Ghostcoming!

by Orli Zuravicky

  Georgia stops talking and the room gets loud again. Everyone is buzzing about the big Ghostcoming plans. I would be, too, if I weren’t automatically annoyed that a) Georgia is in charge of the whole thing, and b) I can’t dance unless I’m half of a couple. Dancing is my thing! Of course, I can’t even do that here without a date—and who’s going to ask the new girl in the tutu who can’t change her outfit to the Ghostcoming dance?

  No one, that’s who.

  “Boy, she’s a piece of work,” I say to Colin. “Pretending to be all sweet and school-spirit-y when all she’s really trying to do is make everyone here without a date feel like a giant loser! And did I mention she spent the better half of the morning throwing balls at my head? I swear, the second I can actually lift a ball, I’m returning the favor!”

  I’m so distracted by my rant that I completely miss someone sneaking up behind us at the table. I only notice there’s someone there when I see hands covering Colin’s eyes from behind him.

  “Guess who?!” the voice squeaks.

  I turn around and there she is, Georgia Sinclaire in the flesh. Well, not really in the flesh, but you get my point.

  “Hey, Georgie,” Colin says, sweetly.

  Georgie?!

  “Have you met Lucy?” he continues, taking her hands off his eyes and allowing them to lay across his chest.

  “Nope, not yet!” she replies, cheerily lying through her teeth. “I mean, we had P.E. together this morning but we didn’t really get a chance to meet. Welcome to Limbo Central! I’m Georgia, Colin’s girlfriend.”

  “Of course you are,” I reply.

  This is unbelievable.

  I may still be too see-through to eat solids, but apparently I have no trouble whatsoever putting my invisible foot in my mouth.

  “Have a seat, Lucy,” Ms. Keaner says. “I’ll be right with you.”

  It’s 3:05 PM, and even though my first day at Limbo Central is officially over, I’m once again sitting in the administration office waiting for Ms. Keaner like it’s Groundhog Day or something.

  “Yeah, I can’t actually do that yet, remember?” I call out before she closes her door.

  “Hey, your solidity increased!” the secretary squeals with delight. “Boy, oh boy, that’s big, dollface. That almost never happens in the first week—let alone the first day! Give yourself a pat on the back!”

  This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. After the day I’ve had, I can really use a pat on the back. Not that I would feel it, but still.

  “Thanks,” I say, and float over to the chair to hover like I’ve been doing all day.

  Just as I’m about to pretend to sit, Ms. Keaner’s door swings open again and out comes Georgia. This office must be like a weird ghost déjà vu wormhole or something. Doesn’t Ms. Keaner know any other students?

  “Thank you, Georgia,” she says.

  “It’s my pleasure,” Georgia replies with a big, fake smile.

  We aren’t able to exchange any words because Ms. Keaner is right there (and obviously we would only be exchanging rude ones), but I’m sure if they could measure the temperature of the energy between us, it would be swooping below freezing right about now (you know, ’cause ghost energy is super cold, get it?).

  “Okay, Lucy, are you ready?” Ms. Keaner asks, grabbing her purse and shutting off her office light as Georgia practically skips out the door.

  I nod.

  “Great!” she says, and she picks up my backpack with all of my books that Colin left by her door. “It’s time to get you settled in your new dorm room. You’re actually not the only new student we’ll have here this semester, after all, so you’ll have a roommate.”

  Sweet!

  I’m so relieved not to have to go through all of these firsts alone, I practically float away again.

  “I think you’ll find you two have a lot in common,” Ms. Keaner remarks.

  She leads me from the administration office, through the halls, and out the front doors of the school, which is the first time I’ve stepped foot outdoors since I became a ghost. The second I look out on Limbo, I’m so overwhelmed that I just hang in midair, dumfounded. The Limbo skyline looks like a video game! Everything—the houses, the stores, the cars— are draped in rainbow-colored holograms noting different percentages and types of energy. I feel like I’ve been dropped into a game of Candy Crush!

  “This place is wild,” I say, mostly to myself.

  After about a ten-minute walk (or float, for me), we approach a large, eighteenth-century sprawling mansion-type building that says LIMBO CENTRAL MIDDLE SCHOOL: JANE AUSTEN COTTAGE. “This is where you will be living from now on,” Ms. Keaner says. “It’s one of my personal favorites among the dormitories. Jane is, of course, my favorite author. And a lovely person, too.”

  “You know Jane Austen?! She’s a ghost?!” I cry out in shock. “Pride and Prejudice is my favorite classic novel!”

  “Lucy, dear, everyone is a ghost. This is what happens to everyone after their lives are over. Hence the term afterlife.”

  “So Jane Austen is actually here?” I ask as we make our way through the larger-than-life-size front door and up the pretty, black-and-white marble staircase.

  “No, no, she’s not here here. She’s off in the countryside in the south of Limbo. But she did donate a lot of time and energy to the school, so we created this dormitory in her honor.”

  “You’re blowing my mind right now,” I say, stunned.

  “Well, then. Here we are,” she says, stopping right outside a door that reads SOUTHAMPTON HALL, ROOM 312. “Are you ready to meet your roommate?”

  “She’s here already?”

  “Yes, she arrived this afternoon. Her first day at Limbo Central will be tomorrow,” Ms. Keaner replies, knocking once and then opening the door without waiting for a response.

  I look straight ahead and I immediately think I’m looking in a mirror, which is odd, because I haven’t seen one mirror since I’ve been here. But there I am—straight ahead: black leotard, pink tights, white tutu, pointe shoes.

  “Um, I’m sorry, I’m confused,” I say, turning to face Ms. Keaner. “What’s happening?”

  “Oh my god, LUCY LOU??” calls a high-pitched voice that seems to be coming from my very own doppelgänger. “Is this for real?”

  Lucy Lou: a nickname given to me by one person and one person only.

  “CECE?” I cry out, as my twin comes rushing at me. Cecily Vanderberg, my ballet-dancing frenemy.

  Afterlife is just full of surprises, isn’t it?

  We hug tightly and it’s the best feeling I’ve had in a long time. Must be all the extra energy in the room! In this moment, I’m so thankful for it.

  “I can’t believe you’re here, Lou!” Cecily cries.

  I laugh one of those really happy laughs. I can’t remember the last time she called me Lou. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When we met, Cecily said I was the least ballet-obsessed ballet dancer she’d ever met. While the other girls in class lived and breathed (and dreamed) tutus and toe shoes, I was skateboarding home from class or surfing with Felix. When everyone wanted to watch Center Stage for the billionth time, I was reading my book or watching the Pipeline Masters. The other girls thought I was weird, but Cecily said she loved how sure of myself I was.

  But I should probably have mixed feelings, seeing her again now. Our friendship hasn’t been the same since I hurt my ankle this past spring and she took my place as the lead in our company’s recital. Truthfully, if the tables were turned, I’m sure I wouldn’t have walked away from the chance to be center stage, either. But I think it was more about the fact that what happened made me realize our friendship wasn’t as real as I thought it was. Our loyalty only went so far, but in the end, it was every girl for herself. Frenemies were about as close as we would get down there in the World of the Living.

  But now, instead of having mixed feelings about seeing her standing before me, I’m so overwhelmed with happiness that I could cry.
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br />   That’s when I notice that my stuff is covering the left side of the room. In fact, my whole side is like a mini remake of my room back home—including the fact that it looks like a cyclone hit it (just the way I like it!). I have the same gray-and-white-striped duvet cover on my bed, which is left unmade, like it always is back home, with my favorite sheets peeking out from underneath (white with orange crabs). I also have my same wooden dresser and bedside table, and even my lamp looks like the same wooden-and-white porcelain base with a white shade that I have at home. My dresser is covered with random knickknacks: a red clock, a copy of my favorite books, and a few South Park toys that Felix gave me. I even spot the skeleton key necklace with the purple teardrop stones that my parents gave me when I got the lead in the Marzipan dance in The Nutcracker last fall.

  Cecily’s side of the room, I notice next, is also the spitting image of her room back home, just as neat and tidy as only Cecily could make it. One of our many differences. Her pink floral comforter lies perfectly, as if she’s flattened it a hundred times, her clothes are already folded and put away (probably alphabetically by color), and her country-white dresser has only one thing on top of it: a pink music box.

  “Okay, girls, I’m going to leave you to it. If you have any questions or trouble, just press the help button on your Tabulator,” Ms. Keaner says, and points to the tablet-type hologram that is floating on the wall next to the door. “Lucy, obviously Colin doesn’t live here, but, Cecily, your tutor does. At 6:30, she’ll come to meet you and usher you to dinner in the main dining hall. I’ll see you both tomorrow—I hope you have a good night.”

  Ms. Keaner leaves our room and it’s just the two of us.

  “This place is crazy,” Cecily says, coming to sit down on my bed, and I sit down, too (really sit! I love being in this room, with its extra energy!), cross-legged up against the wall.

  “When did you get here?” I ask.

  “This afternoon.”

  “So … do you—”

  “Nope, I don’t remember anything.”

  “Me either. That’s the first rule. You can’t remember becoming a ghost, just what came before the crossover. That’s what happens here.”

  “I’m so glad to see you,” she says, and I can tell she means it. She gives me another hug, and I realize in that moment how sincerely happy I am to see her, too, and how determined I am to make sure that this time around our friendship is really real.

  “Wherever here is … ” she continues.

  “Ooh! I can answer that,” I say, excitedly. “Here is Limbo, and this is your afterlife,” I say, matter-of-factly. “Cece, we basically get a do-over—a do-over of friendship, a do-over of middle school, a do-over of boys … give or take a few odd challenges. It’s a lot like being alive, only it’s like we’ve moved to … to England. So, like, they drive on the wrong side of the road, but at least they speak English.”

  “Huh,” she says. “Fascinating.”

  I tell Cecily about everything that happened at school today: the solidity factor, the paranormal classes, the cliques, the Ghostcoming Dance-a-Thon, Mr. Perfect—aka Colin—and, of course, I warn her all about Georgia Sinclaire.

  “I can’t believe she threw a ball through your head!” Cecily cries out. “That’s just so … so … cruel. Are you sure she meant it? Maybe it was just an accident? I can’t believe anyone would be so mean.”

  “Cece, she told me to ‘catch’ and then called me ‘useless.’ There’s no way it was an accident!”

  Typical Cecily. So prim and proper, always looking for the good in people, and practically blind to the bad things in them. I guess that’s part of the reason why it’s hard to feel her loyalty as a friend sometimes. She is always so easily swayed by other people. Still, it’s a new life—I mean, a new afterlife—which means it’s time for a new afterfriendship!

  I hadn’t really thought of it until I started talking to her, but afterlife totally does give us a do-over!

  “Okay, you’re right, you’re right, it’s definitely suspicious,” she agrees. “But if she’s so bad, how is this dreamboat Colin dating her? It seems so wrong.”

  “UGH, tell me about it!” I cry out in frustration. “She must be, like, the best actress in the world when she’s with him.”

  “Or maybe she’s just super insecure and does mean things to cover it up, but she doesn’t really mean them? Maybe Colin actually sees the real Georgia … ” Cecily replies, hopefully.

  “This is not a romantic comedy,” I say, annoyed. “She threw balls at my head. BALLS AT MY HEAD!!”

  “Yes, yes, balls at your head. Right. It’s payback time,” Cecily says, finally, triumphantly.

  “There’s only one way to fight fire, and that’s with a big ol’ hose full of H2O.”

  “Uhm, I don’t think that’s the saying, actually,” she says, sounding less sure.

  “Yeah, I know the saying is to fight fire with fire, but that makes, like, zero sense.”

  “Good point. Let water rain!”

  I smile. I can’t wait till tomorrow. Safety in numbers!

  KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

  “Hello?” a voice calls from outside the door.

  I look at the clock on my dresser and it says 6:25 PM. We’ve been talking for almost two hours! It’s time for dinner, so that must be Cecily’s tutor. I hope she’s cool. We could really use a girlfriend to help show us the ropes.

  “Coming!” Cecily calls, as she gets up to open the door.

  “Hi, Cecily, it’s so nice to meet you,” says a voice from the other side of the doorway.

  “Georgia!” I cry out. “What are you doing here?”

  So, torturing me at school isn’t enough—she has to make house calls, too?

  “Georgia?” Cecily repeats, her eyes going wide.

  “I’m going to be your tutor for the next week, Cecily,” Georgia says sweetly (not real sweetly, fake sweetly, though I think I’m the only one who can hear the subtle difference). “Are you ready to go down to the dining hall?”

  “You’re going to be her what?” I ask, even though I hear her just fine and now everything makes perfect sense: why she was in Ms. Keaner’s office this afternoon and why she seemed to skip off so happily. She knew something I didn’t. And now she’s here to rub it in my face.

  “You’re my tutor?” Cecily says.

  “Yes! I’m Georgia Sinclaire. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “Hi, yeah, it’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you, too,” Cecily says quietly.

  “Well, I think we should head down now. Dinner is starting,” Georgia says. She’s being careful to keep her tone calm and sincere—sincere for her—and I can tell that she’s already trying to win Cecily over. I’m so frustrated I could scream, but I know I need to try and keep my cool. “Your room is nice, by the way,” Georgia continues, turning toward Cecily, as the two of them start walking down the hallway. I hang back to close the door. “I have that same exact music box in my room!” she squeals. “You’ll have to come by and see it sometime.”

  “Sounds great,” Cecily replies, turning back toward me to shrug with confusion.

  Ooo… this girl is good.

  BALLS THROUGH MY HEAD! I mouth back at Cecily. THROUGH MY HEAD!

  “So, I hear your hands got a little slippery with the ball during gym class today?” Cecily says to Georgia, to my shock (and excitement!).

  “Oh, uhm, well,” she stumbles over her words. “You know how it is. I’m not very good at volleyball.”

  “Oh, really?” I reply. “How are you at water sports?”

  And Cecily and I burst into hysterics.

  Score one for the team.

  Team Lucily!

  It’s Day 2 of my ghost life, and I can’t wait for my fourth period to be over already. It’s actually a really interesting class, and one that I desperately need to pay attention to: Beginner’s Telekinesis. This is where we ghosts learn how to move physical matter with our energy, i.e., my one and only way to change the abs
urd outfit I’m forced to float around in, and do other things, like … accidentally stick chewing gum in Georgia Sinclaire’s hair, for example.

  I’m not actually going to do it. Jeez. I’m just saying I could once I’ve tackled the basic rules of shifting matter.

  But I can’t master the rules because I can’t concentrate. Because after this period, we have lunch, and at lunch I get to talk to Colin and Cecily—who is on Day 1 of being a ghost and is probably feeling totally freaked out right now. I haven’t seen her since breakfast this morning and I’m sure she has like a million stories about Georgia already and I can’t wait to hear every last one of them.

  I see Colin standing right outside the door to the classroom waiting to usher me and my book bag to lunch, and although under normal circumstances (normal being relative considering the last twenty-four hours of my afterlife) this would make me stupid with happiness, I can also see Georgia leaning up against him, whispering something in his ear. A huge wave of disappointment rushes over me.

  “Lucy, you’ll never move the pencil if you don’t actually look at it,” Mr. Chesterfield says, and I realize even though I think I’m being quite stealthy, I’m actually staring very inconspicuously at Colin and Georgia.

  Hmph.

  “Sorry, Mr. Chesterfield,” I reply. I shake it off and try to focus one last time.

  “The key is to try to break down the matter that stands between you and the item you are trying to affect,” Mr. Chesterfield goes on to tell the class. “Whether you want to move it or change its color or physical makeup, it’s all kind of the same thing, just a different output of energy.”

  There are a handful of students who are able to make their pencils float in midair, and one or two who have managed to change the color of theirs. Everyone is concentrating intently, and even I can feel the energy in the room shifting from place to place, like a warm summer breeze.