Haunted by Jay Mirano (the reading list book txt) 📕

it's pretty ridiculous, but it's the last thing left I can think of to pass the time. I know, I could probably fly to Paris and hang off the top of the eiffel tower if I wanted to, but that's just it; I don't want to. I feel drawn to this place, and more importantly I feel drawn to the people who live here. Mom, Cassie, even Ryan. I don't think I'm ready to leave them just yet.
   I'm attempting to balance myself on the edge of the Jefferson High sign―and falling through it―when I notice Cassie hop out of her Dad's Land Rover. Wow, she looks crappy. Okay, that's mean, but it's true. She's so pale she's almost translucent, her normally luscious hair hanging flat and lifeless beside her face. Oh god, this is worse than when Mom dug out my Snuggy Bunny. Cassie's meant to be the strong one out of the two of us. I can barely believe she looks so run-down.
   She tugs self-consciously at the strap of her bag before trudging towards the school gates. I hop down from my place above the sign and trail behind in her wake, wishing she could see me but also somehow glad that she can't. Cassie pauses before Jefferson's doors, her hand gripping the handle so hard her knuckles turn white. I reach out to touch her shoulder, and as my hand falls through I notice her shudder as if struck by a cold breeze. Did I do that? Jeez, I've got to remember not to touch people.
   I continue following her as she makes her way through the corridors. Kyle's hovering beside her locker with knitted brows, chewing on his bottom lip. Cassie looks up as we pass, and Kyle moves to hug her. She pulls away harshly, and Kyle stumbles as his arms fall down on thin air. Cassie plasters her eyes to the floor, ignoring Kyle as he calls out behind her. I'm suddenly struck by the image of Cassie lying crumpled and alone on rain-slicked tar, and I wonder if that's why she's mad at Kyle. I can't imagine him ever abandoning her like that, but what if he did? If he did he deserves a hard punch to the jaw, but I can't do that anymore. Unfortunately.
   Cassie picks a seat right at the back of homeroom, and she slumps into the uncomfortable wooden chair like she's trying to make herself disappear.
   "What are you doing, kid?" I say, hovering cross-legged above the desk next to her. "This ain't gud, kid."
   She doesn't reply, of course. She makes no indication that she's heard me speak. She doesn't even shudder like she did earlier. But that's when I notice that new kid, Mason Greene. He's staring right at me―smirking!―like he's in on our joke or something. His eyes are locked right on mine, even though I'm hovering several inches in the air.
   "Take a picture, it'll last longer," I say sarcastically, and as I do, he looks away, his auburn hair tumbling down to cover his eyes. Weird. Probably just some crazy coincidence.
   As the rest of the class starts to shuffle in, I notice Cassie shrink away further, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She buries her face in her arms just as the bell rings.
   Mitchell Rodgers is giggling about something with Dylan Gunner. Those two are usually laughing about something though, being self-designated class clowns. Little do they know, no-one else finds them funny. To the rest of us, they're just immature dorks. But they like to live in their little bubble of quasi-hilarity, and people don't bother them much.
   But today they're acting different. They're desperately trying to repress the escalating laughter that's reverberating between them, every so often casting a look back over their shoulders at Cassie like she's the butt of their latest joke. Usually they're obnoxious about something they find funny, but today they seem to be trying to hide it.
   They're laughing too hard to stop it now, though. The teacher's not here yet, and they're taking full advantage of it. Dylan mimes out something with his hands, two fingers stuck up on one and the other curled into a fist, knocking the fingers over like bowling pins. Mitchell lets out a sharp, raucous laugh and shouts, "I know! Who'd be stupid enough to get hit by a car, anyway?"
   He's obviously said it louder than he intended, because he instantly reddens and shuts his mouth. Even Dylan looks a little disturbed, and buries his hands in his lap like he's trying to conceal evidence. But it's no use. Cassie's heard them, and somehow manages to go paler than she already was. She presses her lips into a thin line, looking royally pissed. She calmly gets out of her chair, walks up to Mitchell and whispers, "What did you say?"
   "N-nothing, just joking around."
   "You were talking about Aly, weren't you," oh boy, you knew Cassie was mad when she spoke so softly.
   "Uhh no, don't be a tard. It's none of your business, anyway."
   "You know what, I think it is my business."
   Before Mitchell could respond, Cassie grips a fistful of his hair and slams his face against the desk. Hard. The whole classroom echoes with the sound of it. Mitchell lets out a whining sort of cry, his hands cradling his face. A few of his pimples have burst, staining his skin a pinkish-red. A slow trickle of blood slithers out from his nose, pooling above his quivering lips.
   "Talk shit about my bestfriend like that again, and it'll be way worse," Cassie basically growls. She spun on her heel and made her way back to her desk, crossing her arms over her chest and blowing some wayward strands of hair out of her face.
   A hush descends upon the classroom. No-one says a word as Mitchell half-staggers half-runs from the classroom, moaning and clutching his nose. Ms Sayers give him a quizzical kind of look as he rushes past her in the doorway, almost spilling her mug of coffee.
   "Please children," she sighs, setting her mug on the desk. "Do refrain from maiming eachother before first period."
   Ah, typical Sayers. Cassie and I always said she's only in this job for the paycheck. Poor Cassie. Her face is buried in her arms again, and she looks like she's trying not to cry. The last time I saw Cassie cry was when Craig Donovan called her fat in the seveneth grade. After that day she'd sworn she'd never cry over a guy again. I wasn't about to let her break that oath, and besides, a lame remark made by Mitchell Rodgers was hardly a reason to break down in tears.
   "Don't listen to him," I say, willing Cassie to look up at me. "He's hardly qualified to make comments on my stupidity, anyway. Remember that time he locked himself in a cubicle in the girl's bathroom 'cause he was trying to spy on Sabrina getting changed? I'm pretty sure half the school could hear him crying to be let out."
   I heard a loud snort of laughter, but it wasn't from Cassie. It was from that Mason kid. What the hell? I glared at the back of his head, watching as he tried to subdue himself. Even Ms Sayers was staring at him, which I suppose is warranted when a kid starts laughing out of the blue in your classroom. In teacher language, that means he's either stoned or attention defecit... Or both.
   I storm around to the front of Mason's desk, planting my hands on the wooden surface and struggling to stop them falling through. "So you can hear me! I knew it. Can you see me as well? Huh?"
   Damn I wish I could grip solid objects. I'd rattle this desk so hard just to get a rise out of him. Of course now he isn't responding, just gazing out the window like he's admiring the weather or something. Earth to Mason! It's Seattle, there's nothing but drizzle and gray clouds out there.
   "I'm not fooling around here, douchebag. Either you tell me how and why you can see me, or I'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Do you really want that? Do you really want a deranged sixteen-year-old following you around for all eternity?"
   "Excuse me, Ms Sayers?" I think it's the first time I've heard Mason speak. "Are we done here yet? I have band recital to get to. Y'know how it is, big perfomance coming up and all that."
   Wow, he lies like a pro. I guess this isn't his first attempt at bunking off school. Ms Sayers looks at her watch, squinting at the gold face shining back at her from the inside of her wrist. "There's five minutes left."
   "Yeah, but the music hall is on the other side of the school. I mean, we're really awful. We could use all the practice we can get."
   Ms Sayers sighs, smoothing a loose strand of dark red hair back into her bun. "Fine," he says, waving her hands in Mason's direction. "You can go. But make sure you get some kind of note from your music teacher next time."
   "Oh, there won't be a next time," Mason flashes her an award-winning grin. "Thanks a bunch Mrs S! You've just saved my ass big time."
   She frowns. "Just get out of here already."
   I tap my foot impatiently as Mason gathers up his bag and confidently strides from the classroom. As soon as the door wheezes shut behind him, I latch on like an attack dog. "So what's the deal, mister? Tell me or I'll go Poltergeist on you!"
   Mason laughs, making his way down the hall. "There's no deal, there's no secret conspiracy against you. It's just one of those things."
   I speed in front of him, trying my best to block his path. "What's that supposed to mean?"
   Mason walks through me like I'm nothing, and I feel a surge of nausea hurtle through me as he does. Ouch. Let's not do that again please.
   "If you don't mind," he says, casting a look over his shoulder and grinning at me. "I'd rather have this conversation someplace else. I don't want to be the new kid and the crazy kid who talks to himself in the school halls."
   Hmph, he has a valid point. I follow behind him, trying not to glare but doing it anyway. This guy is acting way too suspicious. I mean, who can just see ghosts and pretends like it's a casual thing? I don't buy it.
   We spill out into the sharp spring air, dappled sunlight just beginning to peek out from behind sombre clouds. The wind is beginning to pick up again, and the oaks that line the pathway start to creak and moan as they're buffeted from all sides.
   Mason still isn't talking, and it's really starting to infuriate me. Every now and then I voice my annoyance, but he just hums loudly to himself to drown me out. Ugh, what a jerk! Of all the 'ghost whisperers' out there, I get stuck with this guy? What a joke.
   "Woah, woah, woah, are you kidding me? I'm not going in there," I say, as it dawns on me just where Mason's leading us.
   Mason shrugs. "What's the big deal? You're dead, they're dead, you'll all get along nicely."
   I indicate towards the cemetary, flapping my arms furiously. "Not funny, Mason! If you think you can stuff me into one of those gravestones and get rid of me, you've got another thing coming!"
   "... 'Stuff' you into a gravestone? What kind of weird B-List movies have you been watching?"
   "I don't know about anything of this, okay? I've only been dead a week!"
   "Look, I'm not trying to be sinister or morbid here. A cemetary makes