The Ghost and the Goth

Caterpillar manufacturing facilities.

Joonie’d found Lily looking lost and close to tears in the cafeteria on her first day and ventured a wary “Hi.”

Lily later told us that her school at home had consisted of about a hundred kids total. Her accent was heavy, and her clothes were all wrong. She wore church clothes every day — a long patterned skirt and a high-necked shirt or sweater.

The Jesus Club kids wouldn’t take her because Joonie, clearly a devil worshipper by the way she dressed, had talked to her. The braniacs were angry with her because she was smart enough that her arrival might screw up the class rankings. She didn’t play an instrument, nor did she have an unnatural love for math or science. The first-tier elite didn’t even know she existed. In short, she didn’t belong anywhere. So Joonie had taken her in.

Something about Lily made everyone, especially Joonie, light up. She was just so … uncalculating, so refreshing in her honesty. She was fascinated by our choice to rebel against the mainstream, not really understanding, I don’t think, that it wasn’t so much a choice as a process of elimination. She’d never seen anyone with lip piercings before except on television. She laughed, and blushed, easily.

Within weeks, she’d revealed her own dirty secret. She was addicted to soap operas and celebrity dramas. People was her book of choice … as long as no one saw her reading it. With the size of her old school and having known almost all the kids there from birth, she’d never experienced anything as convoluted and complex as our social structure. For her, the first-tier kids held an allure equivalent to movie stars with whom she could rub elbows. She tracked their comings and goings, their breaking up and making up, with a fervency that was unnerving.

That probably should have been a clue for us.

Regardless of whatever signs might or might not have been there, the end result was the same. Lily … was gone, and these days, Joonie might as well have been. Which left me on my own, except, of course, for my supernatural buddies.

“Why do you keep talking to him?” Liesel asked Grandpa Brewster from her perch on Mrs. Pederson’s desk.

“This one can hear me,” Grandpa Brewster proclaimed proudly.

Damn. This was exactly why I should have kept my mouth shut in Brewster’s office.

I looked reluctantly at Joonie. Her cell was a knockoff of the iPhone. If she had it with her — she was forever leaving it at home in the charger — and wasn’t too mad to let me borrow it, I could probably hide it in my pocket and snake the headphones up under my sweatshirt. Mrs. Pederson might still notice, but it was worth a shot.

“Joon?” I whispered. “Got your phone on you?” I sneaked another glance at Liesel to find her frowning at me. That couldn’t be good.

Joonie lifted her head slightly, but she wouldn’t look at me. “What’s wrong?” She sounded cautious, like she wasn’t sure if she should still be angry or not.

“Nobody can hear us except us,” Liesel said to Grandpa B., but she didn’t sound completely convinced. Things were about to go from bad to worse.

“I need music.” As in immediately.

“Where’s Marcie?” Joonie didn’t know the exact nature of my medical condition — it wasn’t something you announce at the lunch table — but she knew that I had permission to have my iPod with me and on at all times.

“Brewster.”

“He can’t do that, can he? You have a note,” Joonie said.

Liesel hopped off Mrs. Pederson’s desk in her pink cloud of a dress and headed straight for me. “I don’t believe you,” she said to Grandpa B., who was still at my side. “Prove it.”

“He’s not supposed to … do you have your phone or not?”

Joonie shook her head. “It’s at home.” She turned to face me, her earlier anger forgotten. She looked worried, and her tongue clicked the safety pins against her teeth, a nervous habit. “Are you going to be okay?”

Grandpa B. leaned down next to my ear. “Hey, kid, come on. Just tell us if you can hear us. Make this dumb broad”—he jerked his thumb toward Liesel—“shut up.”

Not good. I raised my hand.

“Yes, Mr. Killian?” Mrs. Pederson sounded annoyed.

“Can I have a bathroom pass?” Screw Brewster. If I could get out to my car and home without being followed, I’d be home free. The dead weren’t omniscient any more than I was. Unless they had my address, they couldn’t find me. The trick was getting out of here in one piece.

“Oh, great, now you’ve spooked him,” Grandpa B. said.

“Will, you arrived twenty minutes late to my class. You have only twenty minutes left.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. I won’t tolerate this kind of disruption in my classroom. The pass you gave me”—she stepped back and pulled it from the metal podium that held her notes—“states that the privileges normally allotted to you have been revoked.”

“I’m just asking to go to the bathroom.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but even still, a wave of giggles and whispers swept over the classroom. God, I hated this.

“Hurry up,” Liesel urged Grandpa B. “She’s going to let him go.”

“No, she’s not,” Jay Montgomery offered from the other side of the room. “She’s evil.”

“Hey, watch it,” Liesel snapped. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about. Trust me, she’s going to fold. Claire hates it when she thinks the kids are mad at her. She is so insecure.” She gave a dramatic eye roll.

I shook my head, trying to ignore all the competing voices. It was getting harder and harder not to scream at them to shut up. “Please, Mrs. Pederson. I’m really not feeling good.” I wiped my damp palms down the legs of my jeans to dry them off.

She frowned at me, and sure enough, under the disapproving stare, I saw her expression soften slightly. “If you’re ill, go directly to the office, Mr. Killian. Don’t bother going to the bathroom to sneak a cigarette. I’ll check, believe you me.”

No use in trying to explain to her that I didn’t smoke. At least, not cigarettes and definitely not on school grounds with Brewster checking me every five seconds. “Thanks.” I gathered my book and notebook and stuffed them back into my bag.

“See? I told you.” Liesel folded her arms across her chest. “He’s no different than anyone else and—”

As I stood up and slung my backpack over my shoulder, Grandpa Brewster gave me a little shove. I should have been expecting it, given what he’d seen with the cigarette in Brewster’s office. But they were normally so reluctant to touch us….

I staggered sideways, like an insta-drunk, and tripped over my own feet, going down to one knee.

Both living and dead gasped.

“Oh, my God,” Liesel whispered.

“Mr. Killian, are you all right?” Mrs. Pederson stepped toward me.

“Will?” Joonie half stood in her seat, clutching her bag to her stomach.

“He can see us? Does he know the final score of my game?” Jay asked.

“You okay, kid? I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”

“Can he get us out of here?” Eric asked.

“I just need him to talk to my wife,” Jennifer’s grandfather jumped in. “She’s thinking about marrying that old geezer who owns the park model next to ours in Arizona.”

I yanked my hood over my head and covered my ears with my hands on top of it. “I need to leave,” I shouted over the din. Too loud, Will, too loud. The wide-eyed look of fear on Mrs. Pederson’s face confirmed that. To her, of course, I was yelling for no reason. “Joonie … I mean, April, take Will to the office now,” came her muffled command.

To her credit, Joonie jumped from her seat, nearly overturning her desk. She yanked the strap of her book bag over her head to rest it on her opposite shoulder, and took my wrist in her cool hand.

“Come on. Let’s go.” She helped me to my feet, her words a distant murmur over the ringing in my ears.

We headed up the aisle and across the room. Mrs. Pederson stepped back behind the safety of her podium, and as we made our way out the door and into the hall, every pair of eyes followed us.