Like a ghost.
And the same with Principal McCaffery. He was an all right principal, kind of like a more boring version of a teacher—though Zee never understood the hat thing. Principal McCaffery was obsessed with making sure that no one was wearing a baseball hat. It was the weirdest thing. He called them disruptive. Said that wearing a hat in class meant you wouldn’t learn anything. But Zee figured if you didn’t learn anything, it was probably because the teacher was lousy. Or because you weren’t paying attention. What’s a hat got to do with it?
Now the two of them were gone. Poof. Disappeared in the middle of the night. So naturally the entire town was talking about it. In detention, Zee even heard the other teachers going on about it.
“I knew she was trouble,” Mrs. Matthews, the Spanish teacher, said. “I knew from the minute she came to town. You always have to be wary of a girl on her own like that.”
Zee paused her homework to roll her eyes. Grown-ups were the worst. They’ll throw anyone under the bus, especially women. She imagined for a moment what it must be like to live in a place with so many people that you could go missing and no one noticed. She couldn’t decide if that was worse or better, but she was leaning toward better.
“But her supervisor?” Mrs. Matthews continued.
Her companion, the hall monitor Mr. Chess, nodded.
“The whole thing is downright shameful. I can only think something must have been going on for months. Probably since she ran the fundraiser for the school vegetable garden.”
“Disrespectful,” Mr. Chess said, clucking his tongue.
Zee sighed. The only thing that seemed disrespectful to her were two old gossips talking about other people’s lives. This, Zee reasoned, was the problem with small towns. When nothing happens, a thing like people moving away or moving on becomes the talk of the town. It’s like they were jealous because they were still stuck here. The idea of someone else getting out and making something of their lives really chapped their butts.
Zee giggled to herself. That was a good expression. She’d have to be sure to use it again.
“Zera!” Mrs. Matthews snapped. “Pay attention to what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Zee muttered.
The following morning, Zee woke feeling like she’d hardly slept at all. Everything felt fuzzy, and while she wasn’t positive, she thought she heard the howling again. It was lodged in her memory the way a stubborn pebble gets stuck in the grooves of your sneaker. She remembered sitting up in bed, feeling like the sound was inside her filling her whole head. She even remembered putting her hands over her ears as if that could stop it. Dragging a brush through her uncooperating hair, she decided it was just a bad dream. A very bad dream, but a dream all the same. It just felt easier that way. When Zee came downstairs for breakfast, her sister eyed her. “You’ve worn that shirt three times this week.”
“So?”
“So go put on something clean.”
“Abby . . .”
“I’m serious, Zee. You can’t go to school in that dirty T-shirt again. Go find something decent. Also don’t you have an assembly today? I got an email about the new principal starting.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t want you looking like a slob. It’s bad enough you got detention. You need to make a better impression, Zee. Now, go.”
Zee stomped up the stairs knowing that this was just another thing that Nellie caused. She knew that Abby was upset that someone was talking about them. Judging them. Zee rooted around in her drawer until she found a clean T-shirt and pulled it on, mumbling that Nellie won again. She was going to get that girl for sure.
By 11:30, the whole school piled into the gym, filling up the bleachers. Everyone had to sit with their class, but Zee spied Elijah a couple rows below her and waved. She also spotted Nellie, whose nose was still bandaged up. Good for her, Zee thought. She couldn’t wait to get this day over with so she could talk to Elijah. Her revenge plan was coming together. Nellie Bloom was going to be sorry she ever messed with Zee.
Mr. Houston was at the front of the auditorium, trying, and mostly failing, to silence the kids on the bleachers. “Now, now, children, listen up,” Mr. Houston said into the microphone. It screeched with feedback, and the kids quieted down, covering their ears.
“That’s better. As some of you may have heard, Principal McCaffery had a . . . well . . . a . . . family situation. . . .” Mr. Houston cleared his throat and kept talking like the whole school didn’t know he skipped town. “And he’s been called away. The Hudson County Department of Education has hired a new principal. So if you could please, put your hands together and give a warm Knobb’s Ferry Elementary School welcome to Principal Scratch!”
The double wide doors to the gymnasium flew open with a bang, causing a collective gasp among the students. Through the doors came a man unlike anyone Zee had ever seen. He was tall and thin, ghostly pale, with slicked-back hair. He was clean-shaven with a youthful face, and he wore dark sunglasses. He was dressed in head-to-toe black: black shirt, black pants, black jacket. The only spot of color came from his right hand, on which he wore a red glove. He walked like a cowboy, like a gunslinger, his boot heels clicking across the gymnasium floor.
He didn’t go to the podium or shake Mr. Houston’s hand. He strode right past Zee’s history teacher until he was standing directly in front of the gathered schoolchildren. There was a beat. And then another. He gazed out at the children, and she could see their rows reflected in his sunglasses. The tension was so thick Zee thought if someone didn’t say something she was going to scream.
“Do you love me?” he asked, arms raised, and Zee had to choke back a laugh. “I can’t hear you! I said, do you love me?”
There were a few stifled laughs from the audience and much fidgeting and shuffling of feet. But Zee sat up taller, a wide grin plastered on her face. She knew another storyteller when she saw one, and she could tell: this silver-tongued principal was a master.
“Well, I love you. And I love this town and this school and these teachers.” He pointed toward the row of stunned-looking teachers behind him. “But most of all I love you. Because you deserve to be loved. You deserve to love yourself and you deserve to love each other.”
Principal Scratch paced the floor, his hands folded behind him, that one red glove seeming to glow. He took off his sunglasses and said, “That’s the kind of environment I want in this school. The kind I was hoping for. But I’m afraid I have heard that there isn’t much love in this school these days. That there are people who hurt one another, students who are mean. What is that old saying? Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Hmmmm.” He stopped and faced the students again. “Words can never hurt me. You,” he said, spinning around and pointing at Stanley Brewster. “What’s your name?”
Twisting his hands nervously, Stanley squeaked out his name.
“Well, Stanley,” Principal Scratch continued. “What do you think of that saying? Do you think words can never hurt you?”
“Um, um . . .” Stanley trailed off, looking around the room, clearly hoping someone would save him. “I guess not.”
“Has anyone ever said anything that made you sad, Stanley? Or mad?”
“Well, sure.”
“Has anyone said anything that made you so mad you wanted to hurt them as much as they hurt you? Maybe hurt them even more. Why should they get to be the mean ones, right? We can all be mean, can’t we?”
Stanley was practically thrumming with nervousness, and Principal Scratch laughed a low cool laugh as he watched the boy dangle like a worm on a fishing line. Principal Scratch put his red glove on the boy’s shoulder, squeezed, and then, with the slightest bit of pressure, eased the boy back down onto the bleacher. When he did that, Zee swore she saw something, some faint shimmer of light zip past him.
Principal Scratch clasped his hands together and inhaled deeply, like he was smelling the sweetest of flowers. “Then words can hurt yo
u. Words can hurt you. Words do hurt you. Words can make you want to hurt others. What you say matters, children. And some here, some among you, choose to use words to hurt one another.” On the word “hurt” Principal Scratch pounded his fist into his gloved hand for emphasis.
Zee felt a flush in her belly. Was he talking about her? She looked over to where Nellie was sitting and found to her surprise that Nellie met her gaze. Was she wondering the same thing? Zee couldn’t tell if she was feeling the same way or not before Nellie broke the stare and turned back to Principal Scratch.
“Teasing that leads to name-calling. Name-calling that leads to pushing. Pushing that leads to hitting. Hitting that leads to fighting. All of this raw violence. And it all starts with one mean word. That is how bullying works. And maybe you think your classmates will help, stop things from escalating. Maybe they will stop the bully? Tell the teacher? But you must remember that no one will look out for you the same way you can. Sometimes to just survive you have to think of yourself first. You have to protect yourself.”
There was an uncomfortable shifting among the other teachers.
“Raise your hands, children! Raise them up!” Principal Scratch said, his own red-gloved hand shooting into the air. The kids looked around at each other before slowly raising a hand in the air. “We are going to make a vow, here and now, to use our words for good and not harm. To take responsibility for ourselves. To protect ourselves. We’re not going to wait for our friends, our classmates, to stand up. You must stand for you! Stand for you!”
The whole auditorium was chanting the slogan, and Principal Scratch stood before them, his arms stretched out wide, like it was a big wave of goodness coming at him. Zee swore she could see that shimmer again, just a flicker of light passing across the gymnasium. When the chanting died down, Principal Scratch said, “Who among you is brave enough to tell your story? Who wants to come up here and tell me about an experience you had where you had to stand up for what you wanted? What you needed?”
There was a ruckus at the bottom of the bleachers and Zee watched in amazement as Elijah pushed his way forward and up to Principal Scratch.
“Now, my friend, tell me, who is your bully?” Principal Scratch clamped that gloved hand on Elijah’s shoulder and Elijah looked at it and then at Principal Scratch and without hesitation he said, “My father!”
Zee’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She couldn’t believe he would say that in front of the whole school.
“Yes,” Principal Scratch said, slipping his sunglasses back on. “Good. Very good.” A murmur rose from the crowd, building until it was a wave of voices, all different kids answering the question that Principal Scratch asked. “Yes. Indeed, my child, we must talk. Tell me what you need, what you want the most, and I will tell you how you can get it. Demand it. Take it.” He turned back to the room and said, “I’m going to need to speak to all your parents. But you must remember, you can tell me anything. In fact, I hope each of you will tell me everything.”
6
LATER, ZEE LOOKED EVERYWHERE FOR ELIJAH, BUT HE WAS NOWHERE to be found. When she got on the bus at the end of the day, she took her seat only after searching to make sure he wasn’t on there already. As the bus rumbled to life and started to pull out of the parking lot, someone slipped into the seat next to Zee, snapping her out of her thoughts.
It was Nellie.
“What do you want?” Zee said, turning back to the window.
“I want you to stop this.”
“Stop what?”
Nellie rolled her eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. The new principal knows.”
“Knows what?”
“About you attacking me.”
Zee scowled. “You started it. And you don’t know for sure that that’s what he’s talking about.”
Nellie touched her nose self-consciously. It was still bandaged, and for a moment, Zee felt bad. But then she pushed that feeling down into her toes, where it couldn’t bother her anymore.
“He was talking about us and you know it,” Nellie said. “This is all your fault.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you opened your mouth and said all those lies that you said. Or before you called me Ghost Girl or Zero. Why don’t you just go back to your perfect little life with your perfect parents and your perfect house and leave me alone?”
Zee elbowed past her and got off the bus at Elijah’s stop. She needed to talk to her friend. Her only friend.
She jogged down the shoulder of the road, around the bend, and up the driveway of Elijah’s house. She bounded up the steps and was about to knock on the door when she heard muffled shouting. She froze, fist hovering in the air. She wasn’t sure what to do. Inside, muffled voices rose in waves. A bit afraid, she backed up to go home, when the porch door swung open and Elijah came out.
Startled to see her, he swiped quickly at the tears on his face. “Zee,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
“I just . . .” Zee forced a smile. “I wanted to talk to you about the new principal. I saw you go up there! That was crazy!”
The porch door opened, and Elijah’s father stood there, filling the doorway. “Oh, hello, Zee.”
“Hello, sir.”
“You forgot the trash.” He handed the bag to Elijah. “Be sure to lock the lid, okay? Last time the raccoons got in,” he said. Then with a snorting laugh he added, “Not that there’s much left in there, considering your healthy appetite!”
Zee didn’t dare look Elijah in the eye. His father ruffled his hair as if that offset his cruelty.
When Zee was younger, her father got into an argument with a neighbor who used a slur. He told her that whenever she saw that kind of behavior, she should always say something. That she should never let another person be degraded and humiliated without speaking up, including speaking up for herself. “Words have power,” her father said, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “Never forget that, Zee. Words can destroy and they can save, so choose them carefully. They are the most powerful weapon you can yield.”
She had gone to bed feeling good, sure her father was some kind of superhero. But her dad wasn’t here now. No one was here now except for her and Elijah, doing his best not to let the tears fall, and his father, acting like it was no big deal to make his own son feel terrible. Elijah’s father had always said things that hurt his son, but this felt so much bigger. It felt outright cruel. It felt like the kind of thinking that Principal Scratch talked about. The kind that put your own desires ahead of people you are supposed to love and protect. She should say something. Her father taught her to stand up for herself and others, but Mr. Turner was a grown-up. And he was big. Really big. In front of him she felt so small. Telling grown-ups they were wrong seemed impossible. And all the good words that she knew felt lodged in her throat.
The door slammed shut as Mr. Turner went back in.
Elijah grabbed the bag and dragged it to the metal trash cans at the side of the house. He pulled the cans to the end of the long driveway, and Zee followed him wordlessly.
There were a few minutes of awkward silence. Zee thought about asking him if he was okay, but her words still felt stuck in her throat. That happened sometimes. If she had a story to tell, her words flowed like water, but when she had to be honest, or do something that scared her or made her feel vulnerable, it was like her mouth was full of dry rocks. Her tongue couldn’t seem to form the words.
Instead, Elijah spoke first. “What are you doing here?”
“I just . . .” She cleared her throat. Why did he sound mad at her? What did she do? “The assembly? What happened in assembly? What made you go up there?”
“I . . . I don’t know. It was so strange; it was like I couldn’t stop myself. When he asked if someone would come up, it was like a voice inside me said I had to do this. I had to stand up for myself. I just felt like for a second that maybe he was right. What if there was something going on with my dad that was . . . wrong? Something that needed to be addressed. S
omething I needed to say out loud.”
Zee started to laugh but then stopped when she looked at her friend’s face.
“All that talk about bullies and standing up for yourself when no one will. For a minute I felt like it might work—like if I said it out loud, I could do something about it—which is stupid, I know.”
Zee stared at the ground. There were those rocks again. She forced her tongue around them. “No, I don’t think it’s stupid.”
“It’s just my dad . . .” For a moment, Elijah looked like he was going to cry, but then he turned angry. “He always brings up my weight. I just think he . . . would like me better if I weighed less. If I were into sports like he is.”
“Don’t say that,” Zee said, just above a whisper. “You’re amazing, smart, and—”
“No, he would. He used to be heavy like me, but then he lost weight and worked out and got popular. If I were in better shape, maybe I could play sports. He wants a son that plays football, not one that gets good grades and loves science and wanders through cemeteries.”
The smallest ripple passed over Zee’s face and then was gone.
“No offense,” Elijah added, half-heartedly.
Zee cleared her throat. “None taken.” It was an easy lie.
“I thought if Principal Scratch could somehow understand . . .” Elijah trailed off. “And he did, Zee.”
“What?” Zee pressed. The silence between them was filled with the low chatter of crickets.
“After the assembly, he stopped me in the hall and I went to his office and we talked about my dad.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me why I said my father was my bully. And I told him it was ’cause he wanted me to be like him. He wanted me to be athletic and active and . . . well, not me. But then Principal Scratch asked me why I wasn’t doing that. He wanted to know why I didn’t want to make my father happy.”
Ghost Girl Page 5