Give Up The Ghost

by Megan Crewe

  “You could have left it alone. I asked you—you promised—”

  “With your dad and your friends. I didn’t say anything about her.”

  “You knew I meant everyone.” He closed his mouth tightly, his eyes challenging.

  I couldn’t breathe, but I refused to lower my gaze. “It was more important that you stayed alive.”

  “Funny, I’m not really convinced.”

  “Look,” I said. “I know you’re pissed at your friends, and you feel like everyone sucks, and I know what that’s like. But it isn’t everyone. You have your aunt. You have—well, you have me, if that matters. There are tons of people out there who aren’t Paul or Matti—you can make new friends, better friends. It’ll get easier.”

  “Do you even believe that?” he asked. “You think the whole world’s full of crap. You told me.”

  “Yeah, and I also told you I was wrong.”

  “So I’d do what you wanted.”

  “And because it’s true.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “So you’re going to go out there and start making friends, too, then? Actually talk to people at school, find out more than just the stupid things they’ve done?”

  “I . . . I guess.” I hadn’t thought that far; even the idea of trying to shoot the breeze with any of my classmates sent a shiver of panic through me. I pressed on. “I’m not getting dirt on people anymore.”

  “So what you’re saying is you’re actually talking to people less now.”

  “What does it matter?” I said. “This isn’t about me. This is about you. I’m not the one walking into traffic.”

  “Of course this is about you,” he said tersely. “You’re the one telling me life’s worth living, people aren’t so bad—that me being alive is more important than people thinking I’m crazy. How can you tell me I have to try when you won’t?”

  “I am trying,” I said. “I’m here. You want me to talk to every person I see at school tomorrow? Fine. I will, if that means you’ll stop talking like this and try, too.”

  “Would you really?” he said. “Or would you chicken out?”

  My hands clenched. “Look,” I said, not knowing exactly what was going to come out until I heard the words, “I would go to prom if it meant I knew you’d be okay. All right?”

  He eyed me quizzically, and his lips quirked. “Now I really don’t believe you.”

  “You want to bet on it? Come. I’ll be there.”

  We held each other’s gaze for a few seconds longer. He looked away first. I couldn’t tell whether what I’d said had made any difference at all.

  I grasped at the only thing I had left.

  “You know,” I said, haltingly, “your mom—” His head jerked up, and uncertainty tightened my throat. “I told you I don’t understand how these things work. But, when she disappeared, she really was smiling. It was when I was trying to . . . to tell you things would get better. I don’t think she could have let go if she hadn’t believed you could get through this, that you had people who’d help you.”

  “Are you saying Mom disappeared because she thought you’d help me?”

  “No. I don’t know. There were probably all sorts of factors. And she probably didn’t have control over any of them. But I think that was at least a little piece.”

  His hand tightened on the porch railing, his knuckles whitening. “But why did she—”

  “That’s not the point,” I broke in. “It’s not about why she disappeared. There’s no way we can know that. With the dead”—Paige’s words, from when I’d asked her almost the same thing, echoed in my mind—“with the dead, things just are the way they are. I know you miss her, and maybe this doesn’t make anything better, but she was happy right then, and—”

  “I can’t talk about this anymore,” he said abruptly, turning away.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to talk. Not about her, or about you, or any of this. You don’t know anything about her. Okay? Just . . . just go away.”

  He stepped inside. The screen door closed behind him, and he walked down the hall without looking back. I heard his dad’s voice, faintly, and backed down the steps.

  He’d be okay, I told myself. His aunt was coming, he’d accepted that. She’d find a way to help him. I’d done that for him.

  And he hated me.

  I dragged in a breath and hurried to my bike. Pushing off, I pedaled as fast as my feet could take me until the wind made my eyes water.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Tim didn’t show up at school for the rest of the week, but I knew he was at his aunt’s place, and the gnawing worry faded to an insistent nibble. Friday afternoon, all of Frazer piled into the auditorium for the traditional end-of-the-school-year assembly. I watched the student council run through their skit, without Tim, and wondered if I’d see him again. Would he come back for exams? Would the principal give him an exemption? He was graduating, in theory. Moving on.

  Maybe that last glimpse of him I’d gotten, of his back as he retreated, was the last I’d ever have. The thought felt like a block of ice in my stomach. As long as he’s all right, I told myself. That’s what matters.

  But it wasn’t all that mattered to me.

  It wasn’t until later that night, as I was attempting to study for Monday’s chemistry exam—which at the moment mostly involved speculating about how Tim was getting on at his aunt’s, and how long he might continue to hate me for sort of breaking my promise—that I thought about the other promise I’d made. I was searching my desk for a pencil sharpener with Paige helping me from above, and I opened the drawer I’d tossed the prom ticket into. My hand fell to my side. I stared at the ticket, remembering the challenge I’d flung out. Come. I’ll be there.

  Paige locked onto it a second later.

  “Cassie!” she shrieked. “You’re going to prom? Why didn’t you tell me? That’s amazing! When is it?”

  “Next Friday,” I said. My mouth had gone dry.

  There were a million reasons not to go. For starters:

  1. I had probably called out half the people who’d be there at least once. Therefore,

  2. half the people who’d be there hated me, and

  3. I’d be stuck at a table with at least a few of them. Talk about uncomfortable. Not to mention,

  4. if forced to dance, I’d trip over my feet after two steps and break my neck. All of which suggested,

  5. I’d have a much better time staying home clipping my toenails.

  But there was one huge factor that outweighed all that. I’d promised Tim I’d be there. I’d told him to come so I could prove it. And I really, really hoped he would.

  I ran my finger around the edge of the ticket, my stomach twisting. But the point wasn’t really whether he’d know or not, was it? Maybe he was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have been telling him to give life another chance when I hadn’t even taken the chance to say hi to anyone at school. Did I really want to be the same me who’d ripped into Tim that first day when he’d asked for my help, who had assumed the worst of everyone?

  I had to go. Because I’d promised Tim. Because the me I wanted to be would be brave enough to give it a try.

  “Would it be too weird if I went alone?” I said. “I mean, I don’t need a date, or something like that . . . ?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Paige said. “A bunch of my friends went stag. Everybody does it.”

  I smiled crookedly. “I don’t even have any friends to go with.” Maybe only half of the people there would hate me, but the rest didn’t even know me.

  “So what? You go and eat and dance and have fun, for you. Maybe you’ll make friends while you’re there. Whatever. Since when do you care, right?” She gave me a ghostly nudge. The humor in her eyes faded when she saw I wasn’t smiling anymore. “I mean, you don’t have to go.”

  “No,” I said. “I should. I will. I just . . .” The feelings were too tangled to be forced into words.

  She sank down onto the bed
beside me. “What if I went with you? Then you wouldn’t be alone.”

  I stared at her, trying to figure out if she was joking again. She looked serious. Not for the first time, I wondered if she remembered any of the things we’d said to each other on Wednesday about who’d let down who. She couldn’t; it’d been too long. But I almost wished she did.

  “You want to?”

  “ Puh-leaze,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “When have I ever not wanted to go to a dance? Now let’s go tell Mom.”

  I started laughing. In that moment, it all seemed easy.

  When Mom finished picking her jaw off the floor, she was already babbling about the lovely dress boutiques she could take me to.

  “Nothing too fancy,” I warned her. “You try to stick a sequin on me and I will run away screaming.”

  In her role as cosmetics instructor, Paige spent every spare moment of the weekend lecturing me about face powdering and arguing about my shade selections when she followed me to the drugstore.

  “That one, there, Ruby Rouge,” she said, pointing at the lipstick display. “It’d look amazing on you.”

  It’d make me look like a hooker, I thought, but I couldn’t say that with the saleslady hovering at the end of the aisle. I shook my head and picked up Nearly Nude.

  Paige sighed. “Oh, come on. This is probably the only time I’ll get lipstick on you all year—I want people to be able to tell you’re wearing it.”

  After an extended, half-mimed negotiation, we compromised on a light maroon gloss.

  The day of, Mom bustled me off to the salon and told the hairdresser, “Do what you can with it.” He heaped the mess up on top, iced it with gel, and swirled it around. It looked like I had a mud sculpture sitting on my head, but Mom was happy. I guessed it was better than the limp, stringy mud I’d had hanging in my face before.

  Paige liked it, too. “You look gorgeous,” she declared after we’d finished making me up, fifteen minutes before takeoff. I think she was exaggerating just a little. “You know, your hair looks really good up.”

  I touched the nape of my neck gingerly. It felt so . . . bare. Well, it wasn’t like Tim was going to come swinging an ax at me. I was probably safe.

  Paige settled next to me, glowing faintly. My skin tingled where our shoulders touched.

  “Cassie,” she said, “I feel like I should tell you—I’m glad you’re the one I can talk to. I’d rather it was you than Mom.”

  I turned toward her, my throat suddenly tight. “Paige, you don’t have to—”

  “No, really. I’m not sure why, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” She shone brighter, her voice determined. “If it’d been Mom, she wouldn’t have known what to do. She’d just have been upset about it. I think it’d have hurt her, seeing me like this, and she wouldn’t have wanted to deal with that. But you, like, understand. I can talk to you, and it feels . . . normal.”

  She threw her arms around and through me so quickly I lost my breath. My bones shivered, in an almost comforting way.

  “You’re the best sister, Cassie.”

  “No,” I said, grinning, “you are.”

  We had only been sitting there for a moment when there was a knock on the door. Reluctantly, I got up to answer it.

  “Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?” Dad said, faking shock when I poked my head out. I grimaced at him.

  He squeezed my shoulder. “Really, you look wonderful, Cassie.”

  “And doesn’t she!” Mom sidled over, beaming even brighter than Paige had. She winked at me. “My little girl, all grown up.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. If I was going to do this, for real, it was time to get going. My pulse was already racing, urging me to run and hide under the bed until this was all over. I raised my eyebrows at Dad. “You ready?”

  He nodded. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  Mom pressed in and hugged me tight. Funny, I’d never noticed how much she smelled like Paige: caramel and spice, except hers was nutmeg to Paige’s cinnamon. I relaxed for a second against her, then stepped away.

  “All right, let’s go.”

  “As your highness commands.” Dad gestured for me to take the stairs first. I ran my fingers over my dress and headed down. The hem rested just high enough on my calves that I didn’t have to worry about tripping over it. We’d found it at a little vintage shop: simple, plum-purple polyester. It wasn’t quite the gown Mom had been hoping for, but it was one I could live with.

  Paige flitted around me as I slid my feet into my new sandals. Being invisible had its benefits: She got to go in her usual halter top and capris, though I bet she’d have traded clothes with me in a second if she could.

  We followed Dad out to the car. He opened the passenger door with a flourish.

  “Don’t be goofy,” I told him as I plopped into the seat. “I feel dorky enough as it is.”

  “Oh?” he said. “I thought it was my duty as a father to make you feel as uncomfortable as possible.”

  “Well, tonight would be a good time to skip that part of your duty.”

  “Duly noted.”

  At the hotel where the prom was being held, it took Dad a while to find a spot to pull over. A bunch of kids had rented limos and took a year getting out of them. Paige leaned over me, peering out the window, gleaming with excitement. The girls clustered together in taffeta and satin while the guys stood by in their identical penguin tuxes and the parents snapped photos. You’d have thought it was the Oscars and not some high school dance.

  I couldn’t help scanning the heads for that familiar fair hair. Between the distance and the fancy clothes, I couldn’t make out anyone I knew at all.

  Finally, Dad squeezed in to the curb. “Have a good time,” he said. “I’ll be here at midnight, but if you want me earlier, just call. Even if it’s ten minutes from now.”

  “I know,” I said. “Thanks.” I gave him a quick wave and headed up to the front doors. My ticket was jammed into the tiny white purse Mom had lent me; I fumbled for it as my sandals clattered up the steps, making enough noise for three sets of feet. Some of the girls glanced over at me, but all they did was smile. No one was expecting to see Cass McKenna, and no one had ever seen me like this. They didn’t know who I was, which was probably for the best. I didn’t recognize most of the faces around me either. The golden shine of the hotel lights turned everybody into strangers.

  On the third floor, a guy at a banquet table took my ticket and checked his printout. Paige squealed. “That’s Kailey Mickelson’s brother Bernard,” she said. “Wow, he’s so much taller than I remember. Kind of cute, too.”

  “You’re at table eighteen,” Bernard said to me. “It’s to the right, I think.” I shot a look at Paige and she floated in with me, grinning madly over her shoulder at him.

  Inside the reception room, a couple dozen tables stood under white cloths, set with silverware and lit candles. I sat down carefully, slinging my purse over the back of the chair. Not many people had made it into the room yet. Danielle and Jordana were standing near a raised area with an oak podium at the head of the room, their hands gesturing as fast as their mouths. Funny to think that if a few things had gone differently, back then, I might have been right there with them. Even funnier—thinking that didn’t make me feel angry now.

  “I wonder what awards they’re giving out this year,” Paige said, her eyes wide as she took everything in. I cocked an eyebrow at her. “The student council always hands out a bunch of goofy awards, like Cutest Couple and Craziest Comedian. You can guess which one Larry and I got.”

  My gaze drifted back to the podium, and my heart flipped over. If Tim did make it, that might be the only place I’d see him.

  “I’m going to cruise around a bit,” Paige said. She giggled and twirled in the air. “This is so much fun! You want to come with?”

  I shook my head. If I got back on my feet, I might not be able to stop myself from bolting.

  As Paige soare
d off, bright as a shooting star, I sat there, looking around and trying not to hyperventilate. I started to spot kids from my classes scattered around the tables: the boy in my English class who looked like an eighth-grader, the redheaded girl who chewed gum too loud in math, the guy with the cleft chin who was always leaving geography early for his cross-country meets. Not jerks, not poseurs, just people.

  And so far, no sign of Tim. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was going for fashionably late.

  A couple of girls whisked past me with a gust of citrusy perfume and threw themselves into the chairs on the opposite side of my table. One bent over, giggling, as the other helped her free a lock of hair from the neck of her halter dress. I recognized them, vaguely. Both sophomores, and the girl on the right was on the field hockey team. She glanced at me as her friend straightened up.

  “You got stuck at our table?” she said. “That’s cool. I’m Meredith.”

  “Cass.”

  “Cool,” she said again.

  The other girl grinned wide enough to show off her multicolored braces. “I’m Ilsa. Are you here by yourself?”

  “Um, yeah,” I said. “It was kind of a last-minute thing.”

  “I’m so excited,” Meredith said, squirming in her chair. “I’ve never been to a formal before. I wonder when we get to dance?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We probably eat first, right?” Ilsa said.

  I looked quizzically at the menu, which consisted of two main courses, two salads, and two desserts. Pretty short on reading material. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to small talk.

  The boyfriends saved me. They swooped down on the girls, tossing their suit jackets over the chairs and leaning in close. Senior guys—I could have found their names if I dug in my memory a little. The girls got busy fluttering their eyelashes and forgot about me.

  Another couple joined the table just as the waiter arrived. He scribbled down everyone’s choices and scurried away, and the newcomers sat down. The girl started chattering away with Meredith and Ilsa, but the guy brushed his lank hair behind his ears and eyed me. I looked down at the table, fiddling with my fork. Keith, I thought. He was on the athletes’ committee with Matti and Paul. Oh, God. And now the lynching begins.