Crushed Page 4

  “Wow, that’s intense,” I reply. “Okay, but if everything is made out of energy, why can’t we just doctor the pictures when people don’t show up in them?” I ask, confused.

  “You can, technically, but that’s not the process of photography, is it? It’s like using Photoshop.”

  “But aren’t you just re-creating what was really there?”

  “Not necessarily. There are a lot of things the camera would capture that the mind wouldn’t think of. Also, why don’t we show up?! I want to fix that—not just draw over it.”

  “I see your point,” I say, and I mean it.

  “You can borrow my camera for now, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks! So, what’s the plan?”

  “Let’s get out of here. There’s a spooky old barn a little ways north that’s full of cool photo ops.”

  “Spooky?” I repeat, with a laugh. “How? Is it haunted with living people?”

  “Be careful what you joke about,” he replies, all dark and stormy, and then gives me a wink.

  We hop on the bus heading north, away from the center of town, where school and all the stores and shops are. We sit next to each other, and stare out the window at the scenery silently. It’s breathtaking. We exit the main town and laid out before us are wheat fields and farmland as far as the eye can see, with gorgeous grayish-white mountain peaks way off in the distance. After a while, you stop noticing all the energy measurements hanging above everything and just get lost in how pretty it all is. Every few acres there’s a house.

  Even though we’re not speaking, I can feel Colin look at me occasionally, and every couple of minutes his knee brushes up against mine, or his hand accidentally slides closer to me. I can feel my insides start to tighten and loosen at the same time, like the perfect grilled-cheese sandwich: the bread is crispy and toasted, but the inside, all gooey and melted, is dripping over the edges.

  Ooh, now I’m hungry.

  Just when I think his hand is finally going to make contact with mine, the bus comes to a halt and he pulls his hand away. My delicious grilled-cheese sandwich of emotions feels like it’s been dropped in cold water. In my frustration, I accidentally send my book bag cascading across the floor, like a hockey puck, until it slams against the back of the bus in anger.

  Get a grip, girl.

  “Was that you, or the bus?” he asks, standing up.

  I’m positive it was me, but I lie. (A teeny, tiny, little white lie never hurt anyone, right?)

  “I think it was the bus.”

  “Right. This is us,” he says, heading to the front to exit.

  The barn is about a half-mile walk from the bus stop. When we get there, I see exactly why he says it’s spooky. It’s really big and full of weird stuff because it’s abandoned. Like it’s a storage place for a garage sale that hasn’t happened yet, and probably never will. We enter the barn, and I immediately feel a warm breeze wash over me, like I’ve just stepped into a mild sauna. There’s a weird energy about this place. I have a flashback of being back home with my family, watching TV, the smell of freshly popped popcorn and scent of my grandmother’s blanket that we always snuggled under on the couch.

  “You okay?” Colin asks.

  I snap out of my daze. “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Cool. So, you ready to be my subject?” he asks. “I’ll show you what I mean about photos being tricky.”

  “Pose me, boss!”

  He sets me up in an old rocking chair and then positions some objects next to me, to help demonstrate his point. There’s a red wooden crate with some old dolls in it, a lamp, a yellow-and-white basket, and a stack of old books. I wonder if Colin thinks I’m pretty as he looks through his viewfinder to snap the perfect shot. I can’t help but think about Georgia. She might be awful, but she’s also really pretty. (Pretty awful. Ha.) But really, her chic black hair and bright blue eyes—she’s like a model. What is he thinking when he looks at me? I stare at him, hoping to somehow telepathically read him, even though in Beginner’s Telepathy you only learn theory, not practice. Once again I can feel my body heating up, all my energy is being drawn to my heart like a magnet.

  “Okay,” he says, “Come and see for yourself. I bet you won’t even show up as a shadow since you’re such new energy.”

  I get up and walk over to him. He switches the camera from snapping mode to playback mode, and the last picture he took appears on the screen.

  And there I am, perfectly sharp, and looking almost solid.

  His eyebrows scrunch up like he’s confused, and he flips back through more of the shots he took for confirmation. Shot after shot after shot.

  I appear in every single one. Some are stronger than others, but I’m there. Always.

  “I don’t understand,” he says, flabbergasted. “I’ve literally never seen this happen before.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I reply. Because I don’t.

  “You’re amazing!” he sings, with a huge smile on his face. “You’re my muse!”

  His muse?

  Uhm … I guess I just sank the pinball?

  Wednesday morning at school feels like déjà vu of my first day as a ghost. Everyone is staring at me in the hallway with these shocked expressions, as if someone posted a video of me eating out of the garbage (which, for the record, I’ve NEVER done) or picking something out of my ears (which, okay, I have done … but who hasn’t?!) without my knowledge, and they’ve all been frantically gabbing about it behind my back.

  Whispers fill the air as I walk to my locker from fourth period. “What is with everyone?” I say to Cecily.

  “You didn’t hear?” she asks. “Apparently everyone is talking about your magical ghostly powers that allow you to show up in photos so easily.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Colin told me in Ghost Hunters last period.”

  “Oh.”

  As we make our way to the cafeteria for lunch, my mind runs amuck. It never bothered me before that they have a class together, but now I’m starting to wonder … what if they become, like, friends? What if they get even closer than he is with me? Or worse, what if he starts liking her as more than a friend and they start dating and I turn into a total loser weirdo with crazy powers who no one wants anything to do with!!

  “Lou, what’s going on in your head right now?”

  “Nothing, why?” I remark, a little too quickly.

  “Because your hair just turned bright green.”

  Unbelievable. Green with envy? Hardy-har-har, ghost powers. I dash into the bathroom and lock myself in a stall. Concentrating on breathing out the bad feelings and calming my nerves, I close my eyes and think of the ocean waves coming in and out, me and Felix riding A-frames and barrels till the sun sets. After a couple of minutes, I open my eyes and look down to find that my hair has transformed back to its natural color. All is normal again.

  For now.

  We get food and head over to our usual table. The cheerleaders are back in uniform sitting at the table next to us. Tryouts are tonight, so hopefully this means we won’t have to see them suited up again tomorrow, but with Georgia, anything is possible. She could make this a permanent thing for all I know. I notice that Cecily and Georgia keep exchanging looks, ping-ponging back and forth, back and forth. I’m getting dizzy just watching.

  “What’s up with you and Georgia? Why do you keep staring at each other?”

  “What? We’re not!” Cecily says, immediately self-conscious. “I wasn’t looking at her specifically—just, you know, the squad in general.”

  “Okay, then why is she looking at you?”

  “She’s not. I think she’s just looking over here, you know, because … well, you know why.”

  I don’t actually know why, but I don’t ask.

  “Whatever,” I reply, openly irritated.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she whispers in my ear, so no one else can hear. “Why are you being so snippy?”

  I lean in close
. “I’m sorry, it’s just … nothing is going the way it’s supposed to go. Georgia was supposed to disappear after Ghostcoming, and Colin and I were supposed to go on a date, and you and I were supposed to start our Dance Club. None of it’s working out the right way.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, Lou, but Georgia’s never going to just go away,” Cecily says, quietly.

  “And?”

  “And … things with Colin will sort themselves out?” she says shakily, but I can tell she doesn’t really believe it.

  Still, I have bigger issues than Colin to deal with right now, so I let that go.

  “And what about the Limbos?” I prod.

  “That’ll happen, too. Maybe not as quickly as you want it to, but you’ll make it work—I know you will.”

  I pay close attention to how Cecily leaves herself out of the Dance Club equation. You’ll make it work. Not we’ll make it work. She’s got her eye on a different prize. If her secret eye conversation with Georgia is any indication of what’s to come, her top—and possibly only—priority is winning the white-and-gray pleated skirt and too-tight crop top that says LIMBO CHEER SQUAD on the back. And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.

  “So … then you’re not going to tell me about the ghostday party invitation Georgia specifically sent to you and not me?” I ask, trying not to sound too bitter.

  “Of course I was going to tell you!” she cries out. “Just not right now. I was going to wait until we were alone, and you were less irritable.”

  “I’m not irritable, I’m annoyed.”

  Before she can reply, Colin, Mia, and Trey show up, and Trey calls out, “So, Lucy, I hear changing your appearance isn’t your only super ghost power.”

  Mia squeezes in next to me and gives me a wink. “Super ghost power is right—you are wearing that outfit, girlfriend.”

  We both chuckle, and in that moment I’m so happy she’s here. The conversation with Cecily is definitely heading into THE BAD PLACE, and Mia’s laid-back, chill attitude is exactly what we need to diffuse it.

  “Word on the street has it you have the magical ability to be photographed,” Trey continues his original train of thought.

  “Word on the street?” I say, laughing at him.

  “Dude, WORD ON THE STREET!” Jessie suddenly calls out from a few seats down. “That should be our band name!”

  “NO!” literally everyone at the table screams at once.

  This is followed by several minutes of extreme uncontrollable laughter while Jessie looks at all of us like we’ve just shaved his cat. I would be offended that he wants to change the band name if I wasn’t so busy laughing my head off.

  Things finally calm down, and suddenly it’s quiet again.

  “So, did everyone get the invite to Georgia’s bash?” Mia asks.

  There’s a flash of nods across the table, and it becomes clear pretty quickly that I’m the only one who wasn’t invited.

  The cheese stands alone.

  Colin and Mia are both staring at me like I might lose my lunch any second now. Or maybe they’re worried I might do something unruly to Georgia’s lunch … Either way, they are both eyeing me like two very concerned doctors in a mental institution.

  “Can you both stop looking at me like that?” I plead. “I’m fine, I promise!”

  I’m trying my best to be upbeat. I don’t want them all feeling sorry for me; I’m not a charity case. If they want to go to some mean girl’s ghostday party, so be it! I’m not standing in anyone’s way.

  Cecily remains silent, staring down at her hands intently, as if she’s gearing up for some kind of hand-modeling Olympics and can’t be bothered to partake in the conversation.

  “I wouldn’t go to her party even if she invited me,” I remind them, “so no harm done.”

  “But still, it’s just … mean,” Mia says, almost like she’s disappointed in Georgia. As if this is somehow surprising.

  Now Colin is staring down at his hands. Where are we? The Limbo Central Hand Convention!?

  “It’s really okay,” I say calmly, getting up from the table.

  “Where are you going?” Colin asks, suddenly able to wrestle his eyes away from his award-worthy hands.

  “I just remembered I have to go ask Ms. Keaner something, about the Dance Club stuff. I’ll see you all later.”

  I get up and get out of there as quickly as I can. I don’t know where I’m going—not too far because it’s only lunchtime and I still need to finish the school day—but I need some fresh air.

  Like, now.

  I end up out on the playground and slump down on a swing. I know they’re meant for little kids, but I still love them. Something about being up in the air … When I was young, it always felt about as close to being able to fly as humanly possible. But that was before. Now I’m a ghost, and flying is basically our easiest and first mode of transport.

  But I don’t know, floating just doesn’t feel the same.

  I start thinking about everything that’s happened since the Ghostcoming dance, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Probably laugh, because I still haven’t figured out how to produce tears yet, and let’s be real, crying without tears is WAY less satisfying. It’s just … everything that could go wrong has, like my afterlife has been put into one of those trash compactor machines and is being crushed from all sides. Winning Ghostcoming Queen was supposed to be this symbol that the Georgias of the school don’t get to rule anymore—that they don’t always get what they want. But Georgia is like some kind of superhero. No matter how many times I knock her down, she’s just going to get right back up, isn’t she? I have this vision of playing Whack-a-Mole at the arcade, but instead of the mole popping up it’s Georgia’s face with a speech bubble that says, “Georgia Lives 4Ever!”

  Which is ironic, since she’s dead.

  I feel myself get more and more heated, and so does the swing—it’s currently hovering around 180 degrees high, which is already higher than I ever went as a child, and I’m not even sure how it’s physically possible.

  I try to calm myself down.

  But my mind wanders …

  Colin’s another epic fail. I mean, after the dance we were supposed to be on our way to cute coupledom Lady-and-the-Tramp-style. It was finally going to be my turn to have a boyfriend. Or at least a first date! But that all went sour, too, didn’t it? Does Colin want me to be his girlfriend or some photographic specimen he’s studying? And Cecily? I don’t even know what to say about her. I thought that this Dance Club was something we were going to share together, kind of like old times. But now she’s drooling over the cheerleading uniforms, getting party invitations and not telling me about them, and basically showing, like, zero interest in the Limbos. Next thing I know she’s going to end up helping Georgia throw the very party that I’m not invited to!

  I should say something to her about how I’m feeling, but what am I going to say? “I hate that you’re thinking of joining the Cheerleading Squad and I don’t want you to go to Georgia’s party?” I mean, Georgia completely threw Cecily under the bus at the dance, just to get me in trouble! Doesn’t that mean anything to her anymore, or have the pom-poms totally obstructed her view of reality?

  But I can’t say any of these things. Because saying them, that would be so … harsh. And I don’t want to fight.

  I get so worked up that my swing starts flying higher and higher in the air—more than 180 degrees, and now I know this isn’t physically possible. Well, not normally, anyway. When I was younger, my brother, Sammy, and I used to play that game on the swings in our backyard—how high can you go? We’d stretch our legs out really long and try to touch the clouds with our feet. That was fun.

  This is not.

  “Ahhhhhh!” I screech as I lose complete control.

  What else is new.

  My swing climbs higher and higher until I end up looping it all the way up, over, and around the pole, like my own mini rollercoaster.

  Cr
azy ghost energy.

  When I’ve recovered from my circus moves and managed to slow down a bit, I shift over to the next swing, so I’m not hanging ten feet above the ground, and try to act like I had nothing to do with the swing wraparound. That’s when I notice Cecily walking across the playground, heading toward me. She sits down on the other normal-height swing next to mine.

  We’re basically just rocking back and forth, kicking the dirt.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get invited to Georgia’s party,” she says.

  “I’m not,” I reply. I’m not cold, exactly, but I’m not cheery, either.

  “I know you don’t want me to go,” she tells me.

  Of course I don’t want her to go, but I don’t admit it. Instead, I say, “I would never tell you what to do or not do.”

  What I want to say is that we swore we would always have each other’s backs. We promised we’d be there for one another no matter what. We said we were best friends, and that being in Limbo meant we had a shot at a friendship do-over—so we could do things differently than we did before when ballet was all-consuming and every girl was always out for herself. What I want to say is, “Doesn’t that mean anything to you anymore?”

  But I don’t.

  “The only reason I would go is if I get onto the squad,” she says, after what feels like a long pause. “I’ll have to go, if that happens, you know, to support her and the team.”

  “Right.”

  “I just … I don’t think it’s fair for me to have to give up what I want because you have issues with Georgia. It’s not like she and I are going to become friends or anything. It’s all about the squad.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  Just then the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch.

  “Well, we better go to class,” she says.

  We both get up and walk toward the back entrance of the school. Neither of us says anything else.

  I don’t know what to feel anymore. Maybe she’s right? Maybe I’m making too big a deal out of this, and it’s not about me and my thing with Georgia. Maybe I need to be more supportive of Cecily? Isn’t that what best friends are supposed to do? I feel all turned around. My brain is a soup of opposing thoughts and emotions, none of which taste good together.