Haunt Me

by Liz Kessler

  The thought makes me laugh. It’s the kind of thing you hear in songs — soppy, badly written, cheesy pop songs that I’ve always thought were describing a feeling that didn’t exist in real life.

  Now I know it does.

  Joe pulls away. “What are you laughing at?”

  I smile at him. “I’m just happy,” I say.

  He hesitates. “Are you?”

  I step back a little so I can see him properly. “Are you kidding me?” I laugh again. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

  Joe makes a face. He looks awkward.

  “What? What is it?” I ask.

  “I just . . . I mean . . . this. Me. Stuck here.” He opens his arms to point out our surroundings. “At one point, I wondered if kissing you would bring me back to life, like turning a frog into a prince.” He laughs quietly as he looks down at himself. “But it hasn’t. I mean, I feel stronger, I feel more — I dunno — alive, I suppose, when you’re here. But still, I’m not alive. And I’m not . . .”

  His voice fades away, his words disappearing into a whisper like a wave washing gently off the rocks.

  “You’re not what?” I ask.

  Eventually, he mumbles, “I’m not him.”

  “You’re not . . .” I begin. Then I realize what he’s saying. “Your brother?”

  Joe won’t look at me. He nods.

  I reach out to touch his cheek. Still looking down, he presses his face against my hand. “Joe, look at me.”

  He raises his eyes upward. I smile at him. “I don’t want Olly,” I say. “I only went for a walk with him in the hope that it might help me find you.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. “Really. Joe, I only want you.”

  Still half looking down, he smiles at me. His shyness makes me bold. I slip my arms around his neck. Draw him closer, reach up to whisper into his ear. “If you knew how much I’ve wanted this moment, how I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you went, you wouldn’t doubt me.”

  Joe replies by pulling me closer still. This time when our lips meet, the urgency of our kiss takes away any doubt, any fear, any worries. Nothing exists — in this world or any other — except this moment, this kiss, us.

  Thursday morning I wake up, get showered and dressed as usual. But as I do, I’m aware that there’s something different about the morning, or about me.

  The first clue is when I catch myself whistling in the shower. When did I last do that?

  I glance at myself in the bathroom mirror, and that confirms it. I’m smiling.

  I stare at the face looking back at me as if it’s a stranger’s. That’s when I realize what the feeling is.

  It’s something like happiness; something like optimism.

  The realization stops me in my tracks. Do I have the right to feel either of those things?

  Before I get used to it, the usual feelings of guilt, shame, and grief engulf me. This time, they hit so hard, I find myself falling backward. The emotion is like a sharp, well-directed punch in my gut.

  Grabbing the sink for support, I sit on the edge of the bath and catch my breath.

  I am allowed to feel happiness, I am allowed to feel happiness, I am allowed to feel happiness.

  I say the words over and over to myself.

  Even though they are a lie, the mantra calms my heart rate down enough that I figure I can stand up without passing out.

  I throw cold water on my face, check that I’ve got my happy-go-lucky expression back in place, and head downstairs for breakfast with Mum and Dad.

  Half an hour later, I’m out the door and hurrying to school. I want to get there before her.

  I’m hanging out in the yard, kicking a ball around with Tod and Matt and some of the others, pretending to be interested in the game but mostly looking for her.

  Zoe and her little gaggle are hanging around the school entrance, preening and gossiping and fake-laughing at one another’s jokes as usual. I give Nia a nod as they pass me. She’s not as bad as Zoe and Kirsty. I don’t really know why she hangs around with them.

  “Oi. Olly. Ball,” Matt calls over.

  I’m about to turn for the ball — and then I see her. “Carry on without me for a bit,” I call back to Matt. I jog past Zoe and her crew and over to Erin. I spot all three girls turn to watch me, feel three sets of eyes on my back as I pass them.

  In the past, it would have been Zoe. I’d have kissed her and slung an arm over her shoulder and been as happy as her to strut into the school with the best-looking girl on my arm.

  How could I have been so shallow?

  I don’t care about any of that now. Let their eyes burn into my back. Erin’s the one I want now. And I don’t care if they know it.

  She looks up as I approach. I fall into step beside her.

  “So. Hey,” I say.

  She gives me a half-smile and raises a Seriously? eyebrow.

  We head toward the school doors. Zoe and her crew watch us walk past them with their jaws hanging open. I don’t care about them. I care about Erin.

  “OK, maybe that wasn’t my smoothest line ever,” I admit.

  She laughs, and I feel like I’ve won a prize.

  “Come out with me,” I say, seizing the moment.

  Erin stops in the doorway and looks at me. Zoe and the others walk past, heads craning so far around to look at us, you’d think their necks were made of elastic, Zoe’s eyebrows raised so high, they practically form a part in her hair. Forget Zoe. “On a date,” I add. “A proper date. This weekend, maybe.”

  The girls have passed us now. So have most of the others. I think the bell’s rung and we should be heading to homeroom. Neither of us moves.

  “I . . . what?” Erin stammers. “I — I mean, that’s really nice of you,” she adds.

  I laugh. “I’m not saying it to be nice. I’m saying it because I like you. So, what d’you think?”

  Erin lets out a breath. Then she shakes her head. Very slightly. Just enough to pierce my hopes. “I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “Thank you, but I — I’d better not.”

  She starts to walk away, and I trot along beside her like a confused puppy. “What’s up?” I ask. “I thought you liked me. We had a good time yesterday, didn’t we? I mean, we don’t need to rush it. We could just —”

  Erin stops walking again. Looks me in the eye. Her forehead creases for a moment. She looks like she’s weighing something in her mind. Then she speaks again. “I just can’t,” she says. “I’m sorry. I — I already have a boyfriend.”

  And with that, she turns and walks away, leaving me standing on my own, feeling like a fool.

  Did I actually just do that? I mean, how many firsts was that in one go?

  First time I’ve actually been officially asked out on a date.

  Judging by the look on his face, I’d say it was the first time a girl has said no to Olly.

  First time I’ve called Joe my boyfriend out loud.

  I am also aware that it was the first time the rest of Nia’s friends have noticed me since I arrived here.

  All of which leads me . . . where? Rushing to homeroom with my brain in a jumble is mostly where it leads me. My head is still full of thoughts of Joe. My lips are still tingling from the feel of his mouth on mine. How could I even think about going on a date with anyone else? I can’t.

  There are three or four chairs free when I get there. Before I’ve thought about which one I might pick, I spot Zoe Philips nudge Nia and nod at the seat on their row, next to Nia.

  Nia smiles at me and pulls the chair out. “Sit here,” she says warmly.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, and sit down.

  I try to spend the next ten minutes making myself as invisible as I can. Old habits die hard. I rummage through my bag, pretend to be looking for something, pull out a notebook and pen, pretend to scribble down something important. It’s my default behavior. It’s what’s got me through hundreds of homeroom periods before now. It’s how I block out the giggling, the n
ame-calling, the prods in my back. The notes being passed around the class about me.

  I still see them, though. Which is how come I spot Zoe scribble something on a piece of paper, then tear it out of her notebook and fold it in half.

  Here we go. The whole thing was a ruse. Get me to sit with them so they can pull me to pieces and make fun of me more effectively.

  I straighten my back, try to make myself ready for it.

  And I am. I will be. I have been many times before. But it turns out I’m not actually ready for what does happen, as the next few seconds take me completely by surprise.

  Zoe passes the note to Nia and nudges a thumb toward me.

  The note is for me?

  Nia slips the note to me under the desk.

  My heart is banging so hard I’m wondering when someone’s going to mention it. Surely they can hear it?

  What do I do? Open the note? Ignore it?

  If I had a hundred pounds — which I don’t — I would bet it on the probability that Zoe’s note is going to say something like “Who d’you think you are, loser? Lay off Olly. He’s MINE!”

  Good thing betting isn’t allowed in school, then.

  I unfold the note.

  Hey, sorry we’ve not met properly yet. I’m having a sleepover on Saturday. Wanna join us? Luv, Zoe

  It’s just as well I’m sitting down, or I would probably have fainted in shock. I have to read the note three times before I’m sure I’ve got it right.

  I might not be the most popular girl in school, but I’m not an idiot. I know that Zoe wouldn’t be interested in being my friend if she hadn’t just witnessed one of the school’s A-list boys talking to me.

  But even so. Is it really superficial of me to be glad? Is it wrong to be aware of how nice it would be to fit in? To think that, regardless of her motivation for asking me along, once they get to know me, they might actually want to be my friends anyway? That I could ever actually be part of a group of girls? That I could be one of the gang?

  Is it so awful to want those things?

  I don’t think so.

  Which is why I open my notebook and turn to a blank page. Hunched over my desk so it looks as if I’m working, I scribble on the corner of the page.

  That would be amazing!!!!

  No. That’s no good. Too eager. Way too many exclamation marks. I check that no one’s looking, then I rip off the corner, crumple it up, and try again. Be cool, Erin.

  I’ll check with my parents and let you know.

  Really? I want Zoe to think I’m a little kid who has to get her parents’ permission?

  In the end, I surreptitiously rip a third piece of paper out of my notebook and keep it as real as I can.

  I’d love to. Let me know the plan and I’ll see you there.

  Do I sign my name? I mean, it’s not as if she doesn’t know who it’s from. On the other hand, she signed hers. She even put luv on it. In the end, I scribble my name, add a couple of kisses, and pass the note to Nia.

  She passes it to Zoe, who opens it, smiles, and gives me a thumbs-up.

  I can’t help smiling back.

  I know I should keep my feet on the ground. I know that if I don’t, it’ll be my face falling flat on the ground instead. I know, I know, I know.

  But just for once, I’ve decided to forget. I’ve decided to fit in. I’ve decided to toy with the idea of being part of a group of girls. And not just any group. The popular group.

  And as Nia joins me on the way to English and links my arm while she tells me about the kinds of things that happen at Zoe’s sleepovers and the laughs they have together, I’ve decided I like it.

  I’m not ready to let her go yet.

  I’ve been asking around. Just a bit. And I’ve discovered why I hadn’t noticed her till now.

  Turns out she only moved here a couple of months ago.

  Which means that the boyfriend probably lives in her old town.

  Which means he isn’t here.

  Ergo: fair play, I say.

  I manage to engineer it so that I happen to be hanging around outside the school doors as she’s leaving.

  She’s with Nia and Kirsty. I didn’t realize she was friends with them. That throws me off my stride for a moment. Zoe’s not around, so at least I don’t have to deal with her trying not to look like she cares stares.

  I wander over.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to sound as casual as I vaguely remember once being.

  Nia spots me first and nudges Erin. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says with one of those knowing winks that girls give each other when they’ve been discussing boys. She and Kirsty move away. “See you tomorrow,” they trill with a little wave.

  And we’re on our own.

  “You don’t give up easily, do you?” she says as we walk across the yard.

  “Nope.”

  “Even when I told you I’ve got a boyfriend?”

  I nod. “Even then.”

  She bites her lip. Makes my heart do a stupid little jump. I want to touch her lip where she’s biting it. I am actually shocked enough that it stops me in my tracks for a moment. I want to kiss her.

  I haven’t felt like this since before . . .

  “So, look, I’ve been thinking,” I say quickly. Anything to stop my mind from going where it was about to go. No point in ruining a potentially good moment with my morbid thoughts.

  “No one ever told you that’s bad for you?” she says drily, and I laugh.

  “Look. We can be friends,” I blurt out.

  She raises an eyebrow. “Friends,” she says. There’s a half-smile dancing in her eyes.

  “Yeah. Why not? Just ’cause you’re a girl and I’m a boy, that’s no reason why we can’t hang out. Is it?”

  She tilts her head to the side as she thinks. “I suppose not.”

  I lean closer, looking at our feet walking in time. I lower my voice. “I figure this boyfriend of yours must be a long way away, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

  Erin stops walking and looks at me. Her face is . . . I don’t know. She looks different, suddenly. Which is when I realize how all this might sound. Like I’ve been looking into her background. Like I’m some kind of stalker.

  “Look, I didn’t mean — I meant — I was just guessing, I mean, you’ve only just started here, right?” I babble ridiculously.

  She turns away again, walks more quickly. We’re nearly at the gates at the end of the yard. Last chance. “Look. No strings, no funny business. Just meet me this weekend. Saturday night.”

  “I’m busy Saturday night,” she says quickly.

  “Friday, then. Tomorrow night. We can go for a burger or something. Or go to the amusement park or the cinema. Whatever you want. I just want to get to know you.”

  Erin stops at the gate. I stop, too. She raises those big sad eyes and meets mine.

  “Why?” she asks softly.

  “Why what?”

  She shrugs. “Why me?”

  For a moment I’m stumped. I mean, she’s right. Why her? Is it just my pride? I don’t like being turned down? Is that what this is about? Am I that shallow? Or is it something more than that?

  Is it that the things that used to matter so much to me now feel so meaningless that they’ve forced me to look in different places for any possibility of happiness? Is it that she seems so much like a girl Joe would have gone for that I think she’ll somehow make me feel closer to him? Is it that I want to be a better person, and something about her makes me think she could help me get there? That she can give me absolution or something?

  Is it all of those things, or something else entirely?

  Either way, she’s got her eyes trained on me, and I know for sure that the last thing I’m going to tell her is the truth.

  So I shrug right back at her and reply in the only way that I can without feeling like I’m coming apart at the seams.

  “Why not?”

  I stare at him for another moment or two. What is
it with this guy? Why the hell is he interested in me? And why now? Why, when I’ve finally found Joe again and am not remotely interested in anyone else, am I suddenly attractive to the kind of guy who has never in the whole of my life paid me the slightest bit of attention?

  And why do I want to say yes? Is it that being seen with him seems to be my passport to actually being part of a group of friends for once in my life?

  Is it that I want an excuse to find out more about Joe, and Olly is my only access to that information?

  Well, yes. It is; it’s both of those things.

  But the truth that I would really like to hide from if I could, but that unfortunately I don’t think I can, is a bit simpler than that.

  I like him.

  Not in the way I like Joe. Joe is like the other half of me. He makes me feel whole. He’s like the answer to the questions I’ve been asking all my life, the ending to the sentences I begin that have always gone nowhere till I met him.

  No one could come close to what Joe means to me — not even his brother.

  But Olly makes me feel . . . I don’t know. Light, I guess. He makes me smile. He makes me want to have fun. And I can’t help wondering if it’s really so wrong to let myself do those things occasionally.

  Which is why, finally, I smile at him. “All right, I give in,” I concede. “We can hang out together. But just as friends, OK?”

  Olly grins back at me so widely, his smile makes his eyes dance. He gives me a Boy Scout salute. “Just friends. All clear. So shall I call for you tomorrow? I don’t even know where you live.”

  “I —” I’m about to give him my address, but I stop myself just in time. I can’t tell him I live in his old house! I don’t like being dishonest with him, but there’s no way I can start complicating things like that. “Let’s meet in town,” I suggest.

  Olly nods. “OK. How about meeting me outside Mr. Fish at seven?”

  I already know Mr. Fish. It’s Phoebe’s favorite fish and chips place. I might actually have plans that my little sister would be jealous of, for the first time since we got here. Probably for the first time ever.

  “Sounds good,” I agree.

  “Fab. It’s a date.”