“Lucy, look at me.” Lucy looks up at the woman, meeting eyes filled with concern. “Oh, honey.”
Something like hope unfurls inside Lucy when she registers that there are no secrets between them and that somehow Adelaide Baldwin knows Lucy isn’t any ordinary student walking into this office. Lucy plays with the hem of her sleeve, asking, “You know who I am?” She suspects that with this question, she has irrevocably shifted the conversation away from something official and related to enrolling her, to something unofficial and related to keeping her hidden.
“You were a local star heading to Harvard before you were killed.”
Lucy has to swallow her fear of the answer in order to push the question out: “If you know I died, why aren’t you surprised to see me?”
Instead of answering, Mrs. Baldwin asks, “When did you come back to Saint Osanna’s?”
“A few weeks ago.” Lucy looks past her, at the kids leaving the building and walking toward the quad, or dorms, or dining hall. “I found classes where the teachers don’t seem to notice me. Why is that?” she asks. “Why is it that nobody sees me?”
“Because they aren’t looking. They don’t need to see you, Lucy.”
“Need to see me? I don’t understand,” Lucy says. Does Colin need to see her? And for what? “So there are others? Here, at the school? Jay said something about Walkers?”
“That’s what some people call them, yes. They walk around the grounds, tied to this place for one reason or another and unable to leave. It’s different for each of them.” Ms. Baldwin begins placing files and stacks of paperwork back into her bag. Apparently their conversation is over.
Panic begins to fill Lucy like a rising tide. “I don’t know why I’m here,” she says quickly. Will Ms. Baldwin report her to the authorities she mentioned? Are there some sort of ghost hunters that will send her back? “It felt right to come here.”
“I know.”
“Do you know why I’m here?” Lucy asks.
“No,” she says. “You’re not the first I’ve seen in my day.”
“Where are the others? The Walkers? Is that what I am?”
Ms. Baldwin doesn’t answer, simply gives a little shake of her head. It’s as if she’s already resigned to the reality that there’s nothing to be done about the problem of Lucy.
“Can I stay here? At Saint Osanna’s?”
The social worker nods. “I don’t think we have a choice. Exorcisms don’t work. Nothing seems to work. We just have to wait for you to vanish.” She blinks away, dropping a pen into her bag and mumbling, “Thankfully, most do.”
Lucy’s chest seizes and she turns to the window, staring out the filmy glass. Vanish? Where would she go? How can she stop it?
Ms. Baldwin pulls her out of her thoughts. “Do you have money?”
Lucy hasn’t had a need for it yet, being confined to the campus and lucky enough to not need food or water. No one in the laundry facilities noticed a ghost girl sneaking out boots and socks and old uniforms. “No.”
Ms. Baldwin reaches for her bag, pulls out an envelope, and removes several twenties. “I doubt anyone would notice, but I don’t want you getting caught taking something. Where are you staying?”
Lucy takes the money and curls it into her fist. It feels warm from the purse and scratchy against her skin. “In a shed.”
Ms. Baldwin nods again as if this is satisfactory. “Does anyone else know about you?”
“A boy.”
The woman laughs and closes her eyes, but it isn’t a happy laugh. It’s an of-course-a-boy-knows laugh. A whydid-I-even-bother-asking laugh.
Ms. Baldwin nods resolutely as she stands. “Take care, honey.” She hitches her purse up and over her round shoulder.
“Thanks.”
Adelaide Baldwin faces her and smiles a little before turning to the door. With her hand on the knob, she pauses, facing away so Lucy can’t see her expression as she says, “The other kids like you? They seem to want to take someone with them. Try not to, Lucy.”
Chapter 12 HIM
THIS GIRL, THIS GIRL. SHE HUMS TUNELESSLY along with songs she says she doesn’t remember. She does the craziest things with her hair and uniform, weaving leaves and ribbons into her long braid. She laughs loudly at his jokes when they walk down the hall together and doesn’t seem to care that no one ever notices her. Colin wonders why that is. Jay sees her. A few of the teachers. But that’s it. It’s as if, for them, her face blends into the background. Plain. Generic.
But Colin notices everything.
And these small details—her simple confidence, flirty smile, and infectious laugh—make it impossible for him to stop obsessing about touching her the way he wants to. She’s easy with her affection: a hand on his arm, leaning into his side on a bench. But he’s so fascinated with her, with her thoughts and lips and hands, the easy touches make him increasingly hungry, feeling too small in his skin.
She asks him to walk her around campus and the woods and tell her about growing up in a small town where the prestigious boarding school employs practically everyone.
“People assume I had this traumatic childhood—which I guess I did—but it was mostly me being a crazy townie and doing wild tricks wherever I could. There were so many people here taking care of me, it was impossible to ever feel lost or lonely.”
She smiles up at him, but her eyes are a provocative, sympathetic indigo. He drags his frantic gaze across her face, cataloging every expression. This kind of longing makes him want to roar, to hurl logs and stones, to claim her somehow.
“So, were you always the Kid Whose Parents Died?” she asks.
He laughs at her instinctive recollection of how everyone in this small town has an unofficial title. “I think I used to be. Now I’m the Kid Who Jumped Fifteen Feet to Flat in the Quarry and Didn’t Die. Even Dot heard about that one.”
Shaking her head, she says, “You were crazy to do that,” but her eyes have gone metallic brown, swirling.
“Not you too!”
“Colin. Objectively, that was an insane move.”
“It’s not insane,” he says. “It’s about fear. Everyone has the same abilities physically, at least they can. The difference is I’m not afraid to try.” Colin can remember that stunt better than almost anything: He pulled his bike to the ledge, took a deep breath, and balanced—eyes focused and muscles taut— before jerking the frame up in a hop over the lip. The bike cut a razor path straight down to the boulder, slicing cleanly through the air. Both wheels glanced off the stone in unison before rolling a rocky path down to the base of the quarry. I landed at the bottom next to it. Body: bruised. Arm: broken. “I met you the next day,” he adds. He’d still felt nearly high from the jump, and then she was there: the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. This second memory, just as clear.
She hums, brushes her fingers against his, and the tickling current travels up his arm before evaporating. He wants more. He practically aches for her touch. It’s more than hormones. It’s like he’s physically drawn into her space, has to force himself to keep any sort of acceptable distance. He pulls away slowly, forming a fist.
“Wonder what your title was,” he says, distracting himself from the sudden urge he has to drag her down on the trail and cover her body with his. “The Girl with the Snorting Laugh?”
She snorts, and then smacks his arm as if it were his fault. “Maybe.”
“The Girl with the Wicked Eyes?”
“Only to you.” Her dimple makes a cameo appearance.
“Right,” he says, laughing. “The Girl Who Kicked All the Boys’ Asses in Chemistry?”
She starts to answer, grinning, her jaw already pushed out in pride, but she looks at his hands, formed into tight fists at his hips, and her expression straightens. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes out his hands, laughs nervously. “Nothing.”
“Are you upset?”
Colin begins walking again, tilting his head for her to join him. He doesn’t know how to do this, how he’ll ever do this. He likes her. He wants Lucy to be his girlfriend in every way that matters, including the ways that mean he can touch her. The urge to kiss her is becoming suffocating.
Something like hope unfurls inside Lucy when she registers that there are no secrets between them and that somehow Adelaide Baldwin knows Lucy isn’t any ordinary student walking into this office. Lucy plays with the hem of her sleeve, asking, “You know who I am?” She suspects that with this question, she has irrevocably shifted the conversation away from something official and related to enrolling her, to something unofficial and related to keeping her hidden.
“You were a local star heading to Harvard before you were killed.”
Lucy has to swallow her fear of the answer in order to push the question out: “If you know I died, why aren’t you surprised to see me?”
Instead of answering, Mrs. Baldwin asks, “When did you come back to Saint Osanna’s?”
“A few weeks ago.” Lucy looks past her, at the kids leaving the building and walking toward the quad, or dorms, or dining hall. “I found classes where the teachers don’t seem to notice me. Why is that?” she asks. “Why is it that nobody sees me?”
“Because they aren’t looking. They don’t need to see you, Lucy.”
“Need to see me? I don’t understand,” Lucy says. Does Colin need to see her? And for what? “So there are others? Here, at the school? Jay said something about Walkers?”
“That’s what some people call them, yes. They walk around the grounds, tied to this place for one reason or another and unable to leave. It’s different for each of them.” Ms. Baldwin begins placing files and stacks of paperwork back into her bag. Apparently their conversation is over.
Panic begins to fill Lucy like a rising tide. “I don’t know why I’m here,” she says quickly. Will Ms. Baldwin report her to the authorities she mentioned? Are there some sort of ghost hunters that will send her back? “It felt right to come here.”
“I know.”
“Do you know why I’m here?” Lucy asks.
“No,” she says. “You’re not the first I’ve seen in my day.”
“Where are the others? The Walkers? Is that what I am?”
Ms. Baldwin doesn’t answer, simply gives a little shake of her head. It’s as if she’s already resigned to the reality that there’s nothing to be done about the problem of Lucy.
“Can I stay here? At Saint Osanna’s?”
The social worker nods. “I don’t think we have a choice. Exorcisms don’t work. Nothing seems to work. We just have to wait for you to vanish.” She blinks away, dropping a pen into her bag and mumbling, “Thankfully, most do.”
Lucy’s chest seizes and she turns to the window, staring out the filmy glass. Vanish? Where would she go? How can she stop it?
Ms. Baldwin pulls her out of her thoughts. “Do you have money?”
Lucy hasn’t had a need for it yet, being confined to the campus and lucky enough to not need food or water. No one in the laundry facilities noticed a ghost girl sneaking out boots and socks and old uniforms. “No.”
Ms. Baldwin reaches for her bag, pulls out an envelope, and removes several twenties. “I doubt anyone would notice, but I don’t want you getting caught taking something. Where are you staying?”
Lucy takes the money and curls it into her fist. It feels warm from the purse and scratchy against her skin. “In a shed.”
Ms. Baldwin nods again as if this is satisfactory. “Does anyone else know about you?”
“A boy.”
The woman laughs and closes her eyes, but it isn’t a happy laugh. It’s an of-course-a-boy-knows laugh. A whydid-I-even-bother-asking laugh.
Ms. Baldwin nods resolutely as she stands. “Take care, honey.” She hitches her purse up and over her round shoulder.
“Thanks.”
Adelaide Baldwin faces her and smiles a little before turning to the door. With her hand on the knob, she pauses, facing away so Lucy can’t see her expression as she says, “The other kids like you? They seem to want to take someone with them. Try not to, Lucy.”
Chapter 12 HIM
THIS GIRL, THIS GIRL. SHE HUMS TUNELESSLY along with songs she says she doesn’t remember. She does the craziest things with her hair and uniform, weaving leaves and ribbons into her long braid. She laughs loudly at his jokes when they walk down the hall together and doesn’t seem to care that no one ever notices her. Colin wonders why that is. Jay sees her. A few of the teachers. But that’s it. It’s as if, for them, her face blends into the background. Plain. Generic.
But Colin notices everything.
And these small details—her simple confidence, flirty smile, and infectious laugh—make it impossible for him to stop obsessing about touching her the way he wants to. She’s easy with her affection: a hand on his arm, leaning into his side on a bench. But he’s so fascinated with her, with her thoughts and lips and hands, the easy touches make him increasingly hungry, feeling too small in his skin.
She asks him to walk her around campus and the woods and tell her about growing up in a small town where the prestigious boarding school employs practically everyone.
“People assume I had this traumatic childhood—which I guess I did—but it was mostly me being a crazy townie and doing wild tricks wherever I could. There were so many people here taking care of me, it was impossible to ever feel lost or lonely.”
She smiles up at him, but her eyes are a provocative, sympathetic indigo. He drags his frantic gaze across her face, cataloging every expression. This kind of longing makes him want to roar, to hurl logs and stones, to claim her somehow.
“So, were you always the Kid Whose Parents Died?” she asks.
He laughs at her instinctive recollection of how everyone in this small town has an unofficial title. “I think I used to be. Now I’m the Kid Who Jumped Fifteen Feet to Flat in the Quarry and Didn’t Die. Even Dot heard about that one.”
Shaking her head, she says, “You were crazy to do that,” but her eyes have gone metallic brown, swirling.
“Not you too!”
“Colin. Objectively, that was an insane move.”
“It’s not insane,” he says. “It’s about fear. Everyone has the same abilities physically, at least they can. The difference is I’m not afraid to try.” Colin can remember that stunt better than almost anything: He pulled his bike to the ledge, took a deep breath, and balanced—eyes focused and muscles taut— before jerking the frame up in a hop over the lip. The bike cut a razor path straight down to the boulder, slicing cleanly through the air. Both wheels glanced off the stone in unison before rolling a rocky path down to the base of the quarry. I landed at the bottom next to it. Body: bruised. Arm: broken. “I met you the next day,” he adds. He’d still felt nearly high from the jump, and then she was there: the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. This second memory, just as clear.
She hums, brushes her fingers against his, and the tickling current travels up his arm before evaporating. He wants more. He practically aches for her touch. It’s more than hormones. It’s like he’s physically drawn into her space, has to force himself to keep any sort of acceptable distance. He pulls away slowly, forming a fist.
“Wonder what your title was,” he says, distracting himself from the sudden urge he has to drag her down on the trail and cover her body with his. “The Girl with the Snorting Laugh?”
She snorts, and then smacks his arm as if it were his fault. “Maybe.”
“The Girl with the Wicked Eyes?”
“Only to you.” Her dimple makes a cameo appearance.
“Right,” he says, laughing. “The Girl Who Kicked All the Boys’ Asses in Chemistry?”
She starts to answer, grinning, her jaw already pushed out in pride, but she looks at his hands, formed into tight fists at his hips, and her expression straightens. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes out his hands, laughs nervously. “Nothing.”
“Are you upset?”
Colin begins walking again, tilting his head for her to join him. He doesn’t know how to do this, how he’ll ever do this. He likes her. He wants Lucy to be his girlfriend in every way that matters, including the ways that mean he can touch her. The urge to kiss her is becoming suffocating.
