“You know it won’t be that simple.” Landon frowns. “If you’re still around, he might want to stay for you.”
“Would that be so insufferably horrible?”
“Could you be any more insufferably selfish?”
I want to defend myself, but I know he’s right, and when he speaks again it only solidifies this realization.
“Ghosts who stay when they’re not meant to become restless, exhausted. I’ve seen it happen and it’s not pretty. Nothing like the Twisted, but bad. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Kaz, or Mr. Qureshi, or any of the Healers. They’ll tell you.”
I swallow past the ball in my throat as my mind races. If Rafe never passes on he’ll never find rest. And if we stay together...I pull my arm out of Landon’s hand and run for the stairs of the girls’ dorms.
In the middle of our research and training and general drama, a wave of “graduations” rushes over Locklear. I have no idea what to expect. Though if Haya’s excitement is any indicator, it’s going to be amazing. She wakes me up at stupid o’clock — a.k.a. before the sun is up — bouncing like she’s on springs.
“Get up, get up, get up!” Haya claps. “You’re going to miss the best day of the year.”
She’s already dressed in a level of formal that exhausts me so much I consider staying under the covers. In fact, I even pull them over my head with the most dramatic moan in the history of moans.
“Aren’t ghosts only supposed to go out at night?”
Haya giggles. “You ask this after almost a month of being here? I thought you were smarter than that.”
“Ha. Ha.”
Haya tugs on the sheets. I cling to them and let out a ridiculous fake hiss, but she’s way too fast, leaving me exposed to the cool of the room and her insistence that I get ready to, and I quote, “see the magic.”
“Fine.” I elongate the ‘i’, glare at Haya’s outfit, then attempt to emulate it while still lying on the bed. A black, pinstripe dress replaces my pajamas and I grin. “Not too shabby.”
Haya clicks her tongue and extends a hand. “Gorgeous. Now come on, let’s go watch our friends pass on.”
She hooks an arm through mine and tugs me downstairs to the auditorium, a place I haven’t yet visited since coming to Locklear. It’s decorated all in gold leaves and vines and sparkling things that glow so bright I can’t quite figure out their shape. Haya and I settle into a set of empty chairs on the outside edge, a good angle to see the stage.
A trio of students I don’t recognize sits off to the side of the podium all wearing various and sundry clothes. One dude sports a pair of jeans and sweatshirt while the other wears football pads. The third is a girl draped in a beautiful blue sari. I guess those passing on are allowed to choose the clothes they move along in. For a moment I wonder what I would choose, but then tears fill my eyes and I shut off that train of thought fast.
It’s one thing to cry at a graduation, but totally another to ugly, snotty sob. Besides, the more I consider things, the more I question whether or not I want to move on at all. With the powers I’m slowly discovering, I might want to become a Ghost Guide like Kaz. After I find my body, I can think about it a little more clearly.
Rafe sinks into the chair next to me and that train’s back on the rails. What will he wear when he passes on? Obviously, there’s a possibility that he’ll choose to stick around the way Haya did, but what if he doesn’t? He deserves to heal, to rest in the peaceful beyond. It’s selfish to want him to stay, no matter how I feel about him, and no doubt the longer we entangle ourselves the more difficult it will be to say goodbye.
“Ready for this?” He asks, nudging me with an elbow.
“To be honest? I don’t really know what to expect, so I’m a little nervous.” My nerves hum with anticipation. “But also, super curious.”
“It’s a beautiful ceremony,” Haya says as Quinn and Yasmin take their seats next to us. “The spell will give you goosebumps. Even though it happens every semester it never fails to blow my mind. If only I could understand just how it works.”
All the quiet chatter in the room fades as Mr. Qureshi and a small group of other teachers take the stage. Our headmaster smiles, hands clasped behind his back. When silence finally falls, he takes a step forward.
“Welcome students and teachers. We’ve come to the time of year most anticipated by all at Locklear. This semester has been particularly trying with everything that has happened, and I would like for all of us to take a moment to pause and remember the students we lost.”
Mr. Qureshi bows his head. I stare up at the ceiling through tears, trying to cling to hope that Abby and Mark aren’t lost forever, that we can find a way to heal them. If I can communicate, then there has to be a way to make them right again.
“Now,” Mr. Qureshi says. “Will the students passing on today please stand and come to the front of the stage when your name is called. Apurva Shall.” The girl wearing the sari steps forward to shake Mr. Qureshi’s hand. “Ms. Shall not only completed her own unfinished business, but also assisted ten other students with theirs. She will be remembered by her father, mother, and three siblings in New York as well as everyone at Locklear.”
Everyone claps as she gives a little bow, then walks off to his right, smiling so wide it brightens her whole face.
“Andrew Battard.” The boy in football gear shakes Mr. Qureshi’s hand, tears
