Ever Lost (Secret Affinity Book 2)

by Melissa MacVicar

  “No. Not yet. Just that we have to fundraise if we want to go.” I debate telling her about the ghost. But it didn’t work with Dad, so it probably won’t get me anywhere with her, either.

  “Well, Mike and I will help. Just let us know what we can do. How’s your father?”

  “Fine.”

  “Jade, I know you aren’t totally on board with this move, but going to Layton is a great opportunity. And you get to be with your father, which is something we’ve been talking about for a while.”

  “And of course it has nothing to do with me and Charlie.”

  Mom sighs. “You know how I feel about you and Charlie, but as I’ve explained, he’s not the main reason. I’m not forbidding you from talking to him or insisting you break up, am I?”

  “No, but only because you know you can’t. But that’s what you want. You can deny it all you want, but I know it’s true.”

  “I’m sorry, Jade. I’m sorry you don’t see this as the great opportunity that it is.”

  There’s an awkward pause on the line before I speak again. “I have homework to do. I should go.”

  “Okay. I just wanted you to know that I love you and I miss you. And I have been thinking about you.”

  I close my eyes as they start to burn with tears. “I love you, too.” And I do. Even when I think I hate her, I still love her.

  “I’ll talk to you soon. Call me any time.”

  “’Kay. Bye.”

  Every town has a psychic-weirdo-ghost person. It only takes a few clicks of the mouse for me to find one in Manchester-by-the-Sea. Why do they call it that anyway? It sounds so pretentious. But maybe that’s the point. Nantucket is more by the sea than this place, and Nantucketers don’t have to go spouting off about their oceanic proximity in their name. Nantucket is literally in the sea, which is even better than by the sea.

  Connie Mollica is the ghost lady here, and her website has the typical crap you’d find on a paranormal blog, except that Connie claims to be a medium, too. She isn’t just a ghost tour guide like Martin Fitzgerald, the evil blackmailer, back in Nantucket. Connie describes herself as coming from a long line of supernatural seers. I know about being a seer on a personal level, and if it’s true, Connie has abilities like mine and could help me with the Layton ghost.

  I learned all about my ghosting last summer. Apparently, it’s genetic. I get it from my Grandma Irving, my dad’s mom, only she didn’t think I had inherited the skill. My dad doesn’t have it, so Gram didn’t expect it to come through to me. Boy, was she wrong. Very, very wrong. I just wish I had told her about it sooner and saved myself from nearly getting shipped off to the loony bin. As it was, I was tied to a bed at the hospital for one very awful night.

  One thing I do like better about Manchester is that the ghost person is a woman. Connie Mollica looks nice and normal. In her picture, she has long blond hair and a small smile on her lips. She’s wearing a white wispy dress, like Stevie Nicks on the cover of that Fleetwood Mac album. Connie could definitely be a witch. A witch is what most people would call me if they knew what I could do. I decide to email her.

  Dear Connie,

  I am writing to ask for your help with a ghost at my school. Like you, I’m a seer, and I have recently moved to Manchester. Can we meet? Let me know.

  Jade

  I read it over and realize it sounds stupid. But it doesn’t really matter. She’ll get the point. She’ll probably be excited to meet me, just as Martin was. Hell, he was so excited that he hacked my email then showed up on my doorstep, almost outing me to my family. In the end, everyone found out anyway, but Martin was still irritating.

  I’ve promised myself that I will not end up a weirdo like Martin or any of the other ghost-chasing weirdoes. I will remain a normal teenager and become a normal adult. That is my solemn oath to myself.

  I sit in one of the rockers on my porch, waiting for Kira to come ripping up the driveway in her Audi. She’s late, but according to her, there’s a grace period at Layton, and no one is ever punished for being tardy. However, this alleged policy is the complete opposite of what would happen in Nantucket—or in most other schools in the world, I assume—so I can’t help but worry. It’s only the second day of school, and I don’t want to get a bad attendance reputation.

  Dad went into work early to catch up on some paperwork, so I don’t even have a ride if she doesn’t show. He may need to start taking me to school if Kira is going to be late all the time. Too bad there’s no public transportation around here.

  Finally, Kira arrives, her tires throwing up gravel as the car lurches to a halt. I jog down the steps, my messenger bag over my shoulder, and climb into the passenger seat.

  “Hey. Sorry. I overslept,” Kira says, jamming the gearshift into reverse.

  She doesn’t look as though she overslept. In fact, she appears perfectly groomed. I don’t think Kira has ever not been gorgeous with her lush blond hair, heart-shaped face, and lightly tanned skin.

  “It’s fine.” I buckle my seat belt because I know from the day before what driving with Kira is like.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asks.

  Yesterday, during the ride home, I wasn’t able to hide how miserable I felt about leaving Nantucket. Kira assured me my life here would improve and told me I should make the best of it. I played along, although I doubted very much that “making the best of it” would do any good.

  “Yeah. Better.” I smile at her. “You sure we won’t get in trouble for being late?”

  “No. It’s fine as long as it’s not every day or the same class. That’s why it’s good the classes rotate. By the way, what did you do to Mateo? He texted me last night, trying to get your number.”

  “Nothing. He just latched on to me at the assembly.”

  “Well, he’s very persistent, but as soon as he gets what he wants, he’ll dump you. Just so you know.”

  “I have a boyfriend, remember? I’m not looking for anything.”

  “Yeah, I remember. But still…”

  I decide to change the subject. “So I got the feeling you didn’t believe the stories about Fraser and that student last year. What was her name?”

  “Blakely Bettencourt. That name makes her sound like a movie star, doesn’t it? And no, nobody knows what really happened. Mr. Avery was somehow involved, too.”

  “Who’s Mr. Avery?”

  I pull up the browser on my phone and type the girl’s name into the search bar. Apparently, there’s only one Blakely Bettencourt in the whole world. I click the link and go to a social media site. Based on her public cover photo, I can see what all the fuss is about. She’s gorgeous—large aqua eyes, full lips, and stick-straight Swedish-blond hair, so white it’s the color of the sand on the beach at Nobadeer. Unfortunately, her profile is locked up tight with privacy settings, so I can only see this one portrait of her.

  “Mr. Avery is the old math teacher. You haven’t heard about him?”

  “No. Did he retire?” I close the browser window, not wanting Kira to see what I was doing.

  “No. He killed himself. Some people say it was because he was in love with Blakely, too.”

  Kira smashes her foot down on the accelerator to get us through a yellow light. I press back against the passenger seat until we’re safely through the intersection.

  “Last year was the craziest year ever at Layton. When Mr. Avery died, it felt like we were in a movie. There were news trucks with huge satellite dishes on them and all these reporters trying to interview us.”

  “Why did the news get involved?”

  “Because at first, he was just missing. No one knew he was dead. And then when they found him drowned in the pond, they thought it might be a murder.”

  “The pond?” The little hairs on the back of my neck rise. I shake off a chil
l even though it’s probably sixty-five degrees already today. Please, don’t let it be…

  “Yeah. Isn’t that so creepy?”

  “Yeah. Definitely.”

  Normally, the drive to Layton would take fifteen minutes, but with Kira driving, we arrive in ten. She steers the Audi into the student lot, and we come to a jarring halt in a parking spot that seems to have been saved just for her. I check my phone and see that our first class is starting right now. We jog to the side door that leads into the basement of the auditorium, which contains the art rooms.

  “What class do you have first?” Kira asks.

  “Precalc.”

  “Okay. See you at lunch then. I have pottery. Bye.”

  Kira ducks into a room, leaving me to cross the long hallway alone. I jog up the stairs to the main hall. I’m winded when I get to the top, but I still take the curving, open staircase to the second floor two steps at a time. I don’t want to have to rely on Kira to get to school. I know it’s convenient for Dad, but being late all the time is not going to work for me.

  I’m just a few doors away from Mrs. Gibson’s room when I see Drippy. He paces a wet line in front of the door to Mr. Fraser’s room. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat, as the ghost trains his bulging eyes on me.

  Chapter 4

  “Tell them,” Drippy moans. “You have to tell them.” Long, slimy strings of liquid hang from his face.

  I need a plan, and I need one fast. But before I can formulate anything, he disappears then rematerializes right in front of me, his pale face inches from mine.

  “You have to tell them,” he says again.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I start to feel dizzy. The spinning will get worse if I don’t fight it off. Plus, I should take this chance to try to figure out if he’s the dead math teacher.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Avery,” I whisper.

  Ghosts tend to be very confused about a lot of things, but they usually know who they are. Back in Nantucket, Lydia thought I was her daughter, Eliza, but she always knew who she was.

  “Yes… you see… you see that I didn’t want this. You have to make them understand.”

  I bob my head. “Okay.” If I can figure out what he wants, I’ll do it, and then I’ll move him on, for his own sake. There’s no peace for a ghost.

  A rush of hot air makes my hair blow back, while at the same time, a block of ice seems to settle on my chest. I know this feeling. I experienced it with Lydia. Since my dealings with her, possession has become my greatest fear. And based on this sensation, I am sure that Mr. Avery is thinking about possessing me. Empathizing too much with them is the problem, but Gram told me I can’t let it happen again. I have to be strong with them.

  “No,” I say firmly. I use every ounce of energy I have to take a step back from him, just one step, and thankfully, it works. The seal or hold or whatever it is breaks. He evaporates before my eyes. Then, exhaustion hits me. Collapsing against the wall, I pant and sweat from the ordeal. Plus, I’m even later for precalc. I need to pull myself together and get to class.

  “You okay?” someone asks from behind me.

  I whip my head around and see Mateo. His face is scrunched up in confusion. Oh no!

  “Fine.” I run my hand over my hair and get to my feet, using the wall for balance. “I’m late.”

  He squints at me. “Were you talking to somebody?”

  “Talking?” I blink a few times as I try to regain my composure.

  “Yeah, I thought I heard you say no.”

  “Are you stalking me?” Turning the tables and making the other person feel weird is my best strategy in these situations. I know it’s kind of mean, but it’s all I’ve got right now.

  “Me?” He points his thumb at his chest.

  “Yeah. Stop following me around, and stop trying to get my number.”

  I stumble down the hallway before he can answer. I don’t like being so manipulative, but I have to do what I can to stay under the radar and out of trouble, the latter being my one and only goal for this school year.

  “Ball!”

  “Cover, Maddy!”

  “Pass! Pass! Pass!”

  My teammates are screaming all around me while I stand here in shorts and cleats, trying to decipher what they mean. We’re scrimmaging, and the coach has stuck me at the left defender spot, which I’m sure is because it’s the place I’m least likely to do any damage.

  “Attack, Jade! Attack!”

  That sounds like something a pit bull owner would say to his dog, but I assume they mean I’m supposed to go after the girl who’s careening toward me with the intention of kicking the ball into the goal behind me. So I obey like a good little pit bull and charge toward her.

  Instead of stopping or slowing, this gazelle of a girl with the longest black braid I’ve ever seen takes two quick steps to the side and manages to get around me. I turn to give chase, suddenly unwilling to relent. As we lope toward the goal, I notice the boys’ soccer team jogging past our field. They’re doing the same drill we did earlier where we jogged in a single-file line with the last person having to sprint up to the front and take over as the leader. Mateo is near the front, staring directly at me. He looks good, better than he should when I have Charlie waiting for me back in Nantucket. And just as I tear my eyes away and look back at the goal, something hard and heavy hits me in the side of my head.

  “… think she’s waking up.”

  “Is her nose bleeding?”

  A searing pain radiates through my head, and a surge of adrenaline courses through me. I snap open my eyes to see the coach, a middle-aged hippie dude, kneeling beside me and holding my wrist, apparently taking my pulse to be sure I’m still alive. Next to him are the goalie, Black Braid, and Mateo.

  “It’s okay, Jade. You’re okay,” Coach says soothingly.

  Nice guy. I raise my hand to my temple. “What happened?” My eyes meet Mateo’s. Wow! He really is gorgeous. This fleeting thought only lasts a few seconds before a woozy sensation takes over, and I can no longer focus. I close my eyes and moan.

  The goalie says, “I’m so sorry, Jade. I was blocking the shot, and you were right there.”

  The coach pats my arm and stands. “I’ll call the golf cart and have the office call her parents. They’ll need to take her to the ER.”

  I roll onto my side and try to push up on my elbow, thinking that if I can just stand up, I’ll feel better.

  “You should stay down,” Mateo says, dropping to his knees beside me. “You probably have a concussion, and you might—”

  The wave of nausea is like a freight train as my lunch returns to my mouth. I retch as the girls jump away, squealing. Someone places a hand on my back, and a small part of me knows I should feel embarrassed and humiliated. My second day at Layton and I’m already a spectacle. I’m sure I’ll be officially known from this day forward as the Soccer Puker. Great.

  When I’m done, Mateo helps me roll away from the puddle of vomit. I lay on my back again, panting and sweaty. The trainer pulls up in a four-seater golf cart.

  “Do you think you can sit in there?” Coach asks me.

  “Maybe.” My head throbs, and I’m groggy. I just want to curl up on the field and go to sleep.

  “I’ll ride with her, Coach,” Mateo says.

  The two of them get me into the backseat. Mateo goes around and slides in beside me. I lean against him and keep my eyes closed for the ride back to the gym. I try not to think about how good it feels to have his muscular arm tight around my waist. And his smell… Lime? Cherry? Mateo may be a fruit slushie instead of a boy.

  When we get to the gym, the trainer and Mateo half carry me to the training room. They lift me onto one of the tables, and I’m relieved to be able to lie down again.

  “I’m Mr. Wallace.
Try to stay awake, okay?” the trainer says.

  I mumble, “Okay.”

  “Your father is on the way.”

  “Maybe you should call an ambulance,” Mateo says.

  “Her dad said he’d take her to the hospital to get checked out… You should get back to practice.”

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and open my eyes.

  Mateo looks worried. “Call me tonight and let me know how you are. Okay?”

  I try to nod, but I’m not sure whether or not my head moves.

  Despite what Mr. Wallace said, sleep slips over me like a warm blanket.

  Chapter 5

  I hear Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” That’s Charlie’s ringtone. I want to talk to him, but I’m still groggy.

  “Yes, she’s right here,” Dad says. “I’ll see if she can talk. Jade?”

  I open my eyes. I’m on the couch in the carriage house, blinking up at my father. He smiles and hands me the phone. “It’s Charlie.”

  I put the phone to my ear. “Hi,” I say, trying to make my voice strong.

  “Oh my God, Jade. Are you all right? Your mom said you had a concussion, but you were sleeping, and I know you’re not supposed to sleep when you’re concussed.”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. And that whole not-sleeping thing is a myth. Dad just has to wake me up every once in a while to check on me.”

  Moving my head makes the dull ache worse. The pain starts in my forehead and wraps around my ears, vibrating down my neck. I haven’t felt this bad since Lydia possessed me back in Nantucket.

  “I can’t believe you got hurt on your second day.”