by Kate Brian
Emily sat back, her expression slack. "I thought you quit."
"Yeah, well, I quit a lot of things and it hasn't gotten me anywhere," Catherine said, lighting up.
She stood up and stepped over Emily to get to the window, which she jammed open. She exhaled a stream of blue smoke into the rainy night. Emily turned green.
"Go back to your party, kid," Catherine said gruffly. Emily stood up and grabbed the door. Teagan stepped out of the way. She saw Emily take one last look at her aunt, then turn her gaze to the floor and walk out.
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"What does she mean, she's quit a lot of things?" Teagan asked the ghost once Emily was gone. "Is she a lush or something? Oh! Was she drinking tonight? Is that what made her go all Teri Hatcher on me?"
"No, she's not an alcoholic," the ghost said, gazing at the solitary figure by the window. "She used to be a drug addict, but she kicked it when Ricky was just a baby. She wanted to make a better life for her kid, but with her record it was hard for her to get a job. So when her husband died, she came here to start over."
"She owes a lot of money?" Teagan asked.
The ghost nodded. "Hospitals, credit cards, funeral home," she said. "Between all that, the mourning, and getting fired, I'd say she's officially in danger of backsliding."
"Oh, and I guess that's my fault," Teagan said. "I didn't make her a klutz."
"But you did insist she get fired for ruining your precious Vera Wang," the ghost said. "Which, by the way, you never would have worn again even though you spent enough money on it to feed a small village."
Teagan swallowed. She watched Catherine take another drag. Then the woman leaned her elbow on the windowsill and stared out into space.
"Can you tell what she's thinking?" she asked, her heart feeling a bit heavy.
"I'm not a mind reader," the ghost said.
"You knew what I was thinking before," Teagan pointed out.
"Well, maybe you're just that transparent," the ghost replied.
She reached out and took Teagan's hand in hers.
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"Stop doing that!" Teagan cried, dizziness overwhelming her as her bare feet touched solid ground once again.
"Sorry. That's all I got in the way of transportation," the woman told her.
Teagan felt a shiver and looked around. She was standing under the awning in front of the Upper Sheridan Country Club. Rain drenched the flagainstone walk and the windowpanes trembled with the beats pounding through Shay's speakers. The ghost took a deep breath of the humid air and tipped her head back. Her chin bandage pulled at her skin in a highly unattractive way.
"What are we doing here?" she asked.
"Well, you said you wanted to come back."
"And you said it didn't matter," Teagan replied. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her ghoulish tour guide. "What the hell is the point of all this? Why did you take me over to Emily's? Just trying to make me feel guilty for something I can do nothing about? At least she's still alive. I'm dead! You know, I'm beginning to think you're just plain evil. I mean, who do you -- his
Teagan only paused when she noticed two umbrellas approaching the end of the walk from opposite directions. She recognized Maya's scurrying walk and Ashley's truck-driver gait. Those girls both needed a weekend with Tyra Banks to get their poise in order. But at least they had decided to show up.
Maya and Ashley picked across the stones, playing hopscotch over the rivers that ran between them. When they finally reached the covered steps, they dropped the umbrellas.
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Maya shook her hair back. Ashley let out a frustrated groan, sloughing some wetness off her arm. Teagan took one look at them and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. It took a split second for Maya and Ashley to finally look at each other. When they did, Maya let out a screech that was perfectly drowned by a rumble of thunder.
Ashley and Maya were now wearing the exact same red dress. Teagan realized this must have been the one they had originally bought. The one Lindsee had told her about that morning.
"What are you wearing?" Maya wailed, her brown eyes huge.
"What are you wearing?" Ashley shouted back.
"I can't believe this! I thought you said you returned it!" Maya said.
"Why should I?" Ashley countered, placing one hand on her hip. "It totally looks better with my coloring."
"Oh, please! It completely washes you out!" Maya shouted.
"Omigod, this is classic!" Teagan cried, looking at the ghost, who, for the first time, seemed rather amused herself.
"Go home and change," Ashley said, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You go home and change," Maya replied.
"Ugh!" they both groaned shrilly, throwing their hands up in the air.
"You guys! Come on! Who cares what you're wearing!" Teagan shouted after them, laughing as they both stalked back through the rain. "Come back! You're missing the party!"
Both girls turned at the end of the walk and headed back for the valet stand. Teagan glanced at the ghost, still smiling.
"Okay, maybe you're not totally evil," Teagan told her. "That was kind of fun."
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"I know. Those two crack me up," the ghost said mirthfully.
Teagan grasped the bronze handle on the door and swung it open, releasing a rush of cool air.
"Where do you think you're going?" the ghost asked.
"Inside. I want to see what everyone else is doing."
"Uh-uh! No way. We still have a lot to do," the ghost said, reaching for Teagan's arm. "I just needed a little break after that whole Catherine thing. Total tearjerker."
Teagan's eyes narrowed as she glared at the slim fingers gripping her flesh. She could feel her ire fill her up from her fingertips all the way down to her toes.
"You can't do this to me!" she ranted. "This is my party! You can't just bring me back here and dangle it in front of me like I'm some dumb dog! You can't tell me what to do!"
"Actually, I can," the woman said.
Her grip on Teagan's arm tightened. Teagan let out an inhuman screech, but it did no good. In a dizzying rush of warmth, they were off once again.
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Upcoming Sweet Sixteen Party
Transcript 3
Reporter: Ronde Taylor, Staff Writer, Rosewood Prep Sentinel
RT: This is Ronde Taylor and I'm sitting here with sophomore Teagan Phillips. Teagan has uh . . . agreed to . . . uh, finish up the interview she started with Melissa Bradshaw as long as she was allowed to choose the reporter. So, Teagan, thanks for picking me. This is my first big assignment.
TP: My pleasure, Ronde. And may I say that of all the freshmen on the staff, you are obviously the most qualified. You play football, right?
RT: (clears throat) Uh, yeah. I was the only freshman to make varsity this year.
TP: Well, I'm in the presence of celebrity!
RT: No. I am. You're, like, a goddess around here, man.
TP: Well, thanks for saying so.
RT: So, if you could get only one thing for your birthday, what would it be?
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TP: World peace?
RT: Really?
TP: (laughter) Oh, Ronde. You're so cute. No . . . no. Let's see . . . if I could have only one thing for my birthday, I suppose it would be-
RT: To have your mom there?
TP: (pause) What?
RT: Well, I know your mom died when you were little and I know that if my mom died, I would just want her around, you know? I love my mom. She's the coolest. Birthdays would suck without her homemade chocolate cake. Plus she has this special way of singing "Happy Birthday" that is--
TP: Okay, are you supposed to be answering the questions or am I?
RT: Well, I just . . . I
TP:
'Cuz I don't really need to hear about how you might feel if your mom died. I really don't need to hear that. I mean, how do you think that makes me feel, Ronde?
RT
: Oh. God. Sorry, I
TP:
What is wrong with people? Doesn't anyone ever think of anyone other than themselves?
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RT: I'm sorry. Really. I didn't think-
TP: Whatever. I have to go. (sound of chair scraping back)
RT: Wait! Oh my God. I'm so sorry! Forget I said anything. I'll ask you something else.
TP: You know what, Ronde? You suck as a reporter, (rustling sounds)
RT: Come back! (sound of door slamming) Oh, crap.
END OF TAPE 3
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"Take me back right now," Teagan demanded the second she felt whole again. Dizziness overwhelmed her as she tried to focus, but she had to close her eyes. She leaned a hand against a cool wall and braced herself. "Take me back. You have no right to do this to me. I -- his
She opened her eyes and was surprised to find herself back in her current bedroom. But before relief could set in, she realized something was wrong. The room wasn't as she had left it. WB posters adorned the walls, and the shelves that should have been stocked with the last three years' worth of W and Vogue magazines were overflowing with stuffed animals and kiddie books with pink and blue spines.
"Um, what's going on here?" Teagan asked, swallowing hard.
"We have traveled back in time," the ghost said with a grin. "Pretty cool, huh?"
Teagan stepped shakily away from the wall. "Back in time?
To when?"
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"To another birthday on which you were a total jerk." The ghost settled into the green-and-white-polka-dotted beanbag chair near the window and watched Teagan with interest.
"What, exactly, makes you think you can talk to me that way?" Teagan snapped.
The ghost opened her mouth, but then they both turned their attention to the shouting voices coming from the hall.
"I can't believe you're doing this to me!"
The door was shoved open so hard it hit the wall and knocked Teagan's fifth-grade honors award off its hook. Teagan backed out of the way quickly and felt a swoop of disbelief. Her twelve-year-old self had just stormed into the room, brown curls sticking out in every direction, skinny arms crossed over her chest. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening.
"What the hell is this?" Teagan blurted, her mouth going dry.
"Cool, huh?" the ghost replied with a grin.
"Teagan, sweetheart, listen to me." Teagan's father walked into the room now, looking distraught. His hair was slightly longer on top than it was today, but otherwise he appeared the same.
"No! I won't listen to you ever again!" little Teagan screamed.
Her face was boiling red and her eyes looked like they were ready to pop out of her skull. Present-day Teagan recoiled in disgust. Did she really look like that when she got mad? It was highly unattractive. But then again, this scene was pre-J.F. Lazartigue shampoo and somewhere smack in the middle of the metal-mouth years. Scrawny and big-headed, twelve-year- old Teagan was suffering right through her awkward stage.
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"It's my birthday!" little Teagan shouted, jutting out her chin. Ugh! So cringe-worthy. Teagan was glad she had since learned how not to accentuate her worst feature. "Why do you have to go to stupid New York on my birthday!?"
"Oh my God! I remember this now!" Teagan said, her heart thumping. Yet another birthday when her father had let her down. "He had that huge meeting and he ditched me the morning of my party."
"Teagan, I don't want to. Believe me," her father said, following little Teagan as she stormed into a corner and stubbornly turned her back to him. "But if I don't go to this meeting, we could lose everything. Don't you want to stay in this house? You love your new room."
Little Teagan was fighting back tears. Present-day Teagan could tell by the way she was stoically gasping for air.
"Mom would never do this to me," little Teagan said. "If she were here, she would hate you for going away on my birthday!"
Teagan leaned back against the built-in-bookshelves, feeling weak. She actually remembered saying this to her father. She remembered because even at the age of twelve, she knew it was the one thing she could say that would hurt her father the most. Even at the age of twelve, she wanted him to hurt as much as she was hurting. And she had felt a twinge of guilt the second she said it, but not enough to take it back. She had wanted to hurt him.
But of course, the arrow hadn't struck home. If she remembered this day correctly, her father hadn't even reacted.
"God, look at him," the ghost said
Teagan glanced at her father, standing behind her younger self. She watched his face contort with pain. Behind his daughter's back, she saw him cover his eyes with his hand.
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Oh. My. God. He did react. I just didn't see. . . .
Teagan looked across the room at the ghost, who was staring right through her as if she could read her very thoughts.
"Teagan, I wish your mother was here, but she's not," her father said evenly, squelching his feelings. He reached out to touch little Teagan's shoulder.
Little Teagan jerked away. "At least she actually loved me," she said.
"Yes, she did," her father told her. "And so do I."
Little Teagan inhaled a shaking breath. "No, you don't. You're going away on my birthday. You hate me."
Teagan's father sat down on the edge of her bed and let out a frustrated sigh. "Teagan, look at me."
No one moved.
"Look at me!" her father snapped gruffly. The sound of his angry voice sent a cold arrow through Teagan's heart, but it had the desired effect on little Teagan. Slowly she turned around, her eyes on the floor.
Her father, clearly feeling guilty over having to yell, reached out and took both little Teagan's hands in his. "You are going to have a lovely birthday party with Emily this afternoon," he said. "And tomorrow, when I get home, we'll go shopping in the city and get you anything you want."
Teagan watched her younger self closely. The little girl's head sank even lower.
"That's what he always does," Teagan said aloud, clinging to her anger in an attempt to keep the guilt at bay. "Got a problem, throw money at it. She couldn't care less about shopping. She wants him."
"You mean you," the ghost said. "You want him."
'Yeah, I do," Teagan said, feeling numb. Then she heard
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what she had said and she pulled herself up straight. "I mean, I did. I don't need him now. I'm used to him not being around. Believe me."
"Yeah, right," the ghost said.
Teagan glared at her.
you know what we should do right now?" Teagan's father asked, ducking his head and looking up at little Teagan hopefully. "We should do our special birthday dance."
"Holy crap, the birthday dance," Teagan said, feeling a rush of warmth and smiling automatically. "I totally forgot about that! We used to do that every year. This stupid little dance to You Are the Sunshine of My Life4'"
"Oh, Dad, please," little Teagan said, pulling away from him and crossing her arms over her chest again. "I'm not a baby anymore."
The depth of disappointment on her father's face was devastating.
"But we do it every year," her father said, his face falling.
"Not anymore," little Teagan said in an obnoxiously sarcastic voice that sounded very familiar to present-day Teagan. Hideously familiar. Little Teagan screwed her mouth up into a superior smirk.
"Fine," her father said, standing. His voice had taken on an icy tone. He was clearly hurt and little Teagan wasn't giving him anything to work with. "Your presents are downstairs. Marcia will be here to oversee the party."
"Great," little Teagan said. More sarcasm.
Marcia, Teagan thought with a jolt. Marcia's here? Marcia Lupe had been her nanny from before her mother died all the way up until she was almost thirteen. Teagan loved that woman. She had been the only person Teagan would even
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talk to just after her m
other died. I wonder what ever happened to her, Teagan thought now, disturbed to realize that she had no idea where Marcia even lived today.
"I'll see you when I get back," her father said. He leaned over to kiss little Teagan's forehead, but once again, she pulled away. Her father straightened up and sighed, his lips tight. "Happy birthday. I love you."
Then he turned and strode right out the door.
Little Teagan burst into bitter tears --unable to control herself as Teagan was able to years later.
"Poor kid," Teagan said under her breath.
"I know. But he did have to leave," the ghost told her, standing up and joining Teagan as they looked down at her younger self. "Remember? A couple of weeks later at that party your dad threw? You overheard his business partners talking about how he would have lost his company if he hadn't straightened out a problem at the shareholders meeting that weekend."
"How did you know that?" Teagan asked.
"If you stop asking me that, this night's going to be a lot easier," the ghost said with a sigh.
"Okay, fine. Yeah. I did overhear that. But how was I supposed to know that then?" Teagan blurted. "Look at me! I'm just a kid!"
"But old enough to listen," the ghost said. "Old enough to try to understand. Old enough to know how to hurt somebody."
Little Teagan walked over to her bed and pulled her mother's silk birthday scarf out from under her pillow, where it had lived for many years. She balled up the scarf and covered her face with it, sobbing uncontrollably.
Teagan swallowed a lump in her throat. Maybe the ghost
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had a point. What kind of person hurt someone intentionally like that? She had known what she was doing, bringing up her mother, and she had done it anyway. Maybe she had been upset. Rightfully upset. But she could have acted like a human. She should have listened to him. She should have let him kiss her good-bye.
"It's different, looking at it from the outside," the ghost said.
"I should have gone after him," Teagan replied. "I should have told him I loved him too. Look at her! Doesn't she realize she wouldn't be so upset if she hadn't acted like such a bitch?"
"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," the ghost said.
Teagan looked at her and rolled her eyes. "Nice cliche."
"It's a cliche for a reason," the woman said, placing her hand on Teagan's shoulder. Then the world faded around Teagan, the sobs of her younger self still choking in her ears.
