Wraith

by Lawson, Angel

  “Oh, I see…”

  “You do?”

  “I think it’s just one word, written in different script, torn out of pieces of paper,” she replied, her finger hovering respectfully over the canvas.

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. “What do you think it says?”

  “It’s an odd word,” she said, worry lines appearing at the edges of her eyes. “I have no idea why she would use it.”

  Fear tightened in my chest. What had my aunt seen? “What is it?”

  Again, she pointed to the scattered letters. “It says ‘wraith.’”

  Wraith. I’d never heard of this word. I shook my head in confusion. “I don’t…what does that mean?”

  Camille took off her glasses, slipping them back in her pocket, and frowned a little. “I wouldn’t know either, but I’m a big reader. You don’t own a bookstore without a drastic love of books, but unless I’m mistaken it means, ‘ghost’. I have quite a large section on the occult at the store.” She glanced curiously at me and confessed, “A guilty pleasure.”

  My heart lunged into my chest. “Ghost?”

  “Yes, or a variation of. Ghost, guardian…spiritual protector of sorts. Strange, don’t you think? Your aunt must be very creative.”

  Awesome Jeannie—thanks for the heads up.”Yes, she is. She’s…eccentric. Always creating things that make little sense to anyone else.” My eyes swept the room and I saw several abandoned plates and cups on nearby surfaces. “Excuse me while I clean up a bit; my mother wanted me to keep this room tidy. It was nice meeting you.”

  I grabbed the trash and dumped it in the can in the kitchen. Placing my hands on the counter, my eye caught the clock on the microwave and I saw it was 11:30 p.m. The last thing I wanted to experience was a room full of old people locking lips and ringing in the New Year, or even worse, talking to Camille about the painting. Before my mother could put me to work again, I escaped to the front hallway and grabbed my coat, gloves and hat before escaping to the front porch. Outside, I took a huge gulp of air, trying to swallow back the irritation and awkwardness of that moment with Camille. Wraith? I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised Jeannie knew more about my secret than I realized.

  Tiny, white Christmas lights wound around the porch columns and a big, multi-pointed star hung at the top of the steps. The cooler air was a relief and I sat down on the wooden porch swing and tugged on my hat and gloves. I wrapped the long tails of my scarf around my neck and fought off a shiver from the cold. The swing creaked with the weight of my body, but I didn’t care; everyone else was inside and I just needed a moment to escape. I leaned back into the bench and tried to let the rocking motion soothe me.

  I could hear the music drifting from inside and the occasional loud laughter of my father as he told stories to his friends. It was on nights like tonight that I missed the ease of my old friends and I wondered if I should have made more of an effort to reconnect with them. I missed Grace; it wasn’t that I didn’t like them anymore, but my life now was a million miles away from what it used to be.

  Over the music, I heard the distinct sound of a heavy shuffle coming up the steps. A loud thud and a mumbled curse announced the late party-goer and I pushed my feet into the porch floor to still the swing, hoping maybe I would go unnoticed.

  The figure ascended the top step and lumbered into the dimly lit porch and I realized with absolute surprise it was Connor. Butterflies exploded in my stomach. The swing jerked with my shock, which was enough to betray my whereabouts. He stood, tall and imposing, in a heavy wool coat that came below his waist and a dark cap over his ever-growing hair. Connor’s eyes met mine and a glimmer of a smile ghosted over his lips.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi?”

  He loped in my direction, his hips loose and his feet dragging. Without asking, he landed on the swing, causing the springs to bounce and groan in protest.

  I stared at him as he adjusted his black cap over his ears and asked, “Are you drunk?”

  He leaned back on the swing and shrugged. “Yeah. I think so.”

  I frowned. “What happened to not drinking alcohol while taking medication?”

  Again he shrugged. “I’m eighteen. I’m allowed to make shitty decisions every once in a while.”

  He rocked his knees, making the swing sway under his weight and his eyes were unfocused and halfway closed. I wanted to be annoyed that he showed up drunk and uninvited but I wasn’t. I found him comforting. Weird, but comforting. I knew it was wrong, because he made my chest hurt and my stomach roll, and we weren’t like that. But instead of arguing for once, I settled in next to him.

  The music changed inside, to something slower. Between it and the gliding of the swing, I relaxed. Connor shifted and cleared his throat, his voice slicing through the night. “I was at that party—over on Sycamore. I wasn’t going to drink, you know, I just went to have a good time. Just to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Just be normal.” He paused, again fidgeting with the edge of his cap, tucking loose hairs under the fabric. “It was loud and Allison was there, and…and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Bitterness crept up my throat at the thought of Connor with Allison. I had no claim on him. None whatsoever, but I hurt just the same. “So, what? You just came here?”

  “Yeah, I came here.”

  “Am I that lame that you knew I’d be alone on New Year’s Eve?” I tried to keep the stink of pathetic-ness out of my voice. I failed.

  “Nah. I just hoped you’d be here.”

  “Why?” It was my turn to fidget as I pinched the gloved tips of my fingers.

  Connor exhaled, causing fog to puff from his lips. “It’s minutes before the New Year, Jane. I didn’t want to spend it there. Not with them.”

  If the implication behind his words wasn’t heavy enough, the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

  “Oh.” I turned my head toward the road. Loud pops of fireworks echoed against the houses, followed by whoops from kids down the street.

  I felt a tug on the end of my scarf. “Is that okay?”

  Deliberately swallowing to buy time, I nodded. “Yes.”

  The music died down completely inside the house and the party-goers grew louder and it became clear we neared midnight. I stiffened next to Connor, caught in one of those awkward moments for a boy and girl next to one another, like standing under mistletoe or catching the bouquet at a wedding.

  The voices inside became clearer as they counted down the seconds to the New Year, and I wrapped my fingers around the wooden seat of the bench because even though I wanted a kiss from Connor, I didn’t want it like this—out of obligation and under less-than-sober conditions.

  There were loud cheers and laughter and the thunder of low-grade fireworks as the moment came. We heard the unmistakable pop of champagne corks as they loosened. Connor giggled drunkenly next to me and said, “God, this is awkward.”

  My face flushed warm. “It is. It’s horrible.”

  “What would you do if I kissed you?”

  Yes! Please! Now? Sure! I shrugged, keeping my thoughts to myself. Connor pulled the tails of my scarf again so that I had to face him. Damn him and his cute drunken self. “Not now.”

  “Not now,” he said. “Another day, then?”

  I wanted to say yes, so badly. But I didn’t. “Maybe.”

  He stared at me for a minute, his eyes shifting between my lips and my eyes. For a minute I thought he may do it anyway—and I would let him—but instead, he dropped the tails of my scarf and leaned back into the seat with a loud creak. The fireworks continued down the street, and they provided a distraction from the strangeness of the moment. Connor pulled off his hat, ran a hand though his hair, and tugged it back on. “So tell me, what are your resolutions for the year?”

  I thought for a moment about how things had changed so much in my life. I wanted to move past this, grow stronger and accept this life that had chosen me. I tucked a wayward lock of hair under his cap, earning me a smile. “Owning it.”


  “Good one,” he said, with a lazy nod. His meds and the alcohol must have merged, making him sleepy. I could see the edges of his nails rimmed in black paint when he rested his hands on his lap.

  “You?”

  He swung back and forth for a moment and then stood and stretched, running a hand over the thick, curling hair on his face. “Shaving. At least once a week.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s your resolution?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed with me. “My mom hates it. I thought maybe I would do something for someone else.”

  I stood next to him and narrowed my eyes as I considered his scruffy jaw.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Will it be gone next time I see you?” I asked.

  “Yes. Tomorrow…well, today. It’ll be gone today.”

  Courageous under the dim porch lights I removed my glove and tentatively motioned to his face. He granted permission by jutting his chin forward and I cupped the bottom of his jaw, stroking the fine hairs covering his face with my thumb.

  “It’s softer than I thought,” I said, dropping my hand like it was on fire.

  His hand caught mine and he squeezed. “Happy New Year, Jane.”

  “Happy New Year.”

  WHEN I WAS THREE years old, my mother and I went to the grocery store. I don’t have many memories from that age, but I do recall standing in the middle of the automatic doors on a hot summer day, feeling the air conditioning pour out while my mom talked to another woman. She also made a big deal of pointing out the little girl with this woman who wore a shimmery Cinderella costume, including glittery blue shoes. I remember looking at my own shoes, dingy plastic flip flops, and coveting hers immediately. The first thing she said to me was, “I have more princess shoes at home. Do you want to come over and see them? I have yellow Belle ones, and green Tinkerbell ones, and red for Snow White and…”

  I remember gaping at her, fascinated by the sheer amount of words that left her mouth in such a rush. That girl’s name was Grace and we would be in pre-school together. Little did I know, she would end up being my best friend.

  That was 14 years ago, and now Grace and I were sitting on my bed. Well, I was sitting, she was stretched across the bed, pajama-clad legs dangling off the side, ignoring the fact she was lying on candy bar wrappers and at least two magazines.

  “Get off the potato chips!” I said, tugging the bag from under her elbow.

  She moved just enough to release it, but was too busy flipping the pages of my yearbook to care.

  “What about him?” she asked, pointing to picture of a kid in my geometry class.

  “Um…no.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”

  “What? Why?” she asked.

  “Because,” I took the book from her and flipped two pages further and pointed at a kid in the third row of photos, “this is his boyfriend.”

  Grace peered at the picture. “No. Way.”

  I heaved off the bed and crossed the room. “I hate this song,” I said, thumbing through my iPod to change the music. I walked past the corner Evan usually occupied and wondered where he went after I banished him for the night.

  Grace had come down for the weekend to visit. We’d spent the day shopping in the area near my parents’ gallery before eating out at a tapas restaurant. Luckily, her parents had no issues with her having a car, and she had been driving a small Toyota for the last year. At home, it didn’t take her long to find the yearbook on my bookshelf. The heavy book was from the year before—I wasn’t even in it since I missed picture day at the beginning of the year.

  “How about this guy? He’s cute.”

  I dropped back on the bed, bouncing the mattress under my weight. Holy crap. It was Connor. He must have taken the picture before he left school last fall. I snorted. “Yeah, that’s a no, also.”

  “Why? He’s really cute.” She actually stroked his picture.

  Yes, he was. “Yeah.”

  I picked up a magazine. “So, how’s Drew?”

  Grace looked up with a dreamy expression. Drew was her boyfriend, and they had been together for two years. They were joined at the hip. He was out of town with family for the holidays, which was the only way I got her to come for the entire weekend.

  “He’s good.” Her freckled nose wrinkled when she said it and her neck turned a little pink.

  I’d noticed the ring on her finger earlier, but hadn’t said anything. “Is that new?”

  She held out her hand and I analyzed the ring. It was made of silver and wrapped around her finger like a vine.

  “He gave it to me for Christmas.”

  I fingered it, pushing it around to see all sides. “It’s really pretty.”

  “Thanks,” she said withdrawing her hand. She settled her brown eyes on mine. “Come on, you have to like someone at school. Tell me.”

  I blinked, breaking contact. I felt guilty keeping secrets from Grace. We’d been best friends since that day in the grocery store, but I couldn’t tell her about Evan. No one could know. I’d learned from that mistake, but there was no reason not to confess my crush on Connor.

  “Well, there is a guy…” I lingered, going for dramatic effect.

  “Shut up! I knew it. Who?” She shoved the yearbook at me.

  “Believe it or not it was bachelor number two.” I turned the page and pointed my finger at a younger, much less serious-looking Connor in the book. I studied the picture closer. He may have been stoned.

  “Oh! Yeah, not surprised. Like I said, he’s hot.” She inspected the photograph for a second longer. “So what’s going on with him? Have you made a move?”

  “No!” I said, louder than necessary. Grace was fearless. Drew was two years older than us, but she was the one who asked him out in the first place. “We are friends, though,” I confessed. “And he’s a year older now. He looks better than that, believe it or not.”

  “Are you regular ‘friends’ or are you we-really-want-to-hump-each-other-with abandon ‘friends’? There’s a difference and I need to know.”

  My face burned and I punched her in the arm. “Grace!”

  She shoved me back. “Ow! That’s gonna bruise, and oh my god! You totally want to hump him!”

  “Shut up!” I said, faking my rage because I definitely wanted more than friendship but less than, well, humping. For now. “He kind of almost kissed me the other night. On New Year’s Eve.”

  “Almost? What does that even mean?”

  I sighed. “He was drunk. And I was afraid he didn’t mean it.” I examined my hands. “I kinda freaked out, but it was still good.”

  “So you chickened out.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.”

  I tried to act offended, but it didn’t work. She knew me too well. “Yeah, I chickened out.”

  “He likes you back.”

  “Maybe.” I twisted the thin flannel of my plaid pajama pants between my fingers. “I don’t know.” And I didn’t. He seemed like he liked me, but what did I know? He could just be a major flirt. I’d seen him with Allison, but when he was with me it was different. I rolled my eyes at myself. I’m sure Allison thought it was different with her, too.

  “Guys suck. You should just ask him.” She pulled her hair out of the elastic band. I walked over to the dresser and picked up my hair brush, handing it to her before I sat back on the bed.

  “No. It’s just…it’s complicated.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You know I don’t believe in wasting time. If you like him, go for it. Who can it hurt?”

  I knew the answer. I could get hurt. But Grace didn’t know how vulnerable I was these days. I wasn’t the strong girl she knew from before. I was the girl who saw things, and cut off all my hair, and was attracted to boys who vandalized property. “I’m playing it by ear for now. Okay?”

  She stared at me for a moment, but her face softened and she backed down. “Okay, but I expect
updates.”

  “Updates…yeah I can do updates.” But it was a lie, one more to go on top of all the other lies. Connor and I were too twisted—too meshed. There was no way to tell if he liked me for me or if he just wanted someone to confide in. Plus, there were other girls, like Allison, vying for his attention, and there was no way I could compete with that.

  I reached for the bag of chips and shoved a handful in my mouth before swallowing it all down with soda. “So what did you get Drew for Christmas?”

  “Oh, my god! You won’t believe it!” Grace started, and I lay back on my bed listening to my best—living—friend talk about the boy she loved.

  SKIRTING AROUND THE GUY in front of me, I dropped my brushes into the sink and washed them carefully. Winter term had started, and in Art we had moved from drawing to painting, which was awesome, but required a bit more prep and clean up during class.

  I felt a nudge on my shoulder, and looked up to see the profile of Connor’s face. His clean-shaven, smooth, angular face. A smile crept across my lips, but I didn’t speak. I wasn’t exactly sure of the protocol here.

  We’d been back at school for three days, and this was the closest he had come to acknowledging me. He hadn’t stopped his staring, although now it wasn’t filled with hostility as much as amusement or interest perhaps, but we hadn’t spoken since New Year’s Eve. I could have been angry or upset, but I wasn’t. I hadn’t decided how I wanted to handle this, either. The two of us publicly announcing a friendship or anything else at school would have been certain drama, and neither of us wanted the attention.

  I definitely didn’t. Being a freak was bad enough. Being a freak with a psychopathic, albeit hot, friend was beyond social suicide.

  So for now, we stood side by side, running our brushes under the stream of water for a couple of minutes before he shook off the excess water into the sink and returned the brushes into their container on the counter. I swear there was an intentional foot graze. By him, not me. Ducking my head, I bit my lip to keep hidden the wide grin threatening to rip across my face.