Shift

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Dylan descended the front stairs and stalked toward us. “What’s up, dude, is that I didn’t say you could dance with my date.”

  “I don’t need your permission.”

  Dylan brought his face within inches of his dead brother’s. “Why can’t you just leave her alone?”

  “I would if she wanted me to.”

  “How can she know what that’s like, when you won’t let her find out?”

  “She had a life without me when I was a shade.”

  “When you were a shade, none of us did shit but sit around waiting. There was no life-without-you.” He scowled at the space between me and Logan. “Obviously there never will be.”

  “What’s the big deal?” I asked Dylan. “Logan’s been a part of our lives, even after he died.”

  “I thought for one night he could leave us alone.”

  My neck prickled as I realized the reason for his anger. “Dylan, do you mean all of us, or—”

  “I mean you and me.” He jerked at his tie to undo it. “But there’s no such thing as you and me.”

  “Holy shit, you like her.” Logan lowered his head like a bull as he moved between us. “My own brother. You couldn’t wait until I’d passed on to make a move on my girlfriend?”

  “I’m not your girlfriend,” I said.

  “And I didn’t make a move,” Dylan added. “She asked me to the prom.”

  “As friends,” Logan said.

  “We didn’t feel like friends when we were slow-dancing.”

  Logan turned his head toward me. “What’s he mean by that?”

  I covered my face, too cowardly to see the hurt in Dylan’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. I was just—”

  “Trying to make Kilt Boy jealous. Yep. I should’ve known I’d never have a chance with you.”

  “Only because it would’ve been like hooking up with my own brother. You don’t like me that way. You just think you do because I’m safe.”

  “I’m playing it safe?” Dylan shouted. “You’re the one dancing with a ghost. You’re the one who asked your dead boyfriend’s brother to the prom because you were too scared to be with the guy you really wanted. A guy who is probably right now getting blown by the prom queen.”

  My insides curdled at the image. “She’s not queen yet. And there’s no way they’re—they went back inside.”

  “Good idea.” He grabbed my hand and started to pull me toward the door.

  “Wait!” Logan said. “Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere you’re not!” Dylan yelled.

  “Aura!” Logan shot forward, then hissed and leaped back. “Fucking BlackBox.” He shifted to the side, as if searching for an opening. “Aura . . . stay with me.”

  My heart felt like it would rip in two. “Give me a minute,” I said to Dylan as I slipped my hand out of his and walked over to Logan. “I can’t just leave your brother after the way I’ve treated him.”

  Logan wavered. “Okay, but—maybe we can meet up later?”

  “We’ll be out late. I came with them.”

  “With my family. You’re more a part of them now than I am.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts and looked up at the school’s clock tower. “I loved Ridgewood. I wish we never moved out to the County. The teachers here were amazing, and we actually learned stuff that mattered, instead of obsessing over state tests all the time.” His gaze fell on me. “What if I pass on and forget all this? What if I can’t even remember what it was like to touch you? What kind of heaven is that?”

  I clutched my purse, running my fingers over the silk and sequins the way I once stroked his skin. Behind Logan, the other ghosts crowded closer, blending into a giant violet mass, unable to sense one another.

  Logan noticed my shifting glance and looked over his shoulder. “I’m not the only ghost here, am I?” When I shook my head, he groaned. “God, I’m so pathetic. Hanging around my old school on prom night. I need to get a life.”

  “Logan—”

  “Scratch that. What I really need is to get a death.”

  He vanished.

  Dylan came to my side. A prom couple passed us on their way to the courtyard for a cigarette break.

  “They must be seniors,” Dylan said as we watched them light up in the midst of the ghosts.

  We turned and went inside, stopping in the school’s stone foyer. “What did Logan mean by ‘his tux’?” I asked Dylan.

  He passed a self-conscious hand down the pin-striped jacket’s lapel. “He picked it out before he died. Showed me last month.” He thumbed the black silk vest’s bottom button. “I knew that anything I picked would be dorky or boring.”

  “Logan was right about one thing. You look awesome.”

  Dylan gave a half smile and glanced at his feet. “Forget what I said outside, okay?”

  “So you don’t like me?”

  “What’s the point?”

  “There doesn’t have to be a point. I want to know how you feel.”

  He took a couple of steps away, then turned to face me without meeting my eyes. “You asked me to the prom. I figured it was as friends. But I thought maybe . . .” When I didn’t interrupt, he continued. “Since we were kids, we always had the ghosts. We could see them and no one else in my family could. And after Logan died . . .” He scraped the side of one shoe against the other. “You were the only one I could talk to about it.”

  I should have sensed Dylan’s feelings sooner. Maybe I had, but just couldn’t deal. “I know what you mean,” I said. “No one else missed Logan like we did, even though he was still here.”

  He nodded. “The rest of my family could be sad. But I couldn’t, not with his ghost around.”

  “Like it would’ve insulted him. Like he wasn’t enough anymore.”

  “Exactly! I feel like an asshole for saying this, but . . . I wish he would go. Now that he’s not a shade and we know he’s okay.”

  “He’ll go soon.” I frowned. “Here we are, together at the prom, still talking about Logan.”

  “What else do we ever talk about?”

  “Nothing. But maybe we should start.” I fumbled for something to say, then spied what Dylan was holding. “Are you going to put your tie back on?”

  “Nah, it took half an hour to tie it the first time. Here, hold out your hand.” Dylan looped the tie around my right wrist, the one without the corsage, and tied a double knot. “So you’ll remember who you’re leaving with tonight.”

  His fingers brushed the back of my hand as he let go. My breath hitched at the sudden zing of connection. Whoa.

  Applause and cheering burst from the gymnasium.

  “They must be crowning the royalty,” I said.

  “Lame.”

  “Totally.” I shifted my feet. “Although I am kind of curious.”

  Onstage, Justin Harlow and Christina Wilkes raised their fists like they’d won the heavyweight title instead of prom prince and princess.

  Dylan helped me stand on a chair to get a better view. From the back of the gym I could see Zachary’s and Becca’s profiles, touched by the edge of the stage light’s glow. The smile plastered on her face couldn’t cover the terror. He brushed his hand over her back in a soothing gesture, and she eased her body against him.

  Principal Hirsch opened the envelope in slow motion, drawing out the fake suspense. “Your prom king and queen are . . . Tyler Watson and Becca Goldman.”

  Becca put her hands to her neck, closed her eyes, and mouthed, Thank you.

  Tyler shrugged at his girlfriend, Stacey, who seethed as he moved toward the stage, holding out his hand for Becca.

  I had to admit, they looked pretty regal as they mounted the short flight of stairs. Becca’s silver dress shimmered and sparkled in the gleaming white lights. The assistant principal placed the crown on her head, then applauded with the rest of the crowd.

  The dance floor cleared for the royalty as a sappy country-and-western song cued up. Becca and
Tyler began to dance, as close as when they’d been girlfriend-boyfriend.

  Dylan helped me down off the chair. “Looks like Scotty’s beaming his way over here. Now’s your chance.”

  I gaped at him. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not if I get the last dance. That’s a rule, right?”

  “It is now.” On an impulse, I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then I turned and smashed into Zachary.

  “Sorry.” He steadied me as I stumbled against him. “Am I interrupting?” he asked Dylan.

  “No. I think Amy needs my help with, um . . . stuff.” Dylan disappeared into the crowd.

  Suddenly I found my purse’s zipper fascinating. “Congrats on Becca’s victory.”

  “Thanks. I think.” Zachary angled his body toward the center of the floor. “Will you dance with me?”

  My face flared hot. “I think this dance is supposed to be for them.”

  Principal Hirsch spoke into the microphone. “Everyone is now welcome to join the royal couples on the floor.”

  Zachary reached for my hand. “Please.”

  I struggled to breathe. “What’s the point?”

  He dropped his hand, but stepped close so his mouth was at my ear. “The point is that we want to.”

  The song eased into the second verse, the singer softly declaring her faith in things unspoken, in the power of a single touch.

  I moved forward as Zachary’s arms slipped around my waist. Then I was holding him close, my hands on his shoulders and my face pressing the silk of his vest. My eyes shut, lashes brushing the place where his heartbeat thumped.

  We didn’t speak. I knew that later, alone, I would think of a million things I wished I’d said, all the questions that burned inside me about him and Becca—and him and me.

  But at that moment, I let my mind go blank. For once I barely heard the music. We were in a dark, soundless bubble, with touch the only sense remaining. I could feel each of his fingers on the bare skin of my back.

  My hands slid up, thumbs brushing the nape of his neck. He sighed and pulled me tighter against him. I remembered the first time we’d kissed, how I’d threaded my fingers through the soft waves of his hair and thought of Logan’s short, sharp spikes. If Zachary kissed me now, who would I think of? Would I think at all?

  The song ended, and we let go as the last note faded. When I opened my eyes, the floor swam and blurred.

  “Thanks very much,” he whispered.

  I blinked as I watched him walk away. Becca glided forward to greet him with a gleaming smile, caressing her stupid silver crown. She linked her arm with his and swept him toward the other side of the dance floor for pictures. Then she turned and gave me a look that could cut glass.

  Dylan appeared beside me. “That girl hates your guts.”

  “So? She can’t hurt me any more than she already has.”

  He laid a protective hand on my back. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  The limo was about ten feet off of school property when Mickey unzipped the cooler and started passing out bottles of beer.

  I drank quickly, wanting to block out the evening’s lowlights—Becca’s bitchery, Logan and Dylan’s fight, and my all-too-short dance with the guy I couldn’t have.

  Mickey passed Dylan a Coke.

  “Screw that,” Dylan said. “Gimme a beer.”

  “You’re too young.”

  “You and Siobhan drank when you were sixteen,” I pointed out. “So did—” I rubbed my upper lip, hoping they hadn’t heard me almost say Logan’s name, especially connected with alcohol.

  Mickey zipped the cooler, then rested his feet on it as he lounged on the limo’s black leather couch across from us. Megan snuggled up to him, kicking off her shoes. They looked like they’d made up, at least enough to touch each other again.

  As Megan stretched out her feet, I noticed I’d left my purse on their seat on my way into the car.

  I was about to ask her to pass it to me when Mickey groaned and banged the back of his head against the window. “I’d kill for a cigarette. Siobhan, why did we quit smoking?”

  “It was ruining our voices, which people can actually hear now that we’re not singing backup.” She scratched her nose and gave me a panicky look—another near mention of Logan.

  “Mickey, don’t sulk.” Megan thumbed a button on his dress shirt. “It’s prom night.”

  “Prom night, part one!” Siobhan raised her beer bottle and draped her legs over Connor’s lap. “Next week is the sequel. The rehash that can never top the original.”

  “Some sequels are better than the original,” Connor said. “Like Empire Strikes Back. Or Two Towers.”

  “That’s different, my dearest darling dear. Those were middle parts of a trilogy. We’re not getting a trilogy.”

  “We could,” Megan said, “if we crashed a third school’s prom week after next.”

  Siobhan laughed. “Oh my God, that’s brilliant. Then when we get kicked out, we can just party someplace in our formal wear.”

  Connor took her empty bottle and exchanged it for a new one from his own cooler. “I can’t afford a third tux.”

  “I’ll pay for it.” Siobhan kissed him. “You can be my kept man.”

  “Mmm, sounds kinky.” He scooped her into his lap, making her laugh harder.

  “Mickey, what do you think?” Megan asked. “Fake third prom in two weeks?”

  He smiled at her, but his eyes were tinged with sadness as he brushed a tendril of red hair off her cheek. “It’s a date.”

  “Yay.” She cuddled against his shoulder and couldn’t see how quickly his smile faded as he stared over her head at the limo’s dark carpet.

  I wanted to tell Mickey that Dylan and I had seen Logan tonight, but knew it would upset him. Yet it seemed wrong not to talk about the person we were all thinking of.

  Mickey reached for the stereo controls above his head and cranked up the radio, cutting off all cross-limo conversation.

  I eased back in my seat next to Dylan. His shoulders were pulled in as he held the Coke can in his lap with both hands.

  “You okay?” I asked him.

  “He should be here,” Dylan said. “Not me.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “He should be in this tux. He should be with this girl. Not me.”

  I scrambled for comforting words. But what he said was true. We’d planned this seven months ago—Siobhan and Connor, Mickey and Megan, Logan and me. Dylan was the replacement part, one that looked and felt enough like the original that he almost fit. The “almost” was worse than “not at all.”

  And yet, when I thought only of the here and now, I realized . . . I liked being with Dylan. Simple as that.

  “I’m glad I asked you,” I told him, and it was the truth. “I’m glad you said yes.”

  He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “I shit you not.” I held up my free hand to swear, then tugged on his shirtsleeve. “And just because someone else picked out this tux doesn’t mean you didn’t make it your own.”

  “Thanks.” He glanced down. “Your flowers are dying.”

  I flourished my right wrist. “But my tie corsage is fresh as ever.”

  He laughed. “I need that back, or they’ll charge me.”

  “No, I’m keeping it.” I extended my arm away from him. “As a souvenir, since my flowers are dead.”

  “Gimme.” He reached around me, snatching at my hand as I waved it high, then low.

  “Come and get it,” I teased.

  Dylan lunged forward and seized my wrist, planted behind me on the seat. The motion pressed our bodies together and brought our faces inches apart. He loosened his hold a fraction, running his thumb along my pulse in a motion that made me shiver.

  Though no one around us said anything, I could feel them watching.

  “This can’t happen,” I said, though of course it could.

  Dylan sighed and let go of me. “I know.”<
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  We spent the next ten minutes in silence, angling ourselves to look out through the tinted glass behind our seat. On the other side of University Parkway, spots of violet winked on and off like fireflies as we passed ghost after ghost. They blended with the reflection of the limo’s multicolored interior lights.

  “Aura, I know this is just about prom,” Dylan said finally. “Fun for one night. I don’t expect anything else.”

  I took another sip, trying to decode his meaning. Was he saying, “I get that we’re just here as friends”? Or was he saying, “If we hook up tonight, don’t worry. No strings”?

  Major danger zone. The fact that I was even considering it meant the beer was affecting me. But maybe for once I should stop thinking so much.

  My phone rang. Megan grabbed my purse on the seat next to her. “I’ll get it!”

  “Don’t answer if it’s Gina. You sound drunk.”

  She pulled out my phone. “It’s Zachary.”

  “Great,” Dylan muttered.

  My hand shot out. “Give it to me.”

  Instead she answered. “Zach-jack! What’s up? Zach? Are you there?” She shook the phone, as if that would help. “Zach? Aura, I think he pocket-dialed you.”

  The curse of having a name that starts with A. “Just give it to me.”

  She plugged her other ear with her finger. “Someone’s talking in the background. Mickey, turn the music off.” The car went silent. “Zaaaaaaach! Why can’t he hear me? Does he have the earpiece turned all the way—” Her face froze suddenly, then her mouth formed an O.

  I lunged across the limo and snatched the phone from her hand.

  “Aura, don’t!” she said.

  “Shut up. Everyone.” I put the phone to my ear and turned up the volume. And knew in a moment why Megan had freaked.

  Becca’s voice sounded a few feet away from the phone. “Mmm, Zach. That feels amazing.”

  “I’ve hardly done anything.” His low laugh rumbled. “Yet.”

  Every cell in my body turned to ice water.

  Becca moaned again. “I love it when you use your teeth.”

  My stomach tied itself in a knot. I regretted having even one beer, much less two.

  “Too hot for this,” Becca said. I heard the sound of heavy cloth hitting the floor. His tuxedo jacket, or maybe his kilt.