shaking her head. “Who? Us?”