The Ghost in Me Read online

  But my name isn't among the list of assignments for costumes.

  Confused, I look back at Roz and Elise, who hook arms with Cass, as she steps between them. They jut their chins at the list, urging me to look again.

  I re-read--slower this time--going up from the bottom. No, I'm not with the set crew, nor hair and make-up. Nor lights and music.

  Is there another page?

  No. Just this one.

  The color slowly drains from my face. My skin goes cold and clammy. My eyes slowly move their way to the top.

  I'm not a tree.

  Not a soldier.

  Not a townsfolk 3, 2, or 1.

  Not the witch's cat.

  "Here!" Roz says, jumping over me to plant her finger near the top of the list. "Here you are! Somehow, someway... you're Nelle!"

  Oh, no.

  A thousand pricks of electricity burst over my skin.

  She's right.

  How can she be right?

  But there it is. Second from the top, under Prince Bastian, who's being played by Duey, I see it. My name. In black letters. Next to the character of Nelle.

  I read it again.

  Nelle: Myri Monaco.

  "Isn't it awesome?!" Cass says, pumping her fists with a squeal. "You got the lead! You beat Brittley!"

  Chapter 20

  "Nonsense!" Diggs says, turning from his computer. "You were wonderful! Wonderful!"

  My face scrunches up in disbelief. "Were we even at the same audition?"

  "Of course! Of course, we were!"

  "But I can't act. You saw me. I ran out of the theater. When I get in front of people for presentations, or anything involving speaking, I choke up."

  "No, I don't think so."

  "But I will. I know I will."

  "You won't. You'll be perfect."

  "I'd rather be perfect at something that doesn't involve speaking. If I have to be in the play, cast me as a tree."

  Diggs shakes his head, gives a wave of his hand. "All this talk about trees.... It'd be foolish to waste your talent."

  "No, it wouldn't! I'd love that."

  He grimaces. "Myri, listen. I'll admit, you started with a few jitters, but that's normal. It didn't last long. After you came back to the stage, you carried Nelle's role off perfectly. I loved the nuances, the accent, the mannerisms, how everything flowed so smoothly together.

  "You stepped so completely into character. It was as if you weren't even there. And that, my dear, is rare, for someone so new to acting. You have natural talent. And it would be a crime, if I didn't reward it." He pauses, looks at me warmly. "You have a gift, Myri. You let yourself fade away and allowed Nelle, our heroine, to shine through. It was amazing to watch. It took my breath away. It still does, when I think of it."

  "But it--but that--it was a fluke! I want to be on the set crew! Or costumes! Put me with my mother on costumes."

  He opens his hands. "I imagine your mother would love for you to pitch in--that is, if you have time. But, Myri, plays hinge on the performers who play the leads. You are an example of a strong performer. A thespian, which the rest will follow. You'll bring out the best in everyone. It will amount to a fine set of performances all around."

  "But--"

  "I'm really quite hopeful this will be the best play we've done."

  "But what about Brittley?"

  "Brittley has been cast in a fine role. She'll make a great witch. A good witch is hard for any actor to pull off. She'll need to be not only believable in her role, but likeable, despite all the bad things her character says and does. Being able to pull that off is very important in keeping the audience engaged throughout the show. I dare say, Brittley has a fair bit of work cut out for herself. I've already talked to her about it, and she's willing to take on such a challenge. That is why we need you to play the part of Nelle."

  "We?"

  "We." Mr. Diggs gives a curt nod. "Me. The club. The school. The theater...." He pauses. "I didn't want to tell anyone this, but the theater has been struggling financially for some time. If things don't turn around soon, this may be the beginning of the end for Ardenport Community Theater. Part of ACT's partnering with us has been done with all good intentions and hopes of bringing in new patrons. Young patrons and their families. And by all means, as I see now, new talent.

  "You, Myri, are new talent. Exciting talent.

  "And new, exciting talent always brings new life to a theater." He rubs his hands together. "So, not only is Wolford Academy depending on you, Ardenport Community Theater is depending on you. Everyone in the play will be depending on you. As will I be depending on you to elevate the entire performance."

  Diggs's eyes grow distant, his hands pause in the air. "Let's just say I couldn't have asked for more in an audition. Because if what I saw a few days ago indicates what you can do with a first-time experience on the stage, then Watch out!" He snaps his fingers. "I know there are only better things to come."

  Chapter 21

  Better things have not come.

  In drama, we spent the morning acting like animals. Literally. To teach us how to deal with embarrassing situations when we find ourselves feeling like idiots--like those never-ending moments when we're acting in front of hundreds of people....

  I couldn't even howl in front of twenty-nine.

  Because that was my assignment. To howl like a hyena.

  And then, when I asked to be excused to the bathroom? I was told to stay in character.

  Uh, yeah. Like I was going to lift my leg, so I could pee like a wild dog.

  And now at lunch, Cass is wagging her finger over her milk at me, saying, "You know, Myri, you say, 'I can't do this,' a lot. But you know what? Based on what I saw last Friday, I hate to tell you, but you can. I think Diggs made the right choice. You were good. Especially when you thought what you did wouldn't matter. Maybe you need to stop worrying so much."

  I look at Roz, but even though she knows what really happened in that audition, she says, "Cass is right, Myri. I mean, look how well it worked out. For one thing, you'll get a passing grade."

  "Oh, great, and for another thing?"

  She takes a bite of cinnamon roll, talks around her food as she chews. "Well, Duey isn't paired with Brittley, so he's safe."

  Safe? My mouth drops.

  A snort erupts from the end of the table, where Brittley is examining her red-tipped fingernails. "Actually, Roz, I couldn't agree more, which is really quite surprising, all things considered."

  Twirling her hands down, Brittley parks them on the studded, black belt at her hips and presses her chest forward through a white buttoned shirt. "Yes, Duey is safe. Because after he's done rolling his eyes at every pathetic thing Myri says and does, as she tries to act out her role of a goat--." Brittley pauses to sneer, then raises her voice to a sickly lilt.

  "You did read the play, didn't you, Myri? For the entire play, until the very last scene, you're dressed as a goat. Because the witch--hah, me!--has a fabulous touch." She tosses her head, brushes her hand on her shoulder. "So, with everything you'll be bungling during your performance, combined with that lovely costume you'll have to wear, Duey will have no where else to look, but at me. And for a witch, I won't be looking all that bad."

  She fixes a cold gaze on Roz. "So, I agree. From one girl to another, you're right. He's safe with Myri."

  Cass drops her fork and stands to meet Brittley at eye level. "Oh, I'd say he's safe. But the facts in your fantasy are a bit off. Because after all's said and done, after Myri and Duey have spent all that time practicing and reading their lines together--out of costume, I might add--sharing those romantic moments, sharing that last... romantic... kiss...." Cass pauses. Roz seems to catch a small bug in her throat. Brittley's eyes flutter.

  And in the space of that silence? My brain does a flip in my skull.

  Kiss?

  Cass smiles. "Yeah, kiss," she says, reading Brittley's face. "The costume isn't going to matter. She has to wear it, how long? For a few h
ours during dress rehearsal and the play?

  "So, yeah, you can strut your witchy-stuff anyway you want, but Duey isn't going to be interested in looking anywhere, but here." Cass points down on top of my head, leans toward Roz, whispering, "Sorry, I'm just saying...."

  Roz shrugs, gives me a thankful look. "Sure... Myri will be awesome at whatever needs to be done."

  Cass looks Brittley up and down, lets a slow smile curl on her face. "Think about that, why don't you, while you're rehearsing for your role of a wicked, old witch."

  Uh... did she say, kiss?

  Chapter 22

  Okay, so I've never been kissed.

  And the last place I want to experience my first is in front of thousands of people.

  Okay, maybe not thousands, but still. Even just one other person would be bad enough--and, oh gosh--I'm getting crinkly just thinking about it--but why does my first have to be in front of someone like Diggs? I mean, is he going to coach us? Direct? Provide tips?

  Agh!!! I can't stand it!

  What is a kiss doing in a middle-school play? Isn't that like PG-13 material?

  Okay, so I'm older than thirteen--but that doesn't mean I'm ready and willing to act like it all the time.

  I take the script from my bedside table, flip to the final pages.

  Maybe Diggs will allow a few changes. What's the difference if the spell is broken with a kiss on the lips, or a kiss on the cheek? Or the hand? A kiss is a kiss, right? When Prince Bastian is holding me in his arms, we could do a kiss on the cheek. That wouldn't be so bad.

  I drop the script in my lap.

  Why am I even thinking I'll make it to the final scene?

  This whole play is going to be a disaster, with or without the kiss. I'm Nelle. And it's not going to be good.

  Plus, if I couldn't get Diggs to change his mind about the roles, he's not going to change anything about this.

  I reach up and swat a red balloon left over from the science fair. It dips down and skims my white rug, where it slows into a lame spin. I'm startled when Wren appears behind it.

  "Aw," she says, with a tip of her head. She slaps her hands through the balloon. "Y' look sorrier than the cat that ate the pig. What's wrong with ye?"

  I look at her, don't say anything and roll over, pretending to read.

  Wren slips in front of me, hovering on her knees. Her long tufts of hair fall through my arms. "They won't be having ye in the play now, will they?"

  She reads the slight arch of my brow, darts back in surprise. "Well, no glory be to God! Yer in?"

  I nod.

  "How did y' be getting to do that?"

  I raise my hands in frustration. "Because you got me the lead?"

  This truly is more of a question, than a statement. I still can't believe it.

  Wren's mouth drops open in bewilderment. Her face changes from horror to delight. "Well, isn't that the news that makes me day!"

  "Hardly."

  "Well, it means I did ye a good job. I didn't totally flub it up for ye."

  "Wren... I wasn't supposed to get a part."

  She rolls her shoulders to brush off her excitement, leans back, sinking a little into the wall. "Tell the teacher y' can't, then."

  "Tried. Didn't work."

  "Oh...." Wren kneads her hands at her thighs. "Well, there's got to be something good to be got. Who'll be the prince?"

  As if she doesn't know.

  "That boy, Duey? The one we tried out with?"

  She squeals before I even get a chance to reply.

  "Awww. Don't tell me there isn't a wee bit of gladness in ye! Acting in a fairytale with a boy as good-looking as Heaven is reason enough to turn a jig through the floor!"

  "Maybe for you. But just so you know, by today's standards, Duey is not all that good-looking."

  Wren crosses her arms, spins a circle in the middle of the room. "That'd be news to my ears. And yers, too, if they didn't know y' were saying it. If they hadn't felt what I was feeling when we were reading lines beside him. That wasn't my blood chugging through me heart, blazing me ears red with heat."

  "I'm sure you had something to do with it."

  She juts her nose up in defiance. "Kept ye on yer feet, I did. And y' still haven't thanked me for it."

  I roll my eyes, pull a face. "Thanks."

  Wren drops to a silent heap on the floor, tucks her knees in under her long, drifty skirt. "Yer telling me yer not the least bit excited?"

  When I don't answer, she looks away. "I'd die at the chance to play the likes of Nelle, to be meeting the prince of me dreams--"

  "Well, that makes one of us."

  "How can y' be turning on luck as good as gold?" She shakes her head, slaps her hands through the floor, although not intentionally. After a moment, her eyes go even more cloudy. "Goll, Myr, how can y' not like it? Being up there on that stage... for the first time in me life... it was amazing! And I could read! With yer help, with yer mind--I could read again!"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Yer brains... with my brains... they didn't go forgetting, just because I was stepping in."

  Wren shakes her head, courses her hands over her throat. "hose words were singing themselves out of me mouth.... T'was much better than answering questions in silence about history."

  After a moment, Wren ducks her head. I watch as she folds her nightgown in long pleats, moving hand over hand, flattening the faded fabric under her palms.

  "Can you feel that?" I blurt. "The wool brushing against your skin?"

  She holds a hand up, presses her thumb to her fingertips. "No, not really. It's almost like me mind, and me body are just remembering how it would be, if I were." She shrugs, lifts her eyes to meet mine, then moves to the window, where she fidgets with her hair, her clothes.

  I watch her, this ghost of a girl I've known so long. This ghost who is so full of life, yet, so lost from what it means to be truly living--at least, in this world. And she's certainly not embracing the next. Could she see beyond the window pane? Into the darkness where the stars burned bright? Or, was everything faded into shadow, unable to pass into the fringes of her world?

  "I can feel this, though." Taking her hands from the windowsill, Wren cups them together, begins rotating them for an energy ball. "It's weird, but it's the first thing I've ever done on me own--after all these years--that I can feel."

  I bring my hands together like hers. "You can feel heat?"

  She tips her head, considering. "It's more like how a butterfly would be, flitting against me palms."

  I watch, as she rotates her hands around something that seems less real than herself. How is it that someone who doesn't amount to a whisper in the wind can pack so much ferocity for life?

  "What do you miss most?" I suddenly ask.

  She locks her clouded eyes with mine. "Everything."

  Chapter 23

  This is a test. This is only a test.

  This is a test of the Emergency Ghost-Possession System.

  If this had been an actual emergency--as in a real-life, hostile possession--my body, and all its functions would not be working for me at this moment, or ever, perhaps....

  "We have another preparatory exercise to learn for the stage today," Diggs says. "Make yourselves comfortable. On your desk, on your chair, or on the floor, if you prefer. Just make sure you're in a place where I can see you."

  Some people move to the floor, but Wren keeps me seated.

  We're getting good at this--Wren and me--in working things out with drama.

  Every morning, we wake up, go to school, sit at my desk, and then, Wren takes over like she's supposed to.

  And everyday, when Diggs takes attendance, he doesn't know that technically, I'm not here--at least, not sitting in my own skin. Which is great. It truly amounts to one hundred percent me-time.

  I don't have to deal with Brittley's hostile looks. I don't have to deal with the smell of Jordan Droone's feet, when he pumps up his aerator sneakers--swish, swish, swish--to air out
his sweaty feet. I don't have to deal with the embarrassment that washes over me when I read my lines.

  Nope. I don't have to deal with any of that. Smell and touch don't make it to my side of the world. Wherever my side is.... I haven't quite found the boundaries.

  But I've laid plenty of boundaries for Wren. The first being, stay in the back row. If she's going to be me, then she's going to do it with as little attention as possible. That means, no talking, unless spoken to. No silly mannerisms from the 18th century, unless they're needed for rehearsal (NOT liking that detail). No kid-like goof-ups--which, so far, haven't been a problem. After three hundred years, even a twelve-year-old ghost can act mature. Kind of. When she wants to.

  "It's good to hear your stage voices so early in the day," Diggs says, "but let's put them away, so we can begin."

  For a drama teacher, Diggs is turning out to be kind of cool, although he'd be a whole lot cooler, if he'd stop calling my mom. Not that he's calling the house. He's calling her cell phone, which makes it even more annoying with the way she ducks out of the room.

  She's never done that--step out to take a call. And she's never laughed so much on the phone, either, which is a change, so I know they're not talking about death and burials. But what makes him so funny?

  "Today, we're going to be learning about what may be the oldest word in human language. Or, at least what some say is linked to the origins of the universe and its infinite space. What do you think of that?"

  No one says anything.

  "Repeat after me. 'Ohhhmmmmm.'"

  Some kids giggle, including Wren, because yeah, that's funny, even if it sounds dorky.

  Diggs holds up a hand. "This is serious, kids. Give it a try. There's a good reason we're doing this."

  He starts humming. This time, most of the students join him. "Ohhhmmmm!"

  The ohms go up and down, which he directs like a music conductor.

  "Can you feel that vibration?" Diggs asks.

  "The whole class feels like it's vibrating," Duey replies. He's sitting two rows over, between Cam and another kid named Warren Sims.