“Wait!” Lily says right as I’m about to go in.
I jump. “What?” I whisper.
“It’s just weird,” she says. “I haven’t seen my room in a while.”
“Well, get ready,” I say, “because we’re going in.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t look ready. But it’s too bad, because we don’t have time to wait until she gets herself all emotionally stable. I mean, we’re on a schedule here.
I open the door and step inside. It’s dark, and it takes my eyes a second to adjust. Luckily, there’s a tiny night-light plugged into an outlet on the other side of the room, and that helps a little. I start walking over toward the window, figuring the balcony is the best place to start.
“Ow!” I cry as I stub my toe on something. It’s a treadmill. Actually, now that I’m able to see better, it looks like Lily has a lot of exercise equipment in here. There’s a weight bench in the corner, and a bunch of dumbbells resting against the wall. “I guess you like to work out,” I grumble, rubbing my toe.
“No, I don’t,” she says, shaking her head. “This isn’t . . . This stuff isn’t mine.”
“Really?” I ask. “You didn’t have a weight bench?”
“No!” she says, sounding kind of panicked. “This isn’t my room.”
“We’re in the wrong room?” Great. So much for her wonderful memory. Now I’m going to be lurking around up here, trying to find the right room. Probably I’ll have to start opening doors. I might even accidentally end up in her mom’s room. Which would be weird. I mean, no one wants to go into their parents’ room. There’s way too big a chance you might find something you don’t want to see.
“No,” Lily says, shaking her head, confused. “We’re not in the wrong room.”
“Yes, we are,” I say, trying to keep my patience. “If this stuff isn’t yours, then—”
“But I’m sure this is my room.” She half walks, half floats over to the wall. “See?” She points to a place by the windowsill where her initials are scratched into the paint. “I carved that there when I was five.”
“Okay,” I say. “So then . . . Oh.” I nod, finally getting it. “Your parents turned your room into a gym.”
“They what?” she screeches. “They turned my room into a gym? That’s awful! I’ve only been dead for a few months!”
“Well,” I say carefully, “everyone grieves in their own way. I once helped this ghost whose parents had another baby right after she died. I mean, it wasn’t like they were trying to replace her or anything. They just—”
“Whatever,” Lily says. She seems like she’s trying to keep herself from getting too emotional about the whole thing. “So what? They turned my bedroom into a gym. It’s not like I expected them to keep everything in here the same. I’m dead, after all. It makes perfect sense.”
“Okay,” I say, not really certain if she means it or not. I mean, she sounds like she does, but you never can tell with ghosts. One minute they’re fine; the next minute they’re having a complete meltdown.
“Just because this room’s a gym doesn’t change what we’re trying to do,” she says. She has a determined look on her face, and she toys with one of the bangles on her wrist. “So let’s find this balcony and get out of here.”
“Okay.” I cross the room to the window and look out, but there’s no balcony. “It must be at the other window,” I say. Which doesn’t make much sense. If I remember right, that side of the house faces out onto the neighbor’s property. And honestly, who wants a view of their neighbor’s yard? Probably someone added it who thought they knew what they were doing. My dad has his own construction business, and he’s always getting called in to help people who’ve messed up their houses by doing their own home improvements.
I cross the room to the other window and pull back the curtains, expecting to see a nice set of French doors. But there’s nothing—just your standard window.
“There’s no balcony here,” I say to Lily.
“That’s impossible.” She crosses the room and looks outside. “But . . . I’m positive I fell off a balcony. And I’m positive that whatever is going to help me move on has to do with finding something in my room.”
I look around and sigh. “Well, unless an exercise bike or an ab roller is essential to you moving on, I don’t think we’re going to find what we’re looking for here.”
“But we are!”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve seen this happen before. See, when you die, your memories about the important stuff get all jumbled up. So you’re probably not remembering everything correctly.”
“But I know it was a balcony!” She’s getting all insistent and raising her voice. Yikes.
“Look,” I say, “I understand how you feel, but being dead, it’s . . . it’s different than when you were alive. I’m sure you used to have an amazing memory. But you don’t realize how—”
The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs cuts me off. I freeze. Crap. I was so thrown by the fact that there was no balcony that I totally forgot about Madison.
“Come on,” I whisper to Lily, and make a beeline for the door. If I’m fast, maybe I can make it back to Madison’s room before she gets there.
But just then the door to Lily’s room/her parents’ new gym flies open. Madison flips on the light, and blinks at me.
She takes in the scene.
Me, standing there by the elliptical. I lean against it, trying to look nonchalant.
“What are you doing in my sister’s room?” she demands.
“Your sister’s room?” I try to look confused. “I thought this was a gym.”
“It’s not.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s my sister’s room. And no one’s allowed in here without my permission.”
Wow. Talk about having an inflated sense of self. I mean, really. No one’s allowed in her sister’s room without Madison’s permission? I doubt it.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” She looks around, like she thinks I might have made a mess or stolen something. “What were you doing in here, anyway?”
“I was, um, looking for the bathroom.”
“And then you decided to walk all the way over to the window?” She raises her perfectly arched eyebrows skeptically. We definitely should have spent our makeup time on her teaching me how to get my eyebrows like that.
“Well, um, I started feeling hot.” I fan myself with my hand. “And then I thought maybe I was going to faint or something. So I knew I had to get some air. So, um, I wouldn’t pass out. So I was trying to get to the window.”
I flutter my eyelids in what I hope is a convincing way.
Madison shakes her head. “Kendall,” she says, “it is definitely time for you to leave.”
“But I—”
“No.” She holds her hand up like she can’t take me saying another word. “Leave. Now.”
Chapter
7
Well. So, obviously that didn’t go very well.
And I can’t blame anyone but myself. I mean, think about it. How stupid was I? Not listening for Madison to come back when I was snooping around in her house? Making up some ridiculous story about how I was hot and thought I might faint? Seriously, that might be the worst lie I’ve ever told.
I have a hard time sleeping that night. I toss and turn, my thoughts swirling around in my head like a crazy hurricane. First I think about Brandon. Then my mom. Then Madison.
I’m halfway hoping Mrs. Dunham will show up and haunt me a little, just so I’ll have something else to focus on. But apparently now that me and Brandon are over, Mrs. Dunham has decided to leave me alone.
Finally, at around six o’clock, I give up and get out of bed.
I put my iPod in its speakers and turn on some music, hoping it will get me out of my funk. I crank the volume up high and let the bass shake the walls. I don’t have to worry about my dad getting annoyed with me, because he left about an hour ago.
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He wasn’t home when I got back from Madison’s last night, and so I crumpled up my note about going out so he wouldn’t ask me a ton of questions. When he got home at around ten, he came upstairs and knocked on my door, but I pretended I was sleeping.
I’m still not ready to talk to him.
Since I’m awake so early, I spend the extra time doing my hair in two French braids that loop around my head. It’s sort of a Princess Leia look, but a little more polished. I saw Katharine McPhee wearing her hair like this in an episode of Smash, and I’ve practiced it a couple of times on the weekend, but I never had time to do it on a weekday until now.
Once I’m done with my hair, I pull a long white V-neck sweater on over my fave black skinny jeans, and then tuck the bottom of my pants into my boots. They’re not as cute as Madison’s, obviously, but they’re still pretty cute. And they’re cozy.
Then I grab the scarf she gave me off the hook on the back of my door and loop it around my neck. Hopefully, when she sees me wearing her scarf, she’ll remember that we’re supposed to be friends. I’m going to have to get back on her good side somehow, and maybe this will be a good start.
“That scarf is a good touch,” Lily says, nodding in approval as we walk to the bus stop.
“Thanks.”
Lily’s been quiet this morning, sitting on my bed most of the time, looking out the window and not really moving except to drum her fingers to my music. Which is fine with me. I’m not really in the mood to talk.
On the ride to school I listen to my iPod and stare out the window, zoning out as I watch the houses zoom by.
I walk into school with my music still on. I’m at my locker, getting my books for the morning, when someone yanks the earbud out of my ear.
I shriek and turn around, expecting to see Mr. Jacobi or another teacher standing there. We’re not supposed to be wearing our iPods in school, but since school hasn’t technically started yet, I figured I could get away with it. But it’s not Mr. Jacobi standing there. And it’s not another teacher. It’s Ellie.
I’m so shocked and happy to see her that for a moment I can’t find my voice.
“Hi,” I say finally.
She doesn’t reply. She just stands there, looking at me. I know it has only been a couple of days, but I miss her so much, it hurts. I’m used to talking to her multiple times a day, every day. Not being able to just call her or text her whenever I want has been torture.
The way she’s looking at me is making me a little nervous, though. Why isn’t she saying anything? Obviously, she wants to talk, right? Or else she wouldn’t have come over here and pulled my earbud out of my ear.
“What’s up?” I try. I pull some of my books out of my bag and slide them into my locker.
“Anything you want to tell me?” She sounds mad.
“Um, what do you mean?” I’m not trying to stall or be smart. There are a million things Ellie could be talking about. Like me seeing ghosts, me lying to my dad about going to see my mom, me—
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, all sarcastic-like. Jasmine Flavia, who has the locker next to mine, is trying to put her books away, so Ellie moves to my other side. The only problem with that is, now my locker door is in between us. Ellie solves that problem by reaching out and slamming it shut.
“Hey!” I say. “I wasn’t done.”
“Maybe your new friend Madison can help you,” Ellie says. “Now that you two are besties. Or should I say ex-besties?”
I’m having trouble keeping up with this conversation. “I’m having trouble keeping up with this conversation,” I say. I reach out and start twirling my lock so I can open my locker again, but then I decide I probably shouldn’t do that if Ellie wants to talk. If there’s any chance we can make up, I should be giving her my undivided attention.
“So why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, her eyes accusing.
Again, there’s a million things she could be talking about. “Why didn’t I tell you what?”
“About you and Madison Baker!” She says “Madison Baker” like it’s equivalent to the devil. Which it kind of is.
“I don’t think this girl likes my sister,” Lily says, sighing. She doesn’t say it in an accusing way, though. She says it more like she’s used to people not liking her sister, and she’s bored of it. She turns around and wanders off down the hallway.
I’m glad Lily’s not the kind of ghost I have to worry about. The last two I had to help? Forget it. I couldn’t let them out of my sight for a second.
“Me and Madison Baker? What about us?”
Ellie’s eyes look like they’re going to bug out of her head. “How you went over to her house last night!”
“Oh.” I turn back to my locker and start to twirl the combination lock again, mostly because I need something to keep my hands busy while I figure out what to say. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“Of course I care!” Ellie says. “You’re my best friend.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” I ask softly. I slide my locker door open so she can’t see my face, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to start crying. “I thought you never wanted to talk to me again.”
Ellie reaches out and shuts my locker halfway so she can see me. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t really have to say it. I mean, you brought all my stuff over to my house and dumped it on my front porch.”
She sighs, and I can see the mental battle going on inside her. “I don’t hate you, Kendall,” she says finally. “I’m just mad. And confused.”
“Ellie, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say. “And I definitely didn’t mean to lie to you.”
“Then why did you?”
Good question. “I don’t know.” It’s not a truthful answer, obviously. I might lose Ellie anyway, but if I tell her about the ghosts, then I’ll definitely lose her. I take a deep breath. “It’s complicated. But I didn’t do it just to lie to you.” I slide my locker door open and finish gathering the books I need for my morning classes. I try to think if there’s something I can say that might not technically be a lie, but I can’t come up with anything. “Look,” I say finally, “Micah was upset about his sister who died, and I was helping him.”
Ellie shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”
I don’t say anything.
“I don’t understand,” she says. “If you like Micah and you don’t like Brandon, then why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I don’t like Micah.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not what Madison Baker is telling everyone.” She shifts her book bag on her shoulder and bites her lip. “And honestly, Kendall, that’s not the only thing she’s saying.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, a sick feeling rising in my throat.
The bell rings then, and Ellie looks over her shoulder down the hall. “We should get to homeroom.”
But neither of us moves.
“We could go talk . . .,” I offer, holding my breath.
“You mean skip?”
I nod. Ellie and I just skipped a class a few days ago, when I started having a meltdown about Brandon. It was the first time I ever skipped a class, and now here I am a few days later, suggesting we do it again. Apparently, I’ve gone rogue.
She leans in. “I don’t know,” she says. “Last time we skipped, we ended up under the stairwell, and that was weird.” She shakes her head. “So many people walking up and down.”
I swallow. “We could leave school and then come back. We could pretend we were just late or something.”
“Don’t you need a note to be late?”
“I’m not sure.”
She thinks about it, then looks over her shoulder at the rush of kids all taking off toward their homerooms. She takes a step toward them, and I’m sure she’s going to say no and head to homeroom.
But then she turns around, and her eyes soften, and I catch a glimpse of the Ellie who’s my best friend, the Ellie who took care of me last year when I
had the flu, the Ellie who always compliments me on my crazy hairstyles, the Ellie who would do anything for me.
“Okay,” she says, her face breaking into a smile. “Let’s do it.”
* * *
The key to doing something wrong and not getting caught is looking confident. So when Ellie and I walk out of school, I make sure to keep my shoulders back and my head held high.
Ellie, however, apparently doesn’t know this rule. Which makes sense. I mean, I have a lot more experience when it comes to doing things I’m not supposed to. (See: taking off to see my mom, lurking around Madison Baker’s house, etc., etc.)
Ellie scuttles along, her head down, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk except for when she looks up to take furtive glances over her shoulder to make sure no one’s behind us.
“Where are we going?” she whispers to me.
Good question. “Um, the coffee shop on the corner?”
There’s a coffee shop right across from school. I’ve never been there, but my bus always passes it.
“Isn’t that a little too close?” Ellie asks. “What if we see someone from school?”
“Everyone from school is in homeroom,” I point out.
“Oh.” She nods. “Good point.”
The coffee shop is warm and inviting, and the delicious smell of cinnamon and coffee hits my nose as soon as we get inside.
Suddenly I’m ravenous.
“I didn’t have breakfast,” I tell Ellie. “I’m going to get a cinnamon bun. You want anything?”
“Just a coffee.”
Ellie gets us a table while I stand in line to get the food and drinks. The coffee shop is busy, mostly with people grabbing their morning joe before heading off to work.
I concoct a whole story in my head about how I’m homeschooled, just in case the people working here ask why I’m not in school, but when it’s my turn, the cashier, an older woman with a purple streak in her black hair, takes my money and hands me my change without saying a word.
When I get back to the table, Ellie’s looking out the window, a sad look on her face.
“Here you go,” I say, setting her coffee down in front of her. “I, um, put cream and sugar in it for you. And I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I got you this chocolate chip cookie because it looked good.”