Opposition

by Eliza Lainn

  “That’s good,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “But if two of their group are sick, and if Scott is behind the junior class getting ill, he could be trying to work his way through all of them, instead of with them. To infect all his former friends. He no doubt felt as betrayed as they did when they parted ways.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. His mother made it sound like he was having a hard time but the bitterness from his friends could stem from the fact that maybe Scott wasn’t having a hard time leaving them. I want to talk to his new friends. If he is responsible for everyone getting sick, then as the people he’d spent the most time with up until his death, they’d have a better handle on his mentality when he passed. He died after a party with them. None of them have gotten sick. That seems suspicious to me.”

  “But why get the other juniors sick, if he’s just going to spare his friends? Why infect the junior class to begin with? What’s his thinking?”

  “He might not be,” Oliver added. “Rose warned us that sometimes ghosts don’t realize they’re dead. Look at Roger Whitaker. I don’t think he realized he was dead—he was still trying to collect money for his debt.”

  “That’s true,” Noah mused. He sighed. “I think you’re right about Scott’s mentality at the time of his death is going to be the deciding factor here. Was he having a hard time adjusting, or an easy one? If his new friends aren’t pictures of positivity, then we’ve got a kid who was in a seriously negative place before his death.”

  “And could be acting out by infecting the people he views as responsible for his problems,” I finished with a nod. “Makes sense. We need to talk to his football friends.”

  Noah looked toward Ryan’s door. “Let’s wait for him to finish up. Then I’ll ask him to bring in the second group.”

  Chapter Eight

  We had to head to the cafeteria to meet with Scott’s second group of friends. Because none of them were sick, all seven were able to meet with me, Noah, and Ryan. Ryan’s office, as bubbly as it was, couldn’t magically fit seven teenagers and three adults.

  The lunch staff worked to clean up the lunch mess as the jock clique took their seats. The slightest noise echoed in the large room, the scrapping of chairs and the readjusting of seats made it sound like we were filling ten tables, not ten chairs.

  Once I was in my seat, I glanced around the table to study the students.They looked like your typical popular clique. The girls were perfectly coifed and presented, their hair curled into bouncy waves, wearing their yoga pants and too big T-shirts. The boys sported lettermen jackets, stretched tight over football sculpted muscles. They were all tanned, athletic, and good looking.

  “Thank you for taking time to meet with us,” Ryan said, beaming at the group. They smiled back at him.

  I fidgeted in my seat next to him. I felt like I’d stepped into a cult or something, all megawatt smiles showing rows of white teeth.

  Ryan sobered, clasping his hands in front of him. “We’re here to talk today about how you’re all doing. I know losing a dear friend can be trying, and I want to be here for you, to help you through it. Is that ok?”

  One of the cheerleaders raised her hand. Ryan waved for her to speak and she lowered it, clasping her hands together and resting them on the top of the table. “It’s difficult, for me,” she began, her smile fading as she spoke, “because Scott was a good friend. I’ve been thinking a lot about vulnerability lately. How, sometimes, I feel like I’m on the top of the world, but it’s just an illusionary concept, isn’t it? Youth overshadows death, because it’s something we associate with old age, with infirmity, with time. But these masks of invincibility, of health and vigor, sometimes work so poignantly to distract us from the inevitable—that everyone dies.”

  Holy crap.

  Oliver let out a low whistle behind me. “Well this just got interesting.”

  Ryan nodded, his head bobbing up and down as the girl spoke. “Yes, yes, thank you Cassandra, that’s a wonderful start. You are absolutely right. Youth does work to cover up the truth of death. Very well put.”

  The guy next to Cassandra rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “She’s right. We think of death as this negative force, something that destroys, but really, it’s just the next step in the cycle. You can’t have life without death, and to see death as bad only works counter to nature. Death isn’t bad, but it is necessary. But I just feel as if Scott’s death was too soon. And I’m struggling with connecting a sudden, untimely death with the necessary force I know death to be. To accepting it.”

  Philosophical athletic teenagers. I’d wandered into a group of philosophical athletic teenagers.

  Noah cleared his throat. “I wonder if it would help if we talked about Scott. What kind of person was he? For you?”

  Another girl chimed in. “He was funny. Always ready with a joke.”

  “Thank you, Anna,” Ryan smiled.

  “Competitive,” the boy who’d spoken earlier said. He dropped his hand from Cassandra’s shoulder. “But in a good way. In a way that pushed you, made you want to be better. Made you try harder.”

  The group nodded.

  Ryan nodded too. “That’s excellent, Jordan.”

  “Smart,” Cassandra added with a hesitant laugh. “He helped me with my algebra homework whenever I asked. He was considerate like that.”

  “Creative,” another boy chimed in. He had a haunting smile. “Remember that campaign he ran for us the night…that night?”

  Again, the group nodded around the table.

  “That’s marvelous, Mitch,” Ryan said. “I think—"

  “What campaign?” I interrupted.

  Another boy answered. “He did these Dungeon and Dragon campaigns. He’d done them with his other friends before, but when they started icing him out and wouldn’t include him anymore, he mentioned it to us. How he missed it. So, we had him teach us how to do it.”

  Noah leaned forward. “And how was it?”

  “Surprisingly fun,” Anna laughed a little. “We made our own characters and then worked through different scenarios. He was really good at making up fun stories to put us in.”

  “And he was running a campaign for you the night he passed away?” I asked.

  The table nodded.

  “Where was this?”

  “Clarisse’s house,” Cassandra said, turning toward the girl who hadn’t spoken yet.

  Clarisse tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. “Yeah, my house.”

  “Is that usually where you had these campaigns?” I asked.

  “Yeah, usually,” Mitch said. He turned toward the two boys who hadn’t spoken yet. “Though we did have it at Ron and Phil’s house once, I think. Maybe twice. When Clarisse’s younger brother had friends over and there wasn’t enough space for all of us.”

  The two boys nodded, and I picked up the similarities between the two. Definitely related.

  “Clarisse has a flask in her backpack,” Oliver said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Noah still.

  “What made you have it there?” Noah asked, his tone a tad biting.

  Clarisse picked up on the change in his voice, her eyes sliding down to the table. “It’s just more centrally located. I’m kind of in the center of everyone. And we have a game room with a large table. My mom does Canasta on the weekends.”

  “That’s the only reason?” I pressed.

  Her eyes slid up, met mine for a beat, then fell back down to the table. She reached up and twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Yeah.”

  “Nothing to do with alcohol?” Noah asked.

  Ryan put his hands on the table. “That’s not a fair assumption to make, Mr.—”

  “Do you have alcohol in your bag?” I asked.

  Her head snapped up, eyes widening, as she stared at me. Her lips moved, trying to form words. The other students looked between themselves or went completely still.

  Philosophers they may b
e, but heaven help them if they ever decided to play poker.

  Ryan rose to his feet. His smile was completely gone now, and he glared at me with a fury that would have made a mama bear think twice. “Stella, I’m going to have to insist that you—”

  I met his gaze. “No, I’m—” Power flooded through my voice.

  I stilled, my mouth snapping shut. Noah’s head snapped to look at me, his own eyes narrowing into a glare. Then he took in my expression, no doubt catching the panic in my eyes, because his gaze gentled.

  I hadn’t meant to use my power. I hadn’t meant to layer my voice with a command.

  It’d never happened like this before. My commands only happened when I wanted them to, when I thought about it. When I had a person’s freaking name. I’d been so careful not to have anyone give me their names—Noah and I had even planned out how to make sure the guidance counselor gave his name to Noah, not me.

  But then the Horton Grand Hotel had happened. With Roger Whitaker, when I’d shouted at him. I hadn’t meant to use my power then, but that had been different. I’d been panicked, terrified, running on instinct and adrenaline.

  With Ryan, I had been mildly annoyed. Not afraid, not panicked, not fearing for my life. I’d been annoyed that Ryan wanted to shut me down—that was it.

  Keeping my mouth shut, I pushed up from the table and marched toward the cafeteria’s doors. I pushed through them, their loud clanging echoing throughout the still space.

  I didn’t stop marching until I was outside. Away from anyone who might hear my voice.

  “Are you ok?” Cyril asked, worry coloring his voice. “What’s happening?”

  I shook my head sharply, afraid to speak, afraid to say anything. What if I ordered them? What if I compelled them to do something? I knew their names now, though it was starting to look like that didn’t matter anymore.

  Could powers evolve?

  That thought sent a fresh wave of panic hurtling through my gut. It twisted dreadfully, and I wrapped my arms around myself and dropped down so that I was squatting into a tight ball.

  What if I couldn’t turn it off? What if it kept evolving to the point where power layered my voice all the time? Or if I felt a whiff of a negative emotion and power flooded through my voice in response.

  Cold touched my shoulder. “Stella, talk to me.”

  I shrugged Cyril’s hand off, but it only worked to have the cold sink deeper into my shoulder. I shivered, tightening my arms around myself.

  “She looks pale,” Oliver whispered. “Did you hear the command in her voice?”

  “Stella?” Cyril asked, cold touching my cheek now. “It’s ok. Tell me what you need.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t know if power still layered my voice. I couldn’t order him, wouldn’t order him.

  “It’s just us here,” he pressed. “And you can’t hurt us.”

  “Yeah,” Oliver added in, opting for exuberance, “we’re already dead. So, it’s not really going to hurt us, is it? Just talk to us.”

  They were right. Better to try and talk here, now, instead of when I was with Rose or Bronte.

  I took in a deep breath.

  Willed the power to leave my voice.

  And spoke.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’m fine,” I whispered. Relief flooded through me when my voice sounded normal. No power layered it. I let out a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”

  “What happened?” Cyril asked.

  Before I could answer, the front door slammed open. I glanced over my shoulder to see Noah hurrying out. When he caught sight of me bunched over, his pace quickened.

  I rose to my feet and slid my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. Mostly to make it look like I was calm, relaxed. But secretly to hide how badly my hands were shaking.

  “What happened?” Noah demanded. He glanced to my side, no doubt studying the ghosts. His eyes snapped back to mine. “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah.” My voice shook and I cleared my throat. “No worries,” I said, more upbeat than I felt.

  “You nearly ordered him.”

  “That was an accident.”

  His eyebrow shot up in surprise.

  “It’s a new thing,” I said, hoping I sounded blasé. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “How new?” he pressed.

  Since five minutes ago? I shook my head. “Since California. I’m fine.”

  “You’re lying,” Cyril said, his voice hard.

  I shot a look over to where his voice had come from, surprised that him, not Noah, was going to start off the inquisition. “It’s fine.”

  “It is not fine,” he hissed. “I am with you nearly every moment of the day, Stella, and this is the first time your power has seeped into your voice without your intent. It’s growing.” He spoke the last word like a curse.

  Noah swore under his breath.

  “I’m okay,” I insisted, my voice harder than I intended.

  Noah flinched as I spoke.

  I took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. I needed to calm down. If my emotions were tied to this somehow, then getting upset because I felt ganged up on wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Ok,” I said, keeping my voice calm and level, “ok, we can panic over this tonight with Rose and Bronte. Right now, we need to get back on track. What did you get from them after I left?”

  He regarded me for a moment, and I could see a twinge of fear in his eyes. He’d been on the receiving end of my power before. And I knew that he hated it. The idea that now it was going haywire probably freaked him out.

  He gave a sharp shake of his head, dispelling his thoughts, and focused. “They admitted to having alcohol at their party the night Scott died. But they all insisted that he didn’t have any. That, as the GM, he didn’t want to be cloudy. I believe them.”

  “And Scott’s mentality that night? Was he upset with this group, like he was with his previous one?”

  “I don’t think so. At least, to hear them talk, Scott was fitting in really well. But we had three adults in there—of course they’re going to say whatever they think is going to get them out of trouble.”

  “We could send Stella back in,” Oliver joked, “have her pull the truth from them.”

  Noah shot him a dark look. “Absolutely not.”

  “He’s just kidding. So where are we then? Do we think Scott was fitting in well? If not, it could explain the sickness pervading the school. If Scott felt distant and lonely here, I could see the conclusion that he is causing this sickness because he was dissatisfied by how the school treated him while he was alive.”

  “I don’t think he was victimized, or anything like that. His friends probably did give him grief for changing social circles, but they made it sound like they’ve done role playing multiple times, right?”

  When I nodded, he continued. “Then it sounds like he was fitting in with this group. They were trying out things Scott enjoyed. I think we should check with the principal on Scott’s grades. If his grades were slipping, I’d be willing to buy your thought that he was infecting the school because he viewed it was the source of his problems. And that his friends were spared because they were the only ones to keep him centered.”

  “Let’s go then,” I said, heading for the door.

  Noah’s arm snapped out, latching on to mine.

  “Don’t,” Cyril warned, an edge to his tone.

  Noah ignored him. “When we get back inside, I don’t want you speaking.”

  “Afraid I’ll huff and puff and blow the school down?”

  His grip tightened. “This isn’t funny, Stella. If your control is slipping, we can’t risk you using your powers without meaning to.”

  I pulled my arm out of his grip. “Mum’s the word then.”

  “I mean it, Stella.”

  “She gets the point,” Cyril snapped.

  Noah glanced over to the ghosts then rounded on his heel. He stalked back toward the front door, not bothering to see if I was follo
wing.

  “He’s afraid,” Oliver said.

  “Don’t understand why,” I mumbled sarcastically, hurrying after him.

  He wasn’t the only one either. Cyril was right. My powers were growing. What happened if they continued to grow stronger, picking up on my slightest change in emotion? Or worse? Reached the point where they didn’t turn off at all?