Teen Spirit

by Francesca Lia Block

He tipped the topper at me. “What, only one of us can wear hats all of a sudden?” I thought of how Clark had worn the same hat but not as a costume. I missed him but he hadn’t come with me; he hadn’t even texted me back. Grant was here, offering me a ride. He’d defended me against Jason and Liam while Clark hid at home.

  I followed Grant down the driveway to the street where his mom’s Volvo station wagon was parked; he hadn’t valeted.

  He opened the door for me gallantly and I slid inside, breathing with relief at being away from the stifling heat and ear-slamming sounds of the party. There was a Virgin Mary on the dashboard. I touched her with one finger.

  “My mom’s scared of accidents,” Grant said. “Terrified. So’s the Clark man.”

  “Does this help?”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  I looked at his profile. It was uncanny, the resemblance.

  “I always wondered about twins,” I said. “I bet you never feel alone.”

  He shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

  “So, you’re not that close?” I took off the silk scarf around my head. It was damp and sheer with sweat.

  “Oh, yeah, we’re really close. It’s complicated. What about you? Who are you close to?”

  I stared out the car window at the lights shimmering behind a gauzy layer of fog. “I was close to my mom but not so much anymore. And my grandma.”

  “Yeah. Clark mentioned that. I’m sorry. You were trying to reach her with the Ouija board?”

  I nodded, still not looking at him, and squeaked my finger down the cold glass.

  “Do you think those things work?” Grant asked.

  I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe I can help you.”

  We pulled up in front of my apartment and I saw Luke’s truck parked there. So much for the out-of-town gig. One female in the house would be happy.

  Grant studied my face. “Are you all right?”

  “My mom’s boyfriend is over. He kind of creeps me out.”

  “I’m sorry.” He leaned closer. His fingers brushed my cheek with the back of his hand but so lightly I could hardly feel it, as if he’d touched me with a thought. Warmth filled me, and my muscles relaxed for the first time all night. There was something so familiar about him; maybe it was just because of how much he looked like Clark. I didn’t feel as shy as I would have expected.

  “You don’t wear it down much.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Your hair. It’s pretty.”

  I mumbled a thank-you.

  “Would you like me to come in? Maybe we can try the Ouija board thing again.”

  “Yeah, actually. I’d like you there.” I hadn’t expected to say that. But I didn’t feel like facing Luke and his canned beans alone.

  Grant glided from the car and came around to help me out. I walked up the stairs in front of him, aware of his eyes on my hips in the gypsy skirt. When we got inside, I saw a light on in the kitchen and heard heavy metal playing. Shit.

  Luke looked up from the stove, primly tucking his hair behind his ears. His bare chest was pale and slightly concave and he wore a pair of black fishnets under black knee-length bondage pants, and eyeliner. To keep from screaming about his attire, I had to remind myself it was a few days after Halloween and that he was in a band.

  Grant, who had paused in the living room, came in behind me. Luke, startled, glared at him and his jaw jerked.

  “Who’s this?” he asked. He hadn’t met Clark yet so I didn’t have to explain that, at least.

  Grant held out his hand. “I’m Grant, sir.”

  I was impressed. Luke didn’t look like a sir, most especially not in fishnets.

  He didn’t shake. “It’s late,” he said. His voice reminded me of the sharp kitchen knife he’d brought over to cut the crust off his sandwiches. He thought our knives were too dull. His eyes, staring at Grant, cut more sharply.

  I took Grant’s hand, more in defiance of Luke than anything, and led him to my room. Luke called after us but I ignored him. He wasn’t my parent; he couldn’t tell me what to do.

  Grant stood in the doorway, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should cross the threshold, but I gestured to the bed. He came over and we sat side by side, not touching but so close I could feel waves of warmth coming off him, comforting on this cold night. I was glad I’d let him drive me home and come inside.

  When I set the Ouija board down, he picked it up and examined it. “This innocent-looking little item could have gotten us both into trouble.”

  “Thanks for stepping in,” I said.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “I found it in a drawer in the apartment when we moved here. One night I just missed my grandma so much. . . .”

  “I’m sorry.” He turned to face me and there was no sign of teasing in his eyes.

  “Thanks.”

  “You were really close to her.”

  “Yes.” I swallowed, uncomfortable under his gaze. “My life changed so fast after she died. We lost our house, my mom went nuts, started dating this random guy.” Why was I telling him so much so quickly? Just because he looked like Clark?

  “Yeah, you don’t know who you’re going to meet online.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “What was that all about?”

  “Weird. I told you.”

  “I guess so. What’s his problem?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “But he looked at you like he’d seen a ghost or something.”

  Grant put down the Ouija board and moved closer, leaning back on one arm, slightly behind me on the mattress. “I’m no ghost,” he said. There was a tone to his voice that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Sad? Determined? But also pained.

  I looked back and into his eyes (with him leaning back we were at equal eye level), challenging. Why did I say what I said next? It was so unlike me to flirt that overtly—to flirt at all. “Prove that you’re not a ghost,” I said.

  “You asked for it.”

  Since I had never been kissed before, I didn’t have much to compare it to. But it seemed to me from what I had read about kissing and seen on TV and in movies that it didn’t normally make you feel as if you were levitating. When Grant kissed me, the lights went on and off and it seemed my body lifted gently off the bed and into the ether, completely weightless, stars flickering on around us and the world far below, turning, blue and green and brown, so precious, the most perfect, vulnerable thing you have ever seen.

  AFTER THAT KISS, WHICH was not just any kiss, I felt I owed it to Clark to let him know. Not that he’ll care, I told myself. Not that I have led him on, ever. But it made me uneasy that I hadn’t mentioned Grant to him yet. When Grant left—I’d been firm, even though part of me wanted him to stay longer—he had asked me again not to tell Clark, and I had asked why, when he said that Clark had a crush on me.

  “I don’t want to hurt him anymore,” Grant had said. I didn’t necessarily believe Clark liked me that way, but I thought if he did, that was all the more reason to bring it up. I didn’t let Grant know. I pretended to agree.

  At school Clark and I had been able to stay under the radar, miraculously, in spite of his hats and smiling habit, but after Ally’s Halloween party we weren’t that lucky.

  Jason Weitzman and Liam Wellington approached us at lunch on Monday. I guess they had spent the rest of their weekend hatching a sophisticated plan to get back at me and Grant, whom they probably thought was Clark, for what had happened at the party.

  “Hey, gypsy, how’s that Ouija board working out for you?” Jason said.

  I turned away, trying to ignore them.

  “Because Liam and I weren’t too happy about how it spoke to us. And we just wanted you to know that we have our eyes on your ass.”

  “And that’s not too hard to do,” Liam said, making a wide gesture with his hands on either side of his hips.

  “Hey,” Clark said. “Stop.” They imitated him in high voices and walked off, laughing
. It was amazing to see how differently they had reacted to Grant in spite of his identical appearance. I found myself wishing for Grant again, but I had wished for Clark at the party before Grant got there. Maybe what I really wanted was both of them? At least Jason and Liam hadn’t mentioned seeing Clark at Ally’s, forcing me to tell him that I’d met his brother.

  “Seriously?” I said, tugging at his red-green-and-yellow beanie to try to take my mind off the whole thing. “Are you Rasta now or something?”

  “I like the colors.” He paused, examining me as if for bruises. “Did something happen at the party?”

  “I brought the Ouija board, and they asked me dumb-ass questions and didn’t like the answers. It’s nothing.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m fine. They’re just assholes. What do you expect? We’re in high school.”

  “Thank God not for much longer. Can I still come over after school?”

  I took a shriveled apple from my lunch box and noticed he wasn’t eating. “What, no kicharee?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t been feeling like cooking much lately.”

  SO WHEN WE GOT home, I found some old fortune cookies my mom had brought back from a date with Luke, and made some tea. The cookies were stale and salty. Clark’s fortune said, A VISITOR FROM YOUR PAST HAS ARRIVED. Mine said, USE DELICACY WHEN HANDLING FRAGILE THINGS.

  I looked at my friend. He didn’t appear fragile, although his bones were as thin as they were long, and there was an earnestness in his eyes that made him seem susceptible to bullying.

  Maybe I shouldn’t say anything? Maybe Grant was right?

  “Let’s practice our report.” Clark stood up. He pointed at me. “Did you know that car crashes are the leading cause of death for teenagers in the United States? Teen drivers between the ages of sixteen and nineteen are four times more likely to crash. Add alcohol into the mix and the results are even more deadly.” He took a piece of black cloth out of his backpack and put it over his head so only his eyes showed through the slits. It was an executioner’s hood.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked.

  “A prop. For our report. I’m the Grim Reaper.”

  “You’re scaring me. Take it off.”

  He cackled from under the folds of material.

  “Seriously!” I said. I was starting to sweat through the armpits of my vintage silk blouse, and the room felt too small.

  He took the hood off and sat down next to me. “Did that really scare you?” he asked in his soft voice, the one he saved for moments like this, when we weren’t teasing each other anymore.

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry. I was trying to add some drama.” He threw the hood onto the floor. “It was a bad idea.”

  I picked it up. “No. I’ve just been more sensitive lately about stuff like that.”

  He nodded.

  “And it seems like something this serious . . . I don’t want them to laugh.”

  “I thought you liked how my hats make you laugh.”

  “Not this one. It’s not funny.”

  “I know,” he said, “believe me, dude, I know,” and his face was suddenly pale, blood drained; he did look fragile, ready to crumble, like the fortune cookie said. He took the hood from my hand, balled it up in his backpack with a grimace. “I don’t even know why I brought that thing at all. It’s like someone else made me bring it or something.” He chewed on his cuticle.

  “What do you mean, someone else?”

  “I don’t know. I was at Target with my mom the other day and I saw it with the sale Halloween costumes and I bought it, even though it’s so not my thing. And then when I was coming over here, I guess I grabbed it, but I don’t really remember.”

  I frowned at him. “You don’t remember?”

  “I have these sort of blackout things lately. I can’t really explain. It started on Halloween just after I left your house.”

  The window was open; a breeze came in and shivered my shoulders. I wrapped a blanket around myself. “What kind of blackouts? That sounds serious.”

  “Not really blackouts. Just, I get disoriented and I forget stuff. It’s nothing, Julie. I just, I don’t know, I just think I’m kind of stressed lately.”

  I wondered if he would tell me about his estranged brother; it was the perfect time. But instead he said, “Hey, I’ve got to leave. My mom wants me home early tonight.”

  So neither of us had brought up Grant, again; I didn’t care to admit to myself that I might not want to tell Clark because of what his brother had already given to me that he could not.

  BUT IT DID COME up two nights later when Clark was over again. And Luke arrived, earlier than usual. It was always disconcerting to see him before ten. Actually it was always disconcerting to see him at all. Clark and I were cramming to finish our report, eating some of my mom’s chocolate-bar stash in the kitchen to help us power through, when Luke walked in. His feet were bare and the way he stuck out his belly and turned in his feet reminded me of a scary-looking toddler learning to walk.

  “Hello, Julie.”

  Just before Luke spoke, I realized that I had to get Clark out of there. But it was too late.

  “Grant,” Luke said.

  Clark turned. He was holding the candy bowl and it fell out of his hands and broke on the floor. I looked down at the shards near Luke’s bare feet. There were some flecks of blood on the pale skin.

  “Damn.” Luke grimaced at me as he reached to grab his foot. “Get that cleaned up, would you?” He dabbed at the blood with a paper towel, swearing under his breath, then threw the towel in the trash and hobbled out.

  “What did he say?”

  “Get that cleaned up?” I offered, trying to avoid the whole thing.

  “He said ‘Grant.’” Clark spoke in a monotone. I was kneeling on the floor sweeping up pieces of the bowl, trying to hide my reddening face. “He said ‘Grant.’ How does he know about Grant?”

  There was a word flashing in my head over and over in neon red: Danger.

  “Clark, I met your brother.”

  “You what?” I saw the tendons in his neck strain. And I hadn’t even said anything about the kiss yet.

  “Julie,” Clark said slowly, in a way I had never heard him enunciate my name. “My brother, Grant, was in a car accident a year ago. He’s dead.”

  1. THE GHOST

  Maybe my friend was crazy, psychotic crazy, pretending that his brother was dead or pretending that he was his dead brother. Or maybe there was another explanation, and it didn’t make me feel too relieved either.

  He was in a car accident, Clark had said. A year ago.

  I took him by the wrist and dragged him, stumbling, into my room, where he sat on the floor with his knees drawn up under his chin and his head down, his face hidden under his baseball cap, and I told him everything that had happened. I could tell he didn’t want me to see him cry, but of course he was crying, who wouldn’t?

  “How could it be?” he kept saying. “It can’t . . .”

  Outside, the Santa Anas thrashed the trees against the window like a giant poltergeist at work. I stared into the darkness for a long time, listening to our breath. Then I turned back to Clark.

  His shadow loomed behind him on the wall, making him look like a small boy in contrast. But something was wrong; the shadow didn’t match.

  It wasn’t wearing the baseball cap, as if it weren’t Clark’s shadow at all. A trick of the light. Clark stood up and the shadow stretched, blending into the darkness.

  “Sit down,” I said softly, patting the mattress next to me. “Sit down, Clark.”

  He was pacing and pulling at his hair so that it stood out in little tufts around his face. “I have to leave.”

  “Don’t leave, please. We’ll figure this out together.”

  “Figure what out? That I’m psycho boy? What do they call it? Multiple personality? Schizophrenia? I thought I just had a mood disorder.” He was speaking too loudly, and I was af
raid Luke would hear.

  “You’re not crazy.”

  “Then what? Grant came back from the dead and took over my body without me knowing? That makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better.” He slumped down beside me and began massaging his temples.

  “Remember when I asked you if you believed in ghosts? You didn’t really say. Do you know much about them?”

  “No, I just always felt like it was possible. After he died, I got this feeling that he wasn’t entirely gone.” He looked up at me and there was so much pain in his eyes that it jabbed into my stomach.

  I grabbed him and pulled him close before he could push me away. But he didn’t push me away. I knew his body better now. I had hugged and kissed it, perhaps animated by a different soul, but his. He was shaking so much, I thought it was me.

  And I could easily be shaking; I had maybe just met, had kissed, my first ghost, in the body of my best friend. I was no stranger to supernatural content in books, TV, and film, but it was one thing to try to reach my grandmother through a Ouija board and quite another to meet a real ghost who could take over a flesh-and-blood body. Clark was right; it was insane, it was too freakin’ much.

  He was blushing, and I wondered if it had been wrong of me to hug him like that. After you kissed his brother. His dead brother. I let go and put my hands in my lap like they were foreign objects.

  “Listen,” he said after a moment, in a deeper voice. He sat up straight again and he wasn’t blushing. His face looked pale and still. “I missed you,” he said.

  As if I’d just stared directly into a bright light, red streaks of veins patterned the insides of my eyelids. In my head there was a sound like someone screaming in the middle of the night when you’re not sure if you’re hearing a party or a murder. And I wanted to scream and run the hell out of there, but instead I smoothed my homemade map-of-California tablecloth skirt over my knees, shifted away from him, and said quietly, “Grant?”

  He didn’t move, just stood staring like he was trying to hypnotize me, which perhaps he had already done before. Why else had I kissed him so readily, without even knowing him at all? His eyes reminded me of the far-seeing gaze of my ancestors in the disintegrating velvet photo album. I remembered the levitation sensation when he kissed me, the world spinning away below us. I wondered if this was like sleepwalking, if I could wake Clark without scaring the shit out of him.