Author: Pauline Creeden
Date: 2014-03-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Young Adult; Mystery; Fantasy; Romance; Ghosts; Young Adult Paranormal
Description: Chira Kelly thought she didn’t need anyone... until she met Ben. Because of one ugly rumor, Chira lives as an outcast at her school. Which is fine with her, because she works better alone. Always has, always will. And at least she has her one and only true friend, Tasha. When Tasha insists that they join a group to visit a possibly haunted abandoned old schoolhouse, she's wary, but joins her friend. Because of that decision, their lives are in jeopardy as a malevolent spirit targets the group. Tragedies and accidents pick them off one by one, and Chira finds herself drawn to the one person who
Publisher: AltWit Press

First Impression

© 2014 Pauline Creeden

Cover Design Copyright © 2014 by Alchemy Book Covers

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Interior formatting and design by Inkstain Interior Book Designing.

I watched for the owl with my Hogwarts letter to appear on my 11th birthday, but he never did. So when an owl taps at my bedroom window near midnight five years too late, I am more confused than elated. I had never seen an owl before except in the movies. The street lamp casts a yellow pallor on this one, but still its feathers shine just shy of iridescent. Varying shades of brown and gold weave throughout its wings and cover its back. It pecks again at my window pane with its amber beak.

I close my purple laptop now that the initial shock has passed and dart a glance toward my bedroom door. Would my stepfather hear it? I grit my teeth. If he did, there’d be hell to pay. Waking him is like waking a bear. My desk chair squeaks when I unfold my bare feet from under myself and stand. I wince at that sound, too.

The owl no longer faces me, but gives me a full view of its gorgeous feathers. I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t get a fanciful notion that this bird is somehow magical or carrying a letter from Disney World…or wherever Hogwarts is supposed to be. Those sorts of dreams were buried with my father—the one who had read those books to me when I was young. So as a realist, I do the practical thing. I shoo the bird and wave at it to make it go away.

Its shiny yellow eyes focus on me, and the ridges on its forehead meet in the middle. It gives me a piercing, indignant look, turns its head and leaps from the sill. Talons scratch against the wood before the owl dips down and starts upward. The rooftop of the four-story brownstone across the street becomes its perch. Out of the reach of the streetlamps, its dark silhouette barely makes a mark against the washed-out sky.

Regret tightens my throat. Why did I chase it away? A deep, throaty cough in the bedroom next to mine serves as a reminder. I tense, but no other noises come from my stepdad’s bedroom. It’s my mom’s bedroom, too, but she’s working the night shift at the diner…again.

My hasty decision has cost me the moment to examine an extraordinary thing. I could at least have spent some time inspecting those marvelous feathers. Suddenly the room feels stifling. Warm air presses on me from all sides—inescapable. I step up to the window, pull the latch, and push it open.

The October night air kisses my cheeks, licking the sweat beaded on my nose. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. In the distance a car alarm blares a steady rhythm, and a siren wails even farther away, but nearby, indistinct conversations make it past panes of glass and through the cracks of the apartment buildings to the street. Even though it’s late, people are up, living life, or maybe even watching Doctor Who re-runs on Netflix, like I was.

The quick whistle between the feathers of the owl draws my attention. Its broad form returns to the light of the streetlamp, and the golden hues I’d admired just a moment before become muted from this distance, more natural than I’d first realized. Surprisingly, the bird dips toward the street. A tall young man with dark, disheveled hair pushes off from a wall and steps into a pool of light. I’ve never seen him before. His eyes are on the owl as well. The bird dives toward him. When the guy reaches an arm out in a welcoming gesture, I’m stunned to find the owl landing upon his shoulder. The pair moves in and out of the pools of light under each street lamp.

And just when I thought I no longer believed in magic.

I blink hard and shake my head, but the image of the young man with an owl on his shoulder doesn’t go away. They remain, walking in and out of the shadows.

“Unbelievable,” I whisper and pull back from the window, suddenly chilled.

I slide the window shut and shake my head. As an afterthought, I pick up my cell and kick myself for not taking a picture. But then the flash would have drawn attention to me, right? I wouldn’t want that if the guy below was something sinister…like what? A wizard?

I shake my head again and rub my arms. My hairs stand on end.

Outside my bedroom door, I hear feet shuffling, and a floorboard creaks. My heart leaps in my chest. My stepdad. I bound across my bed, click off the lamp on my nightstand, and throw my feet under my covers. My heart beats rapidly in my chest and in my ears. Swallowing hard, I try to hear over the incessant pounding. Did he see the light under my door?

Although the man had never laid a hand on me, his judgment and hatred pierce me with his glares and lash me with his vicious tongue. I don’t need his yelling. Everyone is happier when I keep a low profile.

An echoing cough lets me know he’s in the bathroom across the hall. Our two-bedroom, one bath condo on the second floor of the brownstone is one of the smallest in the neighborhood. When my father bought it, he had said that it was better to have the smallest house in a good neighborhood than the largest in a bad one. Because of his foresight, I was also within walking distance of one of the best private schools in Crystal City. And with the money from the insurance company after his accident, my uncle, the executor of the will, determined to pre-pay for my education until I graduate.

The flush of the toilet quickens my heart. Would he come toward me or go back to bed? When the floorboard in front of his bedroom creaks, I let out a ragged breath. My heart relaxes in my chest, and I close my eyes. Safe. This time anyway.

Seven a.m. comes way too early. My nose is stuffed, and I can hardly breathe. The triad beep of my cell phone adds to the already incessant vibrations against my night stand. I set it for only fifteen minutes before I have to walk out the door—after my stepfather has left for work.

Sniffling, I throw the covers from my bed. I rush across the hall to brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face. My nose is running. I open the medicine cabinet to find we’ve got nothing. Great. If I’m going to make it to the nurse before first period, I need to move faster.

After slipping into the tall socks and knee-length brown skirt, I don the white button shirt and green sweater as well, my school uniform. I pull my long, light brown hair into a ponytail and check the mirror quickly. Yep. It’s me. I grab my brown canvas messenger bag and head for the kitchen.

Mom’s there, in her fuzzy purple robe, drinking a cup of coffee. She gets home from work a little after six a.m. and spends about an hour drinking coffee and eating breakfast with my stepdad. Afterward, she waits to see me off to school before heading to bed. A woman of routine—my mom. Her feet are folded under her in the chair. Dark circles are under her eyes, and her dark hair is free around her shoulders. But she smiles when she sees me. “Morning, Chira.”

I shoot her a half smile and sniffle. “Morning. I’m in a hurry, Mom. We’re out of meds and I’ve got a cold coming on. I’ll need to stop by the nurse’s office before first period.” I sniffle again to show her I’m serious.

She nods and pulls her purse toward herself. The tan worn leather purse is nothing fancy, nothing like the designer bags that most the girls at school carry around with them as status symbols. She pulls out a twenty and hands it my direction. “After school, stop by the drug store and pick up what you need.”

I nod, take the money, and start for the door.

“Chira,” Mom says in a stern voice.

I freeze and turn quickly, pecking her on the cheek.

“That’s nice, honey, but not what I mean. Breakfast.”

“Snot is running down the back of my throat and into my stomach, Mom. If I eat something, I might barf.”

Nonplussed, she says, “Toaster pastry. And grab a juice box for some vitamin C—it will help your cold.”

With a sigh, I head for the cupboard over the toaster. I take one of the pastries out and put it on a paper towel and then leave the other in the foiled wrapper. I grab a juice box and stuff it in my pocket. Making a show of it, I take a bite of the pastry for my mom’s sake and say with my mouth full, “Bye.”

She smiles and stands, stretching her back. “Have a good day at school.”

“Thanks.” I grab my jacket and dash out the door before she can stop me again.

When I hit the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, I peek up to see that our apartment door is still closed. Satisfied, I toss the rest of the toaster pastry into the trashcan by the mailboxes. My mouth is completely dry from the one bite I force myself to swallow down. I down the juice box and my stomach sloshes. Ugh.

The wind pulls the front door from my hands, and it nearly hits the stoop railing. I catch it and fight to get it closed again. My ponytail whips me in the face.

Grey clouds overhead hint at rain, or maybe snow? Not likely this time of year, but the biting wind makes me wonder. An array of browns and oranges cover the few trees lining both sides of the street, and my feet crunch through some of the fallen leaves on the sidewalk. I join the crowds of people heading toward the bus stop. Once there, I leave most of them behind and continue walking past the park to the only other building with a real lawn in the area, Jackson Hall Preparatory School. It’s still a wee bit early, with only half the kids milling around the lawn as usual.

I pull one of the large oak wood doors toward me, and it releases a squeal that echoes through the empty hall. Not one other kid in their right mind would want to be entering early into this building. Would the nurse even be in yet?

My Sketchers make a nervous squeak on the polished floor. The muffled conversations between adult voices come to me long before I make it to the administrators’ hall. I turn into the open door of the infirmary, and a middle aged blonde woman in a lab coat looks up from the papers on her desk with a smile. “How are you doing? What can I help you with?”

I return her grin. “Hi, Nurse Kellogg, I’m Chira Kelly from class 18B. I woke with a stuffed nose this morning and didn’t have any meds at home. Can I get something from you?”

She taps her pen on the clipboard at the front of her desk and says, “Sign in.”

When I bend down to sign my name on the first line available, the nurse pulls a drawer open and sets two foil wrapped red pills marked ‘Sample’ in front of me.

“Come back at lunch time and get two more. That should get you through the day. If you need, I can send you home with a baggie overnight.”

“Thanks.”

The nurse stands and removes a bottle from the waist-high brown refrigerator. She hands me spring water and says, “But as long as you are on school grounds, I have to watch you take the medication. It’s policy.”

With a nod, I extract the pills from their foil, open the cap on the water bottle, and toss it all back. I open my mouth and show my tongue to prove I swallowed the medication.

She laughs and pulls a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Well that’s overkill but good enough.”

Then she ushers me to the secondary exit by the office. “I’ll sign a pass to let you come see me during your lunch break to get more medication.”

We enter the main office area and find the secretary sitting at her desk. She’s the kind of woman who refuses to wear anything but the highest of heels. Her desk looks more like a dairy farm than a workspace. Her phone is covered with a cow-print cozy, and little statues of cows in cute poses line up in a row on both sides of her nameplate, Mrs. Campbell. A boy sits in the chair across from her desk, his empty maroon backpack resting against his shins like a deflated balloon.

An office aide is at the filing cabinet, and she barely glances our way when we enter in.

Nurse Kellogg addresses the secretary without preamble. “Joyce. I need a hall pass for Miss Sniffles here to come back and get more decongestant at lunch time. Do you think you can handle that for me?”

My face flushes. Did she really just call me that?

Mrs. Campbell leans back in her noisy secretary’s chair, amused, her eyes resting on me. “No problem. Class and lunch block, Sniffles.”

With a laugh, the nurse spins on her heel and returns to her office. The office aide stifles a giggle unsuccessfully. Wonderful.

“I’m Chira Kelly,” I say, trying my best not to sniffle and solidify this stupid nickname. “I’m in 18B and second lunch block.”

Mrs. Campbell blinks hard and taps her cow colored pen against her front teeth. “Really?”

I nod but can’t help but get a feeling that I shouldn’t.

“That’s great.” A small smile plays on her lips as she scribbles on a hall pass. “Here’s your pass, but I want you to do something for me, as well.”

I sniffle, even though I don’t want to. But it was either that or let the snot dribble from my nose. Which is worse? I try to smile. “What can I do for you?”

She rips my hall pass from her pad and points it toward the young man sitting across from her desk. “Chira Kelly, meet Ben Oscuro. He’s new here and needs someone to show him around. It just so happens he’s also a member of class 18B.”

I finally focus on the boy. He doesn’t look up at me, and his disheveled dark hair is just long enough that it hides his eyes. But he pushes himself up from his chair, and his slim form towers over me. He’s at least six-feet-two and his uniform is almost as crumpled as his hair. He swings his backpack onto a strong, square shoulder and nibbles his full bottom lip. His smooth olive skin and dark hair make him look like a foreign rocker, and there’s something about him that seems vaguely familiar.

“Here’s a copy of his class schedule. When you’re not in the same class, I want you to leave a few minutes early and help him find the next class room. That’s your job for today. Got it?”

I swallow back and resist sniffling again. Taking the hall pass and the copy of the schedule from her, I say, “Um…sure.”

“Excellent. Robin, you’re off the hook.”

The office aide pumps a fist in the air before returning to file more papers in the cabinet. The secretary’s chair squeals a dismissal, and Mrs. Campbell picks up her phone, returning to her duties without another word.

Ben pulls open the office door and stands to the side to allow me to go first. The hallway that was empty only a short while ago is now full of students and their continuous conversations. With a shrug, I eye his class schedule quickly. Except for second and sixth period, we have exactly the same schedule. He’s in all of the advanced classes, too. Only he has gym for second period and Latin for sixth – opposite of my schedule, except I take French.

Piece of cake.

I glance up at him again, and his eyes meet mine. My breath hitches. His intense gaze makes me feel like he’s measuring me. The dark pools of his eyes seem deep and bottomless, but there’s something strange about them. They’re brown, but he has colored contacts. Why would anyone color their eyes brown?

My heart flutters. A sniffle escapes me before I can stop it. Ugh. I clear my throat and start in the direction of first period. “Follow me.”

We elbow our way down the freshman hall toward the second floor, but before we start up I point down the way. “Do you know what your locker number is?”

Ben nods and pushes his backpack on his shoulder farther.

I wait for a second and then smile. “What is it?”

“706.” He has a slight accent, and his voice is deeper than I expect. I suppress a shiver at the jolt the musical timbre of his voice sends through my body. I’m resonating like a tuning fork. I really want him to speak again with every fiber of my being. What’s with me?

“Uh…okay.” I swallow, trying to regain composure. I take him to the general area of the locker. “Here it is.”

He looks at it, nods, and returns his hard gaze to me. Is he always so stiff? Probably just nerves from being new.

“I know you don’t have any books to put in it, but do you want to try out the combination?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and spins the combo quickly through the three numbers. I purposefully avert my eyes so he knows I’m not peeking. He opens the locker wide, nods toward me, and then closes it again.

“Great. We have first period over here.”

“You and I have the same first period?”

My body vibrates again, and I blink hard. So glad my back was to him so he couldn’t see the effect his voice has on me. I swallow and face him. “Actually, yeah. Our schedules are very similar. It’s a smallish school, so there’re only a few tracks that juniors can be on.”

He nods, and his eyes are half lidded as if he’s bored already.

I lead him toward our classroom. “We don’t really have assigned seats, so you can pretty much sit anywhere you want. I’ll show you to the gym at the end of class. I have French next, but it’s not too far from there.”

I lead him to the front of the class, and my friend Tasha gives me a wan smile and raises her eyebrows, looking back and forth between me and Ben. She mouths, Who’s that?

I roll my eyes and put up one finger toward her to let her know I’ll tell her in a minute. Then I turn to the teacher. I hand him the schedule from the office. “Hi, Mr. Scott, this is Ben Oscuro, a transfer.”

Mr. Scott’s kind blue eyes smile at us both. He sets down the Mountain Dew he was drinking and offers Ben a wide grin. He puts a hand out for him to shake. Ben hesitates but takes the hand in what looks like a firm grip. Mr. Scott shakes his hand afterward. “That’s some grip you’ve got there.” He laughs and leans down to the bottom drawer of his desk and hands Ben a geography text book.

With a nod, I return to Tasha and squeeze into the desk next to hers. I’m at Jackson Hall partially on my father’s insurance money partially on scholarship because my stepdad works at the school. What he does, I don’t know, because I’ve never seen him. Because of all this, I’m somewhat of a social pariah. My only real friend is Tasha Brown, a pariah herself, being one of the few African-American kids in the school. Still she tends to be more popular than me, because at least her family has the money they’ve made in the night club and music business. But then there’s that rumor…

“So who is the new hottie?” Tasha hops up and down in her seat.

I shake my head at her. “You are one big hormone, you know that? Sure, he’s cute, but is there any guy in the room you don’t consider a hottie?”

Tasha scans the room with her hand on her chin and a very serious expression on her face. Her hair is in the typical pigtail braids she usually uses to play up the uniform. She has on no sweater, and her shirt is one size too small, the buttonholes at the front stretch to expose part of her red bra. Finally she returns her gaze to me. “There’s only one guy in here that doesn’t rank hottie.”

“Really? Who?”

She leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “Mr. Scott.”

I nearly choke on a laugh as I eye the middle-aged, balding teacher at the front of the room. But I have to admit, Jackson Hall is a prep school. And there's no one who can afford to make their children look their best more than the wealthy. I guess if I take my father’s words to heart, it’s better to be the poor kid in the rich kids’ school…than the other way around. Right?

Tasha’s smile returns, and I follow her gaze to figure out why. Ben Oscuro walks down the aisle between us and takes the desk right behind mine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He smells like pine and mint, and it reminds me of the outdoors. When I open them again, Tasha’s smile has grown impossibly wider. She leans towards me and whispers, “What was that you said about hormones again?”

I shove my elbow toward her, but she dodges me with a giggle.

The day drags in places and races in others. You know, the typical school day. By lunch time, I’m starving, but my sniffles have returned with a vengeance, so I stop in at the nurse’s office for two more pills. The halls are basically empty. Those in second block lunch are in the cafeteria or the courtyard. The rest of the miserable students are off in their classrooms.

“All right, Ms. Sniffles, see me again at the end of the day for a take home baggie. Got it?” Nurse Kellogg says.

I nod and start out the door. When I get to the hallway, I hear the squeak of shoes against the polished tile. Ben Oscuro is darting up the stairwell at the end of the hall. I look around but don’t see anyone else. My stomach growls, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow him. When I reach the second floor landing, the door at the top of the stairs clicks shut. There’s only one door in the stairwell. He’s on the roof?

Blinking hard, I dart up the rest of the staircase to the top as well. I stop at the door and catch my breath after running up the four flights of stairs. I doubt myself for a minute. Could he be smoking up there? There’s no smoking for students anywhere on school grounds, but lots of kids hide it out in the courtyard. But remembering the pine and mint scent from before, I doubt that’s the reason.

What if he was lost? What could he be doing? I steel myself. There’s only one way to find out. I open the door to the roof. Overhead the azure sky is swirled and streaked with cirrus clouds pulled apart by the wind like cotton candy. Gravel crunches beneath my feet. I hold the door and force it to close slowly and as it clicks shut, I fear for a moment that it might be locked. I sniff.

“Hey, Sniffles, are you following me?”

I stiffen, even while my body rejoices at hearing him string together more words than I’d heard him say thus far. “What? No…I mean…Yes. What are you doing up here? Lunch is half over.”

I spin toward him, and my stomach growls in betrayal. My arms cross over me in an attempt to hide it.

He leans back and smirks down at my midsection. Over his shoulder, an owl—no, the owl—sits on the top of the chain-link fence that surrounds the rooftop. And suddenly it dawns on me where I’d seen this guy before. And butterflies begin in my stomach. My mind flies in all sorts of directions, and my rational side says that I need to get hold of myself. An owl is just a bird. Probably a pet. And this boy who goes to my school is just Ben. Not a wizard, right? Although his voice does seem to have some sort of magical quality to it.

He steps into my line of sight, blocking me from the owl, and shoves a brown bag toward me. “Here.”

I frown while my hands reach for the bag of their own accord. “What’s this?”

Ben has already turned toward the owl when he says, “It’s a sandwich and a granola bar. Eat it.”

Part of me wants to throw the bag at his face. I don’t need his charity, and the way he just commanded me to do something makes me want to rebel. But then his arm rises in a welcoming gesture toward the bird, and the owl leaps from the top of the fence and lands on Ben’s shoulder. He hands the owl something with his other hand.

“What’s that?” I ask, because I can’t tell what he’s feeding it.

Ben doesn’t stop but says, “It’s beef jerky.”

The sounds of the city are more distant from up here, and through the diamonds in the chain link fence, I can see all the way to the Potomac River. The land and the woods surrounding the backside of Jackson Hall seem farther away than when I’m out on the track during gym class. Sunlight has warmed the asphalt on the roof, and the place smells of tar, but it’s not too strong.

“How did it know you’d be here?” I ask.

Ben looks at me with furrowed brows. “He follows me.”

“What’s his name?”

Ben shakes his head and does a half shrug, causing the bird to take off again and land once more on the chain link. “Steve.”

I laugh. “Seriously? His name is Steve?”

It’s then I notice that even though his facial expression seemed at peace while here on the roof with his owl, he hasn’t smiled. He’d lost a little of the edge he’d carried in school all day, but at my last question, the edge returns. “What sort of name did you expect? Grimwald? Rumplestiltskin? ”

I shrug and sniffle, the wind making my nose run harder. “I don’t know. I guess it just seems like such an ordinary name. And he’s far from an ordinary bird.”

His expression softens. Ben returns his gaze toward the owl and says, “Well, you’re right about that.”

Either my body is getting used to the sound of his voice or used to resonating to the tune of it. Which is the case? I’m not sure. My stomach gurgles again, and my gaze is drawn to the sack in my hand.

“Go ahead. I packed two sandwiches.”

I meet his gaze, nod again, reach my hand in, and pull out the sandwich. When I see that it’s peanut butter and jelly, my shoulders finally relax. At least it's nothing strange. I take a quick bite, but after half a sandwich, my mouth is completely dry. I stuff the remainder back in the sack but put the granola bar in my sweater pocket. The bell below us rings a warning.

“The second lunch block is over. Time for us to head to biology.”

He nods and tosses another piece of beef jerky high toward the sky. The owl leaps again from the chain link and catches it midair. Sunlight plays off the gold-colored feathers across the bird’s back. The sight of it brings a smile to my face.

“I thought owls sleep during the day.”

“They sleep when they are inactive. Like cats, they nap.” Ben shoulders his back pack, opens the door, and steps aside again to let me through.

“Oh.” I nod and head into the stairwell.

Immediately, we’re overcome by the hustle and bustle of everyone heading to their next class. The kids on the fourth floor don’t even look our direction, and I’m amazed.

With a reassuring smile toward Ben, I lead him to the third floor, and bio.

“What are you doing tonight?” Tasha asks, excited energy flying off her in sparks. She assails me the minute I reach the locker room for sixth period Gym class.

I shrug and pull the strap of my messenger bag over my head. Usually I stay after school in the library and do my homework until five. Then I head over to the diner to eat a quick bite of dinner before attempting to sneak past my stepfather and hole up in my room for the rest of the night. Finally I answer. “Nothing much.”

Tasha’s grin is contagious. “Well, you’re going to be my plus one then.”

I lift an eyebrow. “For what?”

She leans toward me and scans the locker room, obviously making sure no one is close enough to hear. “Jacob Sloane and Stacy Brine have invited a couple of people to go check out the Old Schoolhouse. Supposedly, one of them palmed the key off of Mr. Scott and made a copy.”

I shiver and stiffen. “Isn’t that place supposed to be haunted?”

She shushes me. “Keep it on the down low. We don’t want word getting back to Mr. S about the key. We’re just scoping it out for now. Jacob says he’s thinking about having a Halloween party at the place next week. The electricity is cut to the building, so it would be all candles and lanterns and stuff. Talk about a killer place to have the party, if it really is haunted.”

“Seniors, though? How did you get in on that?”

She shrugs into her gym shirt. “Since my dad owns the hottest DJ rentals in town, and it’s super short notice, they’re hoping I can hook them up. When I heard the plan, I had to go check it out for myself.”

“And you’re dragging me along because…”

“Duh, girl! This is setting up to be the party of the year.”

I roll my eyes. Like I care. “Whatever.”

“Whatever—meaning you’ll come?”

I nod and shove all my stuff into my locker while Tasha squeals.

The other girls in the locker room grow quiet and glare at us. I shrug and say, “What? Can’t a girl get excited with her girlfriend without everyone trying to get in on the action?”

I know that I just perpetuated the rumor that Tasha and I are a couple, but it really does wonders to keep most of them off our backs. I do my best to put on an oblivious, tough-girl persona, and because, at five-feet-eight, I am taller than most of them, potential bullies leave us alone. Tasha and I met when she was being picked on my first day at Jackson Hall.

Because Tasha is also so boy crazy, it keeps her from being the outcast that I am. People think she’s bi, while they are certain that I’m just straight-up gay. So instead of getting picked on to my face about being poor, I get picked on behind my back for being something I’m not. Win-win. My world is small, and I prefer it that way.

Tasha covers her mouth, and her eyes grow wide with mirth. She elbows me. “You’re the coolest, you know that?”

“Shhh,” I say. “Let’s not spread that around, or my grades could drop due to all the girls who’ll want to date me, and I could lose my scholarship.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah, like that’ll happen. You know more about the textbooks than the teachers at this school do. Seriously, girl, do you do anything but study?”

I shrug and finish putting on my gym clothes. We link arms and head toward the gym amid a bunch of stares and whispers. This week we’re working on volleyball. Although my wrists still hurt from the practice yesterday, I jump in and play with vigor. Participation is part of my grade in gym, and if I’m going to have a shot at valedictorian, when everything’s said and done, I need an ‘A’ in gym, too.

At the end of class, my muscles are relaxed and sore. It’s a good feeling. The endorphins are still running through my system, and I’m pretty happy. Tasha decides to come with me to the nurse’s office to pick up my meds. I text my mom to let her know that we’re going spend the afternoon at her house, and I’ll eat there.

“So when are we supposed to meet up at the Old Schoolhouse? And how many people are coming?”

Tasha shrugs. “Six o’clock. I don’t know how many are coming, but I’m sure it won’t be too many.”

I sigh, wishing I could get out of this now. “I guess it’s not like the party is tonight, right?”

“Yeah, besides, Jacob pick-pocketed Mr. S’s keys. If he got suspended or something, he’d have missed too many days of school to graduate this year. That’s what you get for skipping all the time.”

I shrug and point to myself. “Wouldn’t know. Nerd with perfect attendance here, remember?”

She laughs and bumps me with her shoulder. I hop into the back seat of her mom’s black Beamer and she jumps in shotgun. My walk to school is six blocks, and in reality, Tasha’s would be closer to five. But like most of the kids at Jackson Hall, she gets driven in. Tasha’s three-year-old brother, Kevin, sits in his booster seat. I offer him my fist to bump and ask him, “What’s up, killa’ Kevin?”

He giggles and kicks his feet but returns my fist bump with a huge smile.

“How was school today, sweetie?” Tasha’s mother asks.

“School was average to stellar. Chira and I got invited to a party planning meeting at six o’clock here at the school, so we need to come back then, okay?”

Tasha’s mom has set the ground rule that she was never allowed to say “fine” or “good” when describing her day at school, and her answer has to be at least five words in length. Tasha’s answer was always in a range to help her mother have an idea of what the day was like and to use up more of her word limit. But party planning meeting? Well, at least it was a half-truth anyway.

“Not a prob,” Mrs. Brown answers. She eyes me in her rearview mirror. “How about you, Chira? How was your day?”

This was the reason Tasha had explained the rules to me four years ago when we became friends. The first time Mrs. Brown asked that question, “fine” had been my answer. “Not too shabby, Mrs. B. I got appointed tour guide for the new kid today.”

“You should have seen him, Mom. He’s pretty hot. But a little shy or something—the kid hardly ever talks.”

“Does this kid have a name?”

“Ben Oscuro,” I answer.

“Ah,” Mrs. Brown nods knowingly. As a member of the Parent-Teacher Association, she helps on both advisory boards for admission and scholarship selection. “That must be Matt Benson’s nephew. I heard he was transferring in soon. Be a friend to him, Tasha. It’s no wonder he’s a bit shy. He’s been tossed around between family members since he was young.”

“No worries there, Mom. Chira was befriending him all over the place.”

I kick the back of her seat amid Kevin’s giggles. “What’s that supposed to mean? I just showed him around like I was supposed to.”

She laughs and turns in her seat. “There’s showing around…and showing around.”

“You make no sense, you know that?”

Tasha just laughs and straightens herself again. “The boy sat behind you in every class we all had together. I’d say he was interested in you for more than just your touring duties.”

I shake my head at her and avert my eyes to the window. Not if he gets a whiff of my reputation. The only boys who talk to me at all are those vain perverts who get it into their sick heads I need convincing to switch teams.

“Well, either way, Tasha. Don’t leave this entirely on Chira’s shoulders. You be nice to the boy, too,” Mrs. Brown says.

Tasha salutes. “You got it, General Mom.”

“General Mom, General Mom,” Kevin sing-songs.

I laugh. The times I go home with Tasha’s family are always the best. Even though Tasha’s life is typically full of dance lessons and piano recitals, it’s great that her family is a solid unit. And having an awesome little brother like Kevin around is icing on the cake. I’d love to have a sibling—if my dad was still around. The thought of my stepdad and mother having offspring gives me the creeps.

The daylight is immediately replaced with shadow the minute we pull into the parking garage at the bottom of Tasha’s condominium. Being in places like this cold, damp, dimly lit concrete structure makes me feel a little claustrophobic. But it’s just a short walk from the Brown’s Beamer to the elevator, and Kevin holds my hand which somehow makes me feel braver.

Mrs. B puts in her key at the number seven and turns. We are taken up to that floor, and when the elevator opens, it spits us right out in the middle of their living room. One wall is almost entirely glass and opens up to a spectacular view of the city. My eyes are always drawn to the grey-blue hue of the horizon since it’s so much farther than I can see in most other places I go. I can’t help but compare the view to the Jackson Hall roof now that I’d been there. I feel silly when I realize that I’m hunting for a distinct owl shape among the clouds.

“Okay girls. Homework first. Dinner will be ready in an hour and a half, when Mr. Brown gets home. If you need a quick snack, you know the drill. Fruits and vegetables only.”

Tasha aims for the fridge and snags a snack pack of apples and peanut butter. She tosses one to me and grabs one for herself. I reach over her shoulder to grip two water bottles between my fingers. We dance around each other while she heads for the cupboard for two paper towels. We sit at the breakfast bar and start in on our snack. I help Kevin into the stool beside me.

“Can I have one?”

“Of course,” I say at the same time Tasha says, “Get your own.”

I stare at her and shake my head, then push my snack toward Kevin and return to the fridge to snag a second pack for myself. “He’s three, Tasha.”

“So? He’s big enough to open the fridge.”

I return to my stool and shake my head at her again. Then sniffle. “Oh, Mrs. B. I forgot that I need to head to the drug store. Any chance you could take me by there on the way back to school?”

Mrs. Brown is folding up little triangle pastries into croissants. Her pale pink apron covers her dark slacks and cream blouse. “No prob, Chira.”

After we finish up our snack, we head to Tasha’s room. Kevin tries to follow, but Tasha shoos him away. “Mom! Call the brat, will ya? We need to get our homework done.”

“I’m not a brat!” he yells back.

“Kevin, can you come help Mommy decide what to make for dessert? Do you want chocolate chip or peanut butter cookies? I need help with the spoon!”

My mouth waters at the thought of it. Mrs. Brown is one heluva baker.

“Peanut butter!” Kevin yells as he turns back toward the kitchen.

Good choice. I smile. This family has my heart.

After we hit up the drug store for my decongestant, Mrs. Brown taxis us over to the school building. Several afterschool meetings and activities go on at this time of day on a Thursday, so nothing looks too suspicious as we jump out of the car, and Tasha pecks her mom on the cheek.

I wave. “Bye, Mrs. B. Thanks for having me over.”

“Any time, Chira.” Her smile is wide and genuine.

We slowly make our way up toward the steps of the building until the Beamer is out of sight, and then sneak around the side of the building and across the track toward Old Schoolhouse Road. Built over a hundred years ago, the Old Schoolhouse was the original site of Jackson Hall. It’s a smaller, two-story building that is more of a house than an actual school. Twenty years ago, when the prep school became hugely popular, they built the new school, larger and closer to the road. For a while they tried to use the Old Schoolhouse building to run as an elementary school, but after a few short years, they gave up on the idea. And Jackson Hall returned to being for eighth graders and up.

The sunset stained sky barely pierces through the thick canopy of trees overhead. Old Schoolhouse Road is more of a gravel driveway lined with a wooded area slightly to the west of our school. The road only leads back from building to building.

“I bet they call the place haunted just to keep kids from hanging out there.” Tasha’s trying to put backbone in her voice, but it still quakes a bit.

I shiver. “I’m sure.”

“The couple times I’ve had to walk home, I take the trail off to the side. It’s a short cut to the next street over. I’ve never seen anything strange in all the times I’ve passed by.

She seems a little creeped out, nonetheless.

When we reach the building, we find Jacob, Stacy, and a few other seniors and juniors hanging out in front. Behind us, the crunching gravel makes me start. My eyes meet Tasha’s. Her brown eyes open wide, a mirror of mine, before we both turn toward the sound. Ben Oscuro and Matt Benson, Jr. are heading up the drive. At first I’m shocked that Ben is friends already with a senior, and then I remember—cousins, duh.

“The gang’s all here,” Jacob says as he fist bumps Matt. Ben hangs back, away from most of the group, and Matt just leaves him that way.

Jacob and Stacy are counting the crowd, and then Stacy takes over, bossy from being head cheerleader for the last two years. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. There’s enough of us to split into two groups.”

“Split up?” Donnie laughs. “Isn’t that always a bad idea in horror movies?”

Jacob steps forward. “There’ll still be five to a group, scaredy cat. There’s safety in numbers, right?”

There’s a general murmur and consensus, but I still feel Tasha's shoulder leaning against me. She’s such a chicken. Why on earth did she sign us up for this?

Stacy pulls a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and continues. “Matt’s group will head upstairs and check out the second floor. They’ll make sure that there’s no chance of rotting floorboards for people to fall through, nothing unsafe for the party.”

“And that there’re plenty of beds, just in case, right?” Donnie Price shouts out, getting general laughter from all of the guys.

Stacy rolls her eyes. “Sure. Whatever. Jacob and my group will scout out the downstairs and check things. Everyone, stay in your group. Do not scout out separate rooms by yourself.”

“What about the ghost?” Tracy James asks, her mass of red curls pulled back in a bushy ponytail. My shoulders relax. At least there’s another junior around besides Ben, Tasha, and me.

“Well, that is one of the things we’re checking for.” Stacy laughs. “We even plan on having a medium come to the party and give a séance.”

Ben huffs and shakes his head. I doubt that anyone else saw that, as they were too busy giving each other high fives and talking about how cool that was going to be.

“All right. Matt’s team is going to be Ben, Tracy, Lloyd, and Jolie,” Jacob calls out. “My team is Stacy, Donnie, and the dykes.”

Everyone laughs. My face flushes, and I swear I see spots in the fading daylight. It’s one thing for them to say it behind my back; another for someone to call me out on it. My nails dig into my palms as my hands become fists. I’m mortified and want to deck someone at the same time.

Tasha defuses it, though. “Very classy, Jacob. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Change the sound of that word just a little bit, and we all know what we’d call you.”

The laughter crescendos, and Donnie shouts, “Burn!”

It is pretty funny. My fists unclench. I smile a little and nod toward Tasha. “Good one.”

Jacob flushes as his ego deflates a bit. Tasha saunters up to him as we join the rest of our group. She gives him a hug and says, “You know I love ya.”

I hate the way she does that. Tasha is such a diplomat that she plays both sides of the social field. She’s hard for anyone to stay mad at. I know I’m also just jealous of her ability to do it.

Stacy laughs and makes a claw gesture toward Tasha’s face. “Don’t make me scratch your eyes out over a boy.”

Tasha feigns fear and runs to the other side of me as though she’s hiding. I fold my arms across my chest and play along, raising my eyebrow at Stacy. She smiles and calls out to the group. “All right, let’s go.”

The large wood doors creak from lack of use as we enter into the front of the building. Tasha puts a cold metal cylinder in my hand, and I realize it’s a flashlight. Everyone’s lights snap on at once, causing dancing beams to flutter in from the doorway to the darkened interior. It seems like an old mansion rather than an actual school building. Furniture is scattered about the room, covered in white cloths, which I find strange, because there’s hardly any dust at all. There’s a rusty, antique, woodsy smell about the room, but not as musty as I’d expected.

“This place is awesome,” Donnie says from behind me. He’s so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

I step away a bit to allow everyone else to enter in. We split into our two groups, and Matt’s group starts up the stairs. Jacob turns the knob on his lantern which nearly lights up the whole room. “So where should we start?”

“This way,” Stacy says and leads us down the hallway. The hall is a little narrower than the ones at school but wider than those in an actual house. The rooms are all basically similar, with a few desks in each, a closet space filled with cubby holes, and a chalk board near the front.

“I bet there’s not much electricity to this building. Where would anyone charge a laptop back in the day?” Tasha says.

I shake my head. “I don’t think anyone had laptops back in the day. No cell phones either.”

Donnie pulls out his iPhone and starts filming us all from the back of the line. I duck my head. Does he really need to do that? Seriously?

Tasha and I are directly in front of him, while Stacy and Jacob lead us, hand in hand.

“Maybe this video will become famous like that Blair Witch story. You know, ‘I see dead people…’” Donnie half whispers.

Tasha clings to my arm.

“Wrong movie, moron,” Stacy says. “That’s not Blair Witch Project.”

We pass into a music room with a piano that’s only partially covered. The back half is still hidden with a sheet, but the front half reveals a beautiful cherry type wood. Stacy, her blonde hair shimmering even in the dim light from the flashlights, sits at the covered bench and opens the panel to reveal the keys. A few colored stickers cover the middle section with letters written on them for the notes. Although worn in places, it’s easy to see what the letters said. Stacy presses a key and the piano gives off one sour note. She pushes the ivory key again, but it’s stuck and refuses to make a sound on the second push. Her fingers move across a few keys, but several of the ones she presses make no sound at all. She stands and slams the panel. “We can see why this piano is over here instead of in the music department of main Jackson.”

A general murmured agreement goes up from the group. We continue to the last portion of the house. The dining area is wide with a tile floor and several small tables and undersized chairs. Donnie sits in one, and his knees protrude above the table to both sides of him comically. He turns his iPhone around on himself and says, “I feel like we’re in an overgrown doll house, man. These chairs definitely weren’t built for a normal-sized guy like me.”

“Well, it was an elementary school,” Tasha says.

Donnie tries to stand but can’t get himself out of the crab like position. He milks the show for all it's worth, having Stacy and Jacob in stitches with his contortions. Tasha and I even smile before he finally shoves a hand in Jacob’s direction. “A little help?”

The smacking of their palms together echoes through the quiet room.

The domed ceiling overhead is covered in a similar white tile to the floor, and the ceiling fixture is a bronze chandelier. My eyes are drawn to the leaves that weave throughout the tile work. Each vine unites perfectly with only the grout between the tiles breaking up the pattern.

Three sour eerie notes play on the piano in the other room, and all of us rush to the doorway, but don’t enter. My arm hairs stand on end. Tasha and I are at the front and have no intention of entering the room. Donnie shines his flashlight over our heads. No one is in the room. The panel over the keys of the piano is closed, just as we left it. A mild bit of cold air drafts in seemingly from nowhere.

Tasha swallows hard. “I think I’m ready to get out of here.”

Stacy smacks her on the shoulder. “No way. Ghosts only scare you, not hurt you." She smiles her fake smile, her perfect teeth flashing in the dim light. "What are you worried about?”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Tasha shakes her head. “Haven’t you seen The Grudge? Ghosts can follow you home and stuff. We should get out of here.”

“You can leave if you want, Chicken. But we still haven’t seen the kitchen yet.” Jacob starts in the direction of the swinging metal door at the other side of the dining area. Donnie follows, making bock-bock noises and flapping an arm, his camera recording our faces.

I take Tasha’s hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “We can leave if you want. We don’t have to follow them in there.”

She looks up at me gratefully and squeezes my hand before releasing it. “I’ll be okay. I can do this.”

I nod, and she straightens her spine. Marching toward the kitchen, she has her hands fisted like she’s ready for a fight.

Jacob pushes open the door, and the blast of cold air has me wondering if there’s an open window. He exhales and his breath rises in a mist. Stacy opens her mouth to speak, but a blood curdling scream makes her clamp it shut, and we all whip our heads toward the sound in the kitchen. My heart leaps into my throat and pounds in my ears. Every hair on my body stands on end.

An unnatural looking girl limps around the kitchen. Her body is see-through, distorting the other side of her like an ice cube. She drags one leg behind her, leaving a vaporous blood trail in her wake. She startles, looking toward the pantry, then runs straight at us; her mouth contorts in a silent scream.

My stomach quivers so hard that I feel like it will never stop. I’m so cold, my teeth chatter. The ghost rushes toward us, and as she draws near, she becomes a haze of white moving so fast, I barely have time to wince at the icy breath of wind.

Every fiber of my being screams: we’ve got to get out of here.

I hadn’t noticed Tasha’s nails digging into my arm until she suddenly releases me with a sob. I turn around and find her shadowed form in my flashlight. She’s rushing toward the other dining room door.

“Wait!” I yell and chase her. Fear has gripped my insides, and I have a side-stitch as though I’d been running for two miles at top speed, but I’ve barely made it to the music room. Warning bells are going off in my head, and I can hardly hear anything but their ring. This is a nightmare. Did we see what we really saw? Is there any way that a ghost could follow you around like in horror movies?

Tasha rips open the front door of the building, and it groans in protest.

The group from upstairs rushes down.

“What’s going on?” Matt says, from the first landing on the stairs. “Did someone scream a few minutes ago? What are you running from?”

I shake my head in the second group’s general direction and dart out the door. A cold wind whips my face. It’s as dark out here as it was in the house, darker without the light of Jacob’s lantern. The trees rustle overhead, drowning out the sounds of the city. I can’t see Tasha anywhere on the road. How could she have possibly gone that far so fast?

When the breeze dies a little, I hear the rustle of feet through leaves off to my right. When I turn, I find the light from Tasha’s flashlight dancing around in the dark of the forest. She is on the trail she told me about. I rush in that direction, trying my best to keep up.

“Tasha, wait!” I yell breathlessly.

Trees close in on both sides of me, but the trail is distinct where the leaves have been mashed by the many feet who take this shortcut. Behind me I hear more rustling. Someone is following me, and for a moment, that scares me, even though I rationalize that it’s probably just people from our group.

Tasha really should try out for track—I haven’t gained on her in the slightest. When the sounds of the city grow louder, and street lamps become more distinct ahead, I relax, hoping that Tasha will stop and feel safe when she gets there. Just as I reach the edge of the forest, I yell again, “Tasha, wait for me!”

She looks back, and her feet hit the sidewalk with her face turned my direction. Tears stream down her cheeks, and her red lids shine in the light of the streetlamp she’s under. Her step falters, and she trips over the curb. She falls toward the road.

I can’t stop the scream that comes to my lips when I hear the squeal of brakes and see the flash of yellow. Then Tasha tumbles over the hood of the taxi and crashes into the windshield.

Arms slip around me and catch me when my knees buckle. Pine and mint. I grip him like a life preserver, denying everything I’d just seen—everything that has just happened. More feet rustle in the grass behind us, and I hear Stacy scream, “Someone dial 911.”

It snaps me out of my stupor. How can I crumble like this when Tasha needs me? I straighten and wipe my face on my sweater sleeve, not daring to look up at anyone. Not daring to let anyone see me like this. I’m falling apart on the inside, like a trash bag full of shattered glass. But I’ve got to hold things together.

“Tasha’s mom.” My voice cracks and barely comes out in a whisper. I hold my phone in my hand and scroll down my contact list. But I can barely see through my tears. And how can I possibly talk to her mom about this? My throat seizes.

Ben pulls the phone from my hand, and it slips through my limp fingers. He hits the dial button. After a moment, he says, “Mrs. Brown? Hi. No, this is Ben Oscuro. I’m sorry but there’s been an accident…”

His voice trails off as I force my heavy feet to turn and face what I don’t want to. I don’t want to see Tasha like this. I can’t, but I do. Her crumpled body, busted and torn, is cradled by the windshield of the taxi.

“Nobody touch her,” a cop yells and points toward all of us standing at the edge of the wooded lot. “You. You were with her right? Nobody goes anywhere until we find out what happened! Got it?”

I nod limply and feel someone pick up my hand and set my phone in it.

“She’s on her way,” he says, and his voice can’t cast the spell on me it did earlier today.

The siren of the ambulance drowns out all other sounds. It cuts off the minute it pulls close to the scene. My knees buckle again as they check for a pulse.

“She’s alive,” the paramedic says, and fresh sobs escape my throat.

Thank God.

The taxi driver raises his voice at the officer. “I tell ya the kid came out of nowhere. I couldn’t have avoided her. She’s lucky I was just getting up to speed from being stopped at the light. I…I…is she going to be okay?”

“My baby? What’s happened to my baby?” Mrs. Brown squeals when she comes into view. Mr. Brown stands behind her with Kevin in his arms. Mrs. Brown reaches for Tasha, but then pulls back as the paramedics lift her onto a plastic cot.

I wipe my face and jog to her.

“I’m so sorry.” My voice finally works, but it’s hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Brown pulls me into her arms and gives me a quick hug. “I know this wasn’t your fault, but what happened?”

I shake my head, my voice failing me again. Ben steps beside me and sets a hand on my shoulder, and somehow the small gesture gives me strength. I open my mouth, and the words pour out as I confess everything that had happened since she dropped us off at the front of the school.

At the police station, I find out that Matt Benson, Sr. happens to be one of the lead detectives in the city Sherriff’s office. He comes down really hard on his son for the whole incident and makes it clear that “Junior” is going to be on lockdown for a long time. The rest of the crew gets picked up by their parents, but no one is arrested for trespassing.

Mr. Benson takes Matt and Ben into an interrogation room, so that I’m alone when Mr. Scott arrives at the station. His hair is wet as if he’d just taken a shower. His blue eyes are sad but kind. “Chira Kelly, were you a part of all this?”

I swallow and can’t meet his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“I hate to hear that. I hope that this doesn’t affect your scholarship.” He sounds genuinely worried.

“I’m ashamed, Mr. Scott.” And I am. My heart aches in my chest. If I had never gotten involved with this whole stupid thing, Tasha wouldn’t have either. And then she wouldn’t be sitting in the hospital right now.

The key Mr. Scott retrieved is dangling from his finger. He pats me in the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. Just try your best to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” I sniff.

“I’ll likely give this key to the new night watchman. The school doesn’t want this sort of thing to become commonplace.” His hands rub his bald head, and I see he blames himself for the fiasco.

“That makes sense,” I say.

With a kind, shaky nod, Mr. Scott leaves with his shoulders hunched shyly. It seems strange to see him in something other than the suits he wears to school on a daily basis. I don’t realize that he’s in freshly pressed golf pants and a polo shirt until he’s stepping out the door.

Behind me, Detective Benson clears his throat. “Okay then, Miss Kelly, since neither of your parents was able to pick you up, I’ll be driving you.”

I nod. “Is there any chance you could take me to the hospital instead of my house?”

Detective Benson stands between both Matt and Ben. He frowns. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “No, I just want to see Tasha…to know how she’s doing, if that’s okay?”

“I’m not sure they’ll allow visitors outside of her family, but I’ll take you anyway. Maybe you could at least talk to one of her parents.”

I nod, and my voice cracks when I say, “Thank you.”

He makes all three of us sit in the back of the squad car, a Dodge Charger, and the boys have decided to put me between them. I do my best to shrink in on myself to avoid touching either. I’ve never been too comfortable around boys to begin with, and now that they all think that I’m playing for the other team, it makes it that much more awkward. I’m surprised when Detective Benson parks the car rather than dropping me off at the front of the building. He shuts off the engine and gets out of the car to open the door on the driver’s side.

Matt steps out first.

“Thank you for the ride, Detective Benson,” I say.

He makes a motion for Ben to get out of the car, too. “No problem, Chira. I’m going to see how Tasha is doing myself, and see if she’s able to give a statement.”

I nod, and we head into the hospital. The detective gives info at the front desk and shows his badge which grants us access that I probably wouldn’t have been able to gain on my own. It makes me wonder if maybe he already knew that, and it was a reason he’d come along in the first place.

When I’m standing in the back of the elevator, I lean against the cool metal bar and watch the three family members from behind. Matt is a little shorter and stockier than Ben. Although they both have dark hair, Ben’s is longer and has a slight curl to it.

I choke down a sob when we reach the intensive care unit. The hallways in the hospital have windows along one full side that stretch from floor to ceiling. Outside, in the dark, the city lights shine like millions of stars. We head toward the waiting room, where we find Mrs. Brown. I can’t hold back the tears.

As soon as he sees me, Kevin speeds for me and wraps his arms around my thigh. He’s crying too, and his wails grow louder as he squeezes me. I kneel down so I can hold him in my arms.

Mrs. Brown’s heels click against the tile floor as she approaches. “Chira, it’s so good of you to come. Matt, Ben, Junior…I’m glad to see you all. Thank you for coming.”

Her voice sounds so welcoming and professional, but I detect the quiver in her words. I stand up, still holding Kevin, and he wraps his legs around my waist. He buries his head in my shoulder, but he’s calmed down a bit already.

“How is Tasha doing?” the detective asks.

I’m really glad he’s here. Without him, how would I even be able to speak? I’d spend all my time sitting around, sobbing like an idiot…if they had even let me come up here to the ICU in the first place.

“She’s stable, but she’s in a chemically induced coma for her body to heal. Her lung has collapsed.”

Phantom pain snakes across my chest and constricts me tighter than Kevin’s legs. I hurt for her. How could I have let this happen to Tasha? I whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Brown wraps her arms around me and Kevin. It comforts me but does nothing to assuage my guilt. I continue to sob. She squeezes me harder. “It’s not your fault, sweetie. Please don’t blame yourself.”

But her words can’t comfort me either. Parents lie. Even Tasha’s. They’ll say anything to try to make you feel better. Anything that will take away your discomfort, no matter how temporary it will be. I don’t care how many times my own mother has told me things would be okay—they were never okay after my father died.

It’s when I feel Mrs. Brown’s own shoulders shaking with sobs that determination stiffens my backbone, and I do my best to suck it up. I need to be strong, for Tasha, for Mrs. Brown. Even for Kevin. I can do this. “Tell me what you need Mrs. Brown, and I’ll do it. Does Tasha need anything? You? Do you need someone to help you take care of Kevin?”

“No, sweetie. Kevin’s grandmother is on her way to help us with that. Don’t worry about anything at all. You have been nothing but a good friend to Tasha.” Mrs. Brown swipes her eyes. Her face is masked with a warm smile that turns mildly determined. “I know this was her idea, and you just got dragged along in it. When that girl wakes up, she’s going to be grounded for life.”

I smile. Mrs. Brown’s determination comforts me more than any of her other words could. If she’s certain that Tasha will be okay, then I believe her. “Okay. But can I visit. Will they let me?”

She leans in toward me and lowers her voice. “You’ll be able to visit her any time, but there’s no more than two allowed to visit at once. I put you down as her cousin.”

I frown and lift an eyebrow. “How’s that going to work?”

A look of mock shock registers on her face. “What? Can’t I have a white cousin? Do you think all of my family members are black? You’d be mistaken.”

I shake my head and sniff again, wiping my face with the cuff of my sleeve. I’ve done way too much crying today.

“Mrs. Brown, could I have a word please?” Detective Benson asks. The two of them step over toward the window down the hall a little ways, their heads bent in conversation.

Kevin has settled into playing with one of the buttons on the portion of shirt visible in the v-neck of my sweater. Matt and Ben have both taken seats in the waiting area, and I join them.

Matt leans toward me, his face holding a cautious, concentrated expression. “So did you guys really see a ghost?”

Even Ben turns toward me with his measured gaze. The edges of his colored contact lenses catch my eye again, and the obsessive part of me really wants to know why he wears them.

Kevin stops messing with my button and looks up at me with wide eyes. He sniffs, too. “Did you really see a ghost?”

I glare at Matt. “You know, this isn’t really the best time to be talking about this.”

Matt's expression takes on a look of hurt, and he sits back in his chair.

Kevin wiggles from my lap and calls, “Daddy!”

Mr. Brown approaches us, having just come from inside the main ICU. He kneels down and catches his son up in his arms. His usually smiling face seems forced today, and worry lines mar his normally smooth forehead. “Have you been a good boy?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Mr. Brown nods toward me and the boys, saying hi and calling us each by name.

“Honey, could you come here for a second?” Mrs. Brown calls from down the hall.

Mr. Brown excuses himself and joins the others. All three of them lean in a deep conversation that we aren’t privy to.

“How about now? Is it a good time?” Matt’s leg bobs up and down in anticipation.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Yes. There really was a ghost.”

He leans back, a shocked expression on his face. Ben’s position and expression remain unchanged.

“We went through the music room and saw that the piano was in really bad shape…” I recount the events for the two boys. I feel detached as I’m talking to them. Like I’m telling them about a movie that I saw instead of what had happened to me. My eyes become unfocused on my surroundings, and I can’t even hear the nurse’s station anymore—like I’m hypnotized by the sound of my own voice.

But I find my gaze constantly drifting toward Ben. He’s listening intently, but his expression tells me that it’s okay somehow. He’s not judging me—he’s just listening.

When I’m done, I sniffle again. My nose is running worse now.

Matt bites his lip, and his nervous leg jostle returns. “This really happened. The Old Schoolhouse is really haunted. I wonder if we could communicate with the spirits through a séance.”

Ben huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s the first time that he looks dubious.

Matt notices too and narrows his eyes on his cousin. “What the hell do you know?”

Ben’s jaw tightens and his voice sounds hard and raspy, somehow even deeper than usual because it’s low. “There are only two kinds of haunting. Impressions and possessions. This is clearly an impression.”

“Huh?”

“There are no such things as ghosts in the sense that Hollywood and charlatans attempt to propagate. They cannot be communicated with.”

My mouth falls open. Ben speaks with such authority that I can’t help but believe him.

But Matt shakes his head. “Just because you were raised by monks for a while doesn’t make you an expert on everything spiritual. What Chira just said is eye-witness proof.”

“Proof of an impression.” Ben leans in. “What she just described was like a movie on replay. The impression of a life was imprinted in the place where violence occurred. That much is obvious. That’s the first sort of ‘ghost.’”

Monks? Did Matt just say monks? Monks and owls? Ben seems to have quite a strange upbringing for sure. I nod. “That actually makes sense. The girl looked like she’d been hurt, and she ran through us like we weren’t there.”

“Exactly.”

Matt frowns. “Okay, know-it-all. What about the other kind…possession?”

“Often people have demons infecting their lives. Familial demons that follow around a family for generations can often haunt them or a family home. Demons who don’t want to let go of a particularly violent host may also remain where the host last resided. A possession haunting is not the spirit of someone who was once living. It is a demon and can only be removed through exorcism.”

Matt swallows. He’s gone pale again.

And I’m a little freaked out as well. “How do you know so much? Did the monks teach you that?”

Ben’s eyes narrow, and his jaw tightens. Without another word, he gets up and walks away.

I blink hard and look at Matt. “Was it something I said?”

Matt snaps out of his terrified stupor and shakes his head. “I rag him about the monks all the time, but he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

“Monks, like, for real? Where on earth was that at?”

“In Europe somewhere. I don’t really know.”

Mrs. Brown puts a hand on my arm, and her sudden presence makes me jump. “Chira, would you like to visit with Tasha now?”

Relief, fear, and elation wrestle each other in my chest. “Yes.”

Tasha’s small room has a window facing a separate nurse’s area where the lights are off. A nurse sits at the desk and has full view of four different observation rooms at once. I see my friend long before we actually step into the small space where she lies. At five-foot-one, Tasha has always been small to me, but with tubes sticking out of her face and arms and with a blanket pulled up to her waist, she looks downright tiny. The sight of her constricts my throat again, but my eyes stay dry. Instead my nose runs more.

Mrs. Brown’s arm remains around my shoulder as we walk through the open doorway. She nods toward the chair that sits next to Tasha’s side. “Go ahead, sweetie.”

I nod and take the seat. The constant beeping of the heart monitor is reassuring, but annoying at once. I take Tasha’s hand in mine and am stricken by her chilled fingers. “Hey, girl. You don’t look so hot there.”

Her skin looks slightly ashen. I wonder how much blood she’s lost. Mrs. Brown gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got fifteen minutes until they close visitor hours.”

I bite my lip and nod.

Then Mrs. Brown leaves me alone with my best friend.

I turn toward her and listen to the beeping and the steady rhythm of the breathing machine next to her. Anger wells up in the pit of my stomach. “Why do you always have to be such a chicken? You’re tougher than that, you know? I was right there next to you. It’s not like I would have let anything happen to you. You’ve got my back, and I have yours. Isn’t that what we always agreed on?”

I’m whisper shouting, and the strain on my throat makes it ache. “I can’t believe you ran. You wouldn’t wait for me. And it really hurt. I really felt abandoned. But what’s worse is that when I couldn’t keep up with you, I felt like I was the one abandoning you. Like I was the one who wasn’t there for you when you needed me. And that made me feel…like crap, you know?”

Tears run down my cheeks, proving that I wasn’t quite dry yet.

“You better get well and fast. I don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive you if you don’t.” My voice cracks, and a knot gets lodged in it. I can’t say anything else, so I just squeeze her limp hand.

I slip into my desk in first period the next day at school, feeling like I’m dragging my body around like it weighs twenty pounds more than it did yesterday. Throughout class, I can’t stop staring at the empty desk in front of mine. My hands seem to work of their own accord, taking notes while my ears listen to the teacher, but my mind is elsewhere. It’s like when I’m distracted while reading a book and find myself having read the same paragraph three times, and forgetting it immediately afterward.

My first three classes go this way, and when the bell rings for lunch block, I continue to sit at my desk until everyone else has left. A hand rests on my shoulder, and then Mrs. Blaylock, my geometry teacher, sits at the desk in front of me. Tasha’s desk.

“Look, Chira, I know that something very traumatic happened to you yesterday, but you’re going to have to buck up under the pressure. You can’t let things get to you so hard. She’s going to be all right.”

How can I trust her? She’s probably a parent, too—more lies.

But still, I force a smile. “I’m fine.”

One of Mrs. Blaylock’s penciled eyebrows lift. It is rumored that the heavyset middle-aged woman had been a model. Her garish make up and obvious plastic surgery make it obvious that she’s at least a little vain. “Sure you are, but just in case, maybe you should go see the school counselor?”

My stomach drops like I’m on a rollercoaster. That’s just what I need is for everyone to decide I’m crazy on top of everything else they label me. I shake my head and smile bigger, standing up and shoving my book into my messenger bag. “Really, Mrs. Blaylock. Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. I’m just really tired from staying up late last night. I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow. You’ll see.”

She gives me a cautious once over and then nods. “Okay, Chira. I’ll take your word for it. But if I don’t see a marked improvement quickly, I’ll write up that recommendation.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I rush out of her classroom as fast as my feet can take me. The hallways are already desolate, and the bell rings the moment the door behind me shuts. Technically I could get in trouble for still being out in the hall. I start walking. But heading to the cafeteria has totally lost its appeal. I’m not hungry, and without Tasha…I’ll feel her absence that much more. When I get to the stairwell, I head up instead of down.

What am I doing? I don’t really care if Ben’s up there or not. I’d rather be alone, to tell you the truth. But a spark within me still hopes that he’ll be there.

The wind pushes against the door, so it takes all of my strength to get it open. The moment I step aside, it slams shut behind me. I close my eyes at the loud bang. Anyone in the hall or stairwell will know where I am now.

“Are you following me again, Sniffles?”

The deep timbre of Ben’s voice rings the core within me, and somehow it comforts me. I feel a little better. I don’t know why. He’s standing at the chain-link fence, the owl plucking jerky from his hand.

I lean back against the cold metal panel of the door, the wind whipping the hair from my face. The sky is grey today, like my mood. I shrug. “Actually, no. I sort of hoped to be here alone.”

He nods and gives the last of his jerky to the bird. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His red tie hangs from one of his pockets, flapping in the wind like a dog’s tongue, and his white school shirt is untucked. The breeze has made his hair even more messy than usual. “Okay, no problem. I’ll go.”

His shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for the door handle. My hand reaches out of its own accord and grips his forearm. “Wait.”

Pine and mint…and a touch of beef jerky. But he stops, his hand still on the door handle. He hasn’t taken a step; he hasn’t pulled his arm from my grasp.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’m feeling brave for some reason. Maybe it’s not bravery. Maybe it’s just that I don’t care about the consequences right now. So I blurt, “Your name’s Ben. But your uncle and cousin’s last name is Benson. How does that work?”

I didn’t realize how tense his muscular arm is until he relaxes it.

“My uncle is on my mom’s side. Her last name was Benson, and she named me that.”

“So Ben is short for Benson, not Benjamin?”

He quirks a half smile and nods.

The breeze blows harder, and I release him to wrap my arms around myself. “Why do you wear brown contacts?”

He frowns and his jaw tightens. The sharp angle of his jaw is set, and the dimple in his chin becomes more pronounced.

For a moment, I’m sure I’ve gone too far. He’ll probably leave like he did at the hospital, when I asked about the monks.

But instead, he leans over and puts his finger to his eye, he removes the contact lens and after holding his eye shut for a moment, he opens it.

His black iris swirls with color, like a kaleidoscope. Greens, reds, and yellow intermingle and don’t stop moving, like water on top of a puddle of oil. My breath hitches and my knees grow weak. The wind takes a momentary pause as if the sky itself held its breath. His eyes search mine for a reaction, and I do my best to remain stoic, but instead my mouth betrays me. “It’s so pretty.”

Ben blinks hard and takes a step back. His eyebrows are raised and his eyes are wide. Then he shakes his head and replaces his contact lens.

My hair gets whipped into my face again by the wind and the moment is gone. I pull a strand from my mouth and sniffle again.

“What are you really doing up here?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I just…I didn’t want to be alone.”

His eyes narrow. “You said you came up here to be alone. You don’t make sense.”

I swallow. It’s my turn to answer the tough question, so I suck it up and I do. “Without Tasha, I’m alone in this school. No one likes me. They all believe a lie about me that someone made up, but I did nothing but perpetuate. Stupidly. So I’m alone even when I’m surrounded by a crowd. But I guess…I guess I came up here, because maybe—I thought you might feel that way, too.”

His eyes dart back and forth between both of mine, and his face is hard again. “I understand.”

“So is it okay that I came here. I’m sorry if I—”

“Yes, it’s okay. Steve and I were thinking it was too quiet up here anyway. We needed some annoying questions to break the monotony.”

I shiver but smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “Any other stupid questions?”

I try to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from asking, but the question comes out anyway. “So were you really raised by monks?”

He runs a hand through his hair and looks away.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay.” He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me around to the other side of the door. “Let’s sit here, out of the wind.”

I nod and sit with my back against the concrete wall. He sits down beside me, and suddenly I realize that we’d been nearly yelling that whole conversation over the wind. It’s so much quieter here.

“My mother left me with an uncle on my dad’s side. Brother Francisco happens to be a monk in northern Portugal. But he didn’t live in a monastery. I was not quite a one-year-old at the time. I lived there with him until I was nine, when my mother…died. Her mother, my grandmother, had her lawyer search for me when I wasn’t found with my mom. Then I went to live with her. When she died three years ago, I’ve kind of floated around between my three uncles on my mom’s side. Uncle Matt is the youngest, and the last one to take me.”

Only one word could make it past my constricted throat. “Why?”

His eyes met mine again. A shade of ordinary brown hides a rainbow of color beneath.

“I…am different.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

I shrug, but my eyes don’t leave his. My arms are wrapped around my knees, and I rest my head against them, offering him as confident a smile as I can manage. “I hear I’m easy to talk to.”

He nods and changes his position so that he’s sitting like I am. “That’s an understatement. It’s like there’s something about you that’s familiar. That makes me want to open up and confess everything to you, because I know that I’ll feel better when I’m done, not worse…like I usually do.”

His voice cracks and it makes me sad. I fight the urge to put an arm around him. He’s not Tasha. Suddenly, it occurs to me. “It’s about your eyes, isn’t it?”

He stiffens, but nods. “Like most babies, I was born with blue eyes, and for a while, after they changed, I think my mother handled it. She was a free spirit, I’m told, and continued travelling with a gypsy band when she was pregnant with me. After I was born nothing changed. She was into witchcraft and occult practices since her teenage years. When my eyes changed, an elder gypsy declared I was demon possessed. He wanted to kill me. But instead of doing that, she gave me to Brother Francisco in the hopes that the religious environment would exorcise my demon and keep me safe.”

“That’s…terrible.”

He nods. “I learned a lot from Brother Francisco. He was training me to serve the church when he discovered that I could see.”

I scrunch my forehead and sniffle. “What do you mean?”

The owl on the top of the fence sashayed sideways toward us. Ben got a faraway look in his eyes, like he was seeing through the bird, and not at him. “I’m a Shadow Maven. I see the truth that most people can’t. Like impressions or demons. I can see them both.”

“But I saw the ghost myself,” I breathe.

He nods. “Emotional energy is what allows the impression to break through and play back. If there’s a group of people with high emotional energy, they might see an impression. If there’s one person with a heightened fear response, the impression will feed on that emotional energy as well.”

“But you can see it regardless of the emotion?”

He nods.

“Did you…you know…actually have a demon?”

His piercing gaze returns to me, and his eyes narrow. “No, I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” My stomach growls, interrupting me.

Ben pushes off the wall and stands, offering me his hand. Although the flicker of anger is gone, his face is set in that hard, walled-up state again. “You skipped lunch again. Come on. Let’s get to the cafeteria before lunch block ends.”

I take his warm hand and marvel at the rough texture. He pulls me gently to my feet and releases my grip. Suddenly I feel lightheaded, and my knees buckle. His arms are there again, catching me before I can fall. Pine and mint. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of him but my world is still spinning.

His voice is hard. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

I push off him and cross my arms over my chest. I’m tired of swooning into this guy’s arms. I’ve shown him far too much weakness in the last two days and try to put steel in my voice. “I’m fine.”

He grabs me by the wrist again and starts for the door. “Come on, we’ve only got ten minutes left. Let’s go.”

He’s not being too rough with me, so I let him drag me toward the stairwell. The door is hard to pull open, but he gets it with one sharp tug. He stays just ahead of me, checking back on occasion to make sure I’m right behind him. When we get to the cafeteria, there’s no line. He grabs a carton of chocolate milk and shoves it into my hand. “Drink this now.”

“I haven’t paid for it yet.”

“They won’t care. We’ll pay for it when we get to the register. It’s not like you’re going to hide the carton in your messenger bag, is it?”

When I stand there, looking at him dumbly, he takes the carton from my hand and opens it with a quick gesture and puts it back in my grip.

“There, now you didn’t open it. Better?”

I shrug and take a sip while he watches. He nods, turns around and takes a tray, grabbing sandwiches and fruit at random, and in five seconds we’re at the register. I dig through my bag to pay, but he’s already got his wallet out and hands the cashier a ten.

His fingers wrap around my wrist again, and he pulls me toward the nearest empty table. “Sit.”

I do as he commands, even though I kind of want to rebel. But I’m just too tired, and my stomach growls again. He puts the tray in front of me and sits across the table, grabbing half the food for himself.

“You haven’t eaten yet either?”

He shakes his head and snags a bite of egg salad sandwich. He speaks with his mouth full. “I was just visiting with Steve for a second before coming down to grab something. Then you showed up.”

I nod.

A group of younger girls pass our table and one of them coughs to hide her comment. “Lesbo.”

My gaze draws upward to meet Ben’s, but he’s glaring at the girls behind me. That eases the discomfort caused by the words I choose to ignore when I’m on my own. I open a sandwich and take a bite even though my appetite is long gone.

The first bell rings.

Ben ignores it and continues eating his sandwich. So do I.

“When you say that you see the truth, what does that mean? Does it mean you know when someone’s lying?” I ask.

He finishes the bite he’s taken and takes a gulp of his milk. His gaze never leaves mine. With a nod, he says, “Yes. There’s a shadow on them when they lie.”

“A shadow?”

“Kind of like when you see the waves of heat coming off asphalt in the summer? That’s what I see, but it’s dark.”

“Is that kind of like an aura?”

His jaw tightens. “People think that they know so much. New age concepts aren’t really new age at all. They are old teachings that have been perverted into something they were never meant to be. I don’t see auras, I see shadows.”

“Sorry.” I take another bite of my sandwich and avert my gaze from his glare.

“It’s fine. But I usually don’t like talking about this stuff because most people think they know more about it than they do.”

Still not looking at him, but studying my sandwich again before taking another bite, I ask, “How did you learn about it?”

“Brother Francisco. He taught me that what I have is a gift, not a curse. Gifts come from God, not the devil. And he showed me how I could use this gift to help people. With talent comes responsibility.”

“Shadow Maven.” I set my sandwich aside and look up.

He nods and puts all of our trash on his tray. “We’ve got to hurry if we’re going to make it to the third floor before the second bell. We have less than two minutes.”

After school, I head straight for the hospital. Mrs. Brown is there, her hair coming loose from her bun and her usually pressed clothing in disarray. She smiles when she sees me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Chira, it’s good to see you.”

I smile back. “Thanks, Mrs. Brown. Are Kevin and Mr. Brown here?”

“No, sweetie. Mr. Brown is still at work, and Kevin will be staying with his grandmother until this is all worked out. He’ll come for a little visit each day, but he doesn’t need…to deal with…” She trails off.

“I understand.” I eye her over. “How are you doing? Have you gotten anything to eat? Have you slept?”

Her shoulders seem to hunch more, but her smile grows wider. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

That word. I tsk at her. “No such thing as fine. Didn’t you say that answer is a dodge?”

Mrs. Brown stiffens, and her eyes grow in shock.

I shake my head. “I think you need some sort of rest. A nap, or at least a shower. I’m going to be here with Tasha for at least the next couple of hours. Why don’t you go home?”

Her expression softens, and she stretches her back. Tears well in her eyes. “You’re a good friend to my Tasha, you know that? You always have been. I’ll take you up on that offer. Mr. Brown will be here in about two hours to relieve you, and that will give me enough time to do exactly as you say.”

I nod and adjust the strap on my messenger bag. “Sounds good. I’ve got homework to do, and maybe I’ll do some of the required reading aloud. Don’t they say that people in comas hear what’s going on around them? Maybe it will help Tasha keep up with her schoolwork.”

She laughs and gives me a hug. “Maybe it will.”

When she releases me, she swipes a tear from her eye and heads for the elevator. I watch her go before I turn toward the Intensive Care Unit. The room is brighter than it was last night, and all the units have patients in them. I don’t know how the nurses stand it, but the incessant beeping of the monitors are not in alignment with one another. The sound reminds me of the cacophony of crickets I heard in the mountains the last time my father took me camping off Skyline Drive.

The machine helping Tasha breathe overpowers most of the beeping once I enter her room. I take a seat in the chair next to her bed again and just watch her for a little while. So tiny.

“Hey, girl. How are you doing today?” I ask.

I watch her face for any change in expression, even though I don’t expect one.

“Well, it was the usual for me today at school. Boring classes, no one really talking to me…well, except for Mrs. Blaylock. Can you believe she wants me to see the school shrink?”

Tasha remains unchanged, but I continue. “And then there was Ben…”

I tell Tasha everything that Ben said about being a Shadow Maven and what that meant. It seems much more unreal as I say it aloud to Tasha, and I can only imagine what her responses would be. But I’m talking just so that she hears my voice, knows I’m there, and also to catalog all that I’ve learned today.

“Seems pretty out there, doesn’t it? But I wonder how true it all is. I guess there must be some truth to it since Matt had said something about the monks before Ben told me all he did today. But you know, I don’t want to be a gullible idiot and just accept things at face value.”

“…especially with a cute boy,” the Tasha in my head says.

I smile and sit back in my chair, just listening to the heart rate monitor. The steady but annoying beep at least reassures me that my friend is still alive. Still breathing. And for that, I am thankful.

After an hour and half of reading every bit of our homework out loud, I’m parched. Luckily, the decongestant I’m on has kept me from dealing with my head cold on top of everything else. I wonder if the nurses would even let me in here if they knew I was fighting one.

Just as I’m packing my books back into my messenger bag, Mr. Brown walks up. “Hey, Chira. Good to see you. Mrs. Brown is actually still asleep back home. I didn’t wake her. But I don’t want you to be walking home after dark, so I’ll drive you.”

I blink hard. “It’s dark already?”

“Well, not quite, but it’s going to be soon.”

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Brown, but I’m going over to the diner first and grab something to eat. It’s only two blocks, and it would be kind of silly for you to drive me such a short way.”

Mr. Brown nods. “Then I’ll walk you.”

I frown. “That’s not really necessary, I’m fine. Really. Besides, I don’t think Mrs. Brown wants us to leave Tasha alone for a minute. I could tell.”

He nods and scratches his chin. His eyes are almost as tired looking as his wife’s were. “That’s true. She really doesn’t.”

I sling the strap of my messenger bag over my head and smile my reassurance. “There ya go. No one wants to see Mrs. Brown upset. Stay here with Tasha and keep her company.”

He nods, but his eyes convey concern.

“I’ll be fine, really. I do walk everywhere in this city already. And don’t forget that both Tasha and I did make it to green belts in Tae kwon Do.”

He frowns. “You both quit almost two years ago, so that really doesn’t make me feel better.”

I shrug and reach into the pocket of my bag, pulling out a small pink spray can of pepper spray. “There’s always this.”

He smiles. “That makes me feel a little better. It is only two blocks. But I want you to have your cell phone in one hand and that can of mace in the other.”

I pull out my phone with my other hand and hold the two objects out for him with a wide grin. “Like this?”

He laughs. “Yes, just like that.”

I wrap my arms around him in a quick hug. If any man reminds me of my own father, it is Mr. Brown.

“Take care,” he says, and I feel his eyes on me when I enter the elevator.

Outside, grapefruit pink stretches across the midnight blue sky, the last remnants of the setting sun. I have already stuck my phone back in my bag, as it really isn’t that feasible to have both my hands full the way Mr. Brown wants. I decide to just palm the pepper spray.

The street lights have already popped on and cars pass me in frequent intervals. But my mind drifts to the stark contrast between the pools of light and deepening shadows.

Possession.

The word rings through my brain and makes me shiver. From what Ben said, we didn’t have to worry about that kind of haunting, right? Didn’t he say this was an impression? But what if he is wrong?

A change in the shadow to my left catches my eye. I turn my head but nothing looks strange or unusual. My heartbeat quickens, and I increase my pace. From the corner of my eye, I swear that I still see shadows moving in a manner that they shouldn’t. My fingers grip around the canister in my hand, but what good would pepper spray do against a ghost…demon…whatever?

My mouth is drier than a desert. Somehow I don’t think that a scream could even make it past my parched throat if I needed it. The shadows to my left change again in the corner of my eye, but when I look head on, they’re normal again. Run, my mind screams, but the logical part of me looks over at the cars and says that there’s nothing wrong. Someone else would notice if there was something wrong, right?

The scuff of a shoe on the concrete behind me causes me to whip around, a finger ready to depress the pepper spray’s contents.

“Whoa, Sniffles. It’s just me.” Ben stands ten feet away with his hands up in a defensive position.

My heartbeat relaxes, but just a little. I don’t lower the spray can, but I’m glad I didn’t spray before looking. “What are you doing? Are you following me?”

He runs a hand through his thick waves and puts the other in his trouser pocket. “I was walking this way and saw you so I decided to catch up. You shouldn’t be out here alone, you know?”

The shadow in my peripheral moves again, and I jerk my head in time to see the silhouette of an owl. Steve flutters over and lands on the streetlight nearest Ben. Relief floods me, and I lower my arm. I chide myself for being ridiculous. “Well, I do have the pepper spray.”

He smirks. “Yes, and very dangerous you are with that. I was afraid you’d blind me for sure.”

I shrug and put the spray in my pocket. “I’ve walked everywhere I wanted to go in this area for years, so why do I suddenly need a chaperone?”

Ben’s expression turns serious. “You were being followed.”

I blink. The shadows? My hand flutters to my throat, and my heart rate increases again. “Is it possession after all? Is the ghost following me?”

He steps closer and lowers his voice. “No, a person is following you.”

I swallow hard, and my eyes dart around him. And then I study him more closely. Was he the one following me? But why? Should I trust him?

He takes my shoulder and turns me around. “Don’t look, just walk.”

I follow his lead and walk stiffly beside him. My fingers wrap around the cell in the front pocket of my bag. I whisper, “Should we call the police or something?”

“No,” he says. “If the person knows that you know he’s following you, then he may do something desperate. He may stop what he’s doing, but he may also get bold and hurt you. I think it’s just best if we go on with life and pretend he’s not there. But don’t go anywhere alone, okay? Stay with me.”

My stomach somersaults. “You’ll protect me?”

He shrugs. “Where are we going?”

Maybe he's the one I need protecting from. But when I glance at him, I can't believe that. He's just an ordinary boy...yeah, right. I should be running in the other direction, but my whole being wants to be with him, wants to believe he will take care of me. “Um…my mom works over at the diner on Washington Street. I go there for dinner every day after school.”

“Every day? What do you do on weekends?” he asks.

Is he asking because he’s actually interested? Or because he's stalking me? I shake it off. “If my mom is working, I go to the diner. If she’s home, she cooks. You actually live nearby me, don’t you? On Rauchambeau?”

He watches me for a second with his eyebrows knit. “Yes. How did you know that?”

The silhouette on the street a couple nights ago comes to my mind. I want to ask about that, but I shrug. “I have my ways.”

He laughs, and we turn on Washington Street. When we reach the diner, I hop up the steps, but his arm cuts in front of me, and he grabs the door.

I’m surprised again. You can tell this boy wasn’t raised in America. He actually has some manners. When we walk in the diner, my mom immediately spots us. Her serious expression turns into a smile and she gestures with a wave toward my usual booth.

Coffee and greasy food smells assault us and actually overpower the pine and mint I’ve gotten used to around Ben. I lead him toward the back corner by the window. We slide into the teal vinyl bench seats across from each other. The rims of all the tables are lined with corrugated aluminum accents to give the diner a space age, nostalgic feel. I rest my elbows on the table top and grab the menu from behind the sugar shaker. Without looking, I push it across the table toward Ben.

He eyes me warily.

“I know the thing by heart. And if you’re my new bodyguard, I guess I’ll have to pay you with food, right?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to pay me with anything.”

“Are we friends?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know you well enough yet to call you that.”

“Are we dating?”

He blushes. Like, his face turns so red, it’s cute. “Of course not.”

“Then wouldn’t it be kind of weird that you’re following me around all the time and watching me? Either you’re my ‘paid’ body guard or my stalker. You choose.”

He shakes his head and snatches the menu from my fingertips. “Fine.”

I laugh and lean back, watching my mom approach with her head cocked in question and pointing toward the boy sitting across from me with a big grin. When she reaches the table, she seems ready to burst. “Chira, sweetie. Who’s your friend?”

“Mom, this is Ben Oscuro. And actually, we’ve just established that we are not yet friends, and we’re not dating.” I laugh, and Ben looks at me with wide-eyed shock. “I guess we’re acquaintances with benefits. And one of his benefits is dinner. On me, okay, Mom?”

Mom’s face is frozen in a smile-grimace of confusion. She pulls out a pen and taps on her order sheet. “Okay…What will it be then?”

“I’m feeling like an Unsweet Tea and a Chicken Caesar Salad.” I say.

Ben sets down his menu and says, “That sounds good. Make it two? And it’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Kelly.”

He smiles at her sweetly, and his voice takes on that smooth deep tone that rings me to the core.

And from my mother’s stutter, I wonder if it affects her, too. “Thank you, Ben. It’s nice to meet you, too. But actually, it’s Grimes. Janet Grimes.”

Without missing a beat, Ben bows his head gently. “A pleasure, Mrs. Grimes.”

I smile at my mom again and slide so that my back is to the window and put my feet up on my bench seat. Mr. Houser, the owner, passes with a nod and hello. And Annie, the other waitress, also stops by with a quick greeting.

“I’m guessing that you don’t come in here often with friends,” Ben says after my mom brings us the tea.

I mix a yellow pack of sweetener in mine and shake my head. “I really don’t have any friends. It’s always been me and Tasha against the world.”

He takes a sip of his tea. “But it seemed that Tasha had a few friends.”

I shrug. “They are all pretty superficial relationships. School buds, you know? The kind of person you hang out with a bit in class, but never really do anything with each other off school grounds.”

“And you don’t have many of those?”

I stir my tea. “None. In case you haven’t noticed, status matters at Jackson Hall. Can’t get much lower than the daughter of a diner waitress.” I don't mention my stepdad works at the school.

He nods. “I’m sure son of a gypsy might even be lower.”

I laugh. “You might have me there.”

My mom brings our salads, and we dig in for a while silently. I’m amazed at how the moment is comfortable, like we’ve done this a million times, and it’s just another meal together. Well, I guess it’s kind of been three times now.

“Dessert?” Mom asks, as she refills our teas.

“None for me. Thanks, Mrs. Grimes.” Ben answers. The trill of the ‘r’ in my mother’s last name betrays his mild accent.

Mom quirks an eyebrow my direction.

“That would defeat the whole purpose of having a salad for dinner, right?” I say.

“Well then, you two take your time and wave me over if you need another refill.” Mom leans toward me with a wink. “And I’ll just put this on your tab, ’K?”

I nod and glance out the window to the sparkling street. Steve is perched on the streetlamp just outside, his eyes intent on Ben. I shake my head. “So how did you get an owl?”

Ben’s eyes dart toward the streetlamp. He shrugs. “Brother Francisco raises barn owls to keep down the unwanted rodents and smaller birds in the village. When Steve was an owlet, he fell from his nest and broke a wing. Brother Francisco allowed me to nurse him back to health. He’s been following me around ever since.”

“Seriously?” My brows furrow. “But how did you bring him here from Portugal?”

He shrugged. “Connections.”

I sip my tea and watch the people passing by on the sidewalk. The number is increasing. At eight-thirty on a Friday night, it’s not unusual for party goers to get an early start. A man in a dark coat and black cap passes and it jogs my memory. “Earlier you said I was being followed. How did you know? And why would someone be following me?”

Ben’s gaze returns to the street outside. “Steve. He’s been following you.”

“You’re saying Steve is following me? Newsflash. He’s not a person.”

Those false brown eyes glare at me for a moment. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. I guess it’s because you keep showing up with me on the roof. Steve’s decided he likes you. So he’s been following you a bit. He…umm…let me know someone’s following you. And tonight I saw him.”

I frown. “This is so confusing, it’s blowing my mind. Steve told you that someone’s following me?”

Ben shrugs in a non-committal way.

“Your owl talks to you.”

The glare returns. “It’s not like you say. I’m not crazy. When you’ve lived with an animal a long time, they can…communicate. It’s not uncommon. Haven’t you ever seen Lassie?”

“That’s fiction.”

“Most fiction has a grain of truth in it.”

I shrug. All of this just seems so unreal. How much of the stories my dad used to read to me had a grain of truth in them?

“You’ve never had a pet have you?” he asks.

That stings. Like, literally, my heart aches from an unfulfilled wish. My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “When I was little my dad told me that he’d get me a puppy when I was old enough to take care of it.”

“What happened?”

I shake my head and take a deep breath. After I blow it out, my calm returns. “He’s gone. When it was just me and my mom, there was no way we could take care of a dog then. And now…there’s my stepdad. No pets allowed.”

He nods.

Then the silence grows awkward for a moment. How could it not? I take another deep breath. “So why? Why is someone following me?”

Ben’s gaze returns outside. “I don’t know yet. I’ve got a feeling, but until I know for certain I refuse to jump to conclusions.”

I stare for a moment, my turn to measure him. He seems honest, but do I really trust him with everything he’s said? I’m still not sure.

“Fair enough,” I say slowly. “Are you ready to go?”

He takes his tea and chugs the last bit. The ice in the glass clinks when he sets it down with a nod.

When we stop on the stoop of my brownstone, I find a moment of awkwardness. I don’t know what to do. I clear my throat. “This is me. Goodnight, I guess?”

Steve lands on the railing of my stoop, and his feathers shine in the pale light of the streetlamp overhead. I can’t help but marvel at his feathers. The iridescent way they catch the light reminds me of the kaleidoscope hidden beneath the plain brown lenses Ben wears.

“I guess Steve decided to say goodnight, too.” Ben laughs.

It's the first I've heard him laugh, and he sounds like an ordinary guy. One of my hands reaches out for the bird, but just before my fingers brush against feathers, Steve hops away and takes flight. I flinch at the air pushed in my direction and then watch him until he lands on the building across the street.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Ben asks.

My heart and my stomach must start wrestling each other, because they both are flipping all over the place. I eloquently say, “Umm…”

“Visiting hours at the hospital aren’t until ten a.m. So I can come by here to walk you there at about nine-thirty if you’d like?” he asks.

“Wow. You’re really taking your job as bodyguard very seriously, aren’t you?” My voice is breathless, and I wonder if he can tell.

He shrugs.

“But it’ll be morning. Do you really think someone would follow me in broad daylight?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Actually, Steve indicated someone was following you in broad daylight. I followed him from the school to the hospital.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “I don’t understand. Why would anyone do that?”

His eyes meet mine, and his face turns serious. “A couple of girls have gone missing in Fairfax. Even though it’s a few counties away, any pretty young girl is a target. It wouldn’t take more motivation than that for a sick person to select you.”

Did he just call me pretty? My face flushes. And no words can make it pass my lips. Say something. Anything. Nope. Nada.

Ben takes a step back. “So nine-thirty tomorrow?”

Words still aren’t coming, so I nod.

He smiles, shoves his hands in his pockets, and starts back the way we came. A shadow moves across the light, and I watch Steve land upon his shoulder. They go in the same direction as when I saw them together the first time. A silhouette against the buildings.

Saturday morning, my clothing is strewn about my bed. What on earth do I wear? The sky outside isn’t helping. Steel grey clouds ripple toward the horizon, pregnant with rain that hasn’t been delivered yet. The temperature outside is unseasonably warm too, but once the rain pulls through, there’s an expected fifteen-degree drop. I fall backward on my brown duvet and chide myself. My best friend is in the hospital, and I’m more worried about the walk with a boy than seeing her?

Who is the boy-crazy one again? Maybe I’m channeling my inner Tasha? Still, I’m ashamed.

Fine. Whatever. I throw on jeans and a “Live Long and Prosper” t-shirt. Once my hair is whipped into my usual ponytail, I pull on a pink camouflage ball cap. If my lesbian rumor doesn’t chase away the boys, my geekiness does. I’m a nerd girl at heart.

It’s nine-twenty before I grab my rain jacket and umbrella and head out my bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” Rob, my stepdad, stands in the kitchen, his back to me. It’s late morning and he’s still in striped pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt.

“In case you hadn’t heard, my best friend is in the hospital. Visiting hours start at ten,” I say in passing, while I continue through the grey-tiled kitchen for the living room.

“What about your chores? You can’t keep living under my roof when you do nothing to contribute.”

I freeze right next to the back of the brown leather sofa. His roof? I seethe and can feel the heat rising up the back of my neck. How dare he? I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I blow it out through my teeth. “Mom knows where I am, and I’ll see her at the diner later. We’ll clean up tomorrow like we do every Sunday.”

He hacks up half his lung. Although my mom doesn’t let him smoke in the house, he still reeks like an ashtray. Besides, he cheats and does it in the bathroom with the window open and the fan on. Like that helps. Maybe I should call him out on that?

The scruff on his face is a mixture of grey porcupine prickles. He sneers, eyeing me up and down. “That diner food isn’t doing you any favors. Even a fat man would rather marry a skinny woman.”

It couldn’t have hurt worse if he’d slapped me. You’d think I’d be used to his insults by now. My jaw clicks as my mouth clamps shut.

He smiles and begins whistling, like his day just got better. How does insulting me help lift his spirits so much?

Retaliating would only hurt my mother’s feelings. And she’s been through so much, continues to work so hard just to help me get where I am. She refused to let me get a job to help out because she wanted me to concentrate on my studies. I press my teeth together so hard they ache like I’ve eaten something sour. Besides, if I say anything at all, the tears will come and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. It makes me feel so weak when I can’t control the water works. Without another word, I turn for the door.

I rush downstairs and outside, onto the stoop, crashing into a solid object on my way out. Pine and mint. I swallow hard.

“Um…Are you okay?” Ben asks.

I blink and push myself back but can only nod. I’m not ready for my voice to crack and betray me.

He steps back and eyes me. “Are you ready to go?”

Steve sits on the lamp post behind Ben. Amber-yellow eyes set in a pile of white and gold feathers. His beak is hidden, and it looks like that’s all he is for a moment, eyes and feathers. The wind picks up, and it smells like rain. Three younger kids rush up the steps and charge past me for the door to our complex. I grip the railing to let them by without a crash. Their joyful laughter feels wrong in this low pressure vacuum, and it’s ripped away by the wind.

I hop down the steps to the walk, and the scuff of Ben’s sneakers behind me lets me know he’s following. The wind makes my nose run harder, and I can’t help but sniffle it away. Stupid head cold.

The walk to the hospital is nothing like the romantic stroll I’d had in my head while getting dressed this morning. My pace is too fast because I’m trying to beat the rain. It’s just me, stomping ahead with my head low, and Ben following a few feet behind me. It’s like he understands that I need my space. When we get to the hospital, we head for the emergency entrance. I know there are other ways into the hospital, but the building’s so big I just want to go the direction I’m already familiar with.

An ambulance’s wailing siren breaks me from my fog. I rush to the curb to keep from getting run over. The automatic doors open behind me. Ben stops on the other side of the drive, the emergency vehicle between us. A paramedic leaps from the driver’s seat while the diesel engine continues to idle. He yells into the lobby while he’s running toward the back. “Code blue! Get the op ready!”

The rear doors swing open and another paramedic jumps out. The two of them grip the gurney and wheels drop down. I don’t want to watch—feel like I’m intruding. But I just can’t seem to rip my eyes away. When they rush past me, a shock of curly blond hair strikes me as familiar. I examine a little closer and discover I know the face beneath the oxygen mask. Donnie Price.

A red Mini Cooper pulls up behind the ambulance and Matt is out of the passenger seat before the car stops all the way. Jacob Sloan throws it in park and joins him. Both of them are pale and panicked. Their faces are in the same mask of horror they’d been the night we were at the Old Schoolhouse. The rain begins to pound against the overhang.

Ben passes me and rushes to his cousin’s side. “What’s going on?”

Matt’s jaw is still slack and his eyes are glassy. He looks at Ben, but his mind seems elsewhere. “It’s Donnie.”

Ben takes him by the shoulders and gives him a quick shake. “We know that. What’s going on?”

After blinking hard, Matt’s eyes focus and there are tears welling in the bottom of them. “We were meeting him to play Call of Duty, you know? But when we got there…he was…”

Jacob scrubs his hair with both hands like he’s going to rip it out. “He wouldn’t answer the door, so I tried the knob, and it was unlocked. We walked in and found him on the couch. He was passed out—I mean I thought he was passed out. But he wasn’t breathing. We called 911.”

Matt nods. “They got him breathing again, using CPR and those electric paddles. But they said he’d overdosed.”

“The hell he did. He doesn’t do drugs, man. He wouldn’t have done this!” Jacob yells, his hands clenched in fists and his jaw tense.

Matt flinches.

“I know that, man. But he’s been posting some weird stuff on Twitter. It’s like he was haunted or something.” His eyes fix on Ben. “Like that possession stuff you were talking about.”

Ben stiffens and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

A shout in the emergency room lobby draws our attention, and we rush in. The paramedics are performing CPR on Donnie again, and the nurses and doctors rush around him in a blur. A white coated doctor approaches with a needle, but male nurse in blue scrubs stops us before we can get closer. “Stand back, kids. We need to give them some room.”

We take two steps back, but as if we’ve made a collective pact, we retreat no farther. After a several tense minutes of the group around Donnie shouting and struggling to pull the life back into him, the hope around the paramedics and nurse’s dwindle. The doctor checks the clock. “Time of death, ten twenty-two a.m.”

I sit alone in the Intensive Care Unit and hold Tasha’s hand, but I’ve hardly spoken a word since I got here an hour ago. Mr. and Mrs. Brown have gone to run an errand and get something for lunch to allow us to have “girl time,” but I just don’t know what to say. My mind is running a mile a minute elsewhere.

Jacob took off for his Mini Cooper the moment he heard the news, abandoning Matt there at the hospital. Matt called his father, who happened to already be at the scene of the accident … suicide … whatever they were calling it. I didn’t want to talk about this stuff with Tasha. She needed to hear happy things, normal things, not this.

I clear my throat and steel myself, trying to think of something pleasant—something boy crazy. After a deep breath, I kick my sweetness up a notch and reminisce. “Do you remember the time we followed that guy all around Potomac Mills? He had on a black t-shirt with the word UNCOOL on the back. But it was like an oxymoron, because the guy was about as hot as the midday sun. That’s what you said, right?”

A smile came unbidden to my lips, and the knot in my chest began to unbind. I felt looser, more relaxed as long as I kept talking. By the time Mr. Brown came and rested a hand on my shoulder, I had completely become undone. It was like the knot in my chest was holding me together and when I’d released the tension, I was exhausted. Even though it was only a little after noon, I felt ready for bed.

“Mrs. Brown got you and your friends a couple of sandwiches from Hodge’s Deli. You should go on out to the lounge before the boys eat it all,” he said.

I frowned. Boys? Were Matt and Ben really still here? I shot up from my chair, the adrenaline returning to my system. I stuttered, “Uh…thanks, Mr. Brown.”

I gripped my umbrella and stepped back out into the ICU lounge. Mrs. Brown stood there in a yellow dress. Her hair was pinned up in a classy bun, and her smile was crooked. The boys were snatching a large brown bag between one another like a couple of animals. She smiled as soon as she saw me and held out a smaller brown bag toward me. “Sweetie, I got you turkey and provolone.”

The two boys settled a bit when they each had a sub in hand. They sat on the opposite sides of the L-shaped lounge chair configuration. In muted brown and orange, the lounge area had large windows that started at waist height and led to the ceiling. A television sat in the corner tuned into ESPN. Matt sat nearest to the TV and watched intently as he bit into his sandwich.

Mrs. Brown gestured for me to sit next to her in the middle. “You really are a dear. Tasha is so lucky to have found a friend like you.”

“I’ve always been the lucky one. Without Tasha, I’d have nobody.”

“Well, I wouldn’t quite say that. I’m sure there are others who want to be your friend, but the two of you always put up this impenetrable barrier around yourselves. You pretty much make it clear that you have each other and don’t need anyone else.”

I shrug and take a bite of my sandwich. I didn’t think I was hungry until I started eating. But then I realize that I’d skipped breakfast. No wonder this is the best turkey and provolone I’d ever had.

Mrs. Brown pats me on the knee. “Don’t spend your whole day here, okay. I don’t want that, and neither would Tasha. Go out and have some fun. The rain is letting up, and you’ve got two friends here who should be doing something other than sitting around in a hospital lounge watching ESPN.”

I glance over at Ben who has already finished his sandwich. He’s leaning back in the lounge chair with his arms across his chest, and his long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes are closed like he’s asleep, but I wonder if he’s actually listening to the conversation. Matt is completely engrossed in the basketball game on TV. They are so different from each other but have similar olive skin and the same color hair, even if it’s not the same texture.

I let out a long breath, feeling over full and wishing I hadn’t eaten the whole sandwich. “I’ll come back by tomorrow then. Just to give you all a break.”

“I appreciate that, Sweetie. But it’s not necessary. We’re moving Tasha to the pediatric unit in Alexandria.”

I blink hard, and my jaw drops a little.

Mrs. Brown frowns. “Don’t take it the wrong way. The unit in Alexandria is just better equipped to take care of Tasha. And we’ll be closer to her grandparents so that, not only can they visit, but we can be with Kevin every day, too. The doctors will be taking her out of her medical coma in a day or two, and she’ll be waking up and getting back to the real world. Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I swipe them away. My gaze darts toward Matt, who has stopped watching the basketball game and is facing my direction with a worried expression on his face.

“But…” I start. But what? What am I going to say? You can’t do that because I won’t be able to see her? How will I be able to help if they take her away? Guilt washes over me, and I realize that by coming and seeing her, it has felt like a penance, like I am doing something to help the friend who I couldn’t help otherwise. Now it is being taken away from me, and I understand that this wasn’t really helping Tasha at all. It was only helping me. I nod, resigning myself to the fact that this move is what Tasha’s family needs. I swallow and meet Mrs. Brown’s gaze again. “You’ll text me if there’s been any change, positive or negative? And when she wakes up and can text or talk on the phone, she’ll call me, right?”

Mrs. Brown’s frown turns into a smile. “Of course, Sweetie.”

When I stand from my chair, I find that both Matt and Ben stand with me at the same time. So they were both listening to the conversation?

Matt steps over, runs a hand through his brown hair, and says, “Thank you, Mrs. Brown, for the sandwiches. And I’m sorry about this whole situation.”

“You’re welcome, Junior. Please thank your dad for all he’s doing for us, too.”

He nods. “I will.”

Ben clears his throat. “Yes, thank you, and I appreciate you allowing us to wait here for Chira.”

The tuning fork that is my body hums from head to toe, and I realize that it’s the first time I’d heard Ben say my name. Gooseflesh pops up on my arms, betraying me. I can’t be doing this right now.

Mrs. Brown quirks an eyebrow at me, and I’m afraid she notices my inappropriate reaction. Then I realize that she’s giving me the “he’s a strange one” look. He’s thanking her for letting him wait for me, for hours, in the hospital? “You all have a good day now, okay. And try to do something fun.”

I nod and give her a quick hug. Then I feel empty again, drained as we head toward the elevator. The three of us stand in the metal box, each one of us with a back to a wall. I’m nearest the controls, so I press the button for the first floor.

Matt’s phone beeps, and he checks it. A smirk lifts one side of his lips. His longish sideburns accentuate his boxy jaw line. He’s not exactly short, maybe five-ten or eleven, but compared to Ben’s six-three or four, Matt seems square and stocky. He shoves the phone in our direction with a sad half-smile. “Check it, Magic won. Donnie would have…”

He trails off, his eyes glassy.

The tweet on the screen shows up black and blue against the phone’s white background. And something occurs to me. My stomach drops as we hit the first floor. Before the doors open, I ask, “Wait. Didn’t you say that Donnie had sent out some weird tweets?”

Matt’s brows furrow and he grows serious.

“Yeah,” he says and scrolls through his smart phone. We all step out of the elevator just before the doors shut. In the hallway, we stop and Matt hands me his phone. “See, take a look.”

Ben takes my umbrella from me and peeks over my shoulder, so I keep the phone slightly to the side while I scroll through the last few tweets on his feed.

@DPriceIsRiight – I don’t know if I can take this anymore #TheHauntingContinues

@DPriceIsRiight – The house is empty, but I swear the doors keep opening by themselves #TheHaunting

@DPriceIsRiight – Can’t stop yawning. Noises in the house kept me up. #2DaysNoSleep #Tired

@DPriceisRiight – Had to shut off the ringer on my phone. #TheHaunting

@DPriceisRiight – What’s up with that? #TheHaunting

@DPriceisRiight – The number is disconnected. #TheHaunting

@DPriceisRiight – Holy Shizzle! Just tried to call them. #TheHaunting

@DPriceisRiight – Tried to text the number, but it bounced back undeliverable. #Weird.

@DPriceisRiight – Day 2 of phone malfunctions. #CallingMyCarrier

@DPriceisRiight – Turned my phone off to get some sleep and some weird banging kept waking me up anyway. #Tired #NoSleep

@DPriceisRiight – Phone keeps ringing once and then the dude keeps hanging up. What’s up with that?

@DPriceisRiight – Be sure to check out my video on youtube! #TheHauntingAtTheOldSchoolHouse

@DPriceisRiight – Wanna see a real life, no fakes, ghost? #The HauntingAtTheOldSchoolHouse

“Can we watch the video?” Ben asks over my shoulder.

I scroll down quickly and see that previous tweets were from before the visit to the Old Schoolhouse. Most of them are about sports, Call of Duty, or food. I ask Matt, “Do you mind?”

His eyes are wide and sad, but he shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve already seen it.”

I hit the link. My heart sinks immediately as I relive the visit to the Old Schoolhouse step by step and from behind myself. It’s like an out-of-body experience or a nightmare that I can’t escape. The video starts in the strange room with the piano, and Stacy hitting the keys, causing that eerie sound. Déjà vu sends shivers up my spine. Jacob has a flashlight against his face like they do in the movies when one person tries to freak out another. When we get to the kitchen, the ghost looks like little more than indistinct white flickers on the screen. As Tasha rushes past the camera with a scream, I want to reach through the cell phone and grab her to stop her from the inevitable. Then I watch the on-screen version of myself dart after her. Donnie spits an expletive and the video stops. I’m relieved that I don’t have to relive the rest of it, but my chest still aches, and I’m panting.

Claustrophobia closes in, and I just need to get outside. I shove the phone toward Matt’s chest and rush out the emergency entrance doors. I stand in the overhang area and put my hands on my knees. Staying bent, I close my eyes and breathe for a minute.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks, and his hand lightly touches my back.

I shove it away and stand quickly. “I’m fine.”

I swallow hard and look around. This isn’t far enough. I need to get somewhere farther away from all this. Somewhere more open. I can only think of one place that will do. So I run.

The steady drizzle pelts water droplets against my face. My thighs burn, and my feet ache from slamming against the concrete sidewalk in my Sketchers. I dodge the puddles and the few pedestrians out in the rain. But I just can’t seem to outpace the questions swimming in my mind. Was it the ghost? Could this whole thing really be a possession? Had the ghost targeted them?

When I reach the front of Jackson Hall, the rain begins to pour in earnest. Droplets of water cling to my eyelashes, and I swipe them aside. My icy fingers feel as though they might freeze and fall off. I pull one of the great oak doors, but they don’t budge. I try the other, but it’s stuck shut, too. No matter how hard I yank and pull, they just won’t move. Defeated, I realize there isn’t a chance I’ll make it to the roof of the building. It’s Saturday—of course they lock the school.

Suddenly, the rain stops and I look up to see the brown webbing of my umbrella. Ben stands beside me, holding the shield over my head, his panting breaths coming out in white clouds. Water continues to drip from the bill of my ball cap.

Matt splashes through the puddle at the bottom of the stone steps and places his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Girl, you could probably run cross country. That had to have been like ten blocks!”

They are both soaking wet and as out of breath as I am. “I didn’t expect you to follow me.”

Ben glowers at me. “We had an agreement.”

I swallow. I’d forgotten.

Matt shakes his head. “You both took off. What else was I supposed to do but follow? Why are we here?”

My face flushes. “I wanted—expected to be alone.”

Matt’s eyebrows furrow. “So you came to the school? Why didn’t you just go home?”

I clench my jaw and tighten my hands into fists. My glare burns into him. He wouldn’t understand. The last place I needed to be is home. The last person who needed to see me at my weakest was my stepdad.

He raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. None of my business. I can take a hint.”

The musical notes the rain makes on my umbrella slows down, and there is barely a drizzle again. My shoulders slump. Now what? The three of us were completely drenched. They were both going to keep following me until I went to the last place I wanted to be.

Matt snaps his fingers. “What if we go check out the Old Schoolhouse? Ben and I didn’t see what you guys saw, so maybe it will give us a hint as to what’s going on right now?”

The blood drains from my face and pools in my feet. I croak, “No way.”

Ben clears his throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. Our only option of getting into the building is to meet up with the custodian and ask him to let us in. He cleans the yard and building on Tuesdays.”

I stare at him.

Matt asks. “How the hell do you know so much?”

“I looked into it after the incident last week. I decided I’d like to see the place where all this happened for myself, but it was locked. Mrs. Campbell’s aide, Joan was very helpful.” The rain completely stops, and Ben withdraws the umbrella, shaking it out over the stoop before folding it back up.

I shake my head. “Who are you?”

He quirks an eyebrow and offers my umbrella back to me.

Matt folds his arms across his chest. “What, so you’re a detective now, too? Complete and utter know-it-all.”

I frown. This bit of cousin rivalry makes me feel uncomfortable beyond words.

Ben shakes his head and dismisses the event. “Don’t you think we all need to get dry? Since she doesn’t want to go home, we could invite her over to your house, right?”

“I don’t know if she’ll want to go there. It might be awkward since my dad’s not home.”

“She’s standing right here,” I say.

Neither boy seems to have heard me. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Matt smirks. “It might be bad for her reputation. She’d go from dyke to slut.”

My cheeks burn, and I step forward, getting ready to deck him. But Ben cuts me off and grabs Matt by his shirt, lifting him off the ground so that his toes barely touch the step beneath him. “It’s unbecoming enough to listen to rumors. Ungentlemanly to spread them.”

The glare in Matt’s eyes burn into Ben’s. “What century are you from?”

Ben lifts him higher and then throws him backward off the step.

Matt catches his footing just before stumbling off the sidewalk. He straightens his shirt and sighs. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go over to my house. I’m sure we can find something for Chira to wear while we throw the clothes in the dryer.”

“Um…what?” I ask. They expect me to get out of my clothes? I didn’t think my cheeks could burn more, but somehow the flame doubles.

Matt’s sister, Hailey, graduated last year, and she's off studying at Georgetown. Her room became Ben’s, and in the back of his closet, he found one of her school uniforms.

I sigh.

Of course I’d be stuck in the green sweater and brown skirt on a Saturday. But I suppose that it’s better than wearing one of the boys’ oversized clothing. I check myself in the bathroom mirror. Amazing that Hailey and I are the same size. She’s pretty and was popular, and I would have sworn she would have been two sizes smaller than me, at least.

I step back out into the living room and find Matt playing Call of Duty with a headset on. He’s talking to one of the other online players while he hides behind a barricade on the screen and shoots something.

Two brown leather couches square off a Persian area rug in front of the flat screen TV. Different shades of brown intermingle through the room, from the furnishings to the carpet to the very light brown shade the walls are painted. It gives the room a masculine feel.

Ben sits in a leather chair with his feet on an ottoman, his Latin textbook in his hands. Studying on a Saturday? He’s more of a nerd than I am. As if that’s possible. Since neither boy acknowledges me when I walk in, I awkwardly sit on the couch behind Matt.

After a while of staring at the repetitive motion of the screen in front of me and tuning out most of what Matt says, I find my eyelids getting heavy. Just when I think I can’t take another minute of this boredom, a key jingles in the front door. I sit up straighter, and Ben sets his book to the side. Mr. Benson walks through the front door, in a navy blue striped suit and trench coat covered with water droplets across the shoulders. The top button of his shirt collar is undone, and he looks worn.

Matt sets aside his head phones and leaves his gaming console. “Hey Dad.”

Mr. Benson sets his tired gaze on each of us in turn. He blinks at me and then turns back to his son. “I’m really sorry about everything that’s happened today, but I really need to ask you a few questions about Donnie.”

I swallow hard.

Matt shrugs, his eyes wide. “Okay.”

Mr. Benson eyes Ben and me again. “Alone.”

Ben hops up from his chair and offers me a hand. “Let me show you something.”

I nod and take his hand. When my fingers touch his palm, vibrations trickle up and down my skin. And I thought his voice made me into a tuning fork. My face flushes. I stand, but he doesn’t release his grip. He pulls me gently toward the door Mr. Benson just entered through.  Breathlessly, I greet Mr. Benson as I pass. “Thank you for allowing me to come over.”

But Ben barely hesitates, he leads me to the stairwell, and I find us going up. A smile spreads across my face, because I know we’re going to the roof.

“Do you ever dream of flying?” I ask.

We stand near the thigh-high edge of the roof of the four-story brownstone and watch the sky turning blue in the west. Fluffy white clouds are over us, and the dark ones that plagued us a moment before are dipping low in the east. The sun peeks out, and a full rainbow spreads from one side of the sky to the other against the steel grey backdrop.

“Sometimes,” Ben says, opening the door to the ten-by-ten-foot cage that houses his owl.

Steve burst through his confines and spirals up toward the sky. I envy his freedom. “He spends most of his time free, doesn’t he?”

Ben nods.

I bite down on my next question. He doesn’t really make me nervous, like boys I have crushes on do. With him, things are different somehow, and I don’t want to chase him away with my incessant questions, but at the same time, I want to hear his voice. But he just won’t oblige me with answers longer than one word today.

I frown, but another question bubbles up. “Do you think Donnie had a possession ghost?”

Ben’s gaze drops from Steve to me. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. It could be, but I won’t be able to tell for certain until I can get into the Old Schoolhouse kitchen and see what’s there.”

“Tuesday.”

He nods, and studies me for a moment, and then he asks, “Will you come with me?”

My heart sinks. No way. I don’t want to go back there. Without much thought, I shake my head.

Ben takes a step toward me, his false brown eyes studying mine. “I know you’re scared, but I need to see what happened. It would be a huge help if you came with me…and I could keep up with my bodyguard duties.”

“Do you ever take out your contacts?” I switch gears, hoping to throw him off.

He winces and then studies me again. With a nod, he turns around and bends over a bit, pulling the lens from each eye. When his eyes meet mine again, I’m struck by the brilliant colors, more impressive than the rainbow behind him. He continues to study me. “No. I don’t ever take my contacts out.”

It’s my turn to wince. “Why not?”

He looks away like he can’t stand to have me see him anymore. “My eyes are what caused me to lose my mother. They make me into a side-show freak that everyone takes notice of. Everyone either fears me or uses me for what I can do. I hate to even look at myself in the mirror when I don’t have contacts in.”

The note that resonates through my body at the sound of his sadness breaks my heart. “Then why did you show me?”

He gives me a sideways glance. “You’re different…guileless.”

I cross my arms over my chest and glower at him. “Thanks for noticing.”

“No,” he says with a laugh. “I mean that everyone has a shadow around them, some are stronger than others. Everyone tries to be something they’re not. But you…you’re different. You don’t hide your emotions…at least not well. You don’t pretend. You are what you seem to be.”

I shiver at his words. “I’m no different than anyone else. I have problems and I hide them.”

He smirks, the swirl in his eyes never ending. “Like I said, you try. But anyone who can read body language would see you as an open book. Animals are the best at reading emotional signatures. Even Steve knows that about you.”

Suddenly, his studying eyes make me feel naked. I turn away from him and watch Steve ride up and down on the wind without moving his wings. He stays steady in one spot.

“Everyone judges me,” Ben says. “When they see what I am they make a decision. Will they be scared? Will they try to use me to their advantage? When I saw how guileless you were, I had to know what you would think…how you would judge me.”

I gulp. I had said it was pretty. That was my gut reaction at the time. What a child I am. I shake my head.

“You didn’t change at all. Your feelings for me before seeing and after seeing were the same. That’s something that’s never happened to me before,” he whispers. His voice cracks.

My gaze darts toward him. He stands beside me, watching Steve rise and fall, his arms across his chest, in a position similar to mine. Then he turns his face, and his gaze meets mine again.

“What else do you see?” I blurt.

He quirks a smile. “You’ve changed.”

I blink hard. “What do you mean?”

“Your feelings for me have changed.”

“Changed how?”

“You care now. I’ve made it to the small circle of people that you care about, and that’s a very privileged place to be.”

My throat constricts, and even though I try to speak, I can barely breathe.

He smiles at me gently. “And you’ve broken into mine.”

Did he just say what I think he said?

The door to the stairwell swings open with a loud screech and bangs when Matt rushes out onto the roof. I stare at him in shock, but when my gaze returns to Ben, he’s already replaced his lenses and stands stiffly. His usual stoic mask has been replaced.

“I knew I’d find you guys up here.” Matt smiles in triumph, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

My breath finally returns. “Why were you looking for us?”

Matt shrugs and says, “Well, your clothes are dry.”

The wind picks up again and swirls around my hair, sending the dry strands into my face, while the wet ones chill the back of my neck. I pull the hair from my lips. “Thanks, Matt.”

We start back downstairs together, Matt in the lead and Ben in the rear. When we reach the third floor, and start for the door of their apartment, Matt turns and says, “This was actually really fun. We should hang out more often.”

I furrow my brows. “Why would a senior want to hang out with a couple of juniors?”

He shrugs and sidles up closer to me. “Well, I really meant only you.”

Behind me, Ben growls. Literally. Both Matt and I shoot a look back at him, but his expression is just the usual hard, but bored look he seems to have cultivated. He’s not even looking at either of us, but cuts between us and opens the door.

Matt and I stand in the hallway for a second, both of us still in shock at the sound we’d heard. Finally, I say, “I’m not interested in switching teams. But thanks for the offer.” And then I duck inside the apartment.

Sunday I spend the whole day with my mom, like I always do. The Browns text me a few times to let me know that they’ve taken Tasha off the medication, but she hasn’t woken yet. Mom and I clean the house from top to bottom while Rob spends the morning fishing with his buddies and then the afternoon playing cards. By the time he gets home at nine p.m., I’m totally shut up in my room as always, and watching Netflix until midnight.

On Monday morning I drag myself out of bed and getting on with my usual routine. I rush into the kitchen and nearly fall over myself when I see Ben sitting in the chair at the table with my mom. My heart leaps.

“Hey,” I say awkwardly.

Ben has my dad’s Hawaiian print coffee mug in his hands. It’s the one I drink from. His false brown eyes meet mine, and a smile tucks the corner of his mouth as he says, “Hey.”

A wide grin spreads across Mom’s face. “When I found Ben lurking in the hallway as Rob was leaving, I invited him in.”

“Awesome.” I croak out the word. That was at least ten minutes ago. I take a deep breath and try to play it cool. “So, Ben, have you eaten breakfast yet.”

His facial expression is so soft that it’s throwing me off guard. Usually he’s so stiff and formal…except when we’re on a roof somewhere. “Thanks, your mother offered me breakfast, but I’ve already eaten.”

I nod and head for the cabinet over the toaster. My heart is beating so fast still that I’m having a hard time recovering from this shock. I grab a bowl and the cinnamon toast cereal. Heat prickles up my neck.

“So Ben tells me that your class schedules are similar.”

“Hmmm,” I say, trying to stay noncommittal. The cereal plays a quick tinkling tune against the bottom of my bowl. My heart rate slows to a manageable level while I pour the milk.

“He says that he’s not having the easiest time in geometry. Maybe you could help him with that.”

I take a mouthful of cereal, turn around, and shrug. With my mouth still full, I say, “Maybe.”

My mother stares at me with her eyes half lidded. I look away from her and shovel another bite in my mouth. This whole thing is just too awkward for me. Ben and I hadn’t really talked since Saturday on the roof. Even when he walked me home, he seemed to be brooding more than usual, so I left him alone. I shovel down the rest of my cereal as quickly as I can while leaning against the counter. I just can’t bring myself to sit down with the two of them.

Mom stands and empties the remnants of her coffee mug into the sink while stifling a yawn.  She pulls me into a one-armed hug and kisses my temple. “Well, have a good day at school, honey.”

I set my bowl in the sink with her mug. “I will.”

Ben is on his feet and gets the front door just before I reach the knob myself. At first I thought his door opening thing was quaint. Today, I find it a tad annoying. I race down the stairs and reach the front door first. Then to spread a little icing, I hold the door for him with a smile and a little bow of my head.

He frowns but walks through.

Moisture clings to everything outside, and it’s unseasonably warm. I hop down the stoop steps after Ben, and he stops to wait for me. I eye him. “Do you really need help with geometry?”

He shakes his head. “I was just making polite conversation.”

I nod. “Thought so.”

We walk together to Jackson Hall, with him beside me except when a narrow gap is the only way through the mill of people at the bus stop. When we reach the lawn in front of the school, Ben says, “If you want to go out with him, you should.”

I blink and turn to him. “What? Who?”

Ben’s eyes are intense on mine, and his jaw pulses where he’s tightened it. “Matt.”

“Why would I want to go out with Matt?” I ask, knotting my eyebrows.

“Well, he asked…and he’s a senior and apparently popular…”

I shake my head. “You’re the one who sees…everything, right? I’d think you could tell that I’m not interested in him that way.”

He shrugs, but his expression has softened. “I just….”

My heart flutters, but instead of making me weak in the knees, this makes me a little angry. What is wrong with this boy? I shoulder my messenger bag and start up the stairs to the building. “Oh…kay.”

He skips to catch up with me in the hallway. “It’s none of my business.”

“Right.” I dash up the steps to the second floor.

He stops on the landing.

Without missing a beat, I leave him behind. I peer down at him when I reach the last step. His arms are crossed, and he’s leaning against the wall. A couple passes him and look at him like he’s strange. They give me the same look as they split to go around me. Once they pass, the giggles erupt.

His eyes are sad as he looks at me. All this rejection is something he’s used to. My chest aches to look at him like that. I should just turn around and leave. He’d probably be better off if I did. But I know that’s a lie I’m telling myself. He’s a reject, like me. When two more girls pass him with a stare, I know that I can’t leave him like this. I dash back down the steps and grab his hand. “Come on.”

A small smile makes its home on his full lips, and I find myself inexplicably drawn to his mouth all of a sudden. I blink hard and turn around, dragging him up the steps with me. The warm skin of his palm in mine is hard to release when we reach our classroom. But when I let him go, my skin prickles. I chance a glance into his eyes. His intense but happy plain brown eyes are fixed on mine. And it hits me how strange this all is. I make the brooding new boy happy? Me? The thought of this—the pressure is overwhelming. Uncomfortable. Scary.

I rip my gaze from his and rush into homeroom, slamming Mr. Scott in the shoulder with the door.

“Hey, whoa! There’s no hurry. The first bell hasn’t rung yet,” he says, rubbing his shoulder and tossing his empty Mountain Dew can in the trashcan by the door.

Heat rushes to my face. “I…I’m so sorry.”

Mr. Scott smiles broadly, and eyes me for a moment. Then he gestures into the room. “Not a problem Miss Kelly. Take your seat.”

With a quick nod and my head down, I march to my desk and scoot in. Ben cuts into his normal desk, right behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at his nearness. It’s going to be a long day.

When the lunch bell rings after third period, I linger at my desk and take my time packing my messenger bag until the class leaves without me. I glance up. I’m alone with Mrs. Blaylock. I furrow my brows and head for the hallway.

The crowded halls are full of the scuffing of shoes and the constant dialogue between students. My gaze is drawn toward the stairwell. Ben has likely gone up there to spend time with Steve. I can’t deal with this right now. I follow the crowd meandering toward the cafeteria.

I stand in line behind two sophomores who are so intent on their conversation that they hardly move forward at the appropriate times.

“Usually he’s so cute, but today, he’s a complete mess. He hasn’t shaved and he’s got bags under his eyes,” the blonde one with her hair in pigtail braids like Tasha’s says. Her hair ties are purple sparkles.

“I know, right? It’s like he’s been sleeping in his uniform all weekend. I’m surprised Stacy can stand him,” the one with the brown bob cut says, chewing on a strand of her hair.

“They’ve been a couple, like, forever. She must love him if she can sit with him like that.” The blond one jabs her thumb toward a table of seniors.

Stacy sits with an arm around a tired and haggard looking Jacob. And the teeny boppers are right. He’s a mess. The usually perfectly dressed senior class president is setting a terrible example with his shirt half tucked in and his tie loose around an unbuttoned collar. His sandy hair sticks up in all directions. Stacy’s panicked blue eyes are fixed on her boyfriend, her lips to his ear as she whispers what I imagine is encouragement. The rest of the seniors at the table are standoffish toward the couple except Matt Benson who catches me looking and waves.

I flush and wave back, quickly averting my eyes and taking a couple steps forward in the line. The teeny boppers have moved on, discussing the latest One Direction album. When I reach the food selection, my appetite has left me. Donnie had been Jacob’s best friend, and now he was gone. I could imagine how Jacob felt. But boys weren’t allowed to collapse into someone’s arms and have a cry fest. And as much as Jacob likely tried to keep all his emotions in, they were showing in his disheveled appearance.

My heart broke for him. Broke for Donnie. Ben was right. We need to get to the bottom of this and find out if Donnie's death was caused by possession. And if Ben is the only person who can tell, then I need to help him as much as I can…no matter how awkward it is.

I take a deep breath and sigh, grabbing a saucer of mac ’n cheese and a brownie. I am in some dire need of comfort food right now. I pay the cashier and eye the room for a seat.

The senior table erupts in a shout and a bang on the table with Jacob’s fist. Silence engulfs the rest of the room so quickly that the absence of sound makes my ears ring.

“To hell with all of you. I’m going to find out what is going on, because whatever happened to him is happening to me, and I can’t take this anymore than he could.” Jacob yells and shoves the table.

Mr. Scott and the vice principal are marching in his direction. He spots them and heads off in the other direction for the courtyard door that’s behind him. The two adults follow him out.

The tide of conversation moves back in and slowly ratchets upward from low whispers to overexcited chatter. I don’t mean to listen in, but I stand there frozen.

“What’s going on? What’s he talking about?” Stacy asks, her hands in a tangled grip around Matt’s jacket lapel. Her hair is a twisted, unkempt blond braid with flyaways about her face. Her eyes are rimmed red and tears have streaked through her make up.

Matt’s eyes are wide and wild, still fixed on the cafeteria exit. “I don’t know for sure. But the same kind of weird stuff that was happening at Donnie’s is happening to him. He said he feels like he's being watched. Cabinets and doors slamming around his house, stuff like that, but only when his parents aren’t home.”

“What?” Stacy asks. “He didn’t say anything to me. And he's not tweeting like Donnie.”

“He told me today the stuff’s been happening the whole time, but he hasn’t said anything about it.”

She swallows and loosens her grip on his jacket.

Matt shrugs her off and starts for the door. He’s stopped by Mrs. Blaylock.

My appetite has abandoned me again. I snag the brownie and stuff it into my pocket, grab the milk, and set the rest of the tray on a table. Without a second thought, I set course for the stairs.

*

Bright sunlight stabs my eyes, and the familiar squeal of the rooftop door greets me. Steve is perched on the fence, his talons wrapped around the green painted chain link. Ben doesn’t turn around and greet me like he normally does. Somehow, this comforts me a bit and relieves some of the awkwardness I anticipated.

Steve plucks a bit of jerky from Ben’s fingertips. The snap of his beak slices through the skin of Ben's finger. Droplets of blood begin to form.

“Are you okay?” I jog to his side.

He tosses back a fleeting glance and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. With a quick wrap, the finger is covered.  He stuffs the hand into his pocket.

He carries a handkerchief?

“It’s fine, this happens all the time,” he quips. The tone of his voice rings a bit hollow and short, and he takes a step away from me.

I falter. Did I do something wrong? I swallow back the disappointment and try to shake it off. “All the time? I don’t recall seeing little slits covering your fingers.”

The side of his mouth quirks, and he eyes his uninjured hand. “You were looking at my hands?”

I stand akimbo. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He shrugs and steps back to lean against the wall of the stairwell door. “It hasn’t happened in a while. I’m more careful most of the time. I just let myself get distracted.”

I’m a distraction. Of course I am. I watch his lean well-muscled figure in the bright sun. He cuts a clean shadow against the wall. He pulls the injured hand out of his pocket and flexes his long fingers. His square jaw tightens as he bites his full bottom lip. While he turns his hand over, his eyes look troubled and anxious, but they are half covered in the shadow of his wavy, dark, messy hair.

He’s perfect and beautiful. And he doesn’t need to lower himself to my level. He could go downstairs right now and hang out with the best of them. If he’d open himself up to them, he’d be popular. Matt and Hailey Benson’s cousin? How could he not fit right in with the crowd?

But instead he’s on the roof, feeding an owl. Would anyone ever accept that bit of weirdness? Would the teeny boppers I stood in line behind find that cool? Probably not. And his eyes. Pools of dancing black oil? They were a bit unusual, yeah, but worth freaking out about? Not really. Then there’s the whole monk thing…and how he knows so much about things like ghosts and demons. I shiver at the thought. I blurt, “I’ll go with you.”

His eyes finally meet mine. In them is a tiny spark of hope. “What?”

I clear my throat. “I’ll go with you tomorrow to the Old Schoolhouse.”

The flash in them becomes serious, and his face sets in a determined expression. “Good. What made you change your mind?”

I shake my head and turn to look at Steve, who is perched closer to me on the fence now, his amber eyes watching my every move. “We need to do something. Tasha is in a coma. Donnie is dead. And Jacob…”

Ben steps closer, his voice quiet but with a hard edge. “What about Jacob?”

My gaze lifts to his. Those faux brown eyes are determined and curious. I like it. The serious Ben has returned. I stand up straight. “I was just in the cafeteria. He looked distraught, unshaven, disheveled—nothing like he usually does. And he had a fit downstairs, slammed his hand on the table and shouted something about how what happened to Donnie is happening to him, too, and he just can’t take it anymore.”

Ben’s intense eyes become distant as he looks over my shoulder, and his jaw works in and out on the side of his face. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait until tomorrow. Maybe we should go break into the Old Schoolhouse tonight.”

My jaw drops, and my breath catches.

His gaze returns to me and flickers between my eyes and my lips. He’s so close that, for a moment, my heart skips a beat. Will he kiss me? But the moment passes in an instant as he turns away and takes a step back.

My breath returns. “We can’t do that. We can’t break in. They’ve started night watch at the building now. I remember Mr. Scott saying something about it at the Police Station.”

Ben winces, and his eyes dart back and forth like he’s trying to come up with another plan. Finally, his shoulders droop a bit. “It can’t be helped I suppose. We’ll have to try the custodian after school tomorrow.”

I nod and finger the brownie in my pocket. My stomach growls.

“Have you eaten?” he asks me with an accusing tone.

I quirk an eyebrow and pull the milk and brownie from my pockets. “The lunch of champions.”

He laughs and shakes his head when I snag my first bite.

With my mouth full, I ask, “What about you? Have you eaten?”

“A bologna sandwich and a coffee. According to my uncle it’s the lunch of detectives.”

I wash down the brownie with my milk and smile. “That’s good because we’ll need you to be one if we’re going to settle this whole thing.”

I miss Tasha the most in 6th period Gym class. It’s here that I have to deal with the brunt of my shunning, without the buffer that is my best friend. Instead, I deal with pointing, stares, and being chosen last for any team sport. Which irks me the most, since I can play circles around the majority of the girls in the class due to my innate size and build. And volleyball? I totally rock this game.

“You can take the Amazonian woman,” Kaitlyn says, snickering and rolling one of her blonde curls with her finger.

Stacy shrugs and waves me over. I try to keep my face as neutral as possible. It was down to me and the smallest, weakest freshman, and I still got last pick.

We set up on both sides of the net. Gym is one of those classes where students from every level work together, from seventh graders to seniors. Whether puberty has gotten hold of them or not. I take my spot against the net as opposite because I’ve got a good jump on me and can spike it anytime someone sets me up. And boy, am I ready to spike it with some power today. If I was male, I’d be oozing testosterone… Just as Kaitlyn’s serve passes over the net, the whistle blows. Stacy catches the ball to stop the play, and we all look over at Mrs. Norris who blew the whistle. The vice principal stands next to her, and he looks sterner than ever. “Stacy Brine, Mr. Collins would like to see you for a moment. The rest of you, run four laps around the gym to stay warm.”

I groan along with the rest of the girls, but we do as we’re told. The jog around the perimeter of the gym is slowed because we are all craning our necks to see what’s going on with Stacy. When she sobs and collapses into the principal’s arms, I slam into the body in front of me. Kaitlyn has stopped. She turns toward me and snaps, “Watch it, dyke.” And then she dashes over to Stacy.

No one in the group is running anymore. We all stop and stare like sheep watching one of their own being slaughtered. When Kaitlyn gets over there, she’s talking to the principal, and Stacy crashes into her friend’s arms.

“What?” Kaitlyn yells, and then she’s crying, too.

As a collective, every student in the gym has become silent and huddled together. A fight or flight instinct has taken over us all, and we know instinctively that there is safety in numbers. Kaitlyn leaves with both Stacy and the vice principal. Mrs. Norris glares at our group. “Laps, girls.”

We nod and scramble to finish our drill. Murmurings begin at the group that had been nearest the action and slowly the gossip travels from ear to mouth throughout the gym. Shocked expressions interrupt game play at the other volleyball nets, and Mrs. Norris is forced to make an announcement. She blows her whistle and the murmuring stops. “Ladies! Have a seat right here in front of me.”

I’d lost count on how many laps we’d done, but my legs aren’t tired in the least. With everyone else, I sit cross-legged on the hardwood gym floor. Once everyone is seated and quiet again, Mrs. Norris speaks.

“I know how the telephone game and the gossip chain works around here. I was going to wait until the end of class to avoid the interruption of game play, but it seems you all aren’t letting that happen. I’m sorry to relay to you all some horrible news.”

The hush in the gym allows for the wails of other students down the hall to reach our ears. When we hear this uproar, it becomes that much harder to be patient for the announcement. Mrs. Norris clears her sniffles, tears welling in her eyes. “Senior class president, Jacob Sloane has been in a terrible accident.”

Cries of disbelief and general tears erupt in spurts around the crowd of girls in the gym.

Mrs. Sloan makes a motion with her hands for all of us to sit still. She continues, “This appalling tragedy follows too closely to the incident on Saturday with Donnie Price. To have two of our Jackson Hall seniors die in completely unrelated ways is a horrible blow. If anyone needs to see the guidance counselor, Mr. Collins has informed me that we’ll be doing group sessions to help the student body deal with their grief.”

What? I feel paralyzed. My joints are frozen, and my muscles refuse to move. How could this be possible? I sit in a stupor, my mind numb, while voices and crying around me becomes indistinct. Someone pats my shoulder, and I notice that everyone has stood and started heading for the locker room.

“Miss Kelly. If you need to see the grief counselor, I can write you a hall pass right now,” says Mrs. Norris.

I shake my head and scramble to my feet. “No, ma’am. That won’t be necessary.”

She nods, her eyes bloodshot and sad. “Okay, but please talk to someone about what you’re feeling. Don’t hold it all in. That’s the worst thing you can do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Norris has a ball of tissues in her hand, and she’s wiping her nose. Some of the girls from the class have congregated just outside the locker room door, talking. I recognize one of them as Tracey James. When she sees me, she brightens. “Tell them, Chira. You would know better than me.”

I blink and raise my eyebrows. “What? What do you mean?”

She pulls me over to the group, and I scan the judgmental, doubtful, but mourning faces of the other three girls. Tracey keeps hold of my elbow as though she’s afraid I might run away as she says, “My group went upstairs, but yours went down. You were with them. Tasha, Donnie, Jacob and Stacy, right? You were with them all when you saw that ghost. And now three of you have been hurt, right? It’s got to be a curse.”

Panic claws in my chest, and I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about this right now. I try to pull from Tracey’s grasp, but she tightens her grip. “Tell them Chira. You were there. What did you see?”

I’m stronger than she is, and if I have to drag her with me, I’m still going to leave. I head for the locker room, pulling her with me for a moment before she finally lets me go. The door doesn’t swing shut before I hear her laugh behind me. “I wonder who’s next. You or Stacy?”

Skipping the last fifteen minutes of class doesn’t seem like a problem for me. The moment I’m back in my standard uniform, I shoulder my bag and rush out the door. I march down the hallway, and when I pass a classroom, a shout stops me in my tracks.

“Wait up!”

The vibration that voice sends through my body makes it clear who it is, and I don’t bother to turn around. Ben stands beside me with his backpack slung over his shoulder. I eye him. “Were you planning on skipping the last bit of class, too?”

“Most everyone is. After that bit of news, no one can concentrate on their work anymore,” he says.

I nod and start walking again. “That’s for sure.”

“Where are you going? I told you never to go anywhere alone right now. It’s not safe.”

“How are you going to save me from this…curse that everyone’s talking about?”

He frowns. “What curse?”

“The Old Schoolhouse is not only haunted, but apparently there’s a curse now. If you’ve seen the ghost, you have an accident. Or something like that.”

Ben’s jaw tightens. “Urban legend. I don’t buy into silly superstitions.”

We reach the administrator’s hall and nearly run into Mr. Scott. His smile wanes the moment he sees us. “What are you two doing? I hope you have a hall pass?”

I swallow and shake my head, suddenly ashamed. I’ve never skipped class before, but somehow I just can’t take being here any longer.  “I don’t feel well, Mr. Scott. Since the day is almost out, and my teacher isn’t working on anything further, I asked if I could be excused. Ben offered to walk me home.”

Mr. Scott narrows his worried eyes at both of us, and then his gaze lands on me. Suddenly I’m sure that his kind eyes can see right through my lie. Instead, he says, “There were five of you in that video Donnie posted on twitter, weren’t there? And now three of you have been hurt. It’s a terrible thing that happened today with Jacob. His brakes went out, and he ran a red light. I don’t buy into this whole curse theory, but it’s better that you stay safe, okay?”

I nod.

The light shines on Mr. Scott’s bald head as he turns to look up at Ben, and there’s something wary in his gaze. “Glad you’re keeping an eye out for Chira. Keep up the good work.”

I blink and am surprised as Mr. Scott continues down the hallway away from us. With a shrug I take advantage of the opportunity and walk a little faster for the door. Ben is right beside me, but I beat him to the door and push it open myself. The overcast sky mutes the sunlight so that it feels later in the day than just before two o’clock. I decide to go home. Maybe I’ll just hole up early and snack on something in the house before I go to bed. I’m not feeling like doing the usual library and diner thing. I’m just too tired. I hop down the steps, and Ben follows me like a shadow. Not sure how I feel about that. I don’t need a babysitter, but it seems like this chivalry thing is in Ben’s nature. At least he keeps his distance from me.

Halloween comes on a sunny Tuesday morning. Even though Ben is following me still, he barely talks to me. It’s as though he’s noticed that I want my space, and he’s determined to give it to me. For that I’m thankful. I can almost forget he’s sitting behind me—he’s so withdrawn.

By lunch time, I’ve given up on avoiding the only person who will really talk to me in the whole school without looking at me like I’m a freak and without asking me about this forsaken curse. I make no pretense when I follow him up to the roof. He even holds the door for me.

“Do you have anything to eat?” he asks.

I shrug and pull out a pouch drink and chocolate flavored toaster pastry packet.

He shakes his head and frowns. “Not much different than your lunch of champions yesterday.”

I plop down on the roof tiles and rest my back against the wall. “Guess not. Did you bring your detective’s lunch?”

He plops down beside me and opens his brown bag. Lifting a sandwich, he shows me. “Yep.”

Steve’s wings whistle as he lights upon the top of the green chain link fence right in front of us. He eyes us both intently at first but soon dozes off with his lids half shut.

We eat together in a comfortable silence. I finish one of the toaster pastries and stuff the other in its silver wrapper into the pocket of my bag. The bright sun feels good on my legs while my body remains shaded. I didn’t sleep well the night before, so I begin to feel drowsy. Unintentionally, my body leans toward Ben until my shoulder touches his. He stiffens, and I jerk away. “Sorry.”

He gulps down a bit of coffee from his thermos and sets it down. “No, it’s okay.”

With his permission, I lean against him again. So tired. My eyes close again, but a loud bang makes me jump, and my heart race. I stiffen and sit back up. Steve hops from the fence and takes flight.

Matt strolls around the corner. “I knew I’d find you both here.”

“I…uh…” I stutter, not even knowing what I had planned to say.

He sits across from us in the sunlight with his legs folded. In his lap is a brown sack lunch and green thermos identical to Ben’s. Matt pulls out a bologna sandwich and starts in.

“Why are you neglecting your usual group of friends?” Ben asks.

Matt shrugs and stares at his sandwich a moment before speaking. “Donnie and Jacob were my only real friends.”

My chest aches for him and tears burn the back of my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He looks up at me and forces a smile. “Thank you. Sure lots of people are saying that, but somehow it feels like you really mean it. Maybe it’s because you and Tasha…”

I nod and swallow back the sob that was rising in my throat.

Matt resumes tearing bites from his sandwich. He speaks with his mouth full, “So when I looked around the cafeteria for Chira and didn’t find her…or you, I knew where you would be. You’re nothing if not predictable.”

Ben glowers. “Thanks.”

Matt washes down his sandwich with a swig from his thermos.

I lean forward as he puts it down and peer in. The dark liquid within has a little bit of steam to it. “Coffee?”

Matt’s eyes meet mine and his eyes hold some mixture of interest and wonder. “Um…yeah.”

I lean back and laugh. “Did your dad pack both your lunches?”

Ben and Matt exchange a look, and a wordless conversation passes between them. They both nod and continue to eat.

I shake my head. “Wow.”

“He just started yesterday. I think he’s gotten a bit protective since Donnie…” Matt says.

They continue to eat in quiet while I watch Steve rise and fall again with the wind. The bright blue of the sky behind him makes him look nearly as white as the clouds he intermingles with.

“Will you go to the memorial on Friday, Chira?” Matt asks.

I wince. Both the Prices and the Sloanes had decided to hold a joint memorial session for their sons, and most of the students will be attending right after school lets out.

“I’ve only ever been to one funeral,” I say, staring at the small stones in the asphalt on the roof. “And it was my dad’s.”

Both boys are quiet for a moment. Matt scoots over to me so that he’s sitting on the other side of me from Ben. He puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there for you. You can cry on my shoulder if you want.”

Ben grinds his teeth audibly and jumps to his feet. He marches about ten feet away from us and whistles. Steve falters in the air and glides back down for the roof, lighting upon the chain link. It rattles in response.

I shrug off Matt’s arm and stand, too, brushing the gravel from my brown skirt. “I’m a pretty resilient girl. I haven’t had to rely on a man in my life since that funeral, in case you haven’t heard.”

Matt joins us both on our feet. “Not that again, Chira. I know you’re not gay.”

My gaze darts toward Ben, but he blinks at me innocently. I glower at Matt. “What do you mean?”

“Jacob and Donnie started that rumor back when you and Tasha were freshmen. Don’t you remember? Donnie asked you out, and you crushed him by saying something about how you’d rather go out with Tasha than him. He got pissed and called you a dyke. Everyone picked up on it and kept it going. But you’re not gay, are you? Never have been, I bet.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. Donnie started this…and Jacob? I couldn’t remember that, and I only vaguely remember when Donnie asked me out. And now they are both gone. Dead. Their funeral is on Friday.

“So you all knew…all this time?” I croaked.

Matt’s voice softens and he steps closer. “Hey, I’m sorry that you’ve been picked on because of it. Those two were my best friends, and were both good guys, but they made mistakes, too.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I swipe them away. I focus on my breathing so I won’t hyperventilate. I need to get out of here. I step toward the door, but Matt darts in front of me.

“Hey, no hard feelings, right?” His eyes are sincere, but I just don’t care right now.

I shake my head, nod, and say, “Fine, whatever.” And push his arm so I can get past.

The first bell rings the moment I open the door to the stairwell. Five minutes. That’s how much time I have to get to the ladies room, get hold of myself, and get to class. I can do that.

Classes go on as usual, and at the end of the day, I sit on the bench in the locker room, slowly packing my things. This allows everyone to get out before I do. In movie theaters, it seems as if everyone jumps up to leave before the credits even really get started, because they want to be the first to the parking lot. But patience had taught me to wait until the idiots leave the theatre and avoid the crowd as much as possible.

Once the sufficient amount of time has passed, I shoulder my bag and push open the locker room door. Outside the gym, Ben waits for me across the hall, with Matt standing next to him. I groan and tap Ben on the chest with the back of my hand. “What’s he doing here?”

Ben watches my hand and smiles at me. “He wanted to come with us to the Old Schoolhouse.”

I wince and my stomach drops. I’d forgotten completely about that. “Uh…I’ve got a lot of homework to do. Why don’t you two go on without me?”

Matt steps up, his green eyes pleading. “You’re not mad at me are you?”

I turn away and start down the hall. “No.”

He skips to catch up to me. “You sound mad.”

I roll my eyes. “So.”

“So if you don’t want to go to the Old Schoolhouse because of me—”

I stop, and my stomach flutters. “It has nothing to do with you. Like I said, I have a lot of homework.”

Ben steps up from behind Matt. “If you’re going somewhere else, I need to come with you. I guess investigating this further will have to wait until next Tuesday.”

My stomach sinks and guilt bristles along my shoulders. But I grit my teeth and take a defensive posture. “Why do we have to do this at all? Can’t Matt just tell his dad about all this and have him investigate it without us?”

“We tried already.” Matt laughs and his voice deepens. “The police department doesn’t take ghost sightings seriously, and curses are not considered a modus operandi worth investigation.”

Ben’s eyes meet mine, and his expression softens. “We need to do this. But if you don’t feel up to it today, we could try—”

“Fine! I’ll go.” I fold my arms across my chest. I guess this is entirely up to me. I need to see for myself if what we saw before was real or just my imagination. Is it possible that there really is a curse, or maybe this whole thing is a case of possession, like Ben explained? And if it is possession, would that require a priest or something to do an exorcism?

Matt smiles and offers up a hand for his cousin to give him a high five. When Ben only glowers at him, Matt offers me the hand. When I leave him hanging with a glare, he lowers it and offers me his fist. “Bump it. At least you can do that.”

Just so he’ll leave me alone, I bump his fist.

He beams and stands a little taller. Ben pushes past and leads us to the back doors of the building. He holds the door open for me, and Matt follows, patting him on the shoulder as he passes. I stifle a laugh.

The three of us walk down Old Schoolhouse Road, behind a group of young guys who veer off at the trail to the bus stop. No wonder that path is wide and well worn.  A second path to our right heads for the river, and I glance at a third, less distinct path as we continue to the front of the house. Around the side of the building, the crunch of leaves and a shushing sweep sound draw us over to take a look.

One of the custodians is raking leaves. He wears a grey jump suit that’s several shades darker than the streaks in his slicked back hair. I stiffen as I realize who it is before he turns around. Rob.

The wrinkles in my stepfather’s forehead deepen when he sees us approach. How could I have not known he had this job? Not that I cared what Rob did for a living…but Mom and I need to have a serious talk.

Ben reaches into his back pack and pulls out a neatly folded brown lunch sack. “Hi, I’m Ben Oscuro, and this is Matt and Chira. Joan from the Administrator’s office said that I should come see you about letting us into the Old Schoolhouse?”

Rob examines the three of us while leaning on his rake. His piercing blue eyes fix on me. “What for?”

“We’re doing a study on the ghost sighting that occurred here last week. With it being Halloween and all today, it seems that it might be our best chance to find out if it is true.”

Rob shakes his head and sneers. “It ain’t true. I’ve been in and out of that building every week for the past four years. If there was something there, I’d have seen it.”

“We don’t doubt your perceptive abilities, but we were hoping that—”

“Without a direct order from the administrator’s office in person or on the phone, I won’t let you in.” His gaze is drawn to the sack in Ben’s hand. “Notes can be forged.”

Rob sneers at me again, his eyes searching me up and down. Why did it have to be him? If it had been someone else, maybe this could have been manageable. My shoulders slump in defeat, and I’m ready to run. I don’t like being this close to my stepdad, much less asking him for a favor.

Matt fidgets where he stands, rocking from heel to toe and back again. The wind picks up, and more leaves fall around us like snow.

“Your astute adherence to your duties is commendable, sir. But could you not make an exception, for just a moment? I promise we will not take more than fifteen minutes of your time, and would be happy to remunerate you.” Ben says, replacing the sack in his backpack.

“Are you bribing me, boy?” Rob stiffens.

“No, sir. I would not insult you in such a manner.”

Rob huffs. “You kids get. Unless one of them people from the office call me on my cell phone, you’re not getting in today.” His eyes fix on me. “You should all be home, cleaning, or studying…something productive.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your time.” Ben lowers his head and starts back around the front of the building.

Matt jogs to catch up with him. He whisper-shouts. “That’s it? We’re just going to leave?”

Ben shakes his head. “What else can we do?”

“We should try harder. Talk him into this. Wait until he leaves and break in. Something.” Matt scrubs his hair with his hand.

“I don’t think it would work,” I say, but no one seems to hear me.

Ben stops and glares at Matt. “We’d have to break a window; they have all been nailed shut. So breaking in is out of the question right now.”

I clear my throat and raise my voice. It still cracks. “Besides, you can’t talk Rob into this. He’s my stepdad, and I doubt he’d cut us any slack, just to spite me.”

Matt’s jaw has dropped somewhere in the middle of what I said, but it firmly snaps shut. “I didn’t know…”

I shrug and turn away. “It’s fine.”

We head back down Old Schoolhouse Road.

“What’s that?” Ben steps toward the animal trail I’d seen earlier on our way up the path. But at this angle, I can see a flash of light reflecting as if off a mirror.

“Was that a reflection?” I ask.

Ben eyes me and nods. “Let’s find out.”

We walk a few feet into the forest, pushing the branches out of the way to keep them from hitting us in the face. When Ben reaches the reflection I saw, a small, round mirror is half buried under some leaves just to the right of the path. He pulls out the brown sack again and unfolds it. After removing a rubber glove, he snaps it on his fingers.

“What’s that for?” Matt asks.

Ben pushes aside some of the leaves and digs around the mirror. “I don’t want to taint any evidence.”

As the leaves and dirt layer are pushed away from the reflective circle, my breath catches. “It’s a compact.”

I kneel down to get a closer look. A hairbrush sits next to it. With more digging, Ben exposes a stack of credit cards and IDs.

Matt curses. “Why would someone bury this here?”

Ben stands and pulls his glove from his hand. “I have a theory but nothing concrete. Call your dad.”

“What?” Matt puts his hands on his hips. “Why would I call him?”

Ben frowns. “Because I think we just found a major clue in the missing teen cases in Fairfax.”

Matt and I meet Mr. Benson at the front of the school when he pulls up. He wears his white shirt and blue tie without a jacket, and slams the door to his Dodge Charger once he’s out. “What’s going on, Junior?”

After a deep breath, Matt explains—everything—while we walk together down Old Schoolhouse Road. Ben stands just outside the animal trail when we walk up. He didn’t want to leave the items alone and allow someone or something to move them while we waited for Mr. Benson.

Long shadows stretch across the road, and the sunlight has dappled. The crunching sound of leaves from the back of the Old Schoolhouse lets us know that Rob is still hard at work. I shiver.

When we near the tree line, Mr. Benson snaps on a pair of rubber gloves, similar to the ones Ben had worn earlier. He inspects the items we found in the hole, pushing them around with a pen he pulls from his pocket. After a few long moments, he stands.

He tosses his keys to Matt. “Go get me the duffle bag on the floor of the passenger side of the Charger. I wasn’t sure if you kids had actually found something worth it, but I’m going to bag this stuff and take it in.”

With a quick nod, Matt jogs off. Mr. Benson scratches his chin with his gloved hand. “How did you kids find this stuff?”

Ben looks at me.

I clear my throat. “Like Matt said, we were walking back after talking to…the custodian, and Ben saw a flicker of light in the woods. A mirrored compact was sticking about an inch from the ground.”

Mr. Benson nods, his jaw tightening. His boxy build makes it evident that he’s Matt’s father, but his height and strong square jaw look like Ben’s. Mr. Benson puts up a finger and dials a number on his cell. He steps away to talk.

I frown at Ben. “Did you know we’d find something like this? Were you looking for it?”

He shrugs. “I told you before that the two types of haunting are impression and possession. If this is an impression, then the ghost you described to me would have to have died in this place in a traumatic manner for the impression to be made. And since it took on such a distinct form, the trauma may have been somewhat recent. When I theorized that it might be so, I came here today to look for clues. Once we were turned away, I began to give up on that possibility.”

“Then you saw the reflection.”

“Yes.” He quirks a half smile. “But we still don’t know if these items are new or old. They could be a few years old. Someone might have stolen a purse and dumped it here. Or an animal may have collected shiny objects and buried their stash here. We don’t know that my theory is correct, but we had to show our hand in order to find out. We needed to introduce the possibility to my uncle so that he would take this seriously.”

I nod.

Matt jogs up, crunching leaves in his hurry. Mr. Benson hangs up his phone with a snap and accepts the duffle bag from his son with a nod. He pulls out a couple of large freezer bags and tucks them into his elbow. “Now, kids. Don’t jump to conclusions. I know you think this stuff might be related to the missing teens in Fairfax, but we can’t know that until we run fingerprints and DNA samples. This will go to our forensics lab, and I’ll let you know what I find. In the meantime, keep this under your hats, okay? I don’t need any rumors going around.”

“Yes, sir,” all three of us say in a discord unison.

Once he’s placed the items in the bag, he zips it shut and stuffs it in the duffel. We walk back toward his car. Before he gets in, he eyes me. “I know how girls like to talk. Are you sure we can trust you? The boys I have complete control over, but if I hear stuff is running around the rumor mill—”

“Dad!” Matt steps between me and his father. “You can trust Chira. Ben and I are with her all the time—she’s not going to blab.”

Mr. Benson steps back, scrutinizes his son, and nods. “Fine. I’ll trust her—all three of you on this. But I am dead serious. Don’t talk about it.”

With another quick eye to the three of us, he hops in his Charger and starts the engine. The shushing of leaves from the Old Schoolhouse Road makes us all jump and watch for what’s coming. Rob steps around the curve, and I rub my arms to settle the hairs that all stood on end at the sound of his approach.

He does a double take when he sees us. “What are you kids still doing here?”

Ben says, “We were just leaving.” And ushers us both toward the driveway.

On Wednesday morning, I have not one boy waiting outside my door, but two. Matt sits on my stoop while Ben stands near the light post, with his arms folded across his chest. I huff. “So now I have a double escort? Do you boys really think this is necessary?”

Matt jumps up with a serious, sad expression. His gaze barely brushes across mine. “I guess you haven’t heard.”

My stomach does a somersault. “Heard what?”

Ben steps forward and sets a hand on the wrought iron railing and rests a foot on the first step. “Stacy is missing.”

The world spins around me like I’m on an out of control merry-go-round. My knees buckle. Matt catches me, and I blink hard, staring into Ben’s very worried eyes. I’m still light headed and hope to God that I hadn’t just fainted.

“What? How?”

Matt nods. “It’s true Chira. Stacy went out last night to take her little brother trick-or-treating. When her brother went up to a door to knock, she stayed behind on the sidewalk. When he turned back around, she was gone. The police won’t call it a missing persons, yet, but my father is about to pull his hair out. The compact we found yesterday already came back from the forensics lab with a fingerprint that is a positive match for one of the missing girls in Fairfax.”

I push away from Matt and stand again, but I grip the railing as tight as I can. “How…how on earth did we get mixed up in all of this? Stacy?”

Ben nods, his eyes pleading with mine. “It’s all true. Please don’t go anywhere alone, okay? Just stay with us.”

“But this can’t have anything to do with the ghost, right? And Donnie, Tasha, Jacob…how could they possibly have anything to do with the missing girls?” I ask. My chest is tight when I think about all the disasters that have struck us since the night we went in the Old Schoolhouse.

Ben doesn’t say anything, but he chews his bottom lip.

“I bet you have a theory, but you’re not ready to share it yet,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looks up at me in surprise, his eyes holding an expression I haven’t seen in any man’s eyes since my dad’s. Admiration, respect, and a little bit of something else—something that tells me I’m special. I shake my head and straighten up. “We should get going, or we’re going to be late.”

At the beginning of first period, Mr. Scott stands at the front of our homeroom class with a somber expression. “Now class, I know that you all have heard about Stacy Brine this morning. The rumor mill is churning throughout the school, and the wake of tragedy overcoming us is extreme. But we cannot think that all of these bad things are related. Our school is not cursed. I’m certain Stacy will show up unharmed, and we’ll all be happy to welcome her back. And though we’re not sure of the details of Jacob’s accident, it was just that—an accident. Regardless, as you go throughout your day and leave for home tonight, be cautious and be safe. Understood?”

The class mumbles a collective affirmative. The mood of Jackson Hall is sober. Once Mr. Scott starts in on our geography lesson, we all settle into the forced rhythm of daily school life. Before we head out into the hall for our second period, Ben fumbles with the paper he was holding and drops it unintentionally into the trashcan. He reaches in and pulls it out, wraps a second item in it, and stuffs it into his jacket pocket, and calls to me, “Wait up.”

I frown. “Do I really need an escort between classes?”

He shakes his head, and one side of his mouth pulls down. “No. You know, all this isn’t really working out the way I’d planned. I’m sorry that you are feeling crowded. I don’t really think you need a babysitter, you know. I’m just worried.”

I frown. “Why would you be? We barely know each other.”

He shrugs. “I guess I’ve just never met anyone like you, and I don’t want you to disappear from my life too soon.”

I swallow back a lump in my throat. He’s nothing if not sincere. I sigh.

A blush barely shows under his olive skin. We stop at the door of my French class, and he rubs the back of his neck.

I shrug. “I appreciate what you—and Matt—are doing. But at least while we’re in the school building, we’re probably pretty safe, right?”

He looks up, like he’s thinking it over. After a moment, he finally says, “Right.”

“So no escort required.” I pat him on the shoulder and open the classroom door. “Have fun in gym.”

At lunch time, Matt meets us up on the roof, and even has a third sack lunch which he hands me. When he smiles, I notice a dimple on his cheek barely peek out. “The lunch of detectives, as my dad always says.”

I force a smile, hoping that the boys won’t notice if I don’t eat much of it. I pull out two packs of toaster pastries and pass one to each boy. “I brought extras, too.”

The three of us sit on the roof, Matt against the wall with me this time, Ben across from me and leaning on the chain link fence. His gaze remains on the owl hovering in the sky.

I’m assaulted by the smell of mustard when I bring the sandwich to my lips. I nibble at the crust and try to avoid the strong yellow stuff. Matt watches me intently, so I smile and nod. “Pretty good.”

His shoulders relax and he unwraps his own sandwich. “Glad to hear it. My dad was busy this morning, so I made the sandwiches.”

Ben spits out the bite he’d just taken and stares at the sandwich in his hand.

Matt frowns. “Come on, man. That’s just rude.”

After wrapping the sandwich back up, Ben stuffs it in his bag and rinses his mouth with a sip of coffee. “How much mustard did you put on the thing?”

“I covered the bread like I’d do with mayo, I guess.” Matt shrugs and takes a huge bite of his sandwich. He winces but chews and chokes the thing down. He looks over at me with his brow wrinkled in worry. “A bit too much mustard, I guess.”

I laugh and wrap my sandwich back up. “It was sweet of you to try.”

He blushes and wraps his sandwich up, too. He snags a bite of chocolate toaster pastry. “Good thing you brought these so we don’t starve.”

I laugh and bite my own pastry. “I saw your dad earlier, talking to the guidance counselor. What was that about?”

Matt nods and shoves half a pastry in his mouth. “He was here interviewing a few of Stacy’s closest friends to find out if they’d heard from her or might know where she’d be. The sheriff wanted the guidance counselor to be present during the sessions.”

“That makes sense.”

Ben stands, having finished his pastries, and stuffs the wad of silver wrapper into his pocket. He whistles, and Steven descends on cue, landing just in front of his owner. Ben wipes the bologna from his sandwich with a napkin and feeds the bit of meat to the bird.

Matt laughs and stands. “At least someone is enjoying the lunch I packed.”

I stand and dust myself off, too. A green Buick pulls out of the teacher’s lot and heads for Washington Street. It’s a strange sight to see any vehicles leaving that lot at this time of day. I lean toward the fence.

Matt steps up next to me and peers over my shoulder. “I think that’s Mr. Scott’s car. He said he wasn’t feeling well last period.”

I look up at Matt and take a half step sideways. Our faces were too close. I clear my throat. “You had him last period?”

Matt nods, seeming not to notice my slide to the right. “Yeah, for Political Science. He was all sweaty and looked like he was getting a fever. I bet they called in a sub for him the rest of the day.”

The car disappears behind the copse of trees. Ben stands to my right now, watching the road. His face softens, and he looks more relaxed than he’s been this entire lunch break. I study his dark features, and wonder if he might be part gypsy. Since his mother roved with a band of them, could one of them have been his father? Gypsies and monks? What a strange childhood he must have had.

He turns toward me, and his eyes study mine. My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I run my tongue across my lips. His eyes drop down to my mouth. My heart leaps to my throat, and I swallow it back down.

Matt pushes off the fence, causing the chain link to rattle. “So, I’m still hungry. How about you two?”

I shake myself from the spell I was under a moment before and step back. “Uh, yeah. Actually I am still hungry.”

“Tell you what–since I ruined the sandwiches, we can get whatever you want downstairs in the cafeteria. My treat.” Matt smiles and throws an arm around my shoulder. He shoots a satisfied gaze at Ben and says, “You, too, Cousin.”

I laugh and shrug off his arm. With an eye roll, I ask, “And what if I could eat a whole pizza? You still going to pay?”

He nods, but his eyes take on a worried expression while he studies me. “Could you?”

Ben steps forward, opens the stairwell door for us, and puts on a sly grin. “I don’t know about her, but I could.”

My laughter echoes down the stairwell.

After gym class, I shoulder my messenger bag and wipe the sweat from my brow. It was a good, hard work out today. Just what I needed to get my mind focused enough to study for my biology test tomorrow. When I step into the hall and find Ben leaning straight across from the doorway, my heart flutters. Where did that come from? I shake it off.

Matt sidles toward me from the side of the door and puts an arm around my shoulder again. “So, where to today, Chica?

I glare at him and shrug off his arm. “Actually, I’ve fallen behind in my school work this week and really need to catch up on my reading. It’s off to the library for me. You boys staying?”

Matt groans, and his shoulders slump. “The library? For real? Can’t you come over to my house and study, so I can at least play some games while you bore me to death?”

Ben steps forward. “I’ve got to study, too. So I don’t mind the library. Why don’t you go home, Cousin. I think I can handle this.”

Matt glares at Ben for a moment, and they stand in each other’s faces. Ben straightens to his full height, about five inches over his cousin’s head. Matt pushes his cousin back with a smirk. Ben falters a step from the surprise attack, and then he drops his back pack to the floor, his hands fisted.

“Stop,” I yell, and jump between them. My back is to Matt, and both my hands are on Ben’s chest

Ben is taller, but he’s also slim where Matt is dense muscle. I wonder how often the rivalry between them crosses into physical territory.

Matt huffs over my shoulder. “I’m coming. I’ve got my phone. I’ll find a game to play or something.”

I roll my eyes, but my breath is caught in my throat. I can feel the thunderous pounding of Ben’s heart beneath my palms. My hands slide down Ben’s chest before my fingertips leave his pressed cotton shirt. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I lift my gaze to his and am startled by the desire I find there. I snatch my hands back and spin around. I can’t catch my breath again until I’m a few steps away.

What’s going on here? Yes, Ben is hot, and he seems to want a relationship with me. But do I want one with him? I’d already resigned myself to making it through high school alone. Ben is complicating things in a way I’m not sure I’m ready for or even want. I trudge down the hallway ahead of them. Besides, this is all going too fast, and I don’t believe in love at first sight.

The school library always has a few stragglers like me in it, studying or getting info. We’ve got nearly three hours before they close at five. Plenty of time to catch up on the three chapters I need to review. We choose a large table near the middle of the room. I settle my books on one corner, Ben sits across from me, and Matt sits on my left side. But I’ve set my messenger bag on the empty chair between us, so I’ve got lots of elbow room.

At first, I’m nervous, because I’m wondering if Ben’s going to want to study with me. But as he settles into his chair and breaks out a pen and notebook, I realize that my fears were unfounded. He’s a loner, like me. He’s used to studying alone and doing things by himself.

We settle into the kind of comfortable silence that I’ve only ever found with a few people. He was right when he’d said he’d found his way into my inner circle. If I’d been alone since Tasha had her accident, honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without him.

Because I find it easier to concentrate while music plays, I snap my ear buds into my phone and start my study playlist. After about an hour of studying in relative silence, I notice that Ben and I are on about the same page of work. We study at similar speed. He’s writing furiously in his notebook. I’ve been in my own little world. Matt has his head on his arms, looking like he might be asleep.

A half an hour later, I stand and stretch, putting my ear buds aside. Ben stops writing midsentence and looks up at me thoughtfully. I shrug and grab my bag. “I need to go to the ladies' room.”

He pushes his chair back and begins to stand.

I put my hand out to him in a stop gesture. “I think I can handle this myself.”

Ben looks around the room and says, “But the building’s nearly empty. I’m not so sure it’s safe.”

My hands slap my hips. “Seriously? It’s just down the hall. I’ll be fine.”

Matt sits up and yawns. “Actually, I need to go to the little boy’s room myself. I’ll go with you.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Fine.”

Ben sits back down slowly, his eyes darting between us both. He nods and settles back into writing his outline.

Matt walks me down the hallway. “So how much more studying do you think you’ll need to do?”

I shrug. “I usually stay until the library closes.”

“Wonderful.” His shoulders droop as he pushes the door to the Men’s room.

I laugh and push the door of the next room over and head into the white-tiled bathroom. I pull my pony tail out because the tension is giving me a headache and run a quick brush through my hair. My phone beeps, and I swap it for my hairbrush. I read the screen. Mrs. Brown.

Tasha is awake, thank God! Call her tomorrow when you get a chance.

You got it! Thank God! I text back, a smile spreading across my face.

I push out into the hallway backwards, replacing my phone into my bag. I run into something solid. “Sorry Matt, I—”

Before I can turn around or even finish what I am saying, a handkerchief with a sickly-sweet smelling chemical is placed over my face. I kick and struggle, trying to hold my breath, dropping my messenger bag and all its contents on the floor. My muffled screams are barely registering. I’m lifted off my feet and dragged around the corner before my lungs are emptied, and I’m forced to take a breath. A curtain of night falls heavily over my eyes, and no amount of struggling will keep my unconsciousness at bay.

I groan, and my shoulder drops. One wrist pulls on the other, and my skin sears. My eyes snap open. My wrists are bound together behind my back. Only a trickle of light passes through the curtain of my hair. Before I can stop myself, I panic. I pull my legs, but they are bound to the upright wooden chair I sit on.

Mold, rot, and a musty, earthy odor assaults my nose, but there’s something else underneath it—the copper scent of blood? Am I in a cave? Underground? I whip my head up and look around. A single, naked light bulb in the low ceiling casts the room in pale light and long shadows. The walls are compacted earth. Shelves line the sides and are full of rusty old industrial-sized can goods, but there are no windows. A root cellar? Where on earth am I? The packed dirt of the floor under me is a shade darker than the surrounding clay.

Sobbing comes from behind me and to the right but the area of the sound is cast in shadow. I struggle to turn. A deep, male laugh sounds behind me and to the left, making me jerk my head in that direction, but I barely see a figure before he moves out of my sight again. He smacks the naked light bulb above my head causing the light around the room to dance with the shadows. Straight ahead I find what looks like a dark doorway and stairs leading upward.

The sobbing continues, and I jerk my head toward the sound. The light washes the area in and out, light then shadow. And on the floor is a bare, stained, twin-sized mattress. With a girl lying on it, her back to me.

Laughter and movement comes from my left again, but when I spin, my chair tips. I crash to my shoulder and smack my head on the floor.

“Tsk Tsk…that wasn’t very smart, was it?” Deep throaty laughter follows. The voice is familiar, but my fogged brain can’t place it.

I clamp my jaw and try to gain composure. Panicking will not get me out of this situation. What can I do? What are my options? I will myself to breathe slowly and for my heart to reduce speed. But it refuses to listen and thumps wildly in my chest, in my ears, in my throat.

Rough hands snatch the side of my chair and yank me upright. I whip my head, searching, but he stays just out of sight. His laughter becomes hysterical as though this is some kind of game.

Finally, he places his hands over my eyes. The rough texture of his palms and the smell underneath the earth and mold becomes stronger. Is it blood? My breath hitches.

His hot breath tickles my ear, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Guess who?”

I struggle harder against my bonds, to release myself from his hands, but refuse to play his game by staying silent. He grabs both sides of my head and squeezes until I still.

He pats my hair gently and pulls it up. I try to turn my head, but he yanks it viciously in the opposite direction when I do. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. When he’s done pulling it through a rubber band, into my usual ponytail, his hands rest on my shoulders, and he puts his disgusting lips against my neck. I struggle so hard that the chair falls again. Same shoulder. Same head injury. Stars dance before my eyes.

Maniacal laughter rings in my ears. The husky voice he’s using seems like a disguise, but there’s still a familiar ring to it. “To think you’re a straight A student. Must not be very street smart, eh?”

When he reaches down again to pull my chair upright, I whip my head toward him and look him full in the face. The light of the single bulb shines on Mr. Scott’s bald head. I choke on a sob.

His eyes meet mine and he throws me back to the ground in anger. “You cheater!”

Black spots dance in my vision and my ears ring from the blow to my head this time. Tears spring to my eyes. Sobs are coming uncontrollably now. Sweet Mr. Scott? He’s been kidnapping girls from Fairfax? Who’s on the mattress? Oh, Lord, please let that be Stacy.

“No matter,” Mr. Scott says, and his voice has lost its false deep tone. “I was getting bored with that game, anyway.”

He yanks up my chair again so quickly that my neck whips to the side with a crack. Pain shoots from my neck through my shoulder, until my fingers tingle from it.

“Let’s play a new game!” Mr. Scott strides over to the girl on the mattress and grips her by the hair. He yanks hard, and she begins kicking and screaming. He drags her in front of me.

It is Stacey. Her hair is as matted as a rat’s nest, and her mascara runs down her cheeks like the makeup of a grotesque mime. She has no shirt on and sits on the floor in jeans and her beige-pink, dirt covered bra. Innumerable red slits cover her arms and torso, most of them bleeding.

My eyes grow wide. She looks like she’d run through a thorn bush. Her hands and feet are bound in silver duct tape. Her bloodshot eyes plead with me. Her lips are cracked and bleeding. Has it really only been a day since she went missing?

Mr. Scott pulls a long knife from behind his back, and at the sight of it, Stacey begins whimpering. “No, please. Please don’t.”

He looks down at her with sad eyes. “Tsk, Tsk. The pants are going to have to go today. I need more places for Knife to taste your skin.”

Stacy’s sobbing becomes more frenzied as she struggles to breathe.

Mr. Scott licks his lips and turns his gaze on me. “Or if you’re a good girl, maybe Knife will sample the new skin first.”

He releases her, and she struggles away, doing her best to return to the mattress as though it’s the only safe place in the cave. And for a crazy moment, I wonder if it is. With a wild smile on his face, and the light glinting on his blade, Mr. Scott walks slowly back toward me.

I want to scream, but somehow all sound escapes me. My mouth is wide open, but my throat is closed so tight that it takes all of my concentration just to breathe.

“I didn’t want to do this to you, Chira. You’re one of my favorite students. It’s the bad girls Knife likes to taste. You’ll be the first good girl. But Knife has wanted a new flavor.” He kneels down and presses the knife against my green sweater, and suddenly I can breathe again. I scream.

Mr. Scott hops to his feet and slaps me with the back of his hand. My teeth cut the side of my cheek, and I taste the blood even before the side of my head slams the ground again.  I whimper and spots close in on the periphery, narrowing my vision.

“No screaming. It’s not allowed,” Mr. Scott says while he pulls my chair back to upright position once more. His knife returns to its position against my chest, and this time, that doesn’t seem so bad.

I’m calmer somehow. Maybe this is why they call it slapping sense into someone. I always hated that expression.

With an excited twinkle in his eye and the ghost of a smile on his lips, Mr. Scott’s knife moves to the end of my sweater and pulls upward, ripping through the fabric.

Blood and saliva pool in my mouth, and I wait until he’s at the v-neck of my sweater and he grins up at me. And then I spit the full collection into his face. He leaps back and swipes at his eyes with his flailing hands, the knife flashing in the light before he falls into the shadow.

My heart beats faster.

“You’re going to regret that.” He strides back into the light with blood smeared from his eye across his cheek and spots of red across his forehead. “Maybe you’re not such a good girl after all.”

His hand switches position on the knife so that it points downward in his raised fist. Fear makes my blood turn cold. He pulls his hand back and slams his fist into my stomach.

My breath comes up so fast that it engages my gag reflex, and I dry heave. Pain sears through my abdomen and chest, burning me from head to toe. More tears cloud my vision.

“For a smart girl, you sure are stupid.”

A huge bang causes him to stop and stare toward the ceiling and behind him. Deep voices intermingle and stomps sound above.

We are in a root cellar. And as my eyes have adjusted to the meager light, I barely see the stairs that I’d caught earlier when the light danced around the room.

I fill my lungs to scream again. Mr. Scott rushes over and slaps his hand so hard against my mouth, my teeth cut into my lip again. More blood pools. He pulls a silver roll of tape from his pocket and rips off a four-inch sized piece with his teeth. He smashes it over my mouth before I can squeak.

A thumping sound at the stairwell catches his attention, and he backs up to hide against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Light floods down the steps when the door at the top opens, and the shadow of a tall man with disheveled hair enters in.

My heart leaps. Ben.

He sees me in my pool of light and starts rushing down the steps.

Mr. Scotts lifts his knife above his head.

My eyes grow wide, and I panic, hopping up and down in my chair, trying my best to warn him. I dart my eyes and jerk my head to the left in a morbid game of charades.

He stops just before he reaches the bottom step and turns toward Mr. Scott.

Our geography teacher plunges his knife toward Ben’s chest.

In my panic, the chair tips, and I fall over for the fourth…fifth time? I’ve lost count. But my head slams the ground, and the stars and spots return to my vision. Another set of footsteps stomp down the steps, and Matt yells an expletive.

The knife skids across the floor and spins in front of my face, reflecting the pale light of the overhead bulb. Fingers wrap around the handle of the knife, and panic ignites my skin. I struggle automatically against my bonds.

A hand rests on my shoulder and a voice tickles my ear. “Stay still, Chira, I’m going to cut the tape.”

Matt. Thank God.

I sit still and the knife slits the sticky bond at my hands. The moment they are free, I whip them in front of me and push myself up a bit. I pull the tape from my mouth. Ben and Mr. Scott still struggle in the shadows, and I can’t see what’s going on.

Matt frees my legs, but my head spins when I try to stand. I plop back down again on the packed earth. I shake my head to try to clear it. Matt stands over me with the knife in his hand and watches the fight. He looks unsure of what to do. I grab his khakis by the leg to get his attention. When he looks down at me, I point at the mattress hidden outside the circle of light.

“Stacy,” I say, my voice husky.

His eyes go wide, and he darts in that direction.

A grunt comes from the shadows at the stairwell, and I watch one body fall, a limp hand reaching into the light. The other man rushes up the stairs. When he reaches the top, he turns back with a sneer. Mr. Scott.

I crawl over to Ben. Is he hurt? Unconscious? Oh please, don’t let him be dead.

My fingers still feel numb, half asleep from their binding, and the remnants of the silver tape glint on my wrists. I grip the outstretched hand I find there, and his fingers are cold and lifeless. Oh, dear God, please be alive.

Matt collapses at my side and grabs Ben by the arm, pulling him into the light. Blood oozes right along Ben’s hairline and drips toward his ear.

Matt places his head on Ben’s chest. “His heart is strong, and he’s still breathing.”

Relief floods me. Thank God.

“I’m going after Mr. Scott.” Matt nods and rushes up the stairway with the knife still in his grip.

A shadow falls on me, and I flinch away, but look up and find Stacy standing over me. Her arms are wrapped around her chest, barely covering her bra. Her eyes are wide and staring at nothing. She has to be in shock. I try again to get to my feet and succeed this time. I pull my sweater off. It is open in the front like a cardigan, and I wrap it around Stacy’s shoulders.

Her gaze finds me for the first time, and tears well in her eyes. She wraps me in her arms and squeezes so tightly that my ribs ache.  I pat her back, unsure of what else to do. A groaning from the floor causes her to release her embrace. I drop back to my knees.

“Ben, are you okay?”

His eyelids flutter and then snap open. He jerks himself upright and then winces and places a hand to his forehead. Blood runs faster and harder from his head injury.

I rip off a shoe and pull my sock free. After balling it up, I put it to his head.

He puts a hand to mine and laughs, saying, “Uh…thanks.”

I shrug and pull my fingers free. “I couldn’t think of anything else. Hopefully it doesn’t stink.”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. Thanks, for real.”

A curse and a shout from the top of the stairs break the awkward moment. Matt yells, “Come on guys, hurry. It’s a fire. The place is on fire. That son of a—”

Something above crashes and bright light flickers across the horrified look on Matt’s face.

Stacy whimpers.

I struggle to my feet and give Ben a hand to get to his.

The three of us fight our way up the steps to the top of our earthen prison. The landing is a small room with shelves on both sides and the door wide open to a kitchen. Flames dance along the wall of the kitchen, licking the ceiling, and my face burns with the radiant heat. The ghostly glow of the room is familiar. The Old Schoolhouse.

Fire blocks the only other doorway to the room.

“How are we going to get out of here?” I shout over the crackling flames, looking to the only one of us who could possibly have a clear head on his shoulders.

Yellow-orange light flickers wildly in Matt’s wide eyes. He searches the room, and my eyes follow the same path as his. Light glints in the window over the sink—but didn’t someone say all the windows to the building had been nailed shut long ago? Matt darts back down the steps to the root cellar and drags a large object back up with him. The chair.

He braces himself and releases the chair against the window. The shattering sound barely overcomes the constant chatter of the flames. Matt shouts. “It’s about a six-foot drop to the other side. I’ll go first to help everyone out. Stacy next. Then Chira, okay? Ben make sure everyone gets out okay, right?”

Ben nods, the blood soaking clear through my sock, and dribbling over his right eye.

“No,” I say. “I’ll go last. Ben is hurt and may need help through the window.”

Matt has climbed onto the sink and has his sweater wrapped over his hand. He’s knocking out the remaining pieces of glass left in the window. He glares at me. “We don’t have time to argue. Let’s just all get out, okay?”

I nod, and he hops out the window, disappearing into the darkness on the other side. A siren wails in the distance, and I only hope that it might be approaching.

I climb up to the sink and reach down a hand to help Stacy. She gives me a terrified, tight lipped smile as she drops out the window, screaming as she falls into Matt’s waiting arms.

Ben tosses my sock aside, and his one open eye meets mine. We clasp hands, and I pull him up into the sink with me. He shakes his head. “You first.”

I frown. “We don’t have time to argue, remember? You go!”

He shakes his head and grasps me by the shoulders and for a fearful moment, I’m afraid he’s going to throw me out the window. Instead, he pulls me to his chest in an embrace. He breathes in my ear, “I thought I’d lost you.”

A gas explosion in the kitchen sends us both out the window at the same time. His arms are still wrapped tightly around me as we fly for a moment before gravity takes hold. We slam to the ground, and my head hits the earth in the same spot for at least the fourth time tonight. The spots behind my eyes narrow until there is nothing left, and darkness takes hold.

Stacy grips my hand, the oxygen mask over her face. The paramedics have covered her with a blanket and she’s finally beginning to look less shell shocked. I study her face and am glad that she hadn’t been cut there. But would she ever have a normal life again?

“Stacy!” a female voice screams and rushes toward the ambulance.

“Mom?” Stacy tries to sit up, but she’s already been strapped in.

I release her hand and hop down from the ambulance. I nearly run into Mrs. Brine, a heavy set woman in pearls with bags under her eyes. Her desperate eyes meet mine, and I step aside to let her hop in.

A paramedic frowns at me. “You need to go to the hospital, too. You’re showing symptoms of a concussion.”

Mr. Benson steps up, his deep voice commanding. “No worries. I’ll take her along with my nephew and meet you there. He’s the one that’s going to need stitches.”

The paramedic nods and closes the back door of the ambulance.

Mr. Benson escorts me back to the squad car and ushers me to the passenger door. Ben and Matt sit in the back seat behind a sheet of Plexiglas with holes in it. Blood is already seeping through the bandage on Ben’s forehead.

When I settle in the seat, Mr. Benson shuts the door and gets in at the driver’s side.

He starts the engine and turns on the flashing lights of his Dodge Charger. After a long moment of silence, he looks in the rearview mirror. “How did you know?”

Ben clears his throat and leans toward the glass. “Ghosts are known to leave an impression on a place, replaying their final moments over and over again. So when I’d heard about the sighting that night when we went to check out the building, I knew that someone may have been murdered there, but I wasn’t sure if it was recent or a hundred years ago. I suspected it was recent only because there are no rumors about anyone being murdered in the Old Schoolhouse.”

Mr. Benson nods, pulling in and out of traffic right behind the ambulance. I avert my eyes to keep from feeling dizzy. I watch Ben, who leans forward against the restraint of his seatbelt.

“Mr. Scott and the custodian were the only two known people to have a key to the Old Schoolhouse—” Ben says.

“Mr. Scott said something about a night watchman,” I say.

Ben eyes me knowingly. “I looked into that and found out it wasn’t true.”

I frown. Of course it wasn’t. Murderer…liar.

Ben continues, “I wasn’t sure which of the two to suspect, but the custodian seemed to be less worried about our snooping around than just ticking off his stepdaughter, Chira.”

I nod. That seemed true.

“And although there were ten of us in the building that night, it seemed that only the five in the video had been targeted. Not only did Mr. Scott mention that he’d seen the video, but he even disclosed details about Jacob’s car accident that weren’t made public yet. Uncle Matt, you had said that the lines to Jacob’s brakes had been cut, but that information wasn’t released to the press. I assumed it hadn’t been released to the teaching staff either.”

Mr. Benson huffs. “It still hasn’t been.”

“I wasn’t sure of the connection between the missing girls in Fairfax and the Old Schoolhouse until we found that compact and the other items in the woods. Just to be safe, I grabbed one of Mr. Scott’s Mountain Dew cans from the trash this morning and asked you to run the prints.”

We pull into the parking lot of the Emergency Room, but Mr. Benson hadn’t put the car into park yet. “We ran those prints, and they were found on three of the items and the bottle of pills Donnie had taken when he supposedly committed suicide.”

Ben nods gravely. “When you called me, I was sitting in the library alone, and stepped into the hallway to look for Matt and Chira. Instead I found Matt bent over Chira’s bag.”

Mr. Benson throws the car into park and growls through clenched teeth. “Right, and I told you and Matt to wait at the school until I got there.”

Ben’s gaze drops. “I’m sorry about that, sir. But while we were on the steps of the building waiting, something told me to go check out the Old Schoolhouse.”

“Something?” Matt huffs. “You mean your owl. That freaking bird swooped at us crying like a hawk and took off toward Old Schoolhouse Road. Ben ran off, and I followed him.”

Ben’s gaze lifts to mine, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth.

Mr. Benson scrubs his hands through his hair. “Seriously? The bird. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, sir,” Ben says.

Mr. Benson waves his hand in front of his face in a dismissive gesture and opens his car door. I follow his lead and hop out of mine. After opening the back door to let the boys out, Mr. Benson says, “Well, I’ve got good news for you. When the squad cars pulled up into the lot of the school, Mr. Scott nearly ran into me and Deputy Dawson with his Buick. The deputy and I apprehended him, and he’s being charged now. No doubt he will not make bail.”

Tension I didn’t even know was in my shoulders releases, and I feel faint again. My knees buckle. I gripped the roof of the Charger to keep from falling over.

“Hey!” Ben cries and dashes to me, catching me in his arms before I collapse.

With his help, we make it into the emergency room.

My mom leaps to her feet when Ben and Matt visit my hospital room the next afternoon. She still wears her diner uniform, but her hair is up in a loose bun instead of her usual pony tail. Even though they only planned on keeping me overnight for observation due to my concussion, my mother refused to leave my side for a moment. We are waiting for the doctor to make his rounds toward me so that he can release me. I’m already dressed back into what was left of my school uniform.

The pale red line across Ben’s hairline is held together by invisible stitches. I wish that they had had that stuff when I’d fallen on my chin as a kid. My fingers flutter to my chin at the memory of the spiky stitches and the scar left behind.

Matt smiles and introduces himself to my mother, shaking her hand. The two boys stand together at the foot of my bed and seem to be getting along better than they had the whole time I’d known them, even joking and accepting each other’s jabs in stride.

“How is Stacy?” I ask when things have turned quiet.

Matt swallows and looks at his cousin, a wordless conversation passes between them. Finally he smiles at me. “Always to the point, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “There’s no sense beating around a bush, right?”

The dimple on Ben’s chin deepens with his grin. “She’s fine…physically. She was dehydrated and suffered from the blood loss, but otherwise, she’ll heal. Her parents are already considering laser surgery for her scars. But mentally? She’s taking this really hard. Beyond all the stress and loss she’s endured this week, she was taken prisoner by that monster, and it’s going to take time to recover from it.”

Matt nods. “And her parents are talking about pulling her out of school for the rest of the year to give her a break.”

“That’s understandable,” Mom says, her worried eyes making me feel like she might be considering the same route for me.

I shake my head at her in a silent protest.

She shrugs.

I turn back to the boys. “I hope she’ll make it back. Oh! I talked to Tasha this morning. I don’t know if you guys knew that she woke up yesterday. I got the text message right before…” I trail off, not wanting to relive those memories.

Ben gets the hint. He clears his throat and pulls my messenger bag from behind him. “Well, I got all your assignments from classes today, if you want them.”

I nod. “So you didn’t get kept overnight?”

He sets the bag in an empty chair against the wall. His finger flutters to his stitches. “I’m fine, just this one thing. No concussion.”

My mom shakes her head. “But you do have a concussion. I think the school work can wait. I don’t want you to strain your brain.”

I frown, wondering how long I’ll have to endure my mom treating me like a toddler again. Part of me is enjoying the attention, but only a small part.

The door opens again, and Dr. Park walks in. The small Asian woman studies everyone. “Boy, it’s crowded in here, huh?”

I smile in greeting, and the two boys slink over toward the far corner to stay out of the doctor’s way. She checks my eyes again and glances at my chart. After signing the top two forms, she hands some paperwork to my mother. “I still suggest rest. Stay at home in bed through the weekend. Only go to school on Monday if she feels up to it. No sports for at least two weeks. The last thing she needs is another head injury.”

My mother nods at the doctors instructions, but her eyes remain on me as if she’s trying to make sure that I’m paying attention.

I nod to reassure her.

As the doctor finishes her spiel, a nurse enters with a wheelchair.

I groan and stand. “Is that really necessary?”

The doctor nods. “Hospital policy. It’s just to the parking lot.”

I shrug and sit in the green canvas. The cold metal arms send a chill through the white fabric of my blouse. Satisfied, the nurse and doctor make their exit.

Ben offers to push me while my mother pulls the car around. Matt shoulders my messenger bag and stays with me as well.

We stand in the lobby together for a long moment in silence. Both boys keep their gaze to the parking lot. So different, yet so alike these two cousins are. I clear my throat, and they both turn to me in unison. “So am I stuck with you two?”

They both grin at me.

“Yep,” Matt says.

“If you’ll have us,” Ben adds.

And suddenly, my world feels a little bigger, safer than it did before.

“Still following me, Chira?”

The sound of his voice sends a shiver through my spine in the warm sunshine. “You said my name.”

He stands next to the green chain link fence and laughs. “So?”

Heat fills my cheeks. Why do I always have to say the first thing that comes into my head? Apparently he didn’t notice. “Um…you were…calling me Sniffles.”

A hint of a smile tugs his lip, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Well, you haven’t had that head cold for a few days now, you know?”

I breathe freely for a moment. I hadn’t realized it, but he’s right. For the past few days I’d been so busy…

“What are you doing at school anyway? I thought your mom wanted you to take a few days off,” he says.

I step up to the chain link and look out over the school grounds. The smoldering wreckage that was once the Old Schoolhouse sits in a blackened pile to the west. Yellow tape still surrounds the building. I suppress a shudder and grip the links of the fence until my knuckles turn white. I squeeze my eyes shut against the painful memories. After a deep breath, I say, “I snuck out of the house when my mom went to bed.”

The chain links rattle, causing me to open my eyes. Steve lands on the fence just over my head, his yellow-orange eyes studying me for a moment. The knowing look he gives me makes me smile. How much wisdom does an owl really have?

Ben stands beside me and looks out the same direction my eyes are drawn.

“What do you see out there?” I ask.

His gaze catches mine for a moment, and I’m surprised by the intensity. He’s biting his lip and his square jaw works as he thinks. Finally, he looks back toward the Old Schoolhouse. “Ten lives were taken in that place over the past year. I can see them…their impressions linger.”

“Wait. I thought only six girls were missing.” My chest tightens and prickles of fear run up and down my skin.

He nods. “Those were the ones the police knew of. The first ones were probably considered runaways or maybe girls forced into prostitution. This world is a darker place than most people realize.”

My gaze shifts back to him and I study the side of his face. His eyebrows are lifted and half-hidden under the loose curls covering his brow. Sadness fills his eyes and softens the features of his face. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Could you see them the whole time?”

His eyes are fixed ahead, and his expression doesn’t change as he nods once.

The tortured look that he wears all the time isn’t an act. How could anyone live with what he sees? “How were Donnie and Jacob haunted? Did the girls haunt them?”

He shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “They weren’t haunted. Mr. Scott saw the video. He probably panicked and wanted to keep people away from the schoolhouse by starting the rumor of the curse.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Donnie and Jacob said that there were noises in their houses.”

“He was following you.” His eyes meet mine, wide and pleading.

A jolt of electricity runs through my chest. “What?”

“That day we went to your mom’s diner. It was Mr. Scott who was following you. Steve showed him to me.”

I can hardly breathe. “You knew it was him?”

Ben nods again, his eyes searching mine.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Or the police…or something? We should have stopped him.”

His gaze turns hard, and he’s looking at the asphalt floor of the roof, but not seeing it. “Mr. Scott is a monster but also a coward. His kind preys upon the weak and helpless. He wouldn’t come near you unless you were alone, and you were never alone except when you were walking to and from school. I just had to make sure you weren’t alone then, either.”

“But what about Donnie and Jacob? They weren’t weak or helpless.”

Ben’s eyes rise back up to mine again. “Do you really want to understand what I see?”

I nod, though my stomach churns with fear.

He looks back toward Steve again. The bird’s position hasn’t changed, but his eyes are half lidded.

Ben lets out a heavy sigh. “I told you once that I could see both impressions and possessions. Much of the ugliness in this world is caused by the second kind. And Mr. Scott has allowed a demon to latch on to him.”

Gooseflesh raises on my arms. “A demon?”

“Yes. And I’m certain the demon is what caused those things at Donnie’s and Jacob’s.”

It takes me a minute to process this. “So you knew? You knew all of this and did nothing about it?”

His eyes meet mine, and they are full of regret, sadness, and unshed tears. He shakes his head, and his voice cracks. “Chira. I didn’t—I couldn’t know. I am only one person who has this…gift. This curse. And it’s an ability no one understands, no one believes. I used to tell people everything. Brother Francisco understood. He believed. But living with my relatives over the last seven years has taught me that if I tell someone too much…they lose their trust in me, they accuse me of lying or worse, being crazy. I just couldn’t move forward until I had proof. Solid evidence—tangible to everyone and not just me. I’m so sorry.”

The chain links rattle in response to the distress in Ben’s voice, because Steve has shifted his position closer to his owner.

“You said Steve showed him to you. Can you communicate with animals, too?”

Ben studies me again. A tear has made a trail from his eye to his chin, and he brushes it off with his shoulder. “Not any more than anyone with a pet can. Steve’s just very observant and opinionated. I understand him just because I’ve lived with him for so long.”

I nod.

“You believe me,” he says it like it’s a fact, not a question.

I look into his eyes again, a smile tugging at my lip. He knows it’s true before I’m even sure, but he’s right. I do believe him. I nod.

He steps closer and cups my face in his hands. Before I can register it, he ducks his head in and his lips meet mine. Soft and gentle at first, tentative. My hands run up his back and fist into the back of his shirt. He kisses me harder and more desperately in response. Warm and soft, with a hint of mustard and coffee.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch block.

He pulls his lips away but rests his forehead to mine. For a moment we just hold each other and breathe. His eyes are closed, but mine are open. The softness in his features takes control and he looks at peace for the first time ever.

A determination takes hold of me. I want him to stay that way. At peace. And I’ll do what I can to help him stay there. For now, it might be believing in him, understanding him as much as I can. I’ll do that, for him. I don’t know if this is love I feel, but it’s time for me to stop running away from it.

Love at first sight might be fiction, but most fiction has a grain of truth in it, right?

The Shadow Maven series has been mulling in my head for over a decade, but only just started to take shape this year, and when my fingers started moving across the keyboard, they didn’t want to stop.

I’m hoping to have another story in the series ready for you later in 2014!

If you want to join me on the next adventure and be notified when the new book is released, please sign up for my mailing list at:

http://paulinecreeden.com

Don’t worry, I won’t spam you or sell my emailing list.

~*~

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It takes a village to write a book and prepare it for publication, and without my awesome beta readers, critiquers and editors, this story would be a hot mess. So special thanks to Missy Lee, Cindy Emmet Smith, and Eva Dayton King for your tireless efforts as my first readers. Thanks to Kessie Carroll and Jennette Mbewe for the depths of your critiques. And thanks to Laura Martinez and Sheila Hollinghead for giving the story one last look to make sure I put my best foot forward. And finally thanks to my awesome street team, The Raven Claw ~ whose encouragement helps me stay motivated, and specifically to Cianna Elizabeth, who gave Tasha a little more personality.

This book is for my son and husband, thank you for your tireless support.