Still I press on, the occasional bird chirping and the crunching of my shoes against the leaves providing the only soundtrack. And then I see it, out of the corner of my eye—a flash of yellow tape, the word CAUTION screaming its warning in bold black letters.
Now that I’m nearly at the scene of the crime, I want nothing more than to bypass it. I break into a run, keeping my gaze focused on the dirt beneath my feet.
“Lana.”
The voice calling my name isn’t real. It’s only in my head. I keep running, ignoring the stitch in my side.
“Lana.”
It’s the wind. I’m hearing things, imagining things. But then I feel a pressure against my arm. I spin around, heart in my throat. A bloodcurdling scream escapes my lips.
I can’t explain it—but somehow I’ve run into the very center of the sectioned-off patch of woods, surrounded by the menacing tape. I’m at the beating heart of the crime scene. A familiar figure is standing underneath the weeping willow tree, casually leaning one foot against the tree trunk as he watches me. I fall to my knees in the dirt.
“Chace?” I whisper.
It’s impossible. I don’t believe in ghosts.
“Lana,” he says, and I scramble backward in panic.
“You’re not real,” I tell him, my voice sounding high-pitched and foreign to my own ears. “You can’t hurt me. You’re only in my mind.”
“Am I?” He smiles slightly, revealing the dimples I used to love. They send a stab of fear through me now. “Even if you’re right, if I am only in your mind, I can still be real.”
My breath comes out in shallow gulps; I don’t know what to think, what to say. When I finally speak, my words come tumbling out in a terrified rush.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you. And I’m sorry about the things I said, and the—the thing with the rock. But I didn’t do this to you. You can’t blame me.”
He just watches me, tapping his finger against his lips, as if weighing my words.
“Why are you even here?” I burst out. “Shouldn’t you be, like, on the other side?” I clap my hand over my mouth, cringing. “Wait, I didn’t mean it that way, I just mean—”
“You’re talking an awful lot like someone who wanted me gone,” Chace says roughly.
“No.” I shake my head, pleading with my eyes. “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”
He pauses, and I wonder if he is deliberating whether or not to believe me.
“I can’t…move on until I know she’s okay,” he says, looking away. “So if you really want this to be the last time you see me, then you’ll help.”
I shove my hands into the dirt.
“It’s always about Nicole with you. Even after death, it’s about her.”
Chace steps forward, and I see his reflection ripple against the wind. With a shudder, I realize that if I pressed my hand against his chest, it would plunge straight through. He looks down at me, his expression gentler.
“Lana, you told someone where I was that night after our fight. Who did you tell?”
“What?” I stare blankly up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You told someone where to find me,” he says. “Who was it? Think.”
I close my eyes, letting the fragments of memory back in.
Ryan pours drinks into plastic cups. Chace and Nicole huddle in a corner. I’m dragging Chace outside to talk, and the talk becomes a fight. Running back to Tyler’s house, I catch sight of Nicole through my tear-blurred vision. I spot her from the back by her sweater, the silver cardigan I gave her for Christmas back when we were still friends—the same one I’m wearing now. She wasn’t wearing it earlier tonight, so she must have seen me in the sweater and put hers on just to spite me. She has even more nerve than I thought.
I shudder at the idea of us matching; I should have burned my cardigan months ago. I sprint past her, refusing to meet her eyes as I scream, “Have at him, you bitch!” And then, arriving at Tyler’s, I bump smack into Ryan. He tries to calm me down from my alcohol-boosted rage; he offers to walk me back to campus.
I open my eyes, shaking my head in frustration.
“I can’t think of anyone besides Nicole and Ryan.”
But when I open my eyes, Chace has disappeared.
I lost my nerve so many times after that New York night with Chace. I would look at Lana sleeping in the bed across from mine in our tiny dorm, and affection for her would squeeze itself around my heart, while the voice in my head taunted me: What right do you have, thinking you can take her boyfriend? But when I let myself close my eyes and block out the noise, another voice whispered. You already pushed yourself aside once. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Not when this could be real love. She’ll understand.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but this is the voice that wins in the end. I don’t think I’ve ever really put myself first, but Chace’s confidence in us gives me the last push I need. When he asks me to meet the two of them after school on Thursday so we can finally have the talk, my heart answers before my head, and I say yes.
I barely make it through my classes that day. Brianne has to kick my leg twice during History to get me to quit my incessant, jittery foot tapping, and when Mr. Newell calls on me during Algebra, I completely space out, forgetting how to solve an equation I knew perfectly well yesterday. I hide out in the library during lunch, afraid I won’t be able to keep my cool at my usual table with her. If I’m doing the right thing, then why do I feel so guilty?
I contemplate texting Chace that I’ve changed my mind, that we should forget the whole thing. But the swift, crushing weight in my chest that follows reminds me that he’s worth it. We’re worth it. I just pray Lana will forgive us.
The last bell finally rings. The hour is here. My stomach flip-flops in unison with my footsteps as I weave through the crowd of students and push through the doors of Academics Hall. I follow the rush of classmates out onto the quad and then change course, heading for the picnic tables beside the tennis courts. They’re already sitting there at one of the white wicker tables when I arrive.
“Hi.” My voice is like sandpaper as I approach them. I can feel the beads of sweat dotting my brow, and I can’t bring myself to look either of them in the eye, afraid I’ll reveal too much.
“What are you doing here?” Lana asks, a suspicious edge to her voice.
“I—Chace didn’t tell you I was coming?” I stammer, realizing instantly that this wasn’t the smartest choice of words.
Lana’s eyes narrow into slits.
“What’s going on?”
Chace takes a deep breath, focusing his gaze on the table.
“We thought we should tell you this together, since we both care about you so much—”
Lana jumps out of her seat.
“Tell me what?”
She knows. I can see it in her expression. I shut my eyes.
“Nicole and I, we—you mean a lot to both of us, and we never meant to hurt you,” Chace begins. “But we…have feelings for each other.”
A deathly silence follows. And then she starts to laugh, a bitter, hollow sound.
“Great joke, guys. Hysterical.”
Chace looks from me to Lana and back again.
“It’s not a joke. I’m—I’m sorry.”
I finally gather the courage to look at her.
“Lana,” I whisper. “If it could have been anyone else…but we couldn’t help how we felt—”
Her palm strikes my cheek, cutting me off with a shock. I gasp, tears stinging my eyes. Chace jumps in between us, but I hold up my hand to stop him. The last thing Lana needs to see is him defending me.
“It’s okay. I deserved that.” I wince as I face Lana, her expression twisted with rage. “Lana, please believe me, we haven’t gone behind your back or anything. We haven’t even kissed.”
Lana sputters with angry laughter.
“Wow. Do you actually expect me to thank you for not kissing my boyfriend?”
“Lana, don’t take this all out on Nicole.” Chace steps in. “It’s my fault more than hers.”
She shakes her head violently.
“How could this even happen?”
Chace looks down at the ground.
“When Nicole was doing the Philharmonic concert, I had to be in Brooklyn at the same time. We were on the same train….”
“Brooklyn?” She spits the word. “You told me you were in soccer training. You’re a liar and a cheat. You’re a total cliché.” Lana pushes him roughly, her face contorting in pain.
“I wish I’d done everything differently,” Chace says, looking between the two of us in desperation. “But, Lana, I couldn’t tell you about Brooklyn because my parents—well, it’s going to come out soon enough, and honestly, when you hear about the whole thing with the Jensens, you’ll be glad you’re not with me anymore.” He tries to crack a smile, but it comes out looking more like a grimace.
“That’s not the point, whatever the hell you’re talking about,” she snaps. “It should have been my choice.”
And suddenly, looking in her eyes, I can see what is bothering her the most. It’s not the thought of losing Chace. It’s the loss of control; it’s the idea of losing him to me.
“You’re a real dark horse, Nicole,” she hisses. “I actually made you my friend. I rescued you from having no one but those geeks in orchestra, I gave you a social life. It’s because of me that you even know Chace. And all along, you were plotting how to stab me in the back and take what’s mine.”
“No,” I plead, tears falling freely now. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
“Lana, please, let’s just talk straight with each other,” Chace says gently. “We both know we were pushed together by our parents and their agendas. It was what they wanted, but was it really what you—we—wanted?”
She stares at him.
“Who cares if it started because of them? I thought what we had was real.”
Chace hangs his head.
“It was real, I just—”
“You just liked her more,” Lana says incredulously. “You do realize every guy in this school will think you’ve gone completely blind and dense.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I catch his eye, giving him a warning look. The less he says in my favor right now, the better.
“What can we do to make this any…any easier?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
Lana crosses her arms over her chest, shooting me a death stare.
“Let’s see. You can start by abandoning this whole disgusting plan to betray me. You can stay the hell away from my boyfriend—and from me. And you can get yourself a new roommate, because I never want to see your backstabbing, pathetic face again.”
I stumble backward at the force of her words. How could I have been so stupid to think she might actually understand, that there could possibly be a happy ending here?
“I should go,” I mumble.
“No, Nicole, wait,” Chace calls out, but I shake my head.
“Just let me go.”
And with that, I break into a run.
I wait for hours in our dorm, pacing the tiny square footage of the room while hoping against hope that Chace might have somehow succeeded in talking her down. But she never comes back, never responds to a single one of my pleading text messages. I should have known. I was so stupidly optimistic in thinking I could actually have this love without losing her. And now looking around our room, littered with her clothes, makeup, and books, I can’t feel anything besides the painful lump in my throat, the sick churning in my stomach.
When my phone finally vibrates with a text, it’s not from Lana.
I have to see you. Can you meet me under the wooden bridge by the pond? The one before the soccer field. It looks private enough.
Okay,
I type back, a knot forming in my stomach. What is he going to say? What am I going to do?
I step out into the empty dorm corridor. The sounds of silverware scraping against plates, muffled chatter, and occasional bursts of laughter rise up from the Dining Hall downstairs, and it occurs to me that it must be dinner hour. I’ve completely forgotten.
With everyone in the Dining Hall, no one sees me slip past and out the door. I make my way to the location Chace described, passing the tennis courts and the site of our doomed talk with Lana along the route. At last, I hear the gurgling of water and I know the pond is near. A tall figure stands underneath the bridge, waiting for me. I quicken my footsteps. He turns in my direction, and before I even know what’s happening, his arms are around me, my head pressed against his chest. I don’t even realize I’m crying until he gently brushes his finger under my eyes, wiping away the tears.
“It’s over,” he tells me. “I broke up with Lana.”
“Was she—was she okay in the end?” I ask, still holding out a sprig of futile hope.
He rakes a hand through his hair, looking at me helplessly.
“Not really. I didn’t expect her to be so mad. I handled this all wrong, I know. But I did offer to keep the breakup—and you and me—under wraps until she’s ready. That seemed to help a little bit.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not ready to go public anytime soon myself.
Chace tilts my chin up to his face.
“Do you regret this? It’s—it’s okay if you change your mind.”
I look into the pool of his eyes, asking myself the same question. I regret hurting Lana; I would take that back a thousand times if I could. But do I regret me and Chace?
I take a step closer. My hands are tentative as they reach for his shoulders, and he leans down and kisses the inside of my wrist. My body heats up, my legs begin to tremble, as his lips move up my arm, and suddenly I can’t wait a moment longer. I lift my face to his. Our bodies are so close, I can hear both of our hearts racing to the same beat. And then our lips meet.
I can’t hold back my gasp at the sensation of his kiss. Shivers run up and down my insides as our lips move together, answering every question we might have had. It seems unfathomable that I’ve lived without this until now; it’s like discovering music all over again.
“I don’t regret it,” I whisper. “I couldn’t if I tried.”
“Nicole.”
With a gasp, I turn around. I blink rapidly, but his image remains in front of me, those blue-gray eyes gazing down with tenderness.
“It is you,” I breathe. “When I thought I heard you through my headphones, and outside the school calling to me…it was real? But…how…?”
He moves toward me and I watch, heart in my throat, as his feet skim above the ground.
“The dead can choose,” he says softly. “I chose you.”
“Over what?” I whisper.
He gestures upward.
“Passing on. Crossing over. Whatever you want to call it, I won’t do it—not until I know you’re okay.”
The weight in my chest cracks open. The tears come flooding out, burning my eyes and choking my throat. Chace reaches out his hand, and this time he doesn’t withdraw. His fingers brush the scar on my cheek. Where his touch used to be warm, today it’s a shock of cold. But still, I don’t want him to let go.
“I never thought it would take death to bring us back together, but…” He shrugs, attempting a smile. “Well, as long as you can forgive me for—for everything.”
“Of course I do.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m the one who should apologize. Maybe I could have saved you, if I’d only stayed that night! When Ryan texted me to meet you guys at the party, I can’t explain how happy I was. But then I…I got scared. I was afraid of something bad happening if we got close again—like what happened with my accident.”
“What do you mean?” Chace peers closer at me. “I thought you said you didn’t remember that night.”
“I don’t really, I just remember the feeling I had—that we were both in danger as long as we were together.” I swallow hard. “But that’s not a
ll I was afraid of. I was scared of how strongly I felt for you, and how much it would hurt to lose you again. I was even afraid of things actually working out—of what it would be like to walk beside you, and have all those eyes and whispers surrounding me and my scar. But now I see how pointless the fears were, and I’m just so sorry I ran out on you after our talk that night. It’s killing me, knowing how things might have been different if I’d stayed.”
Chace steps closer to me, until our faces are so close I can feel the cold wind of his breath.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Nicole. It’s a good thing you left that night. One of us is still alive, and I’m grateful that it’s you.”
A wave of grief from his words engulfs me. I look up at him, my golden boy, once so solid and full of color, now translucent.
“How does this work? Are you a…?”
“Spirit?” He finishes my sentence. “Must be something like that. There are periods of…of nothing, just me and a bright light that I’m fending off. And when I fight hard enough, that’s when I find myself here, able to see or communicate with you for moments at a time.”
“You shouldn’t have to fight,” I say, my voice breaking. “You should be at peace.”
“How can I be at peace when I still don’t know who killed me—and when you might take the fall for it?”
With a chill, I remember my task. The weapon in my backpack.
“Someone planted the—the knife in my room,” I tell him. “Do you think if you saw it, you might remember who did this to you?”
A cloud crosses his face, but he holds out his hand.
“Show me.”
With a shudder, I pull the ziplock bag out of my backpack. His eyes darken as he takes in the blade. He runs his hand over it, and I bite back a scream as the knife glides through his intangible palm—but of course, he draws no blood. Not this time.
“I don’t remember.” He shakes his head in frustration. “My last memory is the rock.”
“What rock?” I press.
He doesn’t answer. Instead he takes a step away from the blade in my hands.
“Get rid of it,” he says. “You can’t be found with this. Bury it someplace where it can’t be tracked to you.”
The Girl in the Picture Page 15
