Invisible Ghosts

  “That’s not fair,” I said, but he disappeared before I could finish.

  I stared at myself in the mirror, at the dress and the red lipstick, at my hair pinned back in a way that made me look shockingly grown-up. And then I glanced at the spot where Logan had been only moments earlier, realizing that I was going to have to choose.

  14

  I’D THOUGHT MY friends would bring their audition clothes to school with them, but instead they showed up wearing them. All the boys were in button-down shirts, except for Max, who was in head-to-toe black. Claudia had on a lace dress and character shoes, her hair smoothed back into an elegant twist.

  They looked so different dressed up. Like they really were characters from a play. And I looked like a techie who’d accidentally wandered into their scene.

  I’d left the dress at home. Instead, I’d worn my favorite leggings and a black oversized sweater. Clothes I couldn’t audition in. Clothes that made me disappear.

  I’d slept badly, and even after my alarm went off, the nightmares stuck around, half-remembered and strange. They thrummed together in the back of my head, all whispering the same thing: Don’t try out.

  So I’d left my dress on the back of my chair.

  Logan would be thrilled. Whatever it was that had begun to strain between us would snap back into place. Instead of feeling the shame of being passed over for a role, I could sign up for costumes, just like I always did.

  “Hey, Rose,” Sam said when I joined them. “I’m having a kickback at my place tonight. Hot tub, pizza, maybe even both at the same time.”

  “Hot tub full of pizza,” I said, trying to sound like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d invited me. “Check.”

  I’d never been to a kickback before. I’d heard my classmates talk about them, and I’d seen Delia scrolling angrily through other people’s photos, her lips thin with jealousy.

  “Pick you up at eight?” Jamie asked.

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

  “We could just meet there,” I said, since Sam lived approximately nine doors down.

  “We could,” Jamie agreed. “But how will I ever find you in the crowd?”

  I rolled my eyes over his terrible sense of humor.

  “‘Life finds a way,’” Max said, doing a surprisingly good Jeff Goldblum impression.

  And then the boys devolved into a debate over the relative merits of the Jurassic Park movies.

  “God,” Claudia said, making a face. “If someone says Steven Spielberg loud enough, it could cause a riot.”

  “Is that a dare?” I asked.

  “No!” Claudia giggled. And then she took in what I was wearing. “Are you really auditioning in that?”

  “Um,” I said. And then I took a deep breath and admitted, “Actually, I’m not trying out.”

  “You have to!” Claudia insisted.

  “My parents are really on me about my grades right now,” I lied. “I have three APs and I just got a seventy-eight on my precalc test.”

  Claudia winced.

  “So that’s why your mom kept asking me about my math class,” she mumbled.

  Actually, my mom was just nosy. But I didn’t say that.

  And I certainly wasn’t proud of my score on the precalc. But I knew what had happened. I’d studied the wrong things, assuming Mrs. Ortiz would test us on the homework sheets. But she’d pulled all of her questions from the textbook, screwing over everyone who hadn’t read the chapter forwards.

  “That sucks,” Claudia said, and then she got a mischievous look on her face. “Although, I bet I can think of a math tutor. . . .”

  I swatted at her.

  “So you’re really not trying out for the play?” she asked.

  “I can’t,” I lied. “If I get another C, my mom said she’d make me drop out.”

  “Ugh, fine,” Claudia moaned. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be completely depressed over it.”

  “Over what?” Jamie asked, breaking away from the Jurassic Park discussion and joining us.

  Claudia filled him in.

  “You could have asked me about the precalc,” he accused.

  “I know,” I muttered. “It’s just—I’m going to do costumes again. It’s less of a commitment.”

  “Costumes are boring,” Sam interrupted.

  “Shut up, or I’ll make yours assless,” I threatened.

  Jamie made a strangled noise.

  “All hail Rose, keeper of our nonboring and extremely tasteful costumes,” Sam said, giving me a sweeping bow.

  “Now that’s more like it,” I said.

  I BIKED HOME right after Gardner’s class, so I didn’t have to watch everyone rush toward the theater, clutching their audition sides. I tried not to think about how crestfallen Claudia had seemed or the lines I’d memorized to try out.

  But I still thought about them, because bike rides are traitorous things, where you assume you’ll be distracted by the scenery, but really, you’re left alone with your own thoughts. And my thoughts were kind of depressing.

  You wouldn’t have gotten a role anyway, I told myself. Not over Abby, or Christina, or Amanda. Not over Lauren Meyer, who’d been an extra on Disney Channel, or Reyna Washington, who’d starred in a Kohl’s commercial.

  I dropped my schoolbag on the bench with a sigh.

  “There you are,” Logan said, startling me. “How’d it go?”

  “I decided not to try out,” I told Logan.

  “That’s awesome,” he said, beaming. “I knew you wouldn’t bail on our tradition.”

  I squirmed, trying not to let on that I almost had.

  “Besides,” he went on. “We didn’t even get halfway through our Buffy marathon.”

  He looked so pleased at the thought of more quiet afternoons on the sofa that I forced myself to smile back.

  Maybe a mindless rewatch was what I needed, I told myself. So I settled onto the sofa, taking in the bad nineties fashion and terrible special effects and listening to Logan yell at the screen every time Buffy did something dumb.

  After the episode ended, I went into the kitchen, claiming I wanted a snack. But really, I needed a break. Hanging out with Logan wasn’t having the effect I’d hoped. If anything, backing out of the audition had made me feel even more stuck in the same place.

  I’d thrown away my shot, and now, I was starting to realize what that really meant. My friends were going to spend all their time together, at rehearsal, while I was left behind to watch TV with Logan, just like I’d been doing for the past four years.

  15

  I’D ALMOST FORGOTTEN about Sam’s party, but Jamie texted me a bunch of swimsuit emojis and a car, and with a start, I remembered that he was picking me up at eight. It was already six thirty, and my mom was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta while she hummed along to Joni Mitchell.

  “Dinner’s in fifteen,” she said. “Want to set the table?”

  I opened the cabinet and got down a stack of plates.

  “So a bunch of us are going swimming tonight,” I said, trying to make it sound like no big deal.

  I was hoping she’d be sufficiently distracted by the pasta that she wouldn’t ask me a million questions. Except of course that didn’t happen.

  “Swimming? Where?”

  “At Sam’s,” I said innocently. “He’s lifeguard certified and everything.”

  Actually, I had no idea if he was, but it seemed like the thing to say. And it seemed to reassure my mom, whose frown softened a bit.

  “Does this have something to do with a certain boy who was supposed to ask you to the movies?” she asked.

  I’d been hoping she wouldn’t make the connection. But that’s the worst part about being an only child—your parents never miss a thing. Unless that thing is the presence of your brother’s ghost, in which case mine were blissfully oblivious.

  “If it does, can I go?” I asked hopefully.

  Mom laughed and took the pasta over to the sink. I watched the
steam billow around her as she drained it, and when she looked up, her bangs had frizzed.

  “Will Claudia be there?” Mom asked.

  “Obviously,” I said.

  “Okay, I’ll allow it,” she said. “I like that girl much more than Delia.”

  “Thank you!” I said.

  “Not so fast.” Mom gave the pepper grinder a savage twist. “I want texts every hour. And you need to be home by eleven.”

  I was hoping for twelve, but I knew better than to argue. If I tried it now, she’d just ask what we were doing that I needed to stay out so late. Which she practically asked anyway, since I spent the entirety of dinner answering a million questions about Sam’s crowd, and what they were all up to, until I was ready to scream.

  When I went upstairs to get changed, Logan was in my room.

  “Hey,” he said. “What was for dinner?”

  “The Spanish Inquisition,” I muttered.

  “‘No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!’” Logan said, quoting Monty Python.

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

  Logan went on, encouraged, doing bits of the sketch as I dug out my collection of bathing suits.

  I tossed them onto my bed, trying not to despair. They were all terrible. Every single bathing suit looked cheap and generic, like I’d pulled them from the sale rack at Target. Which I had, but still.

  “Why do you need a bathing suit?” Logan asked.

  “Because Sam’s having a party.”

  “Ooh, can I come?”

  “No way.”

  “Pleaseeee,” Logan begged. “I want to see Claudia in a bikini!”

  “First of all, ewww, you perv. And second of all, too bad, because you’re not coming. End of discussion.”

  I grabbed the least offensive bikini—black-and-white gingham with bows on the sides—and went into the bathroom to change.

  “Did you forget that I can see through walls?” Logan called.

  I WAS STILL fussing with my waterproof mascara when the doorbell rang.

  “Jamie!” my mom said, using her terrifyingly upbeat telephone voice. “It’s been forever! Come in, have a seat in the living room. Rose is still getting ready. How’s your dad?”

  Oh no, my mom.

  I pulled on a tank top, jammed on a pair of flip-flops, and grabbed a towel.

  “Okay, hi, I’m here,” I said, racing down the stairs. “All ready to go.”

  Jamie and my mom were sitting awkwardly in the living room. He was wearing swim trunks and a T-shirt, and there was a hideous striped towel around his neck. He grinned when he saw me, as though he found my mom amusing.

  I remembered what I’d thought when I first saw Jamie, how he probably made all the girls in his English class swoon. Add mothers to that list, I told myself. And fathers, since even my dad was hovering in the doorway, holding a mug of tea and his iPad, shamelessly spying.

  “Hi, Mr. Asher,” Jamie said, calling him out.

  My dad shuffled into the living room.

  “Oh, hello,” he said, pretending to be surprised. “Didn’t realize we were having company.”

  It took another five minutes to get my parents to tone it down and let us out the front door. When we were finally at the sidewalk, I let out a sigh of relief.

  And then the door opened again.

  “Text every hour!” Mom shouted after me. “Emojis don’t count!”

  “Oh my god,” I muttered.

  Jamie’s shoulders shook with laughter.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “My mom and stepdad are the same.”

  Which of course made me worry even more, because I couldn’t tell whether he meant in general or whenever he went on a date. Not that we were on a date. We were just walking over to Sam’s place together, because Jamie had to park somewhere, and in front of my house was as good as in front of the Donovans’.

  All of a sudden, I was hyperaware of the fact that we were alone. Together. On a Friday night. And then I was hyperaware of the fact that my bathing suit bottoms had gone so far up my butt crack that they were practically flossing my teeth. I tried to pull at them discretely under my shorts, but it was no use; they’d taken root.

  “How was the audition?” I asked.

  Jamie shrugged.

  “Okay, I think. I’ll know for sure on Monday.” He glanced over at me. “We missed you.”

  He paused a moment, as though debating asking me something.

  “You’re so obvious when you do that,” I pointed out, and he laughed.

  “Okay, Sherlock,” he said. “Why did you really bail on the play? Because I don’t buy that precalc excuse you gave Claudia.”

  I shot him a look, hating that he’d guessed.

  “Logan,” I said. “I can’t— I mean, it’s impossible when my parents are home, so the only time we have together is in the afternoons, which is—”

  “—the same time as rehearsal,” Jamie finished.

  “Well aren’t you just a clever little cleverness,” I told him.

  “Thank you, I am,” he said. But then he went suddenly serious.

  “Rose?” he asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “You know that it doesn’t matter whether you try out for the play, or sign up to be an usher, or say screw it and go out for the Debate Team. We’re all friends no matter what.”

  I didn’t realize that was exactly what I needed to hear until Jamie said it.

  “Thank you,” I said softly.

  “But please don’t join the Debate Team,” he said, making a face. “They’re so pretentious.”

  “Ugh, says the boy who wears loafers without socks,” I teased.

  Jamie lifted an eyebrow.

  “Take that back,” he insisted. “Or I’ll toss you in the pool.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I warned.

  Jamie menaced toward me, and I twisted away, laughing.

  His brown eyes were endless pools in the lamplight, and I felt a flutter of expectation, because somehow we’d skyrocketed miles closer to a kiss in just a few seconds.

  Even though Sam was only having a kickback, I still expected to see a crush of cars and plastic cups outside the Donovans’ place. For there to be some evidence of the clichéd high school parties Logan had rolled his eyes over while sorting his Magic deck.

  But everything looked neat and orderly. I could hear music coming from the backyard, though, and splashes from the pool.

  “Thanks for coming with,” Jamie said. “I hate showing up at parties alone.”

  I gave him a weak grin, wondering what he’d meant by that. If it was his way of letting me know we weren’t on a date or his way of asking if we were.

  Jamie pushed open the gate, and I felt this thrill go through me. I was at my first real party. And I was here with Jamie Aldridge. If you’d told me on the first day of school that I’d show up at Sam’s pool party with a boy, I would have laughed in disbelief. But now, it seemed just as impossible that I’d ever gone over to Delia’s house for manicure night.

  Sam’s backyard was strung with twinkle lights, which cast a warm glow over everything. An old Kendrick Lamar song was playing, and at least a dozen flip-flops were discarded throughout the yard, turning the patio into an obstacle course.

  Reyna and her musical-theater friends were crowded around the fire pit, toasting marshmallows and recording it with their phones. Some theater seniors had a game of flip cup going on the patio furniture. Lara and a few other techies were sitting along the edge of the pool, dipping their feet into the deep end. Over in the shallows, Sam and Nima were aggressively tossing a foam football. And Claudia was in the hot tub with Abby Shah, whose enormous boobs were on full display in the world’s tiniest gold bikini.

  “Yo!” Sam called, waving. “Perfect timing.”

  He hoisted himself out of the pool, dripping wet. I glanced away, embarrassed, since his swim trunks were clinging. Sam didn’t even notice. He just dug through a cooler, opened two beers, and passed them over.

>   “Thanks,” I said, trying to look nonchalant.

  “How’d you swing these?” Jamie asked, examining the label. He sounded like he was used to this kind of thing—to parties, beer—or maybe he was just better than me at pretending.

  “Used my brother’s old ID,” Sam said. “Pizza’s on its way. Claudia insisted on Hawaiian, but I got a couple of supremes.”

  “I like Hawaiian,” I said, and Jamie gave me a disgusted look.

  “Fruit,” he informed me, “does not belong on a pizza.”

  “Google ‘is a tomato a fruit’ and then talk to me again when you’re ready to apologize,” I told him.

  Sam cracked up.

  “Aww, you two,” he said, pinching Jamie’s cheek. And then he cannonballed back into the pool.

  The water splashed everywhere, and Abby shrieked, shielding her hair with her hands. But Claudia just laughed. She looked flawless as always, in a crochet bikini. Her hair was knotted into a perfect version of the loopy bun I’d been aiming for, and she wasn’t even sweating from the steam.

  “Hey,” she called, waving.

  “Guess we should go in,” Jamie said, pulling his shirt off like it was nothing. He kicked off his flip-flops and stood there, wearing just his swim trunks.

  I glanced away, embarrassed at the sight of his nipples, his belly button, his hip bones.

  It had never before occurred to me how much bathing suits were like underwear. But it certainly occurred to me then. I swallowed nervously, looking down at my own tank top and shorts. Oh my god. I was actually going to have to unbutton my shorts in front of him. To take off my top.

  I decided the best strategy was Operation Band-Aid. I ripped my shorts off as fast as possible, practically tripping over them. And then I was down to my bathing suit, which was actually smaller than my underwear. And strapless.

  “Oww-woww! Rose!” Claudia cheered, like I’d done a seductive striptease instead of an embarrassed locker-room strip.

  “Shut up,” I grumbled, making a beeline for the hot tub.

  Max and Darren arrived just after us. And suddenly, everyone was talking about the auditions. Apparently a ton of freshman had shown up, which made it drag on forever.

  “Thankfully a bunch of people from our class didn’t try out,” Darren said. “Medieval Times is hiring, so the Ren Faire crowd is doing that.”