We Are the Ghosts

by Vicky Skinner

  He glances back again, obviously nervous, but this time, Gwen doesn’t notice. “I mean, it might be. I don’t know if she ever got over it, you know, what he did to her,” Wes says. He bites his lip, like he’s holding something back. “She’s hurting, too, and I thought that was a reason not to tell her, but maybe it’s the one reason we should.”

  I try to imagine the situation from her point of view. I try to imagine being with someone, anyone, for over a year, just to have them vanish one day. I wonder if she’s hiding something, too, pressed down deep, just like me. I wonder if something slides around under the surface for her, a constant threat. I swallow down the need to ask her.

  Gwen and Luke met in Spanish class, when he was a junior and she was a sophomore. She used to tell me it was one of those love-at-first-sight, fairy-tale moments. Luke would say he didn’t believe in things like that, but Gwen didn’t care. She would tell the story like she was reading it straight out of a book. Back then, Gwen painted my nails, baked cupcakes, talked Luke into a rom-com when he wanted to watch Fight Club for the eight-hundredth time.

  I watch Gwen now, see the way her eyes rove around the square, watching people walk by. Is she going to be upset when she finds out that we’ve been following Luke? That we’re going to Michigan to find out more about where he was before he died? She smiles big at Cade when he gently pushes the door open behind her. She moves out of the way. I don’t want her to be angry. I don’t want her to stop being happy. I definitely don’t want her to hate me.

  “We’ll tell her later,” I say. I don’t want to do it now. I don’t want to take away whatever she’s found on this trip that’s made the sadness I saw in her eyes the day of the funeral disappear. If she’s the only one who can feel something like joy then she deserves to feel it.

  Wes hesitates, his eyes going to Gwen and then coming back to me. Gwen and Cade are talking softly, and for a split second, I admire the slope of Cade’s shoulders in his fresh T-shirt, one that’s just tight enough for me to see the muscles along his back as he talks to Gwen. His hair is slicked back and damp. I don’t even care that he probably smells like river water.

  “This was your idea,” I remind Wes.

  He nods, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. You’re right. We should wait.”

  “Come on, guys!” Gwen calls to us, and even though there’s a smile on her face, there’s still something about her, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s just as wounded as the rest of us.

  * * *

  The shot goes off, and I flinch. I don’t know what it is about that sound, but it always puts me on edge.

  My mother sighs as soon as Luke takes off from the starting line. “He always starts with too much energy. It tires him out before he’s made it to the last hurdle.”

  This is what she says at every meet, and then after, when she’s with Luke. He always pretends not to hear her, and then starts the exact same way at the next meet. His coach doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.

  I just roll my eyes and leave my parents to discuss Luke’s technique among themselves. I walk down the metal bleachers and stand against the fence that separates the bleachers from the track. The metal is cold, and I pull the hood of my jacket up over my head and follow Luke with my eyes around the far side of the track.

  “Your mom talking about Luke’s energy levels again?” Wes asks, coming to stand beside me.

  I groan. “Of course.” I shiver, and Wes steps closer to me. He’s like a walking space heater, and I resist the urge to burrow into him. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression. Someone steps up on my other side, blocking the cold wind, and I turn to see a frilly, colorful unicorn hat in my face.

  “Nice hat,” Wes says, sarcastic, and Gwen grins at both of us, plucking at one of the unicorn’s ears.

  “What, you don’t think I’m cute?”

  Wes sputters. “Of course not. I mean, I don’t mean you’re not—it’s just that I don’t—I don’t know if cute is—” He makes a weird gesture around his head and then drops his hands. “I’m going for candy. If Luke asks, I saw the whole thing.”

  And then he’s gone.

  “Weird,” Gwen says and then tugs me closer, looping her arm through mine. “Cold,” she says. She sets her head on my shoulder. “You coming to the party?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m kind of tired.”

  Luke crosses the finish line second, and the stands erupt in cheers. Golden boy strikes again. He does an intricate handshake with one of the guys on the team, and then spotting us, he rushes over. He boosts himself up against the fence, his shoulders and head poking above the metal bar, his hands gripping the rail tight, and next thing I know, he and Gwen are making out mere inches from me.

  “Well, that’s pleasant,” I say, looking away.

  “Oh, hey, Ellie,” Luke says, winking at me.

  “Oh, hey, Ellie,” I mimic, and he grins. I feel a tiny burst of pride. I like being able to make Luke laugh. It’s like the highest of compliments, especially because I don’t consider myself to be that funny.

  “You’re both coming to the party, right?” He looks pointedly at us both, and Gwen nods her head enthusiastically.

  “I don’t know if I feel up to it,” I say, pulling my coat tight around me. I don’t know how Luke can wear that uniform, shorts and a tank, in this weather. I guess he doesn’t have much of a choice. A sheen of sweat covers his arms and shoulders, and goose bumps travel up over his arms.

  He looks at me, his eyebrows tilted in, and the corners of his mouth pulled down. “What are you talking about? You always come to the parties. Who’s going to duet Nova songs with me during karaoke?”

  I gesture at Gwen. “Maybe your girlfriend?”

  Luke looks at Gwen and then drops down to the track before pulling himself up again, this time directly in front of me. His arms tremble with the difficulty of holding himself up, his only anchor the chain-link fence that separates us.

  “Ellie, I need my sister with me. You’re my best friend. Everyone expects you to be there.” He gives me a pleading look, his lower lip stuck out pitifully.

  I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but I get that warm feeling deep down that I always do when Luke says stuff like this to me. I’m fairly used to being invisible in this town, but if Luke needs me, that’s all that matters. “Fine. I’ll go. But I don’t want to stay late.”

  Luke leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “Knew I could count on you. Milkshakes for everyone!” Luke smiles big up at the stands behind me, and several people cheer.

  * * *

  New Orleans is the complete opposite of Eaton in every way. The streets in New Orleans are narrow and crowded. We pass bars and shops and tourist traps aplenty, and then, like she’s twelve, Gwen latches on to my arm and says, “Look! A fortune-teller! Let’s go in there!”

  We’re stopped outside a very small door in a row of businesses, and I look at the sign that reads FORTUNES, red lettering against a yellow sign.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Gwen rolls her eyes. “Ellie, come on. It’s New Orleans! You have to go to a fortune-teller!”

  I look over at Wes, who’s looking down at his shoes with a smile on his face. I look back at the door. I would almost believe there’s nobody inside. The doorway is completely dark, with a bead curtain slung across the entrance. I look at Gwen again, her eyes shining. “I’m only going in there if you promise that you don’t actually believe in fortune-tellers.”

  Gwen grins at me, and then she’s gone, the bead curtain swaying gently behind her. Wes goes in after her, and then Cade and I are walking through the doorway, shoulder to shoulder, and I’m completely weirded out.

  Inside, there’s a little desk, like maybe there’s supposed to be someone sitting behind it, telling us what to do, and the place is so dark, lit only by strong-scented candles, that I almost run right into Wes and Gwen, who have stopped by a display of strangely attired animal stat
ues, separated by bottles of oil and incense holders.

  “Hello?” Cade calls, and I hear footsteps coming from the other side of another beaded curtain before a woman parts it and steps into the room with us.

  “Hello!” she says, her smile wide. I have to admit, she doesn’t look like I imagined she would. I guess I expected robes and jewels and rings, the kind of thing you see in the movies. Instead, our fortune-teller looks a little like a soccer mom. She has chin-length blond hair, pale skin, and high-waisted jeans. “Is anyone looking for answers?” she asks, and we all immediately look at Gwen, who clasps her hands in front of her.

  “I don’t know about answers,” she says, smiling shyly. “But I’ve always wanted to sit for a reading.”

  The woman smiles brightly at Gwen. I’m sure Gwen is pretty much her ideal customer, so I’m not surprised when she comes forward and puts an arm around her. “Oh, I’d love to do a reading for you, darling. What’s your name?” And then the woman is leading Gwen back into the room that she just came from, behind the beaded curtain, but just before they disappear on the other side, the fortune-teller shoots us all a look over her shoulder.

  “Absolutely no eavesdropping,” she says sternly, “or your readings won’t be so favorable.”

  The beads sway behind them, and Wes looks over at me. “I’m a little terrified,” he says, backing away from the curtain, apparently so he won’t accidentally hear something he’s not supposed to and get a curse put on his head or something. There’s a sitting area on the other side of the small room we’re in, past the little front desk that apparently nobody actually mans.

  I sit in a chair, covered in a moon-and-star-patterned fabric and pull my feet up with me. There are four chairs surrounding a small table, and there’s an honest-to-God crystal ball in the center. The boys each take a seat, and I hold in an agonized groan.

  “This is so stupid,” I say, putting my chin on my knee. I don’t know why I’m so anxious. It’s definitely not just the fortune-teller. I’m ready to move on, ready to get out of here, ready to be done sightseeing so that we can get to Michigan already. But it doesn’t matter that I’m in a hurry because we’re here for the night and no matter what I do, we still have two days before we reach Michigan. My leg jiggles up and down, and Cade sends me a strange look.

  Wes levels me with a harsh expression. “Give her a break. She wants to have fun. Why don’t you just lighten up?”

  “Lighten up,” I say, more to myself than to him and tip my head back so that I’m looking up at the black ceiling. There are little stars painted on it, too. The only person here who knows the truth is Wes, so he should be the last person telling me to lighten up.

  “Do you believe in telling the future and all that?” Cade asks, and I can tell by the cadence of his voice that he’s asking Wes, not me. I think I’ve made it pretty clear how I feel about all this garbage.

  Wes shrugs. “I don’t know what I believe. I guess I believe in, like, making your own destiny, but I guess I also believe in a higher power, so mostly, I just do whatever the hell I want and hope that I’ve been a good enough person to merit the favor of whatever being is calling the shots.”

  Cade smiles, big and sincere. And then he leans forward and pulls something off a shelf, and I realize it’s a services menu in a Plexiglas display case. Cade examines it, like we’ve just sat down at a restaurant and he’s planning on ordering an appetizer.

  “Tarot, palm reading, crystal ball. Who knew there were so many options to choose from?”

  Wes snorts.

  The beads twinkle again, and Gwen comes out of the back room.

  “That was quick,” I hear Cade say under his breath, and then we all shut up when we realize—even in the dark room it’s obvious—that Gwen has been crying. Her features are swollen, her eyes bloodshot. Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.

  Gwen drops down into the empty seat beside Cade, but I’m already halfway out of my chair, ready to be out of this place.

  But the lady, whose name I still don’t know, mistakes my immediate desire to leave with an eagerness to get my palm read or whatever, and next thing I know, she has a hand on my back, and she’s steering me toward the beaded curtain.

  “Oh,” I say, looking over my shoulder at the three of them, all of whom are watching me with wide eyes. “No, I don’t want to have my future told. I just wanted to—”

  “I think you could really benefit from a card reading,” the lady says, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I think she leads me toward the doorway a little more forcefully. I try to turn to the others for help again, but the beaded curtain is between us, and I decide that it’s probably my best bet just to do this and get it over with. It’s probably more painful if you fight.

  “Have you had a reading before?” the woman asks me as I sit across the table from her. It’s covered in a red crushed velvet tablecloth, and I’m relieved to see that there’s no crystal ball to be found.

  “No,” I tell her, watching as she shuffles a deck of tarot cards. For a very short period of time when I was in middle school, I was obsessed with astrology, obsessed with reading my horoscope every day and then bursting into Luke’s room so that I could read his as well, usually as loudly and quickly as I could as he ushered me back out into the hallway. He didn’t believe in horoscopes or anything else.

  When she’s finished, she sets the deck of cards between us. “Cut the deck for me, sweetheart,” she says.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes and reach out to pick up half the deck, which I set beside the half I left behind. She does something with the cards, and then she looks me right in the eye.

  “Is there something you want to know? Something particular that you want to see?”

  I shrug. “I guess not.”

  She makes a humming noise in the back of her throat. “Okay. How about some guidance? Your friend told me the four of you are on a journey. That’s a good place to start. How about some words of wisdom as you continue on your way?”

  I open my mouth to tell her that this isn’t a journey, but before I have a chance to say anything, she flips over the first card, and I’m looking right at a skull, wearing an elaborate gold crown. In bold letters beneath it: DEATH.

  I push my chair back away from the table. “Is this a joke?”

  She looks at me, her eyes wide. She doesn’t seem worried or scared, just observant, like she’s waiting to see what I’m going to do. “I don’t joke during readings, hon. Is there something here that scares you?”

  I snort. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What else did Gwen tell you?”

  She shakes her head. “She didn’t tell me about the boy who died. Not directly at least. But this…” She presses the tip of her finger into the card. “This isn’t about him. This is about you, dear. Death reversed, a fear of change, an inability to move on. That’s in your heart, no one else’s.”

  My hands are trembling, out of anger or fear or something else entirely, I’m not even sure. “It’s not true,” I say, my chair still pushed away from the table, my legs ready to lift me and take me away from here.

  “Honey,” she says, one of her hands resting on top of the deck, ready to flip over another card. “I could have told you all that without even turning a card over. It’s written all over your face.”

  I should walk out. I should stand up right now and leave, but I feel all the blood drain from my face. It’s not real, this sort of thing. I know that.

  She flips another card. A hand holds out a golden cup, and just like last time, it’s upside down, with the words under the image facing her instead of me.

  “Hmm,” she says, placing her hand over the card. “The Ace of Cups tells me that you have some repressed emotions.”

  I think about the monster that crawls around in my chest. I’m not repressing the monster. The monster is repressing itself. If anything, I have no emotions to repress. There’s nothing there inside me. Just emptiness, like knocking on a drum, the sound of it echoing.
>
  She doesn’t give me a chance to argue this time. She just keeps going. “Ace of Swords, reversed,” she says, turning over a card, a hand holding a sword, light sparkling from its tip. “Confusion. And a lot of it. I’ll take a stab in the dark and say that your confusion is the reason you’re here.”

  I ball my hands into fists. I’m not confused. I know exactly what I want. I want to find out who sent me that map and how they knew Luke, how they know me. “The reason I’m here is Gwen having some sort of lifelong dream to have her future foretold.”

  But she’s already shaking her head. “I mean, the reason you’re here in New Orleans, the reason you’re running from home. You’re confused about what you want, which isn’t surprising. How old are you, sweetie?”

  I hesitate. “Seventeen.”

  She hums quietly, her hands preparing the next card. “I’ve never met a seventeen-year-old who wasn’t at least a little confused about what they want in life.”

  She flips another card, and I think it’s the last one, based on the way she sets it beside the others, three cards perfectly centered under the first one that she drew. “Five of Wands. Conflict. Animosity.”

  “I don’t understand,” I tell her before she can go on about how full of animosity I am. “I thought this was supposed to give me wisdom. I thought it was supposed to give me guidance or something.”

  She smiles at me, and I hate the way she does it, like I’m a child, like I’ve just told her the world isn’t fair, and she’s about to say, you’re right, it isn’t. “This is guidance. You have to let go of what you’re holding onto, stop concealing your emotions, and put away the conflict that’s keeping you from moving forward.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I’m afraid if I argue with her, she’ll just accuse me of being full of animosity again. So I grit my teeth, even as she leans forward across the table, pressing her hand flat to the tablecloth. “You’re like a thunderstorm,” she says and then takes her hand away and presses it to her chest. “Inside here, you’ve got so much conflict: love and hate and sorrow and anger, and you can’t hold it in forever.”