Cecily scrunches up her face and turns to me. “Would now be a bad time to tell you that because you had her rule revoked, Georgia told us all at practice yesterday that she is requiring the whole squad to show up to The Cove at six tomorrow to help her set up for her party?”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I scream as loud and as long as my breath can stand it.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“And if you don’t go?”
“I think she’ll try to have me thrown off the squad, you know, for not being dedicated or showing team spirit or something.”
“Right.”
“Look, I’ll just go at six and leave as soon as we’re done setting up.”
“Sure. Whatever,” I say. I can’t get mad at her, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t bother me, either.
The Georgia Whack-a-Mole is here to stay. Every time I slam her face down, she’s just gonna pop back up screaming, “Georgia Lives 4Ever!”
Georgia Lives 4Evil is more like it.
“Okay, let’s get back on topic, people! Focus, please,” Oliver says. “Regarding the Miles situation, a little birdie told me you might want to wear something red to your big show tomorrow night.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, nervously, as the sun becomes completely enveloped by the ocean off in the distance.
He looks at me slyly. “You know what it means, Prez.”
Do red cheeks count?
If so, check!
Grrr.
I can’t decide what to wear.
It’s three thirty P.M. on Saturday afternoon, and I hate what I have on. I tried on four different outfits before this one, and I hated all of those, too. I keep hearing Oliver’s voice in my head telling me to wear red and I’m two seconds away from screaming, “Shut it, Oliver!” at the top of my lungs.
Except that would be pointless, because Oliver isn’t actually here. He’s in my brain. Here’s the thing: Does wearing red make me seem totally pathetic, like I’ll do anything to make a boy like me? Because, at this point, I’m not even sure that I like Miles … Or, does it mean I can be open-minded and take advice from my friends who clearly just want what’s best for me? Will it be completely and totally obvious to Miles that I’m only wearing red because Oliver told me that he likes it? Or can red just, like, be a color that people wear sometimes, and I just happen to be wearing it tonight?
“What is the problem this time?” Cecily finally speaks, after watching me stare at myself in the mirror in silence for the last ten minutes.
“I don’t like it,” I grumble.
“What’s not to like? You look awesome! Your outfit is perfect! It’s cool and kind of rock star–like without being over the top. It says, ‘I’m a hip photographer, and I hang out with hip, artsy types, and I’m totally into hip keyboard players who are in bands,’” she finishes, crossing her arms, quite pleased with herself.
“Does it have to say hip so much?!” I cry out. “That’s, like, three hips! That’s way too many.”
“I’m just trying to be down with the artsy lingo,” she says, kidding around. “I’m not into the scene like you are …”
“You need to stop talking immediately.”
“Okay, fine, that’s not what it says. It says, ‘I’m a little dressy but not too dressy, I’m artistic but still down to earth, and I like the color red.’”
“That’s it, I’m changing my jeans. No one wears red jeans, anyway!”
“Yes, they do! Just stop, please. You look great. You’re just freaking out.”
“I don’t want it to say, ‘I like the color red.’ That’s way too obvious.”
“Okay, what would you like it to say instead, Lou?” she asks, exasperated.
“I want it to say, ‘Red … is a color.’ The end.”
“You? Are cuckoo-pants right now.”
“So you’re saying you think I should change the pants?”
“Get out of here. Now.”
It’s three forty-five, and I have to be at the museum by four. I grab my bag with my five framed photos and head for the door.
“Okay, so I’ll be there as close to seven as possible,” Cecily says. “Don’t be nervous.”
“Impossible.”
“Don’t change your outfit.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t make anything explode.”
“Fat chance.”
“And, finally, break a leg!”
“Thanks.”
I arrive at the museum at four on the nose, and it’s bustling with young ghosts of all ages and artwork of all mediums. It’s not just kids from school—in fact, I don’t recognize most of the people here. Which is kind of cool, when you think about it. I mean, this exhibit is for students from all over Limbo Central, and that includes the high schools, too!
I go over to the sign-in area, and one of the organizers shows me to my little corner where I can hang my photos.
“We have a nameplate for you waiting to be printed and mounted,” the girl says, “but we need the title of your exhibit. Go over to the desk by the back wall—do you see it?” I nod. “Tell them who you are and what your exhibit is called and they’ll get it ready for you.”
“Great, thanks!”
I didn’t realize how professional this would all be, and I suddenly start to get nervous.
It takes me almost forty minutes to align my photos and hang them the way I want them, then I wait in line by the back table for ten minutes for my nameplate, and by the time I’m finished setting up, the show is basically starting. I secure the nameplate in place, and when I step back and take in the whole visual, I’m really pleased.
Each photo fits in its own perfect way. There’s the sweet shot of Mia and Trey on the paved parking lot ground, laughing. Trey has his hands on the sides of her head. Her knees are bent in and she’s clutching her stomach in laughter. Crushed Together. There’s the close-up of Georgia’s shocked expression right after Cecily first mentioned coming to my show before her ghostday party. Crushed Up. The photo of Oliver and me high-fiving after we got the Georgia Rule revoked. Crushed It. There’s the image of Cecily at lunch the other day realizing that she let Georgia brainwash her into doing something she didn’t believe in. Crushed Into. And, of course, there’s the original photo of Miles from the show, playing the keyboards and singing during the gig. Crushed and …
“What does the and stand for?” a voice from behind me asks.
I turn around and Miles and Oliver are standing there. Oliver has a knowing smirk on his face. I turn my attention toward Miles, who asked the question.
“Hey! Uhm, it means there’s more to the story.”
“Like?”
“Like, I’m not sure yet,” I say, smiling nervously.
“That’s fair,” he replies.
“Love the outfit!” Oliver says, coming in for a hug. “This color is fab on you.”
“What, this?” I stutter, anxious. “It’s just … red. Red is a color.”
Oliver looks at me like my brain has just been surgically removed. “Yeah, I know it’s a color. Are you okay? Do you need me to get you something, like a chair … or a doctor?”
“Oh, no, no. No,” I reply, sounding even creepier than before.
What. Is. My. Problem?!
“Hey, thanks for coming!” I say, trying to change the tone of the conversation.
“Well, I am part of your exhibit,” Miles says, “so I had to support my rise to stardom.”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
“Oh—there’s Sasha, Allie, and Lara from the Limbos!” Oliver calls out, running toward them. “You’re going the wrong way! She’s over here, on the other side!”
“I love your brother,” I tell Miles, when Oliver is gone. “I mean, seriously, he’s the coolest. He’s, like, not afraid of anyone or anything. That’s really rare.”
“Yeah, he’s a pretty cool dude,” Miles says. “And a seriously nosy dude. I mean, try having
any secrets with that kid in the house.”
“Ha-ha, yeah, I can imagine.”
“It’s like he’s the older brother, always telling me what’s best for me. Always thinking he knows what I want and sticking his nose in everything. I mean, he even tries to choose my girlfriends, telling girls private stuff about me, like what my favorite color is so they can color coordinate their outfits and things like that.”
My stomach drops to the floor, and I feel my face go white.
At least I hope it goes white, because if it’s turning red? I’m a goner.
“Blue,” he says, in conclusion, “in case you were wondering.”
“Blue’s a good color,” I reply, noticing in that moment that he is, in fact, wearing a blue T-shirt.
Kill me now.
“I’m a gray girl, myself,” I finally say, because I can’t stand the silence anymore.
“Really? I had you for a red girl,” he says. Then he winks at me and walks away.
I can’t tell if he’s being cute or if he’s mocking me. I want to crawl into a hole. Why did I listen to Oliver and Cecily? I should have followed my gut and changed my outfit. I have no idea what actually transpired between Miles and me, but it’s either one of two things:
He knows I wore red because Oliver told me to and was just mocking me with the whole blue comment. or
His favorite color is actually blue and he was telling me all that stuff to prove to me that Oliver doesn’t really know anything about who he does and does not like.
Either way? I’m going to re-die of total mortification any second now. Luckily, with everyone dispersed, I have a little while to myself to regain my composure. I decide to do a lap around the museum to check out the other students’ work. After about a half hour, I end up back at my corner just as Oliver is ushering the three Limbos members into my section. It’s around eight o’clock, and there’s no sign of Cecily.
Georgia Lives 4Evil.
“They totally got lost!” Oliver says, as I greet the newcomers.
While they look at my photos, I pull Oliver aside. “What is wrong with you?” I reprimand him.
“Uhm, excuse me? What is wrong with you?” he shoots back.
“Miles totally humiliated me earlier. Told me that you’re always telling girls he likes them and then forcing them to wear his favorite color!”
“He told you it was blue, didn’t he?”
“YES! Wait, how do you know that?”
“Duh, he’s just messing with you. He wanted to see your face—if you got all flustered and embarrassed and turned ten shades of white, that means you wore red for him and you like him, too.”
“But he said you always think you know what’s best for him … and that …”
“Yeah, and? I do. And he knows it.”
“But he said it like it wasn’t true.”
“You need to relax and trust me.”
“Hey, guys!” another voice from the crowd calls out. It’s Mia. “Luce, this is awesome! I love your corner. It’s very professional.”
She and Trey pull themselves into our little circle of conversation.
“What’d we miss? Lucy, you look like someone just died.”
“Someone did,” I confirm.
“Oh no, who?” she says, concerned. “Someone you know?”
“Yes!” I cry out. “ME!”
“Oh, I get it,” Mia says, and then turns to Oliver. “She’s freaking out about something.”
“What else is new!” he says, throwing up his hands.
“We’ve only known each other, like, three days!” I say to Oliver. “You can’t possibly know how often I freak out yet.”
“Prove me wrong,” he replies, and then says this: “Mia, what do you think about Lucy’s outfit? Don’t you just love the color?”
“Actually, I do!” she answers, full of enthusiasm. “It’s very rock star. And you are killing it in red.”
I pout as I look at the two of them, trying not to burst into tears.
Or make someone else burst into flames.
“Red is a color,” I whine.
Oliver puts his hand on my back. “It sure is, sweetie.”
“Hey look, there’s the photo of us,” Trey says, spotting it hanging on the wall. “Wow, we look good.”
“You’re such a dork,” Mia says, laughing.
I can’t help but smirk. Trey always knows how to lighten the mood.
By now, it’s almost eight thirty and I’m starting to get peeved, when I hear a very loud “Congratulations!”
Cecily is standing in front of my corner with almost all of Georgia’s cheerleading squad. Okay, not all of them—but a lot of them.
“I’m so, so, so sorry we’re late,” she says, giving me a big hug. “Georgia was on another level tonight. Every time we wanted to leave she kept threatening to throw us off the squad until finally I was like, ‘Do what you want, I don’t care! I refuse to be held hostage. This is insane!’ and most of the squad felt the same way. It’s one thing to be bossed around at practice, but the weekend is our time. It’s not like we were doing anything even remotely related to cheerleading! Anyway, a bunch of them decided to come here with us, and there’s no way she’s kicking all of us off the squad.”
“Wow, sounds intense,” I remark.
I look at my little area and I see Chloe, her friend Briana, Marcus, and, like, four other girls on the squad who I haven’t met yet.
“Your photos are so cool,” Chloe tells me. “You should totally be a professional photographer!”
“Thanks, Chloe. It was really nice of you to come.”
“Well, we definitely wanted to see your show, but we also wanted to show support for our Limbos president,” she replies, with a smile. “Briana and I are back on board now that that stupid rule has been dropped.”
“That’s amazing! The Limbos would love to have you.”
Marcus also brought along the rest of their Figure of Speech band members, so all in all, there are a lot of people here for me.
The only person who isn’t here? Colin.
Not that I’m surprised or anything. But it doesn’t have to be surprising to be a giant bummer, does it?
At nine o’clock, the award ceremony takes place. I don’t win the first-place prize of my own gallery show—that goes to Noah Jennings for his incredible, three-dimensional light installation. But I do get an honorable mention award.
Imagine that. Me? Honorable.
Then, as if out of thin air, Colin appears before me. “I’m sorry you didn’t win,” he says. “You would have been my pick.”
“Thanks,” I reply, pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here? How did you manage to break free?”
I’m pretty sure if Georgia knew he was here right now, she’d split a rib screaming.
“It was time to go,” he says.
“The party’s over already?” I ask, confused. “Seems early.”
“No, I mean it was time … for me, to go. Like, for good. Me and Georgia? We’re just no good together. I keep thinking she’ll learn from her mistakes, but …” He trails off.
“Yeah, people are funny that way,” I reply, raising my eyebrow and smiling, knowingly.
I wonder if he realizes I’m thinking about him and how he hasn’t learned from his mistakes any more than Georgia has learned from hers. I hope so, but I know it’s doubtful.
He smiles at me, and there’s that adorable dimple, all shiny and happy.
Stupid dimple.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, backing away. “You’ve got so many adoring fans, I don’t want to monopolize your time. Congratulations, Lucy.”
Cecily bounces over to me right after Colin takes his leave. I want to fill her in on what just happened, but there are too many people here for us to talk privately.
“Lou, this is amazing! I’m so proud of you!” she squeals happily.
“Thanks, Cece. You know what? I’m kind of proud of me, too.”
“You should be!” She puts her arm around me, and we survey the room. “Hey, look, there’s Miles!”
I look in the direction she’s facing, but I can’t spot him in the crowd. “Where? I don’t see him?”
“Right over there,” she says, pointing at some guy a ways away. “The tall guy in the red T-shirt.”
“He’s wearing a blue shirt, not a red one,” I reply, only I can’t deny that it does look distinctly like Miles from behind.
And then red-shirt guy turns around and it is Miles. He starts walking toward me.
“Incoming!” Cecily trills. She heads off to find Marcus as Miles reappears by my side.
“You kind of threw me there, for a minute,” I tell him. “What happened to blue?”
“Oliver was right,” he says, smiling. “I really do like red better.”
I see Oliver, Mia, and Cecily across the room and a huge rush of happiness runs through me.
And then I spot Colin. Still here.
What’s that saying about how the three areas of your life can never be drama-free all at the same time?
Friends? Peas in a pod. Check!
School? Studies are solid, Limbos are golden. Check!
Boys? Crushed and Confused.
Just another day in the afterlife of your average ghost, I suppose. And this ghost? Is off to celebrate her honorable mention with the most honorable friends anyone could ask for in a slightly revised outfit that says, “I’m really lucky. I crushed this show. And this afterlife is gonna be KILLER.”
Did you see where the Afterlife drama all started?
Don’t miss
Turn the page for a sneak peek!
We walk back out into the main office and to my relief, the mean girl and her sidekick are nowhere to be seen. I’m so focused on making sure she isn’t around, that I completely overlook the ghost who is.
“Lucy Chadwick, this is Colin Reed,” Ms. Keaner says, introducing Mr. Perfect Ghost Boy from earlier. “Here is your schedule, and these are your books,” she continues, handing them to Colin. “He’ll be carrying your things for you until you are strong enough to carry them yourself.”
“Hey, Lucy,” Colin says, smiling.
Crushed Page 10
