The Dead Boy's Club

by Rue Volley

Maybe more like me since I seem to relate to her on a level that’s nearly unexplainable.

  I mean, she had created the most incredible landscape speckled with Victorian houses, cobbled streets, iron gates, and supernatural creatures that I had ever known. A beautiful fantasy of which I had become immersed.

  Willfully, sort of. I mean, she’s also to blame for my current corrupted state.

  She spent years making me love him. This beautiful dead boy in her books had enticed me to hang on his every word. She allowed him to come and go, angering me, then forced a gasp to escape my lips with his triumphant return. But there was always a twist of events, which both infuriated and delighted me.

  I know I may sound crazy, but I’m not. I can’t be the only one who feels this way. Right?

  I wish that boys like him exist in the world — more than anything.

  The temperature dropped, and I shivered. My teeth began to chatter. I tightened my coat, shielding myself from the elements. Usually I notice nothing. I just read and read, totally distracted, but now it had ended. All the words had been said.

  I opened the book again, staring at the last page, even flipping it a few times. The absence of a goodbye note from the author gave me hope.

  “It was always you,” I choked out. That line. Those words. They would truly haunt me.

  That ending, though.

  Swoon.

  I wiped the tears away with the side of my hand. My skin felt heated; I may have a fever. It wouldn’t surprise me. As I said, I don’t feel great that often, but oddly enough, never so bad that I can’t function. It’s more like mild allergies, or maybe a reaction to something. I’m prone to both. I took a deep breath, and my chest rattled. I gave it a light tap, and it was followed by a cough. Had I felt this crummy all along? I hope not. I swallowed and took in the situation at a glance. Everything was shrouded in a thin mist that seemed to be rising. Up, up it went, revealing the real world to me, along with gnarled tree roots and aged moss. I took another breath and could smell burning leaves floating on the wind along with salty sea air.

  Sounds began to filter back in—locusts droning, crickets chirping, and church bells chiming. It overwhelmed me for a moment, so much so that I lifted the book to one ear and my free hand to the other, blocking it all out. Ridiculous, I know.

  Then a calming feeling settled in as a few butterflies surrounded me. I grinned, watching them rise into the air toward the once gray sky that now seemed to be blue. My breathing slowed, and the noises subsided.

  What would I do now?

  I felt lost.

  My mouth formed a straight line. I wanted to go straight home and grab book one so that I could relive it all over again, but then a voice pierced through the silence, rudely interrupting my plans and properly jarring me.

  “Really?” The question floated on the wind and nearly had me choking on a yelp.

  I launched the book like a guided missile. My obligatory response was unsettling. A firm hand extended, catching it mid-air. I scrambled to my feet, nearly toppling over. At least my precious book didn’t hit the ground. I felt so guilty for throwing it. The whole situation had me swaying on my feet, totally dizzy from the shock.

  I was forced to reach out and grab onto the side of the mausoleum that I had been leaning against as I read. Yes, I read in the cemetery. Well, one of five. Juniper Hollow, my hometown, is surrounded by them, as well as the trees that I mentioned earlier, and I couldn’t be happier about it, but that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, a boy—a living one, has my property, and that means I’ll be forced to talk to this transient to retrieve it.

  I cleared my throat and steadied myself as I spotted this menace perched on top of a tombstone. I guess I should be impressed that he maintained his balance even while snatching my book from the air. My throat was starting to ache more, so talking would be just as annoying as his interruption. I reached up and rubbed it, but it didn’t help. The ache remained. I took in the sight of him from head to toe out of need, not want or real curiosity. He was really more of a crouching outline because the sun was to his back. I guess I should be grateful, I’m not a fan of the sunlight, and I forgot my black laced umbrella, but anyway, it looked like he may be wearing a black hoodie and jeans. My eyes lowered to his feet again. Tennis shoes rounded out his lazily slapped together ensemble.

  I’m far from impressed.

  Honestly.

  So Middling.

  “Middling?” he asked with the tilt of his head.

  Darn it! I must’ve said that aloud. I didn’t mean to do that!

  I narrowed my eyes, hoping it would deter him. “It’s nothing,” I muttered.

  “No, really.” He jabbed at his chest. “I wanna know what you mean by Middling. Are you referring to me?”

  Oh great. Of course, he wants an explanation. Can we not do this? Please? I have zero interest in the living. Especially living boys.

  I let out a sigh. This was the longest conversation I had with a boy in, well, ever.

  I raised my hand and flipped it mid-air. His eyes followed my every movement. I cleared my throat as gently as I could. Talking wasn’t pleasant due to my sore throat, but his ignorance tugged at my need to educate him.

  My eyebrow cocked, “Haven’t you ever heard of the phrase, fair-to-middling?” My voice cracked halfway through, but I forced the rest of the words out.

  He chuckled under his breath. “Oh, as in garden variety, unremarkable, nothing special?” he brushed his bangs aside.

  I had expected to be explaining what it meant at this point, but he surprised me. I shook it off. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that he had my book in his hand, and he was stinking it up with his meddling — typical mortal boy.

  He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. I noticed the nail was painted black. My eyes lit up, but I quickly buried my excitement. The fact that he paints his nails the same color as mine shouldn’t carry any weight.

  So what? It doesn’t change the fact that he’s mortal. I don’t date mortal boys. In fact, I don’t date anyone, and I don’t even know why I’m thinking about dates! Dating is ridiculous. Dating had cost me more than I wanted to discuss, but that’s a conversation for another time. Right now, I’m dealing with a real threat. This boy is sitting there all—all—whatever he is, with his messy hair and pretty jawline. Not to mention the pale skin and pouty lips. Are they crimson? Whatever!

  He tilted his head, so I toyed with my earring.

  Why is he looking at me like that? Like he knows me or wants to know me?

  Intriguing. No. No, he isn’t. Annoying would be a much better word. I like one type of boy, and one type of boy only, and he isn’t it.

  He hopped down, and my eyes lowered to his clean shoes. At least he had that going for him.

  “I am right, right?” he asked while tapping my book against the side of his leg. I involuntarily reached toward it with each hit to his outer thigh. If he caught the edge of the cover, he might bend it. The hardcover is going to be a special edition, so I have to survive on this one until the other one becomes available, and even then, I’ll have to beg my parents to buy it for me after practically dying for this one. But it’s no question that I have to have it so here I am forced to be nice to this boy so I can get back what’s mine.

  He leaned forward, placing the book behind his back. I did the worst thing I could and made eye contact. Bad move. So stupid, Harper. Don’t you know that locking eyes is like the gateway drug to so much more? That’s how every girl in every book had fallen for the boy she probably shouldn’t have. I got lost in his eyes, the way he looked at me, with such interest. Like I was special. He was inviting me into his world.

  He spoke, I couldn’t hear a word. I watched his mouth move, capturing glimpses of his straight white teeth, and his tongue bumping against the back of them. My eyes wandered, and so did my thoughts. He scratched his head; my eyes followed. He spoke again as sounds filtered back in.

  “Can you see me?” h
e asked.

  What an odd question from an even odder boy. I tilted my head as I studied his eyes. Deep as the ocean. Older than he appeared. An old soul, which I get more than I’d like to admit.

  He isn’t that bad.

  Oh my GOD! Stop it, Harper!

  “Bright blue with thick dark lashes,” I muttered without the worry of him hearing me. He was still speaking, and I must look insane, but perhaps that will deter him. But again—the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing he can see. I was drawn in much quicker than I expected to be. I should be angry. I know better, and he isn’t what I wanted. No. He can’t be. I wished for a dead boy and got this.

  No.

  He lifted a hand and brushed his messy chocolate brown hair off to the side. It obeyed for about as long as I expected, which was no time at all, falling back down and brushing the side of his cheek. He’s also pale, about as pale as I am, which means translucent, but his lips, well, they’re definitely kissable, which isn’t something I’ve ever done, and that’s fine. I’m holding out for one of my dead book boyfriends to make an appearance. Stranger things have happened, especially in Juniper Hollow, so it’s not a pipe-dream to think that some immortal boy will find me.

  They don’t call us the most haunted town on the east coast for nothing. We sit just north of Salem, which draws enough attention, but I never go there. We have enough to entertain us right here. Come to think of it; I’ve never traveled anywhere, and probably never will. I mean, why would I? I love it here.

  “Do you not like to travel?” he asked, and I narrowed my eyes. I guess I’m so used to being alone that I’m speaking out loud when I should be thinking. Great. Just great.

  “I—why do you care?” I asked. I know I seem rude. I can feel it, but he rattles me. I wanted to apologize, but he didn’t seem to mind my attitude, which worked in my favor.

  He half-laughed, but it was followed by coughing. It went on longer than I expected it to. Finally, he tapped his chest and regained his composure. The coughing had left his cheeks flushed. I understood that kind of cough. It seemed he might be afflicted with the same annoying allergies that I have. But again, that doesn’t matter. The book in his hand does. That’s all I care about.

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s so beautiful here.” He spoke softly, but my eyes followed the book in his hand as he extended his arm.

  I blinked. “What?” I asked.

  His lip curled at the edge. “Beautiful.” The way he looked at me made me somewhat uncomfortable, not because I felt threatened, but because I felt something else that I’d rather not mention. My mind raced. I needed to end this and get my book back, but I also found myself enjoying it. I shouldn’t, but I am.

  “So, you like blue eyes?” The boy added a wink with his mischievous question.

  I shook my head. So many thoughts had crossed the ocean of time between when I muttered that and now. But he listens. Just one more dangerous thing that told me that I needed to get my property and move along. “I don’t—I, well, I don’t know what you mean.”

  He walked toward a large sarcophagus and leaned against it. He looked at home here amongst the dead. It didn’t help. “My eyes are blue unless they’ve changed. Tell me,” he approached me and leaned in close to my face, bringing along with him a soft clean scent. It overpowered the decaying leaves and earthy undertones of this place until all I could see and smell was him. “Are they still blue?” he asked. “It’s so easy to forget when you avoid mirrors.”

  I stood straight up and shook my head. “Why do you need me to confirm that? You should know the color of your eyes, and why would you avoid mirrors?” Everything he said was meant to elicit a reaction from me, I could feel it. He was baiting me into a conversation that I didn’t want to have, but as long as he had my book I was at his mercy.

  “Mirrors can be so annoying,” he added.

  It made no sense. He made no sense. Maybe he’s crazy—how far was the closest mental hospital? I should really look into that.

  “I’m not crazy, although, at one point, I believed I was.”

  Again?! It was like he was reading my thoughts.

  “Well, which is it? You are, or you aren’t? I mean, if you were crazy there is a very good chance that you wouldn’t know, right? So, you would need someone to point it out to you.”

  “Well, lucky for me, you came along.” He winked. So charming and forward. My internal voice went into overdrive.

  NOPE. Harper, you need to get that book and leave this very minute! This boy is dangerous. He isn’t in a book. He isn’t controllable. You can’t just stop reading. He’s really here, right in front of you, making you think about his hair, his eyes—those stupid lips on his stupid face! Run. Just let him have the darn book! You can wait until the hardcover comes out. There are so many of them in the series that you’ll still be reading it again when it comes out! Run—please just run now and don’t look back.

  “Your conversation skills are sorely lacking,” I added without remorse. I was done.

  I gathered my mini backpack from the steps of the mausoleum, covered in flowers and tiny skulls, and slung it over my shoulder. Unfortunately, I struggled, as expected when I get flustered, causing the strap to twist, trapping my arm. I heard leaves crunching underfoot and then felt a tug. I guess this strange boy had decided to help me without my asking.

  I don’t need help you—you—Middling!

  “Ahh!” I spun around on my booted heel, extending my hand, keeping a proper amount of distance between us. My white-blonde curls bounced from my shoulders and cradled my heart-shaped jawline. He lifted the book, and I snatched it from him without hesitation, but in doing so, our fingers touched with a spark of sunlight snuffed out between them.

  I felt him. Really felt him. I felt sadness, joy, fear, loneliness. He was colder than the winter wind. Colder than any vampire had ever been described. It sent a shockwave of emotions through me, nearly buckling my knees.

  One touch meant everything.

  One touch from him.

  He stumbled back, as did I. We both stood there in stunned silence. I didn’t know what had happened, but it felt like the earth shifted beneath my feet. I could tell by the look on his face that I wasn’t the only one who had been rocked back by it. I didn’t know what I should or could say after experiencing something so awkwardly amazing—but here we are.

  My lips parted, so did his. Someone had to say something, or maybe I’m crazy.

  Maybe I’m overly emotional and feeding this entire thing.

  Maybe it was static electricity.

  Maybe—maybe—maybe.

  Maybe he’s—no. It can’t be.

  “So why did you call me a middling?” he asked.

  I couldn’t speak at first. Part of me was grateful that he was asking a question, and part of me wanted to talk about what just happened, but without his participation it made me wonder if it was just me. I swallowed hard and tried to compose myself.

  “Um...” I spat out. He leaned in, patiently waiting. Yep. That whole thing had to be me. He’s acting like nothing happened. I’m so glad I didn’t say anything. “It’s what I call the living.”

  My admission quieted him. The wind picked up between us, carrying with it a few more leaves. They seemed to float slower than usual and then fell with speed.

  “The living.” He repeated with a shuffling of his feet. The fact that those words made him appear uncomfortable definitely intrigued me. Why would me calling him alive be bothersome? He is, isn’t he? Doubt began to creep through me. My eyes darted around the cemetery from any freshly dug holes or perhaps a mound where someone had crawled out.

  God, Harper. Just stop it. He isn’t dead. How could he be? Look at him. He’s—he’s—perfect.

  He smiled. I nearly mirrored him. I know I didn’t say that out loud. Right? No—I hadn’t.

  I turned my head when I heard the spinning of bicycle wheels and the ringing of a bell. It momentarily distracted me, so he intervened.
/>   “Did you want to say something?” he asked.

  I rocked back on my boots and balanced myself the best I could. “Yes, the living—like you. I call them Middlings. You are a Middling.” I stated so matter-of-factly you could have sworn I was presenting a report in a classroom. But this boy isn’t dumb. I can tell. My internal voice chimed back in to provide some semblance of sanity.

  You’ve wasted enough time with this boy, Harper. Go home. Just go home.

  I shook my head and mumbled to myself while shoving the book into my backpack, hiding it away like the treasure that it is. Must he repeat everything I say like a parrot? I sighed.

  “So, would you like me better if I were dead?” he asked.

  Curious question. Would I? I shook my head and looked down at my feet.

  He’s—cute.

  Ridiculous!

  He shouldn’t be touching my things.

  HE SHOULD NOT BE TOUCHING MY BOOKS!

  I wrestled with my backpack again, and his chivalry flared. Why must he be so sweet?

  I recoiled, like a snake, “I got it,” and began my brisk escape toward the exit. My brow furrowed. Each step felt awkwardly new. Every fiber of my being was trying to make me stop and stay, if not for him, then for the fact that I loved this place so much that it felt like a second home. I fought to keep my face turned away from him. I felt him behind me, staring. I know he wants me to stay. I don’t know how, but I just do.

  He called out to me. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t go. I—I’ve waited.”

  He’s so polite. But I’m not falling for it. Like I said, I’m not interested in the living. It should be quite clear. I do spend an ample amount of time here among the dead. It should be so obvious!

  I feel safe here, peaceful—like I belong.

  “What—waited? Waited for what?” I muttered to myself.

  The boy called out behind me with one last desperate plea. “I really like your dress!”

  I stopped dead. The fact that he liked my dress made me pause. I don’t look like other girls here. I wear what they call Gothic Lolita dresses, not super fancy ones, although I’d love to have all of the beautiful ones I’ve seen in magazines. Right now, I only have eight of them. My mom is helping me learn how to sew; she’s really good at it.