The Ghost and the Goth

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Joonie has no idea what I can do, so she’d never even think of what you’re suggesting. Not to mention there’s no reason, even if she did. She wouldn’t want to hurt me. She’s my friend.”

Alona dropped into the seat next to me and twisted to face me, tucking her legs beneath her. “Then why,” she asked quietly, “did she run away when you asked her about a stupid board game in her backpack?”

Direct hit. When had I ever doubted Alona Dare’s intelligence? “She was probably just embarrassed,” I insisted. But I’d seen the look on Joonie’s face a few minutes ago. If that wasn’t guilt, it was a close cousin.

“Uh-huh.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “I may be pretty, but I’m not stupid. She is hiding something.”

“It’s not …” Suddenly, I remembered Joonie’s shift in intensity, from worrying about Lily to asking me questions. What was that all about?

“I could follow her, I’m real stealthlike these days.” Alona turned in her seat again, stretching her long legs out in front of her, and I found myself staring.

“Hey, my face is up here.” She snapped her fingers at me, and I jerked my gaze upward.

“You don’t have to follow her,” I said. “It’s Friday. I know exactly where she’s going after school.” No way would Joonie miss a visit to Lily, not after what she’d told me today.

“So are we going, too, or what?” Alona idly flicked a piece of … ghost lint? … off her shorts.

I grimaced. “I have detention right after school.” I thought about it. “Actually, I have detention today and Monday. I can’t afford to skip it.”

She brightened. “Oh, good, then you’ll have some time to do a little work.”

Alarm bells rang in my head. “What are you talking about?”

She raised the hem of her shirt, revealing smooth tanned skin over a tight stomach, her belly button a tiny divot in the taut surface — cheerleading does a body good — and reached into the waistband of her shorts to pull out a stack of small but neatly folded pieces of paper. “Sorry,” she said. “No pockets.”

I cleared my throat. “No problem.”

She handed me the papers, and I took them, still warm from her skin, and unfolded them. The top one read: R. Brewster. Wants forgiveness from son for being antigay toward him, and grandson to reconcile with his father. Anon. letters?

Lifting the first sheet aside, I read the second one, or started to, anyway. Liesel Marks and Eric … I looked over at Alona. “What is all of this?”

“What does it look like? I met with all your spirits and wrote down what they wanted.” She flicked her hair away from her eyes. “Hey, did you know that if you die or transition or whatever with something you get to keep it? Thank God that one girl died with a pen and notebook in her purse or I would have had to remember all of this.” Leaning closer to me, she pointed to the papers. “I even negotiated for you and got you out of making personal visits or phone calls.” She sat back in her chair with a shrug. “Basically, all you have to do is write some letters, find a few lost items. That kind of thing.”

“No,” I said flatly.

She whipped around in her seat to face me, her hair hitting me in the eyes as she turned. “Are you kidding? I spent my whole morning on this.”

I lowered my ice pack and glared at her. “Oh, gee, I’m sorry. Whatever are you going to do with the rest of eternity?”

She took a deep breath, opened her mouth … and then stopped. Holding her hands out in front of her, she inhaled and exhaled slowly.

“What are you doing, meditating?”

“No, I’m trying to calm down so I don’t kick your ass,” she said through clenched teeth.

I swallowed back a sigh. “I appreciate what you tried to do, really, and you helped me out by keeping them occupied but—”

“Listen, I wasn’t cool with this either in the beginning.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I mean, seriously, who am I to be your message girl?” She rolled her eyes. “But if you just listen to what they’re asking for, it’s not—”

“I’m not getting into this again.” I held up my hands, papers in one and the ice bag sloshing in the other.

“All they want is what you have. To be able to speak and be heard. That’s it. Apparently, whatever you are”—she looked down her nose at me—“is pretty rare. Except maybe in Puerto Rico.”

“What?”

She ignored me. “So, if you walk away, they might not get this chance again.”

“Chance to do what? Send me on a bunch of useless errands that don’t help anyone? I told you. This doesn’t work.” I held the papers back out to her.

She folded her arms across her chest. “What if it wasn’t you and it was your dad trying to get through and some ghost-talker wouldn’t help him?”

I froze. “My dad is none of your business.”

“Really? It seems to me that he’s very much my business since you think he’s the one showing up here, knocking you around, and trying to kill you, which, let me tell you, would put a serious crimp in my plans to get out of here.” She shuddered. “I don’t even want to know what happens if a spirit guide lets her person get killed.”

“Alona, just leave it alone,” I said wearily.

She examined the tips of her nails. “I think the whole reason you want that scary black cloud thing to be your dad is because at least then you have some kind of contact with him. Otherwise, he just left you hanging, and you of all people know he could have come back to talk to you if he wanted—”

“Enough,” I shouted, and threw the papers at her. They fell to the ground with a dry raspy sound like dead leaves.

“What is going on here?” Nurse Ryerson burst in through the door. She stopped short when she saw me alone in the room.

“Nothing,” I said tightly. “Nothing’s going on in here.”

“Damn right about that,” Alona muttered. She stood up and stepped over the papers on the ground, careful to avoid them.

“I thought I heard …” Nurse Ryerson’s voice faltered. She poked her head in farther to check behind the door, as though someone might be hiding back there.

“That shouting, you mean?” I asked.

She nodded.

I gave a shrug. “Not from in here.”

She frowned and slowly backed out the door.

Alona started to follow her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded in a whisper.

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Clearly, you don’t need me, and I don’t have to go to class anymore. One of the few benefits of being dead.”

“What about—”

“The spirits? The ones that have been bothering you? I don’t know,” she snapped. “I had worked out a deal where if you agreed to help them, they’d leave you alone. I guess that’s off the table, though, right?”

I sighed. “Alona.”

“Good luck with class,” she said with faux cheer. “Hope you like musicals. I’ll make sure to tell them Annie is your favorite.”

“Wait, just wait a—”

Without another word, she slipped through the closed door, humming “Tomorrow” under her breath.

Great. Not only do I have an angry spirit guide, but an angry spirit guide with a vindictive streak and an unnatural knowledge of show tunes. Better and better already.

13