Brown Girl Ghosted

by Mintie Das

  She grabs both my hands and stares into my eyes. Her grip is firm but not painful. I try to free myself but it’s like I am locked into place. Within seconds, my calves weaken. Then my legs buckle and I fall to my knees, banging against the hardwood floor where the rug doesn’t reach. I try to stand up but my entire body feels too heavy to lift and I topple over. I can’t do anything but lie on the ground.

  “Your fighting skills will need to improve.” The girl stands over me. She’s wearing a triple-stranded gold chain around her hips with tiny skulls hanging from it; it looks like it was stolen from Furiosa in Mad Max. She unwinds it and drops it next to my head. “Nevertheless, the Aiedeo say you earned this for your performance with the shama tonight.”

  I grunt. I grab the skull necklace and try to fling it back at the girl but I am too weak. “Screw you. I don’t want anything from the Aiedeo.”

  “Oh, my great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter, you have no idea what is waiting for you.” She laughs.

  Before I can say anything else, the girl turns around and walks to the spot where the now torn poster hangs. Then she steps into the wall and disappears.

  I sit on my floor in a dazed stupor. The Aiedeo have come back for me. The near-death shama they set for me with Dr. Jenkins just proves that those bitches are still shady as hell. I don’t know how but I’m going to have to get rid of them. For good this time.

  * * *

  Lukas ducks under the leaves of the elm tree in Violet’s backyard. He crouches down lower on the crooked, fragile branch that extends closest to her bedroom window and gives him a completely unobstructed view of the girl. Naresh has equipped every part of his house with some kind of elaborate security device. Even the most skilled criminal would have trouble getting anywhere close to Violet. But Naresh can’t shield her from forces well beyond his imagination.

  Everything about Lukas—his clothes, skin, and hair—are blue-black to match the starless sky. Everything except his eyes, which glow in the dark. Neither nature nor the neighbors, all of whom turned off their lights before going to bed, have been much help to him tonight. That’s why he’s had to turn his eyes into torches. But Lukas has been here for several hours, and his retinas are burning. He needs to leave or he’ll surely wake up blind tomorrow.

  Yet he stays.

  Lukas has sat in this exact spot nearly every night for the past month watching Violet. He checks in on her during the day too but not as much as he’d like. His cover at the funeral home is turning out to be more work than he expected. Not that he minds. He’s always been more comfortable with the dead than the living.

  But tonight has been a revelation of sorts. He didn’t know what the Aiedeo were planning when they requested he bring Dr. Jenkins’s body from the morgue. Even as he watched the shama play out in front of his eyes, Lukas wasn’t quite able to believe it. Did the Aiedeo intend it to go that far? At one point, Lukas believed that the Aiedeo were trying to kill Violet themselves. That would certainly make his job easier, though less fulfilling.

  Lukas rubs his eyes. As far as Violet is concerned, from the shama to her destiny, the Aiedeo control everything. The sooner she grasps that, the better it will be for her and everyone around her. There is no free will in their worlds.

  A light breeze rustles the leaves. Lukas still can’t believe how astonishing it was to see Violet fight back in that shama. She’s much stronger than he initially estimated. Besides, even if the shama was Violet against Dr. Jenkins, wasn’t the real test with Jyoti? She was the Aiedeo that battled Violet at the end.

  Lukas stares through the window at Violet, who is trying to crawl from the floor to the bed. Although she is moving slowly and with what looks like much pain, she isn’t dead. Yet.

  Lukas doubts the Aiedeo will return tonight. His eyes are burning so intensely that his head feels like it’s on fire.

  “Hey! What the hell are you doing up there!”

  Lukas turns his head to see a figure standing on the street and shouting in his direction. For a second, he’s stunned, but then his soldier instincts kick in and he quickly flips off his eyes. Then he leans hard against the tree until his skin, clothes, and entire body change into the exact same color as the bark so that he blends into the trunk like a chameleon.

  Lukas stays perfectly still, knowing that even the slightest movement could be detected by the stranger. This is the first time in the entire month that anyone has noticed his presence. He shouldn’t have kept his torch eyes on for so long.

  To his relief, about a minute later, Lukas hears the stranger walking away. The chameleon technique is even more physically taxing than the torch eyes. But still, he waits another full minute to make sure he’s safe before he jumps the twenty feet to the ground and lands without a sound.

  That could have been a close call but, honestly, it made his adrenaline pump. Lukas looks up at Violet’s bedroom window. She’s earned herself another day to live, so there isn’t much more to do with her.

  Five

  Day 2: Alive

  I SCRUNCH UP MY NOSE. The greasy glob of ground beef covered in goopy tomato sauce that is posing as lasagna on my plate smells like hot garbage.

  “V! I saved you a seat,” Jessica shouts from the Squad’s table at the center of the busy school cafeteria.

  Today is Friday, which means it’s game day. On game day, the cheerleaders and football players are required to eat together at the cafeteria to boost school spirit. I don’t know how being forced to eat lunch in a foul-smelling, ill-lit, windowless room that resembles the mess hall in a prison movie promotes anything but antidepressant meds, but like always, I go along with whatever is expected of me.

  My stomach growls. I am still spinning from last night’s death match with Dr. Jenkins and that bitch Aiedeo. But no matter how distraught I am, I rarely ever skip a meal. Especially breakfast, which is my favorite. I look down at the mush on my tray and long for the PB and J that I reluctantly abandoned at home.

  I deliberately avoided breakfast this morning, knowing that Dede was in the kitchen, lying in wait. I was way too shaken up to survive one of my nanny’s interrogations.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  I look up to see Meryl. I’m not sure what she’s referring to exactly, but, like Dede, she also has a sharp radar for bull.

  Meryl continues talking without waiting for me to answer. “I tried you like twenty times this morning because I lost my keys and needed you to get the spare set from my mom’s.” She takes a huge gulp from her McDonald’s chocolate chip frappé (Meadowdale doesn’t have a Starbucks). Juniors and seniors can leave campus for lunch, although they aren’t allowed to bring back food from the outside. But there always seems to be a special set of rules for people like Meryl.

  “My cell is dead. I forgot to charge it last night.” Actually, I was too preoccupied with saving my life to even think about my phone, which is usually attached to me like an extra appendage. “Sorry I couldn’t help you. But did you end up getting your keys?”

  “Yeah, I sorted it all out. I was just worried when I couldn’t reach you.” Meryl leans in closer. “Is everything okay, V?”

  I pat my hair, which is plastered with so much hairspray that it crunches like caramel popcorn when I touch it. Game day also means that we have to wear our cheerleading uniform to school—navy-blue skirt and crop top with red and white trim—plus face glitter, white sneakers, and an extra-high ponytail clipped back with a shiny bow. Since these are our new uniforms, Naomi warned us that we’d better rock them or else. The threat is unnecessary in my case, since I’m keenly aware of the extra attention that game day brings from the entire student body and I certainly felt the pressure when I was getting ready this morning.

  I don’t remember sleeping but I must have nodded off for a bit. When I woke, I tried to apply a dash of my good old denial and write the whole Dr. Jenkins episode off as a nightmare. But the skull chain the Aiedeo left me lay underneath my bed like a sick souvenir from a trip t
hat I never agreed to go on.

  Even if I am a wreck, I know I can’t show up on game day looking like it. I spent an extra half an hour fixing myself up so that I appeared as perky and fresh as I could, given the circumstances. I think I’m pulling it off but Meryl is always wise to my tricks. Most of them, anyway.

  “Seriously, V, I was at Stumpy’s till four a.m. so I know why I feel like a cat shat on me, then died in my mouth. But you were supposed to do some homework and go to bed early. Did you sleepwalk to an all-night kegger instead?”

  Meryl leans against the wall, which further accentuates her long, lean body. She doesn’t look like a cat did any of the things she claims. I’m pretty sure that the table of horny freshmen who are throwing all kinds of lusty stares in Meryl’s direction probably would agree.

  In Meadowdale, girls are supposed to be pageant-pretty, with big hair and lots of mascara. But Meryl, with her blond pixie cut and no makeup, bucks that notion like she does most of the good-girl expectations that are imposed on us. Of course, it helps that she has the sun-kissed natural gorgeousness of Blake Lively, which gives her the hot-girl pass. If she were less attractive, her rebellious behavior would land her in juvie. Instead, with her looks, that attitude just adds to her appeal.

  “I didn’t sleep much last night,” I reply without elaborating further. I still need time to process that the Aiedeo are back in my life before I tell Meryl about it. And I don’t want to talk about it here, with the entire student body around us.

  Meryl’s father is a bigtime DA and she prides herself on her cross-examination skills. I can tell that she definitely wants more answers.

  “Okay, so you couldn’t sleep and that’s why you dumped at least a pound of makeup, hairspray, and glitter on yourself. Which I guess was a smart move, since these people do get easily distracted by shiny things.” Meryl gestures toward the various long white tables packed with kids from all levels of the social pyramid. She stops at the Squad’s table. “Especially them. They see only what you want them to see. But turning yourself into a Christmas ornament isn’t going to fool me. What’s up?”

  “Samosa! Get over here. Now. We’re taking group selfies.” Naomi’s annoyingly shrill voice carries over the blaring buzz of excited teenage chatter that fills the cafeteria.

  “She still calls you Samosa? Why do you let her treat you like that?” Meryl turns in the direction of the Squad. “Suck my nuts, Naomi!”

  Naomi scowls but that’s all she does. She’d go ballistic if anyone else spoke to her like that, but even she doesn’t mess with Meryl.

  Meryl lets out a frustrated sigh. “If I pinned you to the ground and sat on you, you’d still avoid my questions and find a way of going over there to those douchebags, wouldn’t you.”

  “Duty calls.” I punch my fist in the air. “Go, Pioneers!”

  Meryl smirks. “You know that Naomi’s, like, industrial-grade doucheiest of them all, right?”

  “Totally aware.”

  “Okay, just want to make sure you haven’t drunk too much of their Kool-Aid.”

  “Mer, something did go down last night but I just can’t get into it here. Promise I’ll fill you in later.”

  “You know I’m here. For anything.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  “Well, glad you can handle Naomi because I definitely can’t right now.” Meryl rubs her forehead. “I think I’m gonna ditch the rest of the afternoon and sleep this one off somewhere.”

  “How very studious of you, Miss Miller.”

  The kid who collects the attendance sheets for the school office has a mad crush on Meryl, so he always covers for her when she ditches class.

  “That’s why it’s junior college all the way for me, Miss Choudhury.” Meryl squeezes my shoulder.

  I smile back at her. Then I take a deep breath and prepare to face the Squad.

  MHS has a strict dress code forbidding outfits that expose the midsection. However, somehow Naomi was able to blatantly disobey that policy when she ordered the new cheerleading uniforms with crop tops that ended just a few inches below our chests. Like Meryl, rules don’t apply to Naomi.

  I take another deep breath and suck in my stomach as I position my lunch tray to partially hide my belly. Then I begin the descent into damnation.

  It takes only about a minute to get from the lunch line to where everyone is sitting but it is the most excruciating minute of the school day. For those sixty seconds, it’s like you’re on display for every single kid to find all of your physical flaws. Guys don’t ever sweat the Lunch Walk, but for us girls, it’s a daily hell. Even hotties like Naomi don’t escape unscathed.

  I keep my head down so as to avoid eye contact as I weave through the maze of tables. Even if I don’t see them, I can feel all their eyes on me. The new cheerleading uniform makes me especially vulnerable. I think I hear a few low whistles interrupted by a roar of laughter.

  “Thunder thighs,” a random girl calls out in a not-so-hushed voice. I ignore her and just keep on walking.

  The moment I finally sit down, I’m locked into a group embrace as half a dozen cameras go off in my face.

  “Pioneer Poms!” Collette shouts.

  My stomach growls louder than a mama bear protecting her baby cub. I ignore Collette, stick my fork into the lasagna, and practically inhale it all in one bite. Jess is on the other side of me and I notice that both her and Collette are furiously refreshing Heffers and Hos over and over.

  Heffers and Hos is Meadowdale’s own Gossip Girl 3.0. It’s an anonymous gossip site that posts photos and videos of MHS kids in all sorts of compromising positions. Every week, readers vote for a new Head Heffer and Honorary Ho, and those girls are relentlessly tormented until their successors are chosen.

  I peek over at Jess’s phone to see what’s got her and Collette in such a frenzy. Collette gets excited about any kind of gossip, even if it’s about people that she’s never met, but Jess is usually way more blasé about such things.

  “What’s up?”

  “Shhh, I don’t want Naomi to hear,” Jess hisses.

  I look past her at Naomi, who is scolding the junior-varsity poms team two tables away. I can’t hear what she’s saying but I’m pretty sure at least two of the girls are crying.

  “The princess seems occupied by the dressing-down that she’s delivering to her unworthy subjects,” I say in an exaggerated English accent. A string of gooey melted cheese runs down my chin and I try to catch it with my tongue. “Spill.”

  “OMG, Violet, maybe keep your mouth closed when you have a mound of barf in there,” Collette admonishes. She leans in closer to me and Jess, then shields her lips in the most obvious way to let everyone know that she’s blabbing about something she shouldn’t be. “H and H supposedly has something scandalous on Naomi.”

  I heard some rumblings about Naomi gossip around third period but I’ve been too preoccupied with my own chaos to pay attention. “Like what?”

  “Duh. We don’t know yet. Could be a juicy tidbit or a dirty pic.” Collette practically squeals with delight. “That’s what we’re desperately trying to find out.”

  Jess reaches across me and pokes Collette. “Act cool, she’s coming back over here.”

  I shrug and return to my lunch. Just as I’m about to shove another huge chunk of pasta in my mouth, Naomi snatches my plate away.

  My half-empty belly fills with instant anger. “WTF?”

  “Austin Coopman is staring straight at you,” Naomi whispers.

  “So?” I seethe as I grab for my plate unsuccessfully.

  “You don’t think I’ve forgotten, do you, V?”

  I’ve been crushing on Austin ever since the fifth grade when he started going to my elementary school. It’s a well-guarded secret that only Meryl and Naomi know. Although Naomi and I haven’t discussed my infatuation with Austin for years, so it’s surprising that the girl remembers or even cares. “Naomi, this isn’t some Victorian novel where I’m afraid to let him see me eating. Giv
e me back my lunch.” I was pretty neutral about it before, but now I hope that whatever H and H has on Naomi, it’s extra-salacious.

  “He’s walking right over here and if he’s forced to witness you chowing down on this melted lard, he’ll be totally turned off.” Naomi looks down at my lasagna in disgust. “I’ve had real-life boyfriends, not just virtual ones, Violet. Trust me.”

  I am about to retaliate when suddenly I feel a firm hand press against my back. I turn around to see Austin smiling down at me. My stomach does a tiny flip at the sight of his lopsided grin. We hooked up right before school started. Sort of.

  “Gonna go all groupie on our resident rock star?” Jessica whispers loudly.

  I’m not sure if Austin hears her but I feel my neck grow hot regardless.

  “Hey, Violet, can we talk for a second?” Austin gestures to a corner far from the Squad. “In private?”

  I nod and stand up. Austin grabs my hand and starts to lead me away.

  “Cutie pie—”

  I throw major stink-eye at Collette, which thankfully stops her from finishing her sentence. As I walk hand in hand with Austin, I can feel everyone looking at me. This time, it’s a good thing.

  Unlike the teen flicks that I devour, popularity is no longer exclusive to jocks and cheerleaders. At least, it isn’t like that at Meadowdale High, and from what I see online, my school isn’t an exception. There’s still a ruthless high-school hierarchy that preys on the weak, but these days, with all the prodigies in music, sports, and anything else you can think of, teens have to do a lot more than letter in varsity to be “in.” You can’t merely be good at something; you have to be exceptional at it, like a YouTube sensation or a social media god.

  Austin stays far away from the whole popularity scene, which only adds to his mystique. Although everyone thinks of him as a rocker, he’s actually a classical guitarist. Playing Bach and Beethoven on the acoustic guitar might not seem sexy, but practically everyone at school wants to be his number one fan. He’s an exceptional kid who’s already earned national recognition as one of the best young classical guitarists in the country, and his talent combined with his Jake Gyllenhaal looks make Austin the closest thing to a rock star that MHS has.