I figure out who the trouble-makers are pretty quickly. There are two kids, a boy and a girl, sitting in the back row of desks who
keep passing notes back and forth and kicking the seats in front of them. The teacher doesn’t do anything to stop them, so I assume this has happened before. Andy’s chair is pushed forward roughly and falls back to the floor with a loud noise that makes him jump, but he keeps his face buried in his notebook and doesn’t retaliate.
I keep waiting for something to happen, but nothing does. An hour passes – way too slowly – and nobody dies. I let out a deep breath and touch down on the ground, watching the students push past each other out the door. Andy is the last to leave, and he glances at the clock one last time before he puts his things in his backpack. He’s wearing clothes that are way too baggy for his small frame and he trips over the leg of his pants on his way to the door. I’m halfway across the room to help him up before I remember that I can’t.
The teacher is still behind her desk, getting her notes together for her second period class. She must be the person who’s going to die, then. It’s taking a lot longer than it did with Esther and David; their deaths happened relatively quickly after I arrived, but I’ve been waiting for hours and nothing’s happened yet. I’m more than a little frustrated at having to spend even more time in this Hell-hole, especially since my memories are coming back stronger the longer I’m here.
But just when the second bell rings and the teacher starts talking again, I’m pulled out the door by an invisible force and back down the hallway I came from. I float past lockers and down a flight of stairs, stopping just outside of door number 125. It’s ajar, and I slide through the opening and walk back to my place against the wall opposite the whiteboard.
The teacher of this class is a portly man who looks like he’s at least ten years younger than the woman whose room I just left. He’s got spots of premature balding around his ears and a mop of dull brown hair on the very top of his head, and the belt he’s wearing over his trousers is squeezing his stomach so tightly it looks painful. I look around and see that it’s another freshman class; I recognize four of the students from first period English, one of whom is Andy. He looks terribly out of place in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by kids who are bigger than him in every possible way.
The teacher writes his own name on the board – Mr. Beck – followed by a series of words in a language I don’t know. It looks like Spanish, from the scattered words I learned in my Languages class in middle school, but they’re so far into the semester all I recognize are the words for ‘me,’ ‘red,’ and ‘house.’ The rest of the class is taking notes and translating the sentences on the board; I look over the shoulders of the ones in the desks nearest me and follow along silently.
Andy glances back again and I realize with a jolt that he isn’t looking at the clock at all – he’s looking at me. Now that I’ve moved away from the back wall, Andy turns in his chair and glances back at me with confusion on his face. Our eyes meet, and my stomach bottoms out.
No, no, no. He can’t be any older than fourteen or fifteen. He’s so skinny and small and young. I had enough trouble pulling David’s soul out, and he was at least in his twenties. I can’t do this.
“Mister Nolan,” the teacher says loudly, and Andy whips around like he’s been slapped. “Can you tell me what’s on the back
wall that’s so much more interesting than paying attention to my lecture?”
Andy’s messy black hair sways as he shakes his head. “No, sir.” His voice is small and high-pitched. Christ, he hasn’t even gone through puberty yet and he’s going to die.
Granted, I was only a year or so older than him when I died, but that’s different. I had a choice; most people don’t.
“Then I suggest you face forward for the rest of class. How does that sound?” Mr. Beck’s voice is condescending and reminds me of my old geometry teacher Ms. Miller. She had a way of making kids feel wounded without even touching them.
The back of Andy’s neck and the tips of his ears are tinged red. He slumps back in his seat and pulls his textbook closer, nodding silently.
A girl in the front of the room snickers, glancing back at Andy with such a smug look on her face it makes my stomach churn. I can picture Janie so clearly in that freshman girl’s face, and the expression she always wore whenever she managed to knock me down a peg. I’ve never been more tempted to use my abilities on a living person, but I hold myself back, remembering Mellie’s warning. If I wasn’t so afraid of somehow messing up and getting someone killed, that wench would be on the floor by now.
It was very rare that I stood up for myself when I was being picked on in school. There was no point; it did nothing but make the bullies angrier and more intent on destroying my life. I took the
insults quietly, the pushing and kicking without retaliating, but it feels different to be on the other side of the situation. Maybe if
someone had spoken up on my behalf, even just once, I wouldn’t have killed myself. Or maybe if someone else had done it for me.
Ah, who am I kidding – I’m a lost cause. I was set on suicide from such a young age I’m surprised I even lived to be sixteen. But this poor kid deserves better. What am I supposed to do, stand on the sidelines and watch? Is he going to be punched to death; thrown down the stairs until his neck snaps? Am I supposed to just let him be stabbed or shot or run over without even trying to help?
With Ester, there was nothing I could do; she was already dying when I got to her. David was hit by a car that came out of nowhere; there was no way I could have predicted that. But Andy is still alive. Would it really be so bad if I interfered just this once?
The bell signaling the end of second period startles me and I jump back, falling to the floor in the least graceful way I can imagine. At least I don’t phase through it and into the basement; I’d really rather not see what the school keeps down there.
Mr. Beck erases the writing on the board and puts his notes away, shuffling through the papers for an unnecessarily long amount of time. I watch as Andy fills his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, but on the way out the door he turns back around and locks eyes with me. He gestures silently for me to follow him, and I nod like a complete idiot.
Does talking to him count as interfering? I don’t plan on getting involved – at least not right now – but I’m pretty sure anything I reveal to him is going to be against the rules.
Mellie’s probably just around the corner; she’s going to be so pissed when she sees me interacting with a living person. That’s
Rule Number One.
Andy turns back once to make sure I’m following him and continues walking down the halls, finally stopping in a corner of the first floor filled with lockers. It takes a lot of concentration for me to walk like a normal human; my body instinctually wants to float up a few inches off of the floor. I don’t want Andy to know what I am or why I’m here, though. I feel like that would be crossing some kind of line, even for a ghost.
“Alright,” Andy says, rounding on me with a steely look in his bright green eyes. “Who are you? Why can’t anyone else see you? Am I going crazy?”
His hair is stuck up at odd angles on the top of his head. It would be kind of cute if he wasn’t so upset.
“You’re not crazy,” I assure him, although hearing that from someone he believes exists only in his head probably isn’t going to make him feel any better.
“Oh, great. I’m talking to myself, aren’t I?” Andy throws his backpack down and glares up at me. He’s shorter than I am, so he’s not at all intimidating, but his eyes are smoldering and I’m trying very hard not to laugh.
“Technically, you’re not.” I scratch my head, trying to think of what to say that won’t give too much away. If Mellie was here, she would know, but she’d also tell me not to talk to him in the first place, which is kind of impossible now that he’s got me cornered.
“Though, what do I know? I�
��m probably crazy enough for the both of us.”
From this close up, I can see every detail of Andy’s face. He’s very feminine-looking, but from far-away it’s harder to notice; he’s got acne scars on his nose and chin, and his skin is blotchy and pale as a ghost’s – which is hilarious, considering I am a ghost and I’m darker than he is.
“Wonderful,” he mumbles, pulling at the split ends of his chin-length, choppy black hair. “One more thing to add to my social status. I’m sure everyone will get a kick out of this.”
I shrug, trying to remain neutral, and nearly clip my elbow on the edge of an open locker. I have to be more careful; I don’t think Andy will react very well to my entire arm passing through solid metal.
“Okay, okay, let’s say I’m not going crazy,” he says like he’s still trying to convince himself. “Then what are you?”
My heart – okay, I know I don’t have one, but I can still feel it – feels like it’s beating twice as fast as normal and I hold my breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m human, obviously. Why, what are you?”
Andy narrows his eyes and takes a step closer to me. I move back until I’m just touching the farthest end of the string of lockers and can’t go any farther without fading into them.
“I’m human. But last time I checked humans couldn’t fly.”
Oh, crap. Mellie’s going to kill me – or whatever the worst thing you can do to a ghost is.
“I can’t fly,” I say, panicking. I suck at talking myself out of situations like this; I wish I had just called for Mellie as soon as I knew Andy saw me. “You must be seeing things. Not that you’re
crazy, but if you’re seeing things that aren’t there…”
“You were floating in the back of the classroom, by the clock. I think you nodded off for a while there because you didn’t even notice me looking at first.”
Ghosts don’t sleep. But they do get bored after nearly an hour of lectures on boring books about boring people from a hundred years ago. I wonder if Mellie’s in one of those books somewhere, as old as she is. I don’t even know how old she is, but she looks like she’s twenty. Lucky.
“Look, if I could fly, wouldn’t I be doing it right now? Obviously, since flying would be an awesome superpower to have and I’d never want to stop using it. But I’m standing, see? So just admit you’re wrong and go back to class. You’re already late.”
The bell rang at least ten minutes ago and the hallway is completely deserted. If anyone were to walk by right now, all they would see is Andy talking to himself. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well with the people who already use any excuse they can get to pick on him.
“You’re not a superhero,” he says shortly. “And you’re not standing.”
I look down and – dammit – my feet are half an inch off the ground. I touch my toes down on the muddy brown tile and balance myself, but it’s too late. I can’t explain away this one.
“Okay, you got me. I am a superhero. I can go invisible and fly, and I’d really appreciate it if you just forget you ever saw me, okay?”
Andy shakes his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re not a hero.” He pauses, eyes glazed over in thought, and looks past me at the set of bright red lockers in the corner. “You’re a spirit, aren’t you? That’s why I can see you.”
Mellie, come on, I think frantically. Get me out of this. Please!
I sigh and give up on trying to keep my feet steady. I float up another inch without thinking, and Andy stares at me like I’ve just puked gold or something.
“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
His eyes are narrowed and he looks more serious than I’ve seen him. I have no idea what to say.
Oh, man am I underqualified for this. Mellie should have just given me the easy cases – old people and freak accidents. Nothing that requires actual thought and emotion. Andy kind of looks like a kicked puppy right now, and a chill sweeps through me like a gust of cold air. I’m so going to regret this.
“No. No, you’re not.”
Mellie’s going to have my head for this.
Chapter Eight
I feel kind of like a Special Agent, hovering around Andy and looking out for anything that could potentially hurt him. My arms are up, ready to deflect any stray knives or bombs or whatever is supposed to kill this kid, but so far nothing out of the ordinary has happened. A few kids in fourth period science called him a couple of words I’d rather not repeat, but nothing that could kill him. Although, I’m pretty much the poster child for ‘words do hurt.’
Andy watches me out of the corner of his eye, so I make sure to stand near enough that he doesn’t get in trouble for turning around again to see me. He clearly isn’t paying any attention to what the teacher is saying, but I insisted he go to class anyway. There are a lot more dangerous things outside of the school than in.
I keep expecting Mellie to jump out from behind a desk or through a wall and start shouting at me about how dangerous what I did is. Although, the way I see it, I haven’t done anything wrong. Yet. I’m just doing my job, watching Andy until whatever happens to him, happens. It’s not my fault he saw me. David saw me too, but
he died too quickly afterwards for it to be an issue. I have no idea why Andy is still alive, or why I was drawn here too early, but if Mellie has any answers, she’s not coming out with them.
“You know, I liked science when I was alive, but this is just boring,” I whisper in Andy’s ear, making him jump. He gets a couple of odd looks from his classmates, but the teacher doesn’t say anything. “You’re not even taking notes. Do you have any idea what’s going on right now?”
Granted, I don’t have any idea either, but this isn’t my class. I did my time – well, most of it. And I got pretty decent grades, but for the life – I know, haha – of me, I can’t make heads or tails of what the teacher is writing on the board. It looks kind of like hieroglyphics.
“Shut up,” Andy mumbles, so quiet I have to lean in to hear him. He looks down at his textbook and then back at the whiteboard and, to my surprise, raises his hand.
“Mr. Berring? Can I go to the bathroom, please?”
Andy’s voice is squeaky and half of the room turns in their chairs to look at him. His face is lit up red like a Christmas tree and he’s already started putting his books back in his bag.
“Yes, Andy, go ahead. Be back in ten minutes, though. You don’t want to miss the beginning of the next chapter.”
The teacher doesn’t seem to find it odd at all that Andy takes his backpack with him, zipping it halfway and carrying it by one strap out the door. I follow, phasing through the door as it closes behind him.
“You really are a ghost,” he says, eyes wide. “Wow. Imagine that.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. You figured out my secret. Good for you.” Andy’s hair is so messy a tuft of it is sticking straight up in the back; he looks like he just rolled out of bed, even though the day is already halfway over. “I can open the door, just so you know. It’s easier to walk through it, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely inept.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Andy walks the hall, the tension in his shoulders slipping the farther he gets from the classroom. I float along beside him, passing through objects as I approach them because there’s no point in hiding my abilities now, and Andy seems to think they’re pretty cool.
Who knew? I’m more popular as a ghost than I ever was as a human.
Andy leads me down the stairs and around a corner before I realize he’s walking towards the front door. He pulls his backpack up on his shoulders and reaches out for the handle, and I only just manage to pass through the glass onto the other side and hold the door shut before he can open it. He glares at me, pushing harder, but even though my tangibility is unpredictable at best, Andy’s just a scrawny kid who clearly has no upper body strength.
“What are you doing?” he asks, shoving his entire weight against the door. “I onl
y have two classes left and I don’t feel that great. If anybody asks I can just tell them I went home sick, okay? It’s not like going to school matters very much now that I know I’m
gonna die any minute.”
“I already told you, you’re not going to die! That’s not why I’m here. I have more important things to do than wait around for your soul, you know.”
“Like what?”
Somebody walks past and Andy has the common sense to lean against the wall and stop talking to himself long enough for them to leave. Through the dirty panel of glass between us, his eyes look more blue than green.
“Like stalk people I used to know, haunt some places, watch TV – what do you think? I’ve got a pretty full itinerary. And besides, it’s the Grim Reaper’s job to yank out your soul, not mine.”
Mellie isn’t the Grim Reaper, technically – or is she? I have no idea who or what she is, to be honest. And I’m lying through my teeth to Andy because it’s easier than telling him that from the moment he looked at me I knew he was going to be the next person in this city to die.
“The Grim Reaper is real?” Andy looks almost star struck. “What else? Is there a God, or a Heaven? Do I get to go there?”
“Calm down, crazy. You’re not going anywhere because you’re not gonna die. And you’re especially not going to skip out on school when you’ve only got two hours left. I peeked at your grades – you have some catching up to do.”
I couldn’t care less about his grades, truthfully. I just don’t want him to leave and get hit by a car or a bus or whatever else is
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