by Sarah Dalton
I excuse myself and head upstairs to use my laptop. Grace friended me on Facebook before the revenge porn incident. Maybe I can take it from there.
Lacey floats through the door with folded arms and drifts up to the edge of the bed. I flick on the radio so Dad won’t hear me talking to myself.
“Everything all right, Lace?”
“Sure,” she says, folding her legs beneath her body. There are times when Lacey seems so full of life and energy that I forget she’s a ghost. This isn’t one of those times. Her skin is pasty. Her hair is lank and greasy. Her lips have the blue tinge of a cold corpse.
“Something’s bothering you. Is it the ghost at Ashforth?” I ask, moving closer to my friend, hoping my presence will somehow help.
“Yeah,” she says. “That’s it. What are you doing?”
“Checking out Grace’s Facebook page.” I’ve got a few friend requests so far. Melanie, Terri, Rob, Anil, and Colleen have all requested my friendship. I flick through and add them all.
“They’re all so pretty,” Lacey says. “I guess money can buy a lot. Trendy haircuts, clothes, fake tans, and expensive lotions go a long way. No one looked like that at my school.”
I could be wrong, but I could swear that Lacey is jealous. I’ve always been aware of what she went through with her drug addicted mother, but she’s never seemed jealous of other people’s lifestyle before. Sometimes she’s a little jealous of people who are alive, but this is new.
“It’s weird for me, too,” I say. “I’m not like them. But I still want to make friends. Most of them seem nice. Apart from Travis Vance. I think I’m going to talk to Mrs. Blake about what happened in the common room. But for now, I want to see if I can figure out who the ghost might be.”
I can’t help but have a look through Grace’s photo albums. There are lots of pictures of house parties. The same gang are pictured over and over again, holding glasses of wine, bottles of beer, wearing bikinis or tank tops, then skin-tight short dresses and lots of make-up. The guys are always lifting the girls, as though constantly demonstrating their strength. I find the relationship status which says ‘in a relationship with Travis Vance’ and click through to Trav’s profile. Aside from obnoxious statuses about getting wasted and ‘fit birds’, there are photos of him in the gym, playing rugby, and ‘out on the lash’.
“How is this helping?” Lacey snaps. “You’re just being nosey.”
“All right.” She’s right, I am. But it’s kind of addictive to follow on from profile to profile, seeing where I’ll end up.
When I come to photos of Travis and Colleen, I can’t help but stop and check them out. There’s nothing particularly different about them. They’re almost identical to the photos of Travis and Grace.
I click out of Travis’s profile and check out Melanie’s and Terri’s. One thing jumps out at me as I’m trawling through the profiles. They’ve all commented or liked statuses from a page titled ‘Remember Judith Taylor’.
“This could be something,” I muse aloud.
Lacey leans over my shoulder as I click onto the page. A black and white photograph of a wide-faced girl with a sweet—but buck-toothed—smile pops up. The page has over a thousand likes. My eyes drop to the timeline, where I read some of the statuses.
‘Thank you for continuing to support Judith’s cause. Hopefully now no one will take their own life ever again because of any form of bullying. The foundation is set up. Check out the GoFundMe link here. Judith’s family xx.’
“This girl committed suicide,” I say.
“It says she was bullied. That would be why she’s so angry, then.”
“Yeah, it makes sense.”
I’m about to scroll through more of the page when a chat box pops up, and Grace’s smiley face appears.
Grace: hey, u ok?
Me: Yeah, u?
Grace: I’ll live.
Me: How’s Colleen?
Grace: doin ok. Hates Trav.
Grace: can’t believe he did that.
Me: Yeah, me neither. I’m sorry.
Grace: s’ok. He’s gonna apologise to Coll and make it up to me.
Me: Ok… So you forgive him?
Grace: maybe. Depends if he buys me something pretty.
Grace: HAHA I’m kidding.
Me: Oh, haha, good.
“Urgh, this is so dull. Kill me now… oh, wait, I’m already dead,” Lacey says.
Grace: wanna come to Coll’s party on Fri night?
Me: Sounds good. Surprised she’s having a party though.
Grace: round here, if you lose your rep, the best thing to do is throw an awesome party.
Grace: then everyone forgets about the rumours!! ;)
Grace: wanna go shopping and pick out new outfits?
“Do not go shopping with that annoying bint,” Lacey growls. “You’ll end up another clone.”
I flash Lacey a guilty smile. “I need to find out more about Judith.”
Me: Sure. Tomorrow after school?
Grace: it’s a date slut. ;)
Me: Do u think Trav added all that weird shit to the film?
Grace types for a while. But all that comes back is a single word: dunno.
Grace: it’s not like him…
I chew on my bottom lip. I’ve only known Travis for a day, but I can’t figure out why Grace sees the best in him.
Me: Ok. It was pretty weird.
Grace: yeah. Like something from a horror movie.
My heartbeat quickens.
Me: one with ghosts.
Grace: TOTALLY!
“Don’t tell her,” Lacey interrupts.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Don’t tell her your secret. You can’t trust her.”
I turn away from Lacey, a little annoyed that she guessed my thoughts so easily. I can’t help thinking that if Grace is open to the idea of a ghost being behind the creepy film, she might be open to believing I can see and speak to ghosts. One day, maybe sooner than I think, I’m going to have to confide in a friend about my secret. I can’t go on living a life where my only friends are dead, or middle-aged. If I don’t tell a friend, I’ll constantly have this barrier between me and the rest of the world. The problem is, my secret is crazy, and no one wants to be friends with a crazy person.
Grace: I gotta go bitch!
Me: C U at school.
Grace: cya!
Grace Templeton logs off.
Chapter Five
I have back-to-back maths classes the next morning, and the whole incident with Colleen, Travis, and the ghost gets lost in a fog of equations. But at lunchtime there are whisperings and rumours. Colleen sits with us, stone-faced and ramrod straight, and I can’t help but admire her resilience. To my fault, as soon as I saw Colleen in registration in the morning, I lost my nerve about telling Mrs. Blake, but as it turns out, the head teacher did find out about the film, and Travis was forced to apologise directly to Colleen, and has been suspended for the week.
“He begged forgiveness,” Colleen says. She gives Grace a hard stare. “But I told him to fuck off. No one disrespects me like that. Still, at least I looked hot. No one can deny that.”
“Are you going to go to the police?” I ask.
Colleen wrinkles her nose in a sort of disgusted and exasperated fashion. “Uh, hell, no?” She raises her voice at the end like a question. “I’m not stupid. No one needs that stink hanging round them when they’re trying to get into Uni.”
The rest of the group move on to the next topic while I stare at my food and try to hide my embarrassment. Later, after I’m done eating, Lacey walks with me to the next class. I put my mobile phone to my ear so we can talk.
“Have you asked about Judith yet?”
“No,” I admit. “Everyone is still talking about Colleen and Travis. I need to pick the right moment.”
“Why?” she snaps. “Why are you so afraid of losing them as friends? You’ve only known them two days.”
“Exactly. If
I scare them away now, I’ll never be able to get close to them, and I’ll never find out what happened.” But inside, I can’t help but think that this is my first real shot at having a group of friends again. I don’t want to screw it up. I want to find the ghost, sure, but more than that, I want a social life.
“It’s her again,” Lacey whispers. “Willa.”
Jack’s adoptive sister is striding along the corridor with headphones on, bobbing her head so that her hair ripples down her back. I glance at Lacey, noticing how transfixed she is by this girl. Willa’s a megawatt smile sparkles at me, and then, for a fraction of a second, her gaze flicks towards Lacey. My heart stops in that instant.
“Did she just see me?” Lacey says in a breathy exhale.
I shake my head. “It was a split second. No. She can’t have done. It’s a coincidence, that’s all. Plenty of people look in your direction by accident. She might have sensed your energy. Most people get a chill or an electric shock when you’re around.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Lacey says in a monotone, deflated voice.
When she disappears again, I think to myself that Lacey needs cheering up. But how do you cheer up a ghost?
*
Grace’s car is exactly as I’d imagined. She waves me along to a tiny convertible, and as we drive out of Ashforth, she insists on taking the top down, even though the weather is decidedly cool. Still, being in that car, singing along to tacky pop songs, and stopping off at Starbucks to buy chilled coffee is intoxicating. This lifestyle is intoxicating. It’s like living in a Hollywood film about teens from LA, except without the sunshine and the Valley Girl accents.
We head out of town to a shopping centre. Ashforth is too tiny to have any decent shops. I already knew this from my own attempts at buying new clothes. I’m pretty laid back when it comes to style. Fashion fads have never appealed to me. I’d rather wear something classic for longer. I’ve never been a girl who loves shopping. It’s a necessity that I put up with, not something I relish.
But Grace lights up as soon as we step into the centre. She carries her Burberry bag in the crook of her elbow and sucks on the Starbucks coffee, stopping to coo at the window displays, informing me of what would go with my skin tone, and what would flatter my body. It’s actually pretty useful.
Only after going through three shops, and five rejected dresses—based on price alone—do I broach the subject of Judith Taylor.
“I heard a girl killed herself at your school,” I say. “That must’ve been hard on everyone.”
“Oh, yeah, Judith Taylor.” Her voice is emotionless. “It was a tragedy.”
“What was she like?”
Grace tilts her head to one side. “Oh, you know, kinda weird. Bit of a loner. She didn’t do much except play cello and hang around with the other weirdos.”
There’s something about Grace’s tone that I don’t like. Before I can say anything else, she cuts the conversation off.
“What happened to her was a tragedy, but we’re all moving on. No one likes to talk about it much.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“We just don’t, okay?” she snaps. I’m a little taken aback, but she flicks out her hair and composes herself. “It’s a little painful. The school needs to heal.”
The words sound like something a counsellor or teacher would say, so I decide to leave the subject for now. Perhaps I can bring it up again at a later date. But for the rest of the day, there’s a tightness growing in my stomach, and I can’t help but think it’s a warning.
*
“And how much did that cost?” Dad asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
“I bought it with my allowance,” I reply, meeting his suspicious glare with an exaggerated ‘so there’ face. What Dad doesn’t know is that the dress cost three months’ allowances. It just so happens I haven’t spent much for a while. Ghosts and psychiatric wards keep getting in the way.
“It’s gorgeous, Mary,” Mum coos. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
“It’s only a house party,” I say. “All the girls seem to get dressed up a lot here.” And I want to fit in. I need to fit in.
“It’s a bit short,” Dad notes. He puts down his crossword and tilts his head forward. “I hope you know what seventeen-year-old boys are like—”
“Dad—”
“—because I do. Do not get drunk—”
“Dad!”
“—and don’t drink at all while you’re on your medication.”
Mum glances across with a guilty smile. We haven’t told Dad that I don’t need my medication anymore. There’s no way my atheist, Carl Sagan worshipping, scientist dad would ever believe the hokum—his word—of the spirit world. No way. And if I forced him to believe, I’m a little worried I might break him.
“All right. I know the score.”
“Do you? Because I know what peer pressure is like,” he says.
“The waggling finger is about to make an appearance,” Lacey says from her perch atop the sofa. She’s lounging behind my parents like Kate Winslet in Titanic.
Paint me like one of your French girls, Jack.
“I know how hard it is to say no when faced with a choice.” The waggling finger begins, and Lacey imitates him behind his back. “It’s not easy.”
Lacey’s expression is so dead on that I have to cover my mouth to stop myself from giggling. Luckily, my phone buzzes to distract me.
“That’s the call-back from the taxi. It’s outside,” I say.
Lacey floats above my parents’ heads and hops down onto the carpet. I’ve agreed for her to come along, because I know she needs cheering up, and haunting annoying rugby boys at a house party is right up her alley.
“Have a wonderful time, sweetheart,” Mum says, her face lit up by the thought of me having a normal night out.
“Remember—”
“Dad! I’ve got it, okay. No drinking, no physical contact, no fun. But drugs are okay, yeah, cocaine, ket…. I’m kidding.”
“Have a good time and be careful,” he warns.
“Sure.” I wave goodbye and hop through the hallway to the drive.
“The taxi driver looks like he’s going to shit himself,” Lacey says.
She’s right. He keeps turning to stare at the large trees along the drive, and the empty swing in the corner of the garden. Liza’s swing. Dad wanted to pull it down, but I wouldn’t let him. I want to remember the little girl who helped me defeat the spirit possessing Mum. I want to remember her inner strength. If she was strong enough to cope with the terrors she faced all those years ago, I can survive a party.
“This house gives me the creeps,” the taxi driver says as he turns the car around. “I dunno how you can live here.”
“It’s not so bad,” I reply. “You just have to show it who’s boss.”
The driver frowns into the rearview mirror, but all I can do is smile. Last night I slept without nightmares, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. I’ve been hanging out with Grace and the others all week, and without Travis there, it’s been great. For once, I feel part of something.
But I can’t escape how different I am from the others. Colleen’s house is a large, modern house with a long drive and glass all along the side of the ground floor. Sprawling lawns meet neat magnolia trees, and a tall fountain sits in the centre.
I can hear the music thumping before I even open the taxi door. I glance down at my dress once more, feeling like a kitten in lion’s clothing. Grace picked this dress for me. It was on sale, but still three times the price I usually pay for a dress. It’s more her than it is me: a hot pink bodycon dress that makes me want to tug on the hemline after every step. But at least with this dress I’ll have half a chance of convincing these people that I belong. I once watched a TED talk about faking it until you make it, so that’s what I’m going to do. Maybe if I can get them to like me first, they won’t mind when I start to let the real me slip in.
“So I guess we’r
e not in Kansas anymore,” Lacey mutters. “Through the rabbit hole. Into the wardrobe.”
“Nice literary references,” I reply.
Lacey stretches her hand towards me with a grin. The electricity of her ghostly energy crackles between us.
I hover at the door, unsure of whether to ring the doorbell or stride in with confidence. In the end, it seems stupid to ring the doorbell when the music would probably drown it out, so I swing open the door and set a high-heeled foot onto the plush cream carpet. It’s eight thirty, and the party is at that stage between the beginning—where everyone is sober and not sure what to do with themselves—and the good part—where everyone is at the right level of tipsy to have a good time. After that comes the bad stage, where everyone is too drunk, and some people take it too far. Before I started seeing ghosts, I used to go to house parties with my friend Anita, but they were nothing like this. They usually started off with a crowd of people on the sofa drinking beer, and ended with a larger crowd of people smoking weed in the garden watching the most wasted of the bunch make bad decisions.
The hallway is lined with the most awkward of the partygoers. Holding little paper plates piled high with canapés, they seem to be making polite conversation with each other while eyeing the open door into the living room where the sound of talking is louder. I nod and give a small smile to the people I recognise from my form before scuttling into the lounge.
Colleen has spared no expense. On the glass side of the room the furniture has been shifted to create space for a DJ. The guy is someone in our sixth form, but I don’t know his name. A few girls in different shades of my bodycon dress dance with each other in front of the DJ, waving their bottles of Corona in the air. On the other side of the room, Colleen’s large living area is split by a half-wall laden with trays of food. A long glass coffee table holds more food. Restaurant style food: some sushi, tiny pastries, elegant canapés. No sausage rolls and ham sandwiches here. With my old friends we ate Doritos and ordered pizza when we were hungry. And none of them lived in Scandinavian-chic houses with sheepskin rugs draped over the sides of sofas.
