Preloved (10 page)

“Okay. Since you’re my guest, I ought to be nice to you.”

I was making a resolution to be super-nice to Logan. I felt bad that I had tried to get rid of him. Deep down somewhere in my jealous, crazy, neurotic heart, I was trying to pull out that good person Logan said existed.

I spied my MP3 player sitting on my dresser.

“Here, why don’t you play with this?” I held it out to him.

“What is that?”

“It’s an MP3 player. I’ve got some good Eighties music on it like The Cure and The Smiths. Thought it might make you feel, y’know, at home.”

I held the player out to him.

“Right,” said Logan. “Where do I put the cassette in?”

“You don’t. The music’s already inside. I’ve got a stack of albums in there. Maybe you can even find something modern that you’ll like.”

I went to press the player to his hand, then I realised that wasn’t going to work.

I slid over to my desk and flipped open my laptop. I typed “poltergeist” into the search engine.

“What is that?” asked Logan.

“A computer.” I scrolled through the search results.

“Get real. That’s not an Amiga 500.”

“Check this out. According to this site, poltergeists or ‘noisy spirits’, as opposed to ghosts – which are considered to be the apparitions of dead people that pass by unnoticed – are able to interact with the physical world. Some experts believe that this is through telekinesis.”

“If you read here,” said Logan, pointing at the screen, “it also says that some experts believe poltergeist activity might be caused by individuals hitting the turbulent teen years and releasing pent up emotions like hostility, anger and sexual tension …”

“Are we not trying to help
you
?” I said, shooing his finger away. “Concentrate your mental energy on my MP3 player and see if you can lift it using your mind.”

“Are you pulling some New Age crap on me? ’Cos I think we can both agree the Seventies is long gone.”

“Just do it!”

Logan rolled his eyes. Then he shut up and a serious look came over his face, as if he was really concentrating.

“Okay, maybe we move onto a Plan B,” I said after a few minutes had passed and nothing happened.

“Shhh. Look,” said Logan.

The MP3 player twitched slightly. Then it levitated. I could feel myself shiver. The room seemed to get a bit colder.

“That’s fantastic, Logan!” I exclaimed, genuinely pleased. “You’re, like, using the force. Like on
Star Wars
,” I added.

“Amy, are you calling for me?” Mum’s voice echoed from outside my door.

“Drop it! Drop it!” I gestured to Logan in a panic.

The doorknob turned and Mum stuck her head in. The MP3 player clattered back down onto the table just as she turned in my direction.

“What was that noise?” she said, looking around.

“There’s no noise,” I said. I hastily closed the web page, with its dancing ghost logo.

“Strange. I thought I heard something,” said Mum. “Anyway, were you after me? I definitely heard your voice …”

Mum’s sentence trailed off and she focused on my face. I smiled innocently back at her. Just a girl in front of her computer. Doing research. I didn’t have anything incriminating in my room at all. Like a boy. Sitting on my bed.

What she couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt her.

“That ghost has definitely gone, hasn’t it?”

“Yup! Of course it has.” My voice was taking on that uncontrollable high-pitched tone again. “Why would I willingly want to be haunted?”

“It’s just that …”

Oh no. Not that look. Mum’s look of concentration. Mum was clever. Too clever for her own good, my evil
ah ma
– Dad’s mother – used to say. Then again, she wasn’t all that happy that Dad married someone independent with an education. She probably expected women to stay at home where they belonged, with their feet bound.

“Amy, I’m not really sure how you found time to visit a cemetery ’cos the closest one is on the other side of the city. But I did remember you showing me that locket you found. And you know I’ve always told you never to pick up–”

“Found objects, ’cos they might have ghosts stuck to them. Yeah, I know,” I replied. My eyes automatically darted to Logan for a second before they went back to Mum’s. I wonder if she caught it. “I’m tired, so I’m going to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

“See you in the morning then,” said Mum. She paused at the doorway and wrapped her arms around her body. “Is it just me, or is it unusually cold in your room? I’ll have to get the building manger to look at it some time.” Mum left without a fuss.

“Oh, dear!” I said under my breath and I rubbed my face. I looked up just in time to see my MP3 player fly past my nose. Logan stretched his hand out and it floated there above his palm. The screen lit up as he scrolled the menu with some invisible force.

“Looks like Mum’s not the only fast learner,” I said. I walked up to my bed. “Can you please get off?”

“I’m just vegging out with your dog. It is your dog, isn’t it?”

“Mister Fozziebum?”

“That’s a really crook name.”

“Shut up. I was young when I named him. Where is he?”

I put my arms in front of me and clumsily felt along the edges of my mattress.

“Oh,” said Logan, understanding my expression.

I sat down on the bed opposite Logan. “Oh shit, I’m not sitting on top of him am I?”

“No, he just jumped off and left the room.”

I looked towards the door, but I couldn’t see any indication that Mister Fozziebum was ever here.

“Why can’t I see him? Why can I see you?” I wished I could see my dog. I missed him now more than ever. I wondered how many times he’d come into my room and I hadn’t known.

“Can I please lie down?”

Logan got off my bed and went to sit on my study chair. I climbed in, drew my legs up towards my body and hugged my pillow. I was too tired to want to change my clothes.

“So how does your computer know more about how to be a ghost than I do?” asked Logan, looking at my laptop.

“It’s the internet. You can find out about anything you want. As long as you don’t search for ‘how to build a bomb’ or ‘how to poison my parents’.”

“So you can look me up on it?”

“Yeah. But I’ll need some more information about you first. What’s your last name?”

“I’m Logan … oh.”

“Oh,” I prompted. “O’Hagan, O’Malley, Ol’ McDonald had a farm?”

“I can’t remember my last name.”

“What?”

“Actually, I can’t remember a lot of things. Where I live. What type of person I am at school. What I want to be when I grow up. I just have this feeling that none of those things are supposed to matter any more and I’m here for one reason only. Except I can’t remember that reason either.”

The glow of my computer screen made him seem blue.

You don’t need to know who you used to be
, I wanted to tell him.
Just be how you are now. Stay. Stay and bug me. I kinda like it
.

But he looked so unhappy it broke my heart a little. I felt like a selfish little girl who wanted to keep the butterfly I’d found in my jam jar forever.

“Tomorrow,” I said, and I swallowed, “I’ll think of a plan.”

“Thank you, Amy.” Logan sighed. He took his hat off and put it on my desk. I thought it was weird that he could do that. What did I expect? That his hat was permanently attached to his head? I smiled to myself. He ran his fingers through his dark, slightly feathered hair. That was also weird. That his hand didn’t go right through his head.

Hang on – I’ll tell you what’s weird: the fact that I was trying to apply the laws of physics on a ghost.

I wanted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep thinking of him, but Logan was staring at me. So I stared back at him.

“Hey, Logan,.” I said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Did you see
The Princess Bride
when it was at the cinema? It came out in 1987, so that would technically be last year for you.”

“I did, actually,” Logan replied, and he leaned back in my chair. “I went with Stacey, because she wanted to see it. But I ended up really liking it.”

I smiled and snuggled up in my pillow. That sounded romantic. I wished I was Stacey. I guess that was no different from sometimes wishing I was Rebecca.

I yawned and reached up to turn off the light.

“Goodnight,” I said, and I drew up my blanket.

I found I was smiling. I wanted something nice to think about before I fell asleep. On most nights, all I could see before I drifted off was Dad growing smaller and smaller as I looked through the back of the car until I could see him no more.

I realised I couldn’t sleep because I felt uncomfortable.

“I should go hang outside,” said Logan.

“Do you mind? You can have the couch. It’s comfy.” I was cringing a little. “Plus, you glow. Like, really bright.”

“Goodnight, Miss Matey,” said Logan, getting up. He gave me a friendly smile.

“Goodnight … Mr Matey,” I said under my breath. But Logan had already passed through my door and I don’t think he heard me.

I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

In my dream I ran into Dad, and I was angry.

I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t yell at Mum in front of me.

I wanted to tell him he lied when he promised us we were going to go to Dreamworld as a family.

I wanted to tell him how small a man he was for letting us down, for letting me down.

But I couldn’t.

In my dream I was eight years old again and all I could do was put my hands up to my face and cry.

“That is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I was sitting with Logan in front of my laptop having breakfast. I had located the infamous “Mr Matey” bubble bath ad.

“Why would you find it creepy?” asked Logan, giving me a confused look. “It’s a cartoon.”

Awww, you come from such an innocent time
, I wanted to say. I meant it in a good way, but I had promised to be good to him, not patronising or sarcastic.

“Fair dinkum, I can’t believe you can just dial up anything you want like that. So you’re also telling me that you don’t have to wait all night for a song to come on the radio so you can tape it – you can find it on the line?”

“Online,” I corrected him. I clicked the play button again.

“I want my clothes off!” shouted the cartoon character. “I want my bath.”

“Look! It’s got no clothes on!” I squealed. “Seriously, they wouldn’t let this sort of thing on TV these days.”

“Why, because nobody has a sense of humour these days?”

I couldn’t answer him, because I had a feeling that this was true.

“Do you want some toast or something?”

“Funnily, Amy, I haven’t felt
hungry
since I’ve been a
ghost
…”

“Ha-ha.”

This scene could be cute, I thought. If it was real.

“You know, my computer broke down once and I thought I’d lost everything,” I said. “But luckily they were able to restore it from a digital ghost copy. I think that’s kinda what you are. A digital ghost. A memory.”

But whose memory?

I wanted to touch him. To put my hand right up close against him, like he was the surface of my computer screen. To see if I could feel static, to see if he could make all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“So my theory about me being a message from the past is not so spun out after all.”

I placed my hand over the locket instead.

“You said you were going to figure this out. Are you still standing by that?” asked Logan.

I tucked the locket back down my school top. I had planned on going downstairs to wait for Rebecca. I really needed to talk to her. It was like there was an invisible gap between us these days.

“Hey, I know. Let’s go ask your Poindexter friend.”

“My … can you please spell that word?”

“I mean your smart, nerdy friend.”

“You mean Michael. Really?” I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to cross Michael’s schoolyard chalk-line unless I sold him my beautiful best friend.

“Come on, let’s bail. Race you downstairs!” Logan grinned and promptly vanished.

“Mum, please tell Rebecca that I’m so sorry when she gets here. Something’s come up and I have to go to school right now.” I said, rushing down the stairs.

Mum barely looked up from the vintage jumpers she was dragging out of a packing box. They were awful knitted things with stars, reindeer shapes and loud colours. Which of course, made them instantly ironic-cool. Mum could probably sell them for more than they used to cost brand-new.

“Remember, if that’s a funeral you’re rushing off to – take the roundabout way back. Don’t come straight home afterwards in case the ghost follows you.”

“I beat you.” Logan was waiting for me outside.

“Don’t make me beat your arse! Let’s get going.”