Messenger Read online

  She needed to take a trip west to Cassadaga. I’d tell her so today.

  65

  But Tommie had been there. If only for an instant. I’d seen her right there at Paulie’s.

  66

  Aunt Odie dropped me off at school with a, “I’ll make sure to bring you some lunch, ’kay, punkin?”

  I gave her a wave over my head, surging into the school with the crowd. I didn’t even look back. I had work to do. Avoiding-Buddy-slash-Justin-slash-my-first-almost-real-­boyfriend­-slash-why-hadn’t-he-told-me-about-Tommie-sooner?

  More in depth? Like, everything?

  Kids pushed against me, laughing, hollering. I heard someone clear a loogie out of his throat and spit. Several girls squealed, “Ew!”

  I couldn’t bother with any of that. I rushed to my locker.

  Buddy stood there, looking sweeter than cream and prettier than Aunt Odie’s best cake. He wore a T-shirt the color of lake water, and even from across the hall I could see his eyes.

  “Evie,” he said when he saw me, and his expression lit up like the sun this morning burning off the dew.

  My heart slammed in my chest. I turned, fast, and went empty-armed toward class.

  I ran into three people trying to get away from Buddy. One guy nearly knocked me down but caught me around the waist as I went flying and pulled me onto my feet.

  “Evie!”

  Over the intercom, the vice principal said something about teachers and a three fifteen meeting. A group of cheerleaders blocked the hall a ways down. They were doing a cheer. In the hall of all places. Why? Lots of people had gathered to watch them. Why again?

  I rushed through the line at, “Gimme a D!”

  “Buddy,” someone said. A girl.

  I didn’t look back. Not all the way, I mean. Buddy ran past one cheerleader, who had broken out of formation and now followed him.

  “Not now, Kelly,” he yelled. And, “Evie, why are you running from me?”

  Up ahead was the bathroom. I’d just go there. Wait. Catch my breath. Worry about this morning and Mr. Bargio’s sister and all those people looking so sad. Worry about Tommie and Momma and JimDaddy.

  Buddy grabbed my arm. The bell rang. The hall cleared.

  Then it was just the two of us.

  “Get to class,” a teacher called, and shut the door.

  “Why are you trying to get away?” Buddy said. I could smell spearmint.

  Then he grabbed me and kissed me so hard I thought I’d lose my breath. His hands were warm and the kiss was warm and—not here in the hall, right here at school, where Tommie might be spying.

  “Buddy,” I said, though he still kissed me. “Buddy.” My voice was a whisper.

  I pulled away and plowed into the bathroom.

  67

  I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was flushed from the best kiss I had ever experienced. I gasped for air. Leaned against the sink. Thought to swoon.

  Buddy knocked on the door.

  “Evie, come on out. Please.”

  Tommie peeked out of a stall.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “What do you do in here?” she said. She gave me a disgusted look, and I went to the sink. Would I see her in the mirror? I glanced one-eyed past my image. Yup. There she was. Not a thing like a vampire. Not that I had ever seen a vampire in a mirror. Or anywhere for that matter.

  “Ummm,” I said. I splashed water on my face.

  “Right,” she said.

  Spirits needed to potty? Okay. After this morning, I’d believe anything. All those ghosts. That kiss. All those ghosts. That . . .

  Buddy. “Evie?” Tap, tap, tap. “Evie.”

  Water dripped off my nose.

  Tommie tilted her head. “Is that . . .” She paused. Pointed at the door. “Is that Justin?”

  My skin seemed too hot. My fingers shook.

  Why was I meeting a ghost in a school bathroom after kissing her used-to-be boyfriend in the hall? That seemed . . . wrong. No. Unfair.

  And meeting? This was not a scheduled encounter.

  “Evie!”

  I pushed the door open a crack. “Not now, Buddy. Please!”

  He deflated right in front of my eyes. Got shorter. His face went bright red. His shoulders slumped.

  I stepped into the hall and threw my arms around his neck. Hugged him so tight I bet he couldn’t breathe easy.

  “I gotta . . .”

  What? Talk to a ghost who’s hounding me? And not just any ghost—the ghost who wanted to marry you?

  Buddy held me by the shoulders. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Evie,” he said. He let me go, tucked his hands in his pockets, and walked away. Maybe even sauntered away.

  My heart leaped watching him.

  I turned back to the bathroom. Unhappy now. I was being followed by the dead. Or whatever you called this. Haunted! That was it. I was being haunted.

  So what if that group of the dead at Paulie’s had a sacred feel. This one was downright bugging me. And by the way, she wasn’t glowing. Jell-O-y? Yes. Glowing, no.

  And anyway, what about all those famous ghosts? Didn’t Bloody Mary show up in bathrooms? Or Freddy Krueger?

  This I did not want to know. I walked into the restroom, hands out, eyes squinched shut.

  “What are you doing?” Tommie asked.

  I opened my eyes and glared at her.

  She glided over to where I stood. Leaned against the sink. Her hair looked perfect. She wore the same clothes as she always did. But there was that smell. Sour.

  “Justin was talking to you,” she said. Her eyes, brown and huge—like JimDaddy’s—seemed let down. Disappointed. When she spoke again, she whispered. “He doesn’t speak to me anymore either.”

  I wiped my hands on my blue jeans.

  “My own momma is gone.”

  Wiped my forehead with my arm.

  “I can’t get anyone to talk to me.”

  She didn’t know.

  “Only you.” Tommie turned to face me.

  She didn’t know she was dead.

  “You are my onliest friend, Evie Messenger.”

  My heart pounded like a racehorse’s hooves.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  Tell her, my brain said.

  No. Never. It wasn’t my place.

  But it is, my brain said. This is part of the Gift.

  “No!” I said.

  “Excuse me?” Tommie’s eyes were too sad to look at.

  Do it! Brain said.

  Tommie came closer. “What’s the matter with you, Evie? Are you losing sight of me too?” Her voice was light as a breath of air.

  I took a deep breath. “No. I’m still here. I can see you fine.”

  She smiled. The full-blown smile I imagined her father missed most of all.

  “I’m not sure what I’ve done that people ignore me.” Now she gazed at me in her mirror. Tried to turn on the faucet so she could wash her ghosty hands that looked like real hands.

  I ran my palm under the sensor for her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I was at the dryer now. My hands wet (drying your hands on your own clothes only works so well). My throat closed up.

  The bell rang, blasting. Oh my gosh, I was going to be late to class. I could hear doors being opened in the halls. Could hear people calling for one another, laughing, just a few feet away. Where was Buddy? Three girls burst into the bathroom. I didn’t recognize any of them, and they pretended they didn’t see me, walking past and into stalls, talking about chemistry being the worst class ever.

  Tommie drifted over to where I stood.

  “I’m awful lonely.”

  Not so sure Tommie still spoke to me. Maybe just t
alking.

  My legs shook.

  She waved her hands under the hand dryer, but nothing happened.

  Did it again.

  Again.

  Have you ever tried to choke down a brick? I had to open my mouth to breathe.

  Tommie and I stood eye to eye. “I can never make this work,” she whispered. “You turn it on.”

  “Freak, why are you just standing there?” one girl said. She watched me, hands on her hips. Her friends came out of the stalls.

  I glanced at the girls. Then back at Tommie.

  “You’re dead,” I said. And started the dryer with a swish of my hand.

  68

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” Bathroom Girl said.

  I didn’t answer. Just watched Tommie melt into the tile floor. Saw a bit of glow follow her, like she was being chased by lightning bugs.

  Really? Was the magic word “dead”? Like “please” or “thank you”?

  “I said,” the girl said, grabbing onto my shoulder and trying to manhandle me around, “are you threatening me?”

  I guessed it sounded like I was, if you looked at each little word.

  “Don’t you take that crap, Leslie,” her brunette friend said.

  “She was threatening you,” her other friend said.

  Leslie came so close I could smell garlic (this early?) on her breath and Nicki Minaj perfume.

  “I wasn’t even talking to you,” I said. “Get a life.”

  And I left the building.

  69

  Not really.

  I walked out past Tommie, back from the floor, who made a swipe at my arm and missed.

  I will tell you one thing. Seeing ghosts gives you more courage when you’re looking in the face of a skinny bully with braces.

  Also, Momma and me took a self-defense course a couple of years back.

  That helped a lot.

  70

  Telling a ghost she’s dead isn’t as easy as you’d think.

  They don’t poof! away. After they dissolve into the floor, they reappear and stay on you. Tail you down the halls. Into your next classes.

  Follow you to the door to where someone like Buddy might be standing, waiting, too.

  The whole time they’re crying.

  Saying things like Prove it! Prove it! Prove I’m dead!

  Trying to make you look at them, see them, pay attention.

  Standing on that bridge between the living and the dead is not so easy. ’Cause yes, the dead can see you, but so can the living.

  71

  After the final bell, Buddy stepped in front of me. Students hurried to the parking lot that was filled with catcalls, horns honking, and engines starting. The sun was so bright, I couldn’t see at first. The heat was a blanket. It felt more-than-normal humid out here after the air-conditioned school. Like stepping into a damp rag and using it as a cloak.

  “Evie,” Buddy said, walking over. He held his hand out. “Evie.”

  Oh, I wanted to storm past Buddy. And I sort of did. I mean I slowed some. Made it off the sidewalk. Didn’t look at him. Tried not to remember that kiss.

  Oh, that kiss.

  A salty breeze blew past.

  The beach.

  I would go to the beach.

  There was time before I had to work with Aunt Odie and see Momma and Baby Lucy and JimDaddy and do homework.

  I’d call Momma and tell her. Use my birthday phone (that had calls and messages only from Momma and JimDaddy and Aunt Odie on it. And Buddy. Plenty from Buddy. And lots of Pearl. Pearl! I’d almost let my best friend get lost in this weirdo life I was stuck in the middle of). I could figure things out listening to the waves crash on the shore. Hearing the cry of the seagulls. Standing in the surf.

  “Evie,” Buddy said. “Talk to me. Please. I don’t know what I did.” He was beside me now. “Again. I keep messing up and I’m not sure what I’m doing. Or what you’re doing.”

  I looked up into his eyes.

  He didn’t know. How could he? But wasn’t there a law, somewhere, that said if you had a girlfriend who died, she shouldn’t be allowed to haunt your next almost-girlfriend?

  If not, there should be.

  Not that I was Buddy’s almost-girlfriend. Not yet. Would I ever be?

  “I’m going to the beach,” I said.

  Someone flew past in a red Camaro, radio blasting. They beeped and Buddy raised a hand at them.

  “I’ll take you,” he said.

  So I let him.

  72

  Buddy turned the AC on full blast, and we trailed out of the high school parking lot, headed east.

  I let out a sigh that seemed to come from the marrow of my bones.

  I. Was. So. Tired.

  Ghosts, mix-making, and early-hours traipsing all over Florida can do that to you.

  I dropped my book bag.

  Realized I hadn’t seen Tommie since I stepped outside.

  Not once.

  Why not?

  I checked the backseat, looking for her.

  “This place is a mess,” I said. Maybe ghosts didn’t like dirty cars.

  “Thank you,” Buddy said. He grabbed my hand. Held it in his. His fingers so warm. He cleared his throat.

  I looked out the side window. Groups of kids walked on the sidewalk. Headed home? To the beach too? The trees reached across the road, the leaves joining together to make an umbrella against the sun. Azaleas colored the ground, all pink and white and purple.

  “I need to know about you,” I said. “Tell me about you, Buddy.” I stretched out my arms, still linked to him. My legs. My fingers. I even stretched out my hair. I kicked my feet in the garbage (McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and Taco Bell bags), trying to make a place to rest.

  I needed to rest.

  Maybe . . .

  . . . maybe ghosts were allergic to the sun, and that meant I would never be able to go inside again because I had to avoid Tommie.

  Buddy squeezed my fingers in his.

  “Tell you about my life? What do you mean, Evie?”

  We slowed and stopped for a red light. There was our town’s cemetery. Would there be ghosts there? Waiting?

  People who had drowned at the beach?

  Car accident victims, waving?

  Maybe only Tommie couldn’t come outside.

  Yup. There were aplenty in the cemetery. Standing under trees, mostly.

  “You look so pretty breathing like that,” Buddy said.

  I tilted my head. “I always breathe like this,” I said.

  He nodded. “I know.”

  73

  When we got to the beach, Buddy parked on the sand and rolled up his pants like guys in commercials about expensive perfume and sweaters do. He kept a tight hold on my hand, and the sun grew hotter by the water. Salt stuck to our lips and the sand got between our fingers. (Sand is magic. It finds its way into everything. Like ghosts.)

  And I kept silent because the waves wanted me to sleep. I could tell by the way they rolled up onto my toes. And the sun wanted me to sleep and petted at my head, though I was sure I was getting a sunburn on my nose.

  I just wanted to walk with this good-looking boy. I didn’t need to know anything more about him and Tommie.

  But that’s not how life works.

  Because as a couple of surfers were catching an okay wave, and three little kids ran into the water, their momma following them, and as I was getting ready to forget everything about everything, Buddy said,

  “I loved Tommie.”

  74

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Who loves anyone at age twelve?”

  “I did. We did.”

  Why had we walked so far? Now we had to go all the way back to the car that seemed to have made its w
ay down to Cocoa Beach.

  The wet sand shimmered. Foam drew lines in it, marking where the waves had ended.

  My throat closed up.

  Death played dirty tricks on the living. Yes, it did. Tragic, agonizing, deplorable tricks.

  I spun around and looked into Buddy’s face. He hovered right on the edge of another step, one that would push us together. He rocked in the wind, waiting.

  “Never mind,” I said, whispering. Somewhere down the beach a child screamed from joy.

  I was kidding myself.

  Why?

  Because if his dead girlfriend wasn’t in my bedroom when I went home this afternoon, would I have even cared if he had been in love?

  No.

  I would have been sad for him she was gone. But glad that I knew Buddy. And got to kiss him and look in those eyes of his.

  He said, “I didn’t think I’d ever want to be with someone else. But when I saw you . . .”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry.” My words might have been carried away by the wind. And then, “When you saw me, what?”

  Buddy looked at me so hard, something curdled in my chest. “I thought, ‘ That is the prettiest girl I have ever seen.’ I was drooling all over myself. Then I thought, ‘I’m ready to care about someone again.’ ” Waves crashed and a seagull cried out overhead. “You’re different, Evie Messenger.”

  “You have no idea.” I rested my head against his chest. That’s what I needed. Him being ready for a new person in his life. Not sleep at all.

  Buddy hugged me. “It’s been a long time,” he said. “I can talk about it now.”

  75

  We talked in the car. He talked. Cried. I listened. Windows down. Gusts of wind. Sand from my feet on the Wendy’s bag and black floor mat.

  “I was there.”

  What? There?

  He’d been there? In the car? In the wreck?

  Jeez.

  Jeez!

  I sat quiet and listened.

  But I couldn’t help thinking maybe, maybe Buddy could have died that day too.