Manifest

by Artist Arthur

  “Or the ghost?”

  “Arggghhhh!” This is too much. Too insane. This time instead of announcing it, I just turn and walk toward the door.

  “Hey, wait up. You can’t just leave,” Sasha says. “Unless you’re afraid to accept your destiny.”

  My hand’s on the doorknob. I turn it and pull the door open a bit. “Don’t try to psych me out. I’m not afraid of you or of dead boy over there. But I don’t have time to pretend like we’re private investigators. I’ve gotta get back to Biology.”

  “Actually, I agree with Sasha. There’s got to be a reason we have these powers.” Both he and Sasha are way too pumped about this power thing.

  I wave away his comment like that’ll make it mean less. “Whatever.”

  “You can’t run from it, you know. It’s not going to go away.”

  See, I’m not the only one trying to tell you that running’s not the answer.

  These two never quit. I put my hands over both ears and close my eyes. Counting to ten, I open them again and say in a voice as calmly as I can muster, “I am not running and I am not doing this right now. So I’d like for all of you, living and dead, to leave me alone!”

  As I turn and walk away I hear Sasha’s last comment.

  “She needs to take a chill pill.”

  No, what I need is another life, one where I’m not going insane and kids with marks and spirits with attitude aren’t giving me grief.

  ten

  So my day has been officially shot. I’d say to hell, but I’m not sure this sort of thing goes on down there.

  Supernatural powers.

  Supposed to help a ghost.

  What kind of foolishness is this? And why do I seem to be dropped right in the middle of it?

  Concentrating in any of my classes is out of the question; all my notes consist of idle lines and questions that don’t relate to any of the subjects. Questions that I know nobody has the answers to. At lunchtime I go to the library. Yeah, Ricky would say running again. This time I call it hiding. I don’t want to see Sasha and Jake, don’t want to be near those weirdos. So I sit way in the back, pull the hood of my jacket up over my head and lie down on the desk. I try to put it all out of my mind. But that is pointless because when I close my eyes, I see them—Sasha and Jake—with their marks that look just like mine. I see us, all three of us standing together, looking as if we have a purpose, a reason for being born.

  Then I see darkness. I see Ricky and all those dead bodies from my dream the other night, complete with the black smoke that threatened to choke me and the woman on the beach in the white dress who I can still hear crying. My breathing speeds up.

  I can talk to spirits. I can see them and hear them. Can I help them?

  Do I even want to?

  Just so you know, he wasn’t the kind of kid everybody said he was. Ricky, I mean.

  I jump up so fast I almost fall off the chair. Looking around quickly to make sure nobody had seen me, I try to right myself and adjust the hood on my head. I stuck my earbuds in hoping that all the outside noise would be drowned out. I didn’t want to hear the school bells, the kids moving about, the normalcy around my chaotic state.

  Yet I heard her loud and clear. I look to my left and there she is, sitting her translucent butt on the edge of the desk beside me, her legs crossed, arms folded over her chest.

  It is Trina, Ricky’s girlfriend.

  “Go away,” I whisper, checking around the room to make sure nobody is close enough to hear or see me, talking to myself.

  Nope. Since I know you can hear and see me I’m not going away.

  “I don’t have time for this crap,” I say, turning my head away from her.

  Don’t be such a whiner. Ricky needs your help. And even though I couldn’t care less about your spoiled, stuck-up ass, I’m here to ask you to do what you can for him.

  “You’re his girlfriend, why don’t you help him?” I snap, then feel really stupid being jealous of a spirit.

  She’s a cute ghost, though, with her curly black hair and copper highlights. I asked Janet about getting my hair dyed last year. Of course she told me I was being too grown and brushed me off. Hence, my hair is still the same dark brown as it was when I was born.

  She kind of chuckles. Believe me, if I could I would. Ricky was always there for me. Always helping me out of a jam. I should have listened to him, should have taken his warnings seriously.

  “I’m sure you gave him enough when you could.”

  She’s on the other side of me now, so I can see her. She’s leaning against a bookshelf, her hands behind her back. Her jeans are, like, skintight with a huge silver-buckled belt—that must be for decoration only because those pants are definitely not falling down—around her waist. Her shirt is tight, too, hugging her chest so that it puffs up in honey-toned mounds over the collar of her shirt. She looks hot. That’s probably why she was Ricky’s girlfriend.

  She’s also glowing.

  There’s this bright haze around her body like she’s there but not really, almost a shimmer instead of a solid-looking figure. That’s how the lady on the beach looked. Ricky doesn’t look like that when he appears. I wonder why.

  Ricky underestimates you. He said you were young and naive. But I don’t think so. I think you’re more mature than he realizes.

  “I think you should mind your dead-ass business!” I snap because she’s getting on my nerves. Ricky doesn’t know me and neither does she.

  This time she laughs loud. So loud I look around like I think somebody else might hear. Oops, I forgot I’m the resident medium, meaning I’m the only lunatic that can hear her. Just so happens, I’m the one she’s laughing at. Ain’t that a trip.

  Yeah, you’ve got a little spunk in you. Too bad you’re so into yourself you can’t use that to help somebody else.

  “Why should I help him? I don’t even know him. I don’t even know how to help.”

  Then I think about what I am saying, like I am seriously considering helping Ricky get to the other side, or wherever he is supposed to be. Flashes of Poltergeist enter my mind. That tiny woman with those huge sunglasses on standing in front of the door with all that light, telling Carol Anne’s mother to go in and get her daughter. I wonder if I’d have to do something bizarre like that. God, I hope not.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, having another quick thought. “Why are you here? Are you stuck on this side, too?” Maybe her and Ricky are trying to get a two-for-one deal. If that is the case, I definitely don’t do hookups!

  Nah, I died before Ricky and went on without a glitch.

  “So why didn’t he?”

  She shrugs, which only makes her hair bounce off her shoulders, her gold earrings sparkle and her face look prettier than I want to admit.

  I don’t know. At first I thought he was just being stubborn, but even when I try to get him to walk with me, he can’t.

  “What? Walk with you where?”

  It’s kind of complicated.

  “And talking to spirits isn’t? If you want my help then I want information.” I think. I mean, how much do I really want to know about the afterlife?

  All right, well, it’s like this. You die and then there’s like this break in the road you’re taking. You go one way and it leads you to what I figure now is eternity. Like where you’re supposed to spend the rest of your afterlife. You go the other way and it’s a dead end. You don’t go anywhere, you just stay dead.

  “That makes absolutely no sense at all,” I say, then realize that seeing and talking to a ghost isn’t high up there on the intelligence list either.

  It does, I’m probably just not explaining it right. Anyway, Ricky’s stuck. He said you can help him and I believe him.

  I sigh. “I don’t know how to prove who killed him.”

  You can start by talking to Twan and the other guys. I think they know something.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Can’t or won’t?

  She doesn’t wait for my
answer but huffs and disappears. Is there such a thing as a temperamental spirit?

  I am so late.

  Because of my screwed-up day I totally forgot about meeting with Mrs. Lightner, the guidance counselor. Technically I should have gotten a pass from last period like Mrs. Lightner suggested. Instead I’d spent last period ignoring Alyssa’s and Camy’s gibes and not paying a bit of attention to Mrs. Tremble’s lesson, for the second class in a row.

  So as soon as the final bell rings and I am on my way to my locker to grab my stuff and head for the bus stop, I remember the stupid appointment and run like hell to get to the first-floor administrative offices. Unfortunately, Mrs. Lightner had already gone.

  So now I’m on my way back down the hall, heading to the front door so I can hopefully catch the bus home. Although I’m not playing any sport or involved in any other after-school activity they should still let me on the bus. God, I hope so.

  The halls are empty, which seems strange. I’m so used to them being crowded with kids all the time. Yet the quiet is kind of calming after the past couple of days I’ve had. The main hallway, once you leave the administrative corridor, splits into two directions. If I turn to the left I’m headed toward the cafeteria and the library. To the right and it’s the gymnasium on one side and the auditorium on the other. I keep walking straight, toward the twin sets of double doors that will, thankfully, take me right outside to the bus stop.

  Then I feel it.

  Like this chill moving through my body. It starts at my ankles and quickly winds its way upward until I stop moving and shiver. Weird.

  I pull my jacket closer around my chest, adjust my book bag and purse then make like I’m heading for the door again.

  And I hear it.

  Crying. Somebody’s crying.

  I know I should keep on going out the door, my mind is screaming that I do so. Remember the last time I followed the sound of crying, ghost beach lady scared the bejesus out of me. Of course my feet are, like, detached from brain communication and instantly have me turning, heading in the direction I hear the crying.

  Noises are coming from the gym. Sneakers squeaking across the floor, a steady pounding, then a couple of yells and a whistle blowing. Basketball practice.

  But even over that hoopla, the crying echoes in my head. I keep walking right past the gym through the swinging doors that lead to the locker rooms. That hallway’s empty but the crying is getting louder. So I keep walking.

  To say that I’ve completely flipped would probably be an understatement. Here I am wandering through the halls after school hours looking for someone who’s crying. Someone who’s crying pretty doggone loud since I heard it from all the way near the front door and now I’m close to the equipment room.

  It stinks down here. Smells like sweat and funk. I wave a hand in front of my face as I continue on inside. Not only can I hear the crying loudest from here, but that chilliness in my body is starting to warm up a bit.

  Still I don’t see anybody and I’m about to give up this stupid chase and head home like I should be. But as I turn around to head back toward the door I see her.

  All the way in the corner, stuffed between the two floor-to-ceiling shelves holding basketballs, soccer balls and whatever other sports paraphernalia that could be squeezed into the small compartments. She’s sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around legs pulled up to her chin. Her head’s down but I know it’s a she because of the long red hair hanging around her like a blanket.

  I take a step toward her. Her head shakes as she continues to cry, loud, wrenching sobs that make me extremely uncomfortable. As I get closer, of course I’m wondering why she’s in here, what could have happened to her and what in the world I can possibly do for her. I’m focused on the body, the sounds echoing from it, my legs taking me closer and closer without my mind’s permission.

  Then, as if she hears my approach, her head shoots up and eyes big as saucers and dark as night look up at me. She opens her mouth, baring chipped and bloody teeth, and yells, Go away!

  Okay, now my mind has some control and I stumble backward bumping into some boxes I hadn’t even known were behind me. My bag and purse fall to the floor as I stumble to keep myself upright. My heart’s in my throat, the intense thumping almost clogging it so I can’t speak right away.

  Go away, I said! the girl repeats.

  “Ah.” I hear myself stuttering, my feet plant themselves in the spot where I stand, rejecting the run-like-hell thoughts in my head. “What happened to you? Um, is there someone I can call to come and get you?”

  The minute I say that, I know how stupid it sounds. Her hair’s matted against her head and her eyes, they don’t look quite right. And let’s not forget the blood trailing down her chin, mixing with the tears that streak her chalky face.

  Nooooooo! she sort of yells and moans.

  In front of me, my hands are clenched, fingers wringing around each other. What the hell am I doing here? What am I supposed to do?

  “Did somebody hurt you?” I ask impulsively.

  Her head tilts to the side, like she’s thinking about what I just said. You know who hurt me! You know! Everybody knows but nobody cares! Nobody cares!

  With the last words she, the one I now know for sure is a spirit, stands up and leans her scary-ass face into mine. Nobody cares!

  Now I do what I guess I should have done like two seconds ago. I scream like somebody’s beating me. Only the spirit must think that’s cute because she screams, too. Now we’re both screaming, her in my face and me wondering what I ever did to my feet to make them disobey like this.

  “Krystal! Krysal! What’s the matter?”

  I feel the hands on my arms, pulling at me, trying to turn me around. Then I look into familiar eyes that have me closing my mouth, ending at least my screams. The horrendous sounds of spirit girl are still shrilling through the air.

  “Do you hear her? Do you see her? She’s crying and she’s hurt and she’s—” She’s a ghost, you idiot, why are you asking if Jake can see or hear her? My lips clamp shut as he continues to stare at me.

  After a few seconds I move out of his grasp. “I’m okay,” I whisper and wish it were true.

  I’m leaning over, trying to catch my breath, my hands resting on my knees, when Sasha kneels down in front of me.

  “Who was she?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. She didn’t look…familiar,” I say, searching for the right words.

  “Did she ask you to help her?” Jake asks from behind me.

  “No.” I stand upright and inhale deeply, closing my eyes for a second then reopening them. “No, she didn’t seem to want my help. She seemed…angry.”

  “At you?”

  I shrug then move to where I’d dropped my bags. It hits me then that her screaming has stopped. I look to the spot where she’d last been and she is gone. I walk over and look between the shelves. She isn’t there either.

  “I don’t think it was at me personally. I asked her if someone had hurt her and she said that I knew. That everyone knew and nobody cared,” I say, remembering her exact words coupled with the stark fear that rippled from her body to mine. In that moment, I’d felt it, the second she’d gotten close up on me I felt her fear. And it was terrifying.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Jake says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Normally I don’t like people touching me but this is Jake. And a few feet away is Sasha. We three have something in common, something we have no idea about, but still it is a link.

  Grabbing my bags, we all start walking to the door.

  “We need a game plan,” Jake says the minute we are in the hallway.

  “What?” I say. I’m the one who just saw the freaky-ass spirit and he’s talking about a plan.

  “This might be connected,” he says.

  “Connected to what?”

  Maybe it is the pitch of my voice or I probably look at him like he is crazy, but anyway, Jake drops his arm from my should
ers and takes a step away from me. He always seems to be touching me. But as soon as I notice he stops, like he’s been caught doing something wrong. “Two ghosts have come to you for help in the past two days. I don’t think that’s a coincidence,” he says.

  Sasha flicks her long curly hair over one shoulder and adds, “I agree. They both need your help, probably with the same problem.”

  That’s just great, another one of Ricky’s chicks I have to deal with. I really didn’t want to agree with them, but what they’re saying makes sense.

  Yeah, I think you need a plan, Ricky chimes in. He’s leaning against the wall near the gym, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

  My reaction to seeing him at this very moment is swift. “Well, I think you need to figure out who’s helping you, me or Trina or…or…whoever crying girl was in there,” I snap and immediately feel the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks.

  Jake and Sasha are looking at me.

  “I think she’s talking to the dead guy,” Sasha says in a singsongy voice, barely moving her mouth, looking and sounding as ridiculous as I probably do.

  “Where is he?”

  Jake’s immediately looking up and down the hallway. He really wants to see a spirit. He has no idea that if I could I’d give him this creepy power in a heartbeat. I huff, “He’s over there.” I point to where Ricky is standing across from us.

  Don’t worry about Trina, she’s just trying to help out. She can’t get me through so she wants you to do it.

  “Why? So you two can live happily ever after? I’m not into fairy tales, you know. And just who is this other chick?”

  Damn, girl, what is your problem? If you’re not complaining about one thing, you’re arguing over another. I don’t even know that girl in there, he says, pointing toward the equipment room.

  I fold my arms over my chest and realize two things: (1) I’m jealous of two female ghosts because Ricky may or may not know them, and (2) Sasha and Jake are witnessing a one-sided conversation. Am I living in Lincoln, Connecticut, or Freakyville?

  Only one way to deal with this without further embarrassing myself in front of these people. “Okay, look, I’ve gotta get home or Janet will send out a search party.” I start walking toward the doors again.