Circle the Soul Softly by Davida Wills Hurwin

faster.”
    â€œWe’ll clean up,” David interrupts, indicating himself and me. My brilliant boy—why didn’t I think of that? We get to be heroes; they get to leave. Tess heads for her office to finish up, and David and I begin by stacking the chairs.
    â€œYou know there’s a ghost in here,” he stage-whispers.
    â€œThere is not.”
    â€œYeah, there is. This girl saw him a few years ago. Right there, behind you. Scared the shit out of her.”
    â€œYou’re carrying this other world thing a bit too far, my friend,” I warn him, glancing over my shoulder.
    â€œHe was a cop. He murdered a migrant worker back when this was a police garage. That’s why he has to stay around.” His voice is getting creepy.
    â€œStop it.” Chairs done, I start picking up props and the other random junk around the set.
    â€œIt’s true. There’s certain places a video camera won’t work. That’s one way you know for sure. Oh, and the security guy told me that when he hears music playing in here, like in the early early morning, there’s never anyone inside. Even Tess says that—”
    â€œStop! You’re freaking me out.” I grab the last thing I see—a backpack someone’s shoved under the platform upstage left. He doesn’t answer. I look around and I don’t see him.
    â€œDavid?”
    Suddenly the fluorescents go out. I take a huge, fast, deep breath. “David. Quit playing around.” Still no answer. “I mean it—this isn’t funny.” I start trying to find my way to the wall where the fluorescent switch is, and bump my shin on a platform. Hard.
    â€œShit!” I lose my balance and topple forward to my knees, onto the platform. The backpack I’m carrying goes flying; I can hear books sliding out. The fluorescent lights turn on.
    â€œAre you okay?” David suppresses a chuckle.
    â€œPerfect, thanks. I’m just bleeding here.” I sit down to examine my scratch.
    â€œPoor baby.” He barely manages not to laugh as he sits down beside me.
    â€œAsshole.”
    â€œOooh, ow. I was just playing.”
    â€œYou turned out the frickin’ lights.”
    â€œAnd you made a frickin’ mess.”
    I look at the junk that spilled over the platform. The sequined makeup bag is way too familiar. “Oh fine, it’s Stacey’s stuff.”
    David clutches his hands and peers nervously around the theater. “Oh God. Not Stacey! We better run!” I am totally in love with this guy . One by one he tosses her books, like basketballs, into the backpack.“Uh-oh.” He holds up a small, elegant journal, raises his eyebrows, and asks, “We can’t, right?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œBecause she would never read something that didn’t belong to her. ”With a wink, he drops it into the pocket of his jacket and we finish in silence, conspirators.
    â€œAre you okay here alone?” David asks Tess when we’re ready to go. He’s doing his Nice Guy act.
    â€œYes, I am, thank you,” Tess says, no trace of teacher or director—just another person.

SEVENTEEN
    We decide we’ll only read the pages where we see our names. Then we’ll tell Tess we forgot something and I’ll pretend to look for it while David slips the journal into the backpack. Stacey’ll find it Monday. No one gets hurt and it’s no big deal, so why is my heart pounding?
    â€œJump to the middle?” David asks.“Or do you think we’ll be on the very first page?”
    â€œWe will definitely not be on the first page.”
    We settle in to the backseat of his car, cuddling, and scan the book for our names.
    â€œGod, she’s got terrible handwriting,” I say. We run our eyes down each page and David flips to the next one every five seconds or so. She uses initials mostly, but no K’s or D’s show up.
    â€œWait a minute, hold