The Blue Girl (10 page)

“So is there something wrong with doing well at school?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “It’s just ... different.”

“The new and improved kid sister.”

“Well, new, anyway,” he said, so I punched him in the shoulder.

*    *    *

Maxine and I actually went to the big spring dance in April—and no, not as a couple. It took some seriously complicated maneuvering on my part to get her mom to agree, and she never did know that Maxine went with a boy. Finding dates wasn’t a problem. We’d met a couple of boys from Fuller High at a used record store on Williamson in January, Pat Haines and Jeremy Nash. They were both so cute—a little straight, but they scruffed up well. I ended up with Jeremy, and it was the first time in ages that I’d been out with a guy who had fewer piercings and tattoos than me. But he was a good kisser, and that’s what’s important, right?

So anyway, getting dates to take us to the dance was easy. Convincing Maxine’s mother, on the other hand  ...

I swear it was like setting up a military campaign to invade a small country to get it to all work out. But it did, and we had a great time, even though we had to do a whole Cinderella thing to get Maxine out of her makeup and fancy dress and back home on time.

*    *    *

And then there was Ghost.

I caught glimpses of him on and off through the rest of the school year, but couldn’t get close to him, never mind have a conversation. I’d spot him somewhere and before I could even start in his direction, he’d pull his disappearing shtick: stepping through some wall, or just doing this—I have to admit, pretty cool—slow fade from sight.

I had to settle for research. I went through the newspaper files at the Crowsea Public Library, but there wasn’t much. Just a small piece in the City section of
The Newford Journal
the day after he died and an obit in the death notices. But I got his name, and in the school library I found a small “in memoriam” notice in the 1998 yearbook. It didn’t tell me anything except that he wasn’t very popular, and that was only by inference. See, a couple of other kids had also died that year—one of cancer, one in a car crash— and there was a whole pile of reminiscences about them from their friends and the faculty.

But for Adrian Dumbrell, nothing.

Just that he’d been a student and that he’d died.

I knew there had to be more to it than that, but I couldn’t seem to get any details. It wasn’t like some big secret; just no one knew him at school. Any kids who’d been attending when he was here had already graduated. Everyone had heard the story of Ghost, that he haunted the school, and some of them even knew he was this kid who’d jumped from the roof of the school because everybody was always ragging on him.

I suppose I would have let the whole thing go if he hadn’t kept spying on me. There had to be a reason why he was doing the stalking thing—some kind of unfinished business, though what it would have to do with me, I had no idea. I guessed it was something I was supposed to figure out.

So one Sunday in July, while Maxine was away for the month on a trip with her dad and I was seriously bored, I went back to the school, determined to track him down. It was all locked up—no summer courses here, or at least not today—but I’d learned my lessons well from Frankie Lee and jimmied the lock on one of the back doors. Moments later I was inside, out of the sweltering July heat.

It was so nice and cool in here, and quiet. The only sound was that of my clunky platform sandals echoing on the marble floors. I had the normally crowded halls to myself, which was kind of weird, but kind of neat, too. I hadn’t done anything like this—what Frankie called creeping a joint—in what seemed like forever.

“Okay,” I said. “I know you’re in here somewhere, Adrian. So let’s talk.”

Nothing.

Well, I hadn’t thought it would be easy. He’d already shown that he had this whole avoidance thing going for him. Maybe it came with the territory when you were dead. I mean, ghosts are always hard to pin down in the stories, aren’t they?—never just coming right out and saying what they want. Instead they have to rattle their chains and beat around the bush with riddles and crap.

“C’mon, spooky boy! It’s time for us to get acquainted.” I walked up and down the halls for over an hour before I finally heard a voice behind me.

“You’re going to wake the janitor.”

I turned, and there he was. Adrian Dumbrell, deceased. Also known as Ghost.

He didn’t look like a ghost—not like I had any great familiarity with them other than his stalking me. I just mean he seemed very solid and
here
. Tall and gawky, Harry Potter glasses, acne scars, and all.

“The janitor’s asleep?” I said.

Ghost nodded. “He’s got a cot set up in the basement where he sneaks off and naps.”

“Why’s he so tired?”

“He drinks too much.”

“He never looks drunk—I mean, when I’ve seen him.”

“He’s good at hiding it.”

This was very weird. I had a hundred more important things to ask him, but here we were, talking about the school custodian’s drinking problem. I guess it was because things suddenly had all the awkwardness of a first date, with neither of us quite sure what to say.

But I couldn’t leave it at that.

I cleared my throat.

“So  ...  why’ve you been following me around?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I just  ...  you know  ...  like you, I guess.”

“You like me.” Was that all this was, some horny ghost had the hots for me? Right. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re pretty—”

“Oh, yeah. Real runway material.”

“Well, you are. And I like the way you stand up for yourself.”

“Which is why people have been crapping on me all year.”

He shook his head. “I saw you stand up to Brent Calder your first week here. I heard what you said to Valerie. I think the only reason you let them rag on you is that you can’t be bothered caring about what they think.”

“I care,” I found myself saying, “but I’m trying to stay out of trouble.”

Now why had I told him that?

He smiled. “You see? You took the moral high ground— another commendable character trait.”

“Mmm.”

I’ve never been good at compliments, but it was especially weird getting them like this, when I was being hit on by a ghost. Or at least it felt like he was hitting on me. I wonder where he thought a relationship could go?

“You’re taking this all pretty well,” he said. “I mean, considering  ...”

“What? You think other people don’t have nice things to say about me?”

“Of course not. I meant, me being dead and all.”

He put his hand toward the nearest wall, and it went right through so that it looked like his arm was cut off at the wrist. But when he pulled his arm back, his hand reappeared, inch by inch, good as new.

“You don’t seem at all scared,” he said.

Okay, that was a little freaky, but I already
knew
he was a ghost, so I could deal with it.

“Should I be?” I asked.

“Well, no  ...”

“Because you
have
been stalking me for months, and I have to say, that’s not particularly endearing.”

“I wasn’t stalking you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What do you call spying on someone from a distance and disappearing when the person tries to talk to you?”

“I just  ...  I don’t know. I didn’t know what I’d say to you. I didn’t know you’d be so easy to talk to.”

“Oh.”

Neither of us said anything for a few moments. I slid down and sat with my back against a locker. After a moment, he came over from the stretch of wall where he’d been standing and sat beside me.

“What’s it like to be dead?” I asked.

“I don’t know what it’s like for anybody else, but I’m always sort of scared.”

“Sounds just like life.”

“I guess.”

“So are there other ghosts around?”

He nodded. “All kinds.”

“That’s kind of creepy—from the perspective of someone who’s still alive, I mean. Knowing that there’s all these dead people around, checking out everything you’re doing, and you can’t see them. And when you think of how many people have died over the centuries  ...” I looked around. “It must be really crowded in Ghostworld.”

“Most of us go on.”

“Go on where?”

“I don’t know. I just never went.”

“Did you ever think it might be better than here?”

“Yeah, but what if it’s worse?”

“So we get a choice?”

“I don’t know that either, but I guess I did.”

“Because you have unfinished business?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He sounded a little defensive.

“Well, isn’t that why ghosts usually don’t go on?” I asked. “They’ve got stuff they still have to deal with, here in the world of the living.”

“I never thought about it.”

“So what happened to you? I looked you up in the newspaper, but they didn’t have much to say.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

I laughed. “It’s the middle of the summer and here I am, sitting in school—which is not my favorite place, as you can probably imagine—talking to a ghost. Don’t you think I’d be anywhere else if I had something better to do?”

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to figure you out. So give. Tell me what happened.”

He didn’t say anything for such a long time that I thought he wasn’t going to tell me anything. But then he sighed.

“When I was a kid,” he finally began, “I couldn’t wait to get into high school  ...”

*    *    *

 “...  and so I’ve been hanging around here ever since.” We were still sitting in one of the school’s side halls, our backs against the lockers, legs splayed out in front of us. I knocked the toes of my sandals together and turned to look at him.

“That’s a pretty amazing story,” I said.

“It’s true.”

“Of course it is.”

“You don’t believe me. What part don’t you believe?”

“Well, c’mon ... fairies?”

“Says the girl talking to a ghost.”

“Okay, that’s a good point. But you being a ghost doesn’t automatically make fairies real.”

He looked across the hall.

“They think you’re rude,” he said.

“They’re here?”

“Oshtin and Sairs are.”

I studied the other side of the hall, but I couldn’t see anyone or anything. Not even when I squinted.

“I don’t see anybody,” I said.

“Not everybody can see them.”

“Not everybody can see
you,
either, but I do. So what’s the deal with that?”

“I don’t know.”

I kept checking out the area around us, but there was just me and the ghost. Otherwise, the hall was deserted. Just like you’d expect on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of the summer.

“So why don’t they show themselves?” I asked.

For a few moments, he seemed to be listening to someone. Then he said, “They say it’s either a gift you’re born with or something you have to earn.”

“How convenient.”

“You shouldn’t make them angry.”

“Whatever. I don’t really care what invisible people think of me.”

“Now they’re leaving.” I watched his eyes track something that I couldn’t see. “And now they’re gone.”

“And the difference is?”

He shook his head. “You really shouldn’t be like that. They can be mean, if you get on the wrong side of them.”

“Like saying they can teach you how to fly.”

“I suppose. But I don’t think that they meant for that to happen.”

I shrugged. “So where did they go?”

“Into one of those elf bolts I told you about earlier. Do you want to see one? They’d be really useful for you in the new school year if you want to get away from someone.”

“I don’t think so. Maybe another time.”

He gave me a goofy grin. “So there’s going to be another time?”

I laughed. “Well, I’m not going to marry you or anything, but yeah, I’ll drop by again.”

I stood up and brushed some nonexistent dirt from my legs. He scrambled soundlessly to his feet beside me. “When are you coming back?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Next week, I guess. When the school’s empty again.”

“There’s no one here after around nine or so most evenings—except for the janitor, and he just heads down to his cot after he’s checked the doors.”

“We’ll see.”

I started walking toward the door at the end of the hall. “So can you and your fairies leave this place?” I asked when we got to the door.

It had one of those bars across it that let you open it from the inside and would then automatically lock when it closed behind you.

“They’re not ‘my’ fairies,” he said.

“Whatever. Can you?”

He nodded. “But I don’t like to go out much.”

“Why not? People can’t see you if you don’t want them to, right? Or at least most people can’t.”

“Most people can’t,” he agreed. “But there are  ...  other things out there that I’d just as soon avoid.”

Now he had my curiosity piqued.

“What kinds of things?” I asked.

“Well, there’s the  ...  I don’t know what you’d call them, actually. Angels, I suppose.”

“Like with wings and harps?”

Why not? If he was going to try to convince me that there were fairies running around, he might as well throw in angels. But he shook his head.

“They’re just these people,” he said, “who try to coax ghosts like me to move on. They can be very persistent.”

“They don’t sound very scary.”

“They’re not. But there’s also the darkness.”

“So go out during the day.”

“No, not that kind of darkness. This is something else. I don’t know what they look like, but I’ve felt them.” He turned to look at me with an earnest expression. “You know that feeling of helplessness you get when a bunch of guys grab you in the boys’ room, and the next thing you know you’re being pushed out into the hall wearing your own underwear over your head?”

I couldn’t believe he was asking me this, but I guess it had happened to him, so I cut him some slack.

“Not really,” I said.

“No, of course you wouldn’t. You’d put up too big a fight for them to be able to do that.”

I shrugged. He seemed to think I was a lot braver that I thought I was. Who was I to disillusion him?