Ghost Girl in the Corner

by Daniel José Older

  This Book is Dedicated to Black Girls Everywhere.

  You are Powerful.

  You are Beautiful.

  You are Loved.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  SHADOWSHAPER SNEAK PEEK

  SHADOWHOUSE FALL SNEAK PEEK

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  Tee immediately knew three things about the dead girl in the corner, but the most pressing one was that she had a secret. The other two — that she was dead and that she was, or had been, a cutie — seemed beside the point somehow.

  Tee had just finished zipping up the back of a dress she definitely wasn’t supposed to be wearing. It had taken some work — she’d had to do a whole awkward dance, wrapping both arms around herself and twisting into all kinds of unfortunate satanic yoga poses. She’d looked up, panting, caught herself in the mirror, smiled winningly, and then gasped as a cool hush settled over her skin, something like a gentle midwinter night breeze.

  Except it was July.

  And she was in a drafty church basement.

  And the small windows at the top of the wall were all sealed shut.

  For a second she thought it was her own guilty conscience. (Or maybe just the voice of her girlfriend, Izzy: This is what you get for being nosy, she would’ve chided.) Tee’d been going through Manny’s trunk, and while Manny was dead, she had no business shuffling through his personal items, let alone wearing them. But this dress probably wasn’t his — even if he’d had a thing for cross-dressing, there was no way it would’ve fit him — and anyway, well, it was a fierce silky violet number with an open back and a fluffy pink boa attached. Violet was Tee’s favorite color. And the style … Tee always had a helluva time finding slick, slinky dresses that hugged her thick frame without asphyxiating her or drooping in some off-kilter way. Most of the time she just gave up and shopped in the men’s department, where the various sizes seemed more forgiving of her curves and rolls.

  But this smooth, violet masterpiece looked like it was made for her, so she’d stripped out of her jeans and polo shirt real quick to make sure it actually fit as well as it seemed like it would. And it did! Caught her hips just so, and the violet accentuated her light brown skin like a watercolor painting, and the neckline slid down her right shoulder, leaving it bare for all the world to see, and allowing just the right amount of topboob to peek out. She hadn’t even brought the boa into play, and — Lord.

  Then that chill caught her midswoon, and she looked up. There, in the far corner behind the giant printing press, stood the dead girl. Or hovered, really.

  Tee just barely caught her scream before it came out.

  This wasn’t the first ghost she’d seen. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. She had no business acting brand-new. But still: Tee was alone in the same church basement where, a few weeks earlier, she and her friends had found Manny’s body sprawled out in the darkness. The only other spirits she had seen had been floating lovingly into the darkening sky over Coney Island Beach, where her friend Sierra initiated Tee and all the rest of the crew into a secret magic called shadowshaping. Those spirits looked like shadows with a gentle pulsing glow — somehow dark and luminous at the same time. The shadow swallowed up most of their features, made them more a what than a who.

  But this girl … She stared across the room at Tee with big eyes, her mouth slightly open. She looked like she was around Tee’s age, give or take. Afropuffs poked out of either side of her head like two moons. She wore a headband with cat ears on it and had black streaks painted along her cheeks: whiskers.

  Tee took a few steps toward the ghost girl; their eyes locked. Tee caught her breath — that stare seemed to take her in entirely, swallow her whole. She hadn’t felt so seen in a long time. Matter’a fact, she’d been feeling about a hundred miles away from everyone for a while now, even Izzy, and she didn’t know why. She took another step. A gentle blue haze illuminated the corner where the ghost girl hovered; tiny dots of light flickered and spun around her like lightning bugs. Transfixed, Tee realized she was smiling. And somehow she knew, above anything else, that this suddenly sacred moment was meant just for her, like catching sight of a rare, beautiful bird outside the window that flies away before you get a chance to tell anyone else about it.

  Somewhere in that glowing form, the ghost girl held a secret, or maybe she herself was the secret. It was delicate and perfect, this secret, like a tiny flower, and Tee knew that whatever it was, she would do anything to protect it.

  “Who —” Tee began, and then the door burst open, startling her damn near to death as daylight poured into the dim basement.

  “You down there, Tee?” Sierra’s unmistakable silhouette stood in the doorway, arms akimbo, the edges of her huge fro lined with a golden shimmer of afternoon sunlight.

  “Yeah,” Tee said. “C’mon in.”

  “Well, damn,” Sierra said as she came down the stairs, giving Tee a good up-and-down. “Look at you!”

  “Ha, well …” Tee cast a quick glance to the corner, where the ghost girl remained, her eyes still wide, gaze fixed right on Tee. “You know. Just doin’ me. I guess.”

  Sierra walked in and put a grocery bag on the table. “Brought you the router you asked for and some random tech junk folks had layin’ around. Jerome and Izzy coming with the computer and everything else. There’s no change; receipts are in the bags. I hope those foundation people really do reimburse you! Neville’s outside with the Caddy if you want us to bring out any more stuff for you.” Sierra, of all Tee’s friends, should be able to see the ghost girl, but she didn’t even cast a second glance toward the shimmering corner.

  “Oh, thanks,” Tee said. “Yeah. Or no …” Did she? Besides the huge printing press and Linotype machine, and a few random boxes and file cabinets, this trunk was pretty much all that was left of the Bed-Stuy Searchlight offices. She wasn’t sure she wanted to give it up now that she’d found treasures in it.

  “There’s more of this stuff?” Sierra gaped at the open trunk.

  “What stuff?” Izzy said from the doorway. “Damn, babe! You fancy!”

  Big Jerome stopped right behind her, lugging a big cardboard box. “I’m fine!” he called. “I got it, no need to worry! Thanks for the help, though!”

  “Hey,” Izzy said. “I brought the mouse.” She patted her pockets. “Oh, damn, left it in the car actually. What stuff is there more of, you guys?”

  Everything was happening too fast. And why hadn’t anyone said anything about the ghost in the corner? Could they not see it? “Oh, just some’a Manny’s stuff.” She closed the trunk, not knowing why her best friends’ sudden presence felt like such an invasion. “I’ll go get it for you.”

  “Get what for me?” Izzy asked, sliding up to Tee and giving her a quick kiss.

  “The mouse or whatever; you left it in the car?” Tee walked out into the bright summer day, the hot July air thick and heavy after that cool, dank basement, and rounded the front of the church. The dress slid along her like a second skin, made her stride slinky and smooth, even in the heat.

  Sierra’s godfather, Uncle Neville, leaned against his Cadillac Seville, smiling up at the sky. Alligator shoes and creased suit pants: Neville would be dapper to the day he died. “Whaddup, girl? You lookin’ fanceh, Tee! How come you never hit the town in a gown like that?”

  Tee looked down, her smile breaking out unbidden. “Oh, I … I never had a gown like this one. Found it
in Manny’s trunk. I probably shouldn’ta …”

  Neville’s face went suddenly sullen.

  “What is it?”

  He looked away. “Just … Manny, man. We had the funeral but never really got to mourn. Just like him to keep a pretty dress in a random chest for no apparent reason. Damn. That’s the stuff that gets you, ya know?”

  Tee knew. She’d barely known her dad, but his out-of-focus smile still made an appearance every time someone put cinnamon in coffee.

  “He was just one of those cats that was always around, so you figured he’d always be around. Till he ain’t. Did more for this community than a hundred politicians or corny orgs ever could.” Neville shook his head as if clearing cobwebs of sadness. “Anyway, I heard you takin’ over the Searchlight now!” His grin hinted at mischief.

  Tee tried to imagine what kind of trouble she could really cause running a local paper, came up short. “Just for the summer. Heard the church was gonna clear out his stuff and saw a grant posted online for youth community journalism, so I applied. Pretty sure they were more hype about there being an actual printing press than anything I brought to the table, but hey — money’s money, you know?”

  “Amen, amen.” Neville handed her the mouse and a bag of random wires. “Here, they left this stuff in the car. I’d say call me if you need help setting up the computer-majiggies, but I’m sure all y’all better at that crap than old Uncle Neville anyway.”

  “True,” Tee said, dapping Neville. “Later!”

  “Aight, kiddo. Holler if you need any leads. You know I got ’em.”

  Tee turned to find Father Thomas stepping out of the front doors of the church, a garden hose in one hand. “Today’s the big day, huh, Tee?” he said with a smile. Father Thomas was one of those racially ambiguous cats; no one could figure out whether he was a light-skinned black dude, some flavor of Latino, Asian maybe, or just a white dude with a tan. Everyone took bets, but no one had ever bothered to ask him; it was more fun guessing. He was slender and bland and nice as hell.

  “Yep,” Tee said. “You comin’ to see the press go back in action?”

  Father Thomas shook his head and gave a sad shrug. “I don’t … After everything, you know …” Of course: Manny.

  “I understand.”

  “Haven’t been down there in years, actually. Creeps me out, to be honest.”

  “Hey, Padre!” Neville yelled. “How ’bout I step out the way and you give this Caddy a good spray-down, since you out here with the hose and whatnot?”

  Father Thomas’s face broke into a boyish grin. “It would be my pleasure!”

  “And they say the Lord works in mysterious ways,” Neville chuckled. “Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

  Tee ducked under the spray of water and headed around back.

  “So, uh … what’s goin’ on, Tee?” Big Jerome asked as Tee walked down the cement stairs into the basement.

  “I’m getting set up for the Searchlight meeting,” Tee said. “Duh.” In the corner, the ghost girl hovered and glowed, eyes fixed on Tee.

  Izzy raised an eyebrow. “He means, why you dressed like Billie Holiday or whatever?”

  “Oh.” Tee managed a laugh. “Just … found this. Is all.”

  Izzy did a little mambo. “You should wear it to my show at the beach tonight.”

  The beach! She’d totally forgotten Izzy was playing the huge Summer Slam party at Coney Island later on. “I dunno,” Tee muttered.

  Izzy squinted at her. “You comin’, right?”

  “Juan playin’ too,” Sierra said. Her brother’s band, Culebra, mixed thrasher metal and salsa into something new and ferocious and beautiful.

  “Of course.” Tee tried to sound convincing, and she was pretty sure all she succeeded at was sounding like she was trying to sound convincing.

  “Aight, good.” Izzy either pretended not to notice or didn’t care. “We out. See you there.”

  “Wait, y’all ain’t stayin’ for the meeting?” Tee said.

  “Babe. I’m performing in a few hours and I gotta get my beauty sleep. Anyway, you don’t want me at ya meeting; Imma just cause trouble.”

  “I —”

  “And I gotta run around doing a buncha junk with my mom,” Sierra said.

  “Plus,” Izzy added, “I’m ’bouta be on my period.”

  Big Jerome waved from the corner, where he had just finished plugging in the computer and router. “Thanks, Iz! We needed to know that!”

  “Yo, J,” Izzy snapped. “You can either exit from being perpetually twelve and hang with the big dogs or you can go get ya diaper changed.”

  “Damn,” Jerome said, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “You didn’t have to do me like that.”

  Izzy twirled and kissed Tee on the cheek. “Seems I did. Later, babe. Have a good meeting. Don’t be late to the beach.”

  A few daps and “Laters” later, Tee stood in front of the mirror again, alone.

  Alone, except.

  Was it wrong that Ghost Girl made her more comfortable than her own friends? Tee wondered. Than her girlfriend? It felt both wrong and right at the same time. And they hadn’t seen her, which had somehow been both creepy and a relief at the same time.

  She unzipped the silky violet dress and shimmied out of it, freeing her folds and breasts and feeling wildly alive. The funders and her brand-new crew of teen reporters would show up any minute, and Tee barely gave an echo of a damn. She spun once in front of the mirror, took in the full range of herself, smiled. Was Ghost Girl watching? Probably.

  She paused, caught her own eye, that twinkling glow in the background, bright again in the dim basement overheads.

  Probably not the best way to greet people who had just awarded her a fat grant — standing there in her skivvies. She scrunched her face and then slid into her jeans and polo, which felt kind of like going home to an empty house, now that she’d experienced the swagger of that silk stretch against her skin.

  “Knock knock!” a chipper voice called from the doorway. “It’s Jessica!”

  “And Ms. Rollins!”

  “Come through,” Tee called. She caught her breath as all the magic seemed to flow out of the room again.

  “We brought your team,” Jessica said, leading a group of teenagers down the stairs. Ms. Rollins, Tee’s AP History teacher at Octavia Butler High, brought up the rear. Ms. Rollins had a dragon tat running up one arm, and Tee thought she was fine as hell. Today she was wearing a floral blouse and looking slightly sunburned but still delicious.

  Jessica Newman, on the other hand, radiated plain white-lady vibes with her gray pantsuit and coiffed blond hair. She smiled like if she didn’t, her whole face might shatter — genial, maybe even genuine, but a few missed deadlines or unscheduled interruptions away from total meltdown. She reached out a slender hand to Tee. “Wonderful to finally meet you after all that emailing!” She winked conspiratorially.

  “I mean, just three emails, really,” Tee said, but Jessica didn’t seem to notice.

  “These are your intrepid reporters: Mina, Rafael, and Couro — Coo-roh … Cuh …”

  “Coruscant,” a short kid in a basketball jersey and Stetson said in an unnecessarily extravagant French accent. He sounded like a bad soap-opera star trying to overpronounce croissant. “Coruscant Barretto.”

  “Right.” Jessica giggled. “What he said. Anyway, I just want to welcome you all.”

  “From Paris,” Coruscant added, cutting off the s and extending the i. Tee sat on a table facing everyone and tried not to roll her eyes.

  “Okay,” Jessica said with a little snap now. “Let’s get to it. I’m Jessica Newman, you’ve all emailed with me. And this is Lauren Rollins, who some of you may know as Ms. Rollins from Butler High, right?”

  Ms. Rollins waved and smiled at Tee. Tee threw her a cool whatsgood eyebrow raise.

  “We’ll be overseeing the project,” Jessica went on, “but think of us more as advisors. I’m with the Kirzen Foundation
, which initiated this grant, and we’re so excited to have you all here to continue the legacy of” — she checked her notes — “Manuel Gomez and his work of community journalism, which is really the front lines of media, right?”

  “Sure,” Tee said.

  “So we’ve assembled this diverse group of you guys to make this paper happen, even though Mr. Gomez is tragically no longer with us. Why don’t you introduce yourselves and then we’ll let you guys do your thing. Rafael, you can start.”

  Rafael, a muscley kid in a tight Dominican flag T-shirt, acid-washed jeans, and designer sneakers, stroked his tiny goatee and glared at Jessica Newman for a good five seconds before sighing. “Alright, my name is Rafael, I’m —”

  “You Puerto Rican, right?” Tee said winningly.

  Coruscant snorted. Rafael threw his hands up. “Coño, que carajo …”

  “Relax, playa,” Tee said. “I was kidding.”

  “Oh.” He simmered. “Right.” He seemed to dig around for a smile and finally found one. “Anyway, yes, I am Rafael, I like to write about esports and that’s really about it, you know? I’m just here for the check, really, to be honest.”

  “Fantastic,” Tee said.

  The scrawny white girl next to him went next. Mina Satorius. Tee knew her from school, but only barely. “I’m actually from Staten Island,” Mina said. “But there’s no project like this out there and, like … I like writing, so I figured I’d give this a shot. But I know it’s kinda weird to show up and, like, write about someone else’s neighborhood, ’specially since I’m a white girl and all, so I’m down to cover whatever beat makes sense, Tee.”

  “Well,” Jessica jumped in, “all opinions and points of view are welcome here, so —”

  “No,” Tee interrupted. “Mina, I appreciate that; that was real. We gonna find a good beat for you.”

  “What do you normally write about?” Jessica asked.

  Behind her, Ms. Rollins put her hand over her face and sighed.

  “Serial killers,” Mina said.

  Jessica’s smile didn’t fade, but something inside her seemed to crumble just a little bit. “Oh. That’s … oh.”