Ghost Girl in the Corner

by Daniel José Older

  “And no more fake Frenchy!”

  For a moment, sunlight flooded the dank basement. “Aw, man!” Then the door slammed shut. Tee allowed the image of the ghost girl to spin once through her mind, then she checked her phone — a text from her mom about picking up coconut milk on her way home; silence from Izzy — and sighed.

  “Woman troubles?” Rafael asked, sipping his own coffee.

  “You have no idea.”

  He smirked. “I might. I’m actually very good with relationship problems, in spite of appearing to be just your average papi.”

  “Just Your Average Papi gonna be my new reggaeton band name, just FYI. Gimme your scoop, Dr. Ruth.”

  “Summer league baseball! Almost everything is as you’d expect: Halsey Street Hobards swept the qualifying rounds; Woodhull Warriors still down seven. In the Bodega League, the Dominicans crushed the Yemenites by twelve, whaat!” He fell into a smooth two-step and Tee rolled her eyes. “¡Mi gente! ¡La Rrrrepublica!”

  “Except?”

  Rafael executed a spin, jumped in the air, and landed with finger guns pointed at Tee. “Except what?”

  “You said almost everything is as I’d expect in the summer leagues. I await the aberration.” She chewed the plastic tip of Manny’s ’gueña mini and tried not to scowl.

  “Oh, right! The Pistoleros lost.”

  “Say word?”

  “Lost bad. To the Baker’s Dozen, no less.”

  Tee gaped, almost dropping the mini. The Pistoleros were literally undefeated, the best teen ball players Bed-Stuy had ever known. They’d been written up twice in the Times and an NPR reporter had done a story at one of their games. There was no way a washed-up bunch of losers like the Baker’s Dozen could shut them out. “How?”

  “Simple: No Cortez.”

  “What?” Lani Cortez was the linchpin of the whole team. She pitched more no-hitters than anyone could keep track of. Yeah, the world was gonna know she was a star one day, but as far as the neighborhood was concerned, she’d already risen to the stratosphere. Last year, a mural had gone up with her face next to Jackie Robinson and Malcolm X.

  Rafael shrugged. “Weird, right? She just didn’t show up.”

  “Did you ask anyone if they knew where she was?”

  “Of course, mi jefa. I’m a reporter, right?”

  “And?”

  “Nobody knew! They were all stunned as everyone else. I think that’s why they lost, to be honest. They looked shook.”

  “That don’t sound right at all.”

  He sipped his coffee. “Word.”

  “Alright, you got some more games tonight?” A chirp from her pocket announced a new text message. Tee forced herself not to check.

  “The Pulaski Pushers versus the Cannonball Garveys. It’s gonna be fire.”

  “Have fun. I want five hundred words by tomorrow morning.” She dapped him and he started toward the door. “And Raffi.”

  “Hm?”

  “Lemme know if anything comes up about Cortez.”

  “You got it, mi jefa.”

  Tee was up and across the room before the door closed behind him. Where was the ghost girl? How could she have just disappeared like this? Well, that was a stupid question, Tee thought, getting on her hands and knees and peering under the printing press. She’s a ghost, Tee. She can do what she wants.

  The text. Tee pulled out her phone, quelling the panic. It was her mom, asking her to bring some condensed milk for her uncle Ed, who’d holed up in his room again and wouldn’t come out. She shot off a quick k, then looked around the room.

  The Linotype! Tee stood up suddenly. She wouldn’t still be in the machine, but what if … She bolted across the room, cursing herself for not looking earlier. The typing had stopped yesterday after that HELP, and no matter how long Tee stared or waited or pretended not to be paying attention, no more words appeared. Minutes, then hours passed, the time of Izzy’s show coming and going, and Tee’s stomach turned itself in knots, wondering what the ghost girl needed help with, what she could possibly do to help her. Finally, she’d left in an anxious flurry and hurried off to the train to apologize.

  Now she gaped at the metal slugs in the little window with her mouth slightly open. Three more letters had slid in next to the word HELP:

  HER.

  Tee squinted at it. “Who?” she said out loud.

  “Hello?” Mina’s voice came from outside.

  “Jesus!” Tee gasped, trying to control her screaming heartbeat, her fast, ragged breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Mina’s wide-open face as she stepped into the dim light looked as terrified as Tee felt.

  “Nothing, I just … Nothing. Got spooked is all.” Tee crossed the room, hoping it wasn’t super obvious she’d just been gaping at the Linotype.

  “Yeah.” Mina walked over to the huge printing press, running a finger idly along its great metal arms. “I know some messed-up stuff musta happened down here.”

  Manny’s gaping mouth, his cool skin when they found him sprawled out in the basement …

  Tee nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. Why was the ghost girl appearing to her alone? And where had she gone? Who did she want Tee to help if not herself?

  “You want my update?” Mina asked.

  She nodded again, found the coffee Rafael had brought her. Lukewarm already. She frowned.

  “Tee. What is it?”

  Tee tried to shrug it off, all those memories, the haunting questions, the silence from Izzy, but it wouldn’t go away. “A lot,” she finally said. “Too much.”

  “Want me to leave?”

  She shook her head.

  “Wanna talk?”

  She put the coffee down, rubbed her face. “No. Thank you, though, seriously. Just tell me what you got; I’ll be aight.”

  Mina eyed her. “Mmkay, Tee. But lemme know if you change your mind. I know you don’t know me that well, but … I know how to keep a secret.”

  Tee looked up. Why had Mina said that? Did she know something about what was happening? Secret was the first thing Tee had felt, no, known about the ghost girl. It had been like a whisper inside her bones, a simple, emphatic shhhh that was louder than any scream.

  “Tee?”

  “Just tell me what you got, Mina. For real. I’m fine.” It came out snappier than she meant it to, she could tell from the startled look on Mina’s face.

  “Okay, so I spoke to three of my neighbors; they all lived in East New York and Flatbush back in the day. Just did preliminary interviews to see where they’re at, and yeah, looks like it’s gonna be some interesting stuff. Two of ’em are openly bigots, like where’s your hood–type mess. The other really wants to get it right but, you know, doesn’t really have a lot of reference points, if that makes sense?”

  “Wow, Mina, that’s good work. And fast.” Tee allowed the warmth back into her voice, caught Mina’s eye, and managed to smile.

  “Aaand I talked to my completely batshit grandma. She, uh … collects dolls? Like a lot of them? It’s really, really creepy. I’ve honestly felt like there’s something seriously messed-up going on with her since I was little.”

  “Is that why you love serial killers so hard?” Tee covered her mouth. The thought hadn’t sounded as insensitive when it was coming together in her mind. “Sorry, that was —”

  Mina waved her off with a sad smile. “It’s fine, really.” She giggled, which was kinda creepy, but Tee was just relieved the moment had passed. “You’re probably right, to be honest. I’d never really thought of it like that, but … I mean … my mom died when I was eight and I never even met my dad, so Grandma Tess was all I had and she’s just … You know the evil octopus lady from Little Mermaid?”

  Tee let out a laugh. “Ursula? That’s your grandma? Damn, girl.”

  “Like Ursula after renal failure and a few strokes, plus an affinity for Tony Bennett.”

  “And a doll collection.”

  Mina covered her eyes. “And a doll collection!�
� They both laughed.

  Tee felt a little bit of life seep back into her veins. “That’s a whole movie right there. Or a book. You gotta write it one day. Even if you gotta fictionalize it or whatever. The names have been changed to protect the completely maniacal.”

  “It would only work if Tim Burton directed.”

  With a sizzle and flash of blue, the ghost girl spilled out of the darkness over the Linotype. Tee caught the gasp trying to escape from her throat, but only barely. “Alright,” she said as Mina’s giggling subsided. “Do me a favor, though? Can you check up on Lani Cortez for me?”

  “Who, the pitcher?”

  “Mmhmm. Just pop by the playing field, see if anyone’s seen her today. She lives on Malcolm X and Putnam, ask around over there.”

  Mina’s mouth moved all the way to one side of her face. “This the crime beat that you weren’t gonna put me on?”

  “I sure as hell hope not,” Tee said. “Just following up on something. Lemme know what you find out.”

  Mina got her stuff together and headed out. Tee waited a beat, took a long, shaky breath, then turned slowly to face the ghost girl.

  Down past the bustle and traffic of Atlantic Ave. and the fruit stands, mosques, and fish markets of Fulton Street, a brick school building looms over a wide-open yard. Basketball courts line the edges, and beyond that, a playground sits in the shadows of a small enclave tucked into a corner of the block. Little kids scream and run back and forth through the schoolyard like flocking birds during the day; at night, teenagers play ball, fall in love, get high.

  But it was a Wednesday in July, and the whole world was over at the Diamonds to find out who would rule the summer league this year, which was surely what Sierra had in mind when she told everyone to meet up at the yard at seven thirty and bring their chalk.

  “You smart, mon capitán,” Izzy said. “Timed this right.” They stood in a loose semicircle around Sierra: Jerome, taller and wider than all of ’em and always ready with a quick one-liner; Nydia, the Columbia University librarian who had helped Sierra unravel the secret history of shadowshaping and had been studying New York’s hidden magic for years; María, Sierra’s mom, who looked every bit the elementary school teacher she was in that pantsuit with her hair pulled back in a tight bun; and Izzy, who was trying to ignore the gnawing realization that Tee wasn’t coming.

  “Who we missin’?” Sierra asked.

  “Where’s Juan?” María asked. “He forget he’s a shadowshaper?”

  Sierra rolled her eyes and crooked her fingers into bunny-ear quotation marks. “Culebra rehearsal.”

  “Where’s Bennie?” Nydia said. Bennie was Sierra’s best friend, and it wasn’t like her to miss a practice.

  “She at some Super Saiyan dorkmeister overnight camp upstate for the week,” Sierra said. “Learning how to make robots or computers or planets or something.”

  “Where’s Robbie?” Izzy asked. Robbie was Sierra’s maybe kinda sorta possibly sometimes boyfriend, and he’d been shadowshaping longer than any of them.

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “Robbie’s … Robbie. Where’s Tee?” She didn’t look at Izzy when she said it, but everyone else did.

  Izzy snarled at them. “I ain’t my girlfriend’s keeper, y’all.”

  “You literally are, though,” Jerome pointed out.

  She flipped him off without taking her eyes off Sierra. “You call her?”

  “I texted,” Sierra said. “She didn’t respond. But she’s the one who was saying we should get a practice session together last night on the beach.”

  Last night. Izzy had spent the whole train ride home from Coney Island inside a heavy cloud of gloom. Wave after wave of cramps punctuated spiraling breakup scenarios. At home, she’d turned off her phone, dreamt of nothing at all, and spent the day trying to ignore her little brother and mom’s attempts to cheer her up. She hadn’t even been able to write any rhymes. Trash, the whole situation. If she saw Tee now, she’d demand a quick ending to the whole thing, since the girl couldn’t even work herself up to deny that she’d fallen out of love. Pull the damn Band-Aid off and let the exsanguination commence: That was Izzy’s take on it.

  “Let’s get estarted,” María said. “If I don’t get home by nine, Dominic will try to cook, and we all know how that will go.”

  “Ugh,” Sierra said. “Alright, so chalk out, everybody.”

  Izzy fished the dusty nub from her big camouflage cargo shorts. Beside her, María Santiago carefully unpackaged a fresh pastel-colored box. “Show-off,” Izzy whispered.

  María made a demure frown. “I take my craft seriously, is all. Unlike some people, nubby.”

  Izzy could’ve pointed out that up until a month ago, María had pretended the family’s spiritual legacy was a figment of her father’s demented mind, but she decided to let it slide. “I guess we’ll see what’s what on the court.”

  “When you’re ready,” Sierra said, “get drawin’. Start with something simple. Don’t have to be no spine-covered turtle warriors or nothin’, just a hook or a circle will do for now.”

  Everyone squatted in the darkening yard. “Damn, I was totally gonna do a spiny turtle warrior too,” Jerome grumbled.

  Izzy dragged her chalk across the gravel, swerving it sharply to form a vicious question-mark shape and then closing it off with a sharp point. “Pow,” she muttered to herself. “And now …” She made a star at the point to show the glinting steel that would dismember any fool who got in its way. “Sha-ziiing.”

  “Oh, that’s a very peaceful-looking night sky,” María said, glancing over from her own sketch of an ever-expanding swirl. “The moon is a little crooked though, no offense.”

  “At least I didn’t draw a busted, off-center tumbleweed.”

  María flashed a menacing grin. “Mmm, just you wait.”

  “Nothing complicated, I said,” Sierra called. “What even … is going on there?”

  Jerome had scrawled a whole unintelligible shape — maybe a monster? Maybe a city? Probably just a big scribble of random lines and shapes. A few — were those trees? — lined a building, while a lopsided claw emerged from a window. He shrugged. “I just … I dunno, I got excited. Haven’t messed around with chalk since I was like ten, y’all.”

  “Looks like a bad dream,” Nydia said with an approving nod. “Nice.” She’d created a trio of elaborate, sharp-angled abstract shapes, each one a different color. They looked like they could fit together like Voltron and whup any chalk drawing they wanted to. Izzy made a mental note to steer clear of Nydia’s stuff.

  “So, the spirits are ready,” Sierra said. Izzy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. She looked up from the drawings. The shadows around them had stretched and grown and now pulsed with a gentle blue light. Seven of them stood in a wide circle around the ’shapers. Izzy caught her breath. She’d seen them that night on the beach last month, but then they’d been swirling through the air and seemed far off and beautiful, a ghostly light show.

  Now they stood just a few feet away and ready to dive through her into the drawings.

  “Coño …” María whispered.

  “I know it’s kinda intense,” Sierra said. “Believe me. First time I really had ’em close by for real was in the middle of Prospect Park, and I definitely thought I was gonna die. But these spirits are here to work with us. They’re here to guide us and protect us, and I promise you’re in no danger. Now …”

  One spirit launched forward, a silent streak of illuminated shadow, and dove into Nydia’s raised hand. She gasped, then slapped one of her drawings. It spun to life, cavorting in wild circles across the gravel.

  “Well, there it is,” Sierra said. “Not so bad, right?”

  María leaned close to Izzy. “Now there is the show-off.”

  Izzy snickered.

  “Sorry, y’all,” Nydia said, hunching up her shoulders. “I been waiting like five years for a chance to ’shape. Couldn’t hold out any longer.”

&nbs
p; “Honestly,” Izzy whispered back to María, “she’s so fine she could show off any time she wants, and if she shrugged like that, it would be alright with me.”

  María rolled her eyes. “Sinvergüenza.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Izzy said. “Whatever it means.”

  “Alright!” Sierra clapped her hands together and smiled wide. “Let’s try it!”

  Izzy glanced up at the two shadow spirits closest to her. One was tall with long arms, the way a lot of them seemed to look. The other was a little rounder with some curves that reminded Izzy of Tee. She shook her head, forcing out the thought, then steeled herself and raised an arm. For a solid ten seconds, the two spirits just stood there, waving slightly in the summer breeze. Then the shorter one hovered forward, slowly at first but then faster and faster as it flung across the darkness on smooth strides. Izzy closed her eyes just as a smooth burst of coolness spread through her hand and wrist. It was like someone had emptied a pint of ice cream into a hole in her palm. She shuddered, and then remembered what she was supposed to do. Her eyes flew open and she slapped the chalk drawing. The icy sludge seemed to slow inside her, and then suddenly it flushed along her arm, and her chalk drawing lit up, trembled, then evaporated into a poof of dust.

  “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

  “No luck, superstar?” María smirked.

  Izzy sighed.

  “Hush, mi vida, it takes practice, you know.”

  “I guess.”

  María raised her hand for the tall shadow. When she slapped the drawing, her spiral maze vibrated like it was being hit by a series of tiny earthquakes, but not much else. “See?”

  “At least you got the spirit in the dang picture without exploding it,” Izzy grumbled.

  Sierra walked up, arms crossed over her chest. “How we doin’?”

  “Strugglin’,” Izzy said. “But your mom’s out here winnin’.”

  “Ah.” María shrugged off the compliment. “I got it in the genes, et cetera, et cetera.”

  Sierra nodded, eyebrows raised. “Not bad, Mami.”

  All three of Nydia’s swirling shapes fizzed past, followed by a struggling, shuddering tangle of sharp lines and errant scribbles. “Erm …” Sierra said. “What’s going on with your guy there, Jerome?”