Manifest by Artist Arthur Page B

something to tell you. Something that might help you.
    I want to scream at him to shut up. To leave me alone and let me get on with my normal, disaster-filled life. But I know that I can’t. Even if I could, he probably wouldn’tlisten. In the few conversations I’ve had with Ricky Watson I’ve quickly come to realize that he doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Or maybe girls don’t tell him “no” that often and that’s why he isn’t used to it. Either way, he doesn’t seem to take my sarcasm to heart and get lost like I tell him to. He sticks it out, determined to get his point across.
    In the meantime, he seems to take pleasure in telling me off or being as blunt as he possibly can about my actions, my wardrobe, my life.
    All you have to do is get a hall pass and go. It’s not going to hurt anything to listen to them. Then you can make up your mind, come back and live in your little shell.
    That last comment has me glaring at him. Of course he laughs because he has a warped sense of humor. No matter how cute he is. And in that instant I wonder why someone would kill him.
    I turn away from him because the questions are filling up my mind. Who killed Ricky? Why am I the one who has to help him? Where did Sasha go? How does Ricky know they have something to tell me?
    And then without another thought, my hand is going up until it’s raised high in the air and Mr. Lyle is looking at me impatiently. His dark brown face is grim as he folds long arms across his chest. I gulp, trying to find the nerve to speak. He looks like he’s just waiting for me to ask him something so he can shoot it down.
    “Yes, Miss Bentley. You have something to contribute to the lesson?”
    “Ah.” I hesitate and swallow. The entire class is looking at me now. I feel like I have something hanging from my nose or my bra is showing, they’re staring with such weird expressions. Then I steal a glance at Ricky and he’s waving his hand as if to tell me to get on with it.
    “Um, can I be…excused?” I finally manage and clear my throat afterward.
    Mr. Lyle’s mustache kind of twitches as he presses his thick lips tightly together then moves to his desk and scribbles on a notepad. I get up from my seat and am about to take the slip of paper from him when he attempts to come around the desk and bumps his leg. There’s a clinking sound, then muffled laughter from the students. Mr. Lyle is really pissed at me now even though I’m not the one who bumped into the desk. With one hand he’s holding the hall pass and with the other he’s rubbing the side of his leg near his pocket that looks like it’s stuffed full of something, keys probably. I hurriedly take the hall pass from his hands before he can say another word or I change my mind.
    The minute I’m outside the classroom, the door shut behind me, I’m too afraid to move. For one, I don’t know where I’m going. And for two, Sasha and Jake don’t know me. What could they possibly have to tell me? Unless it’s something about Ricky, about his killer. But how would they know to tell me? I wonder if they’re ghost whisperers, too.
    I know he’s there even though I don’t see him. Since there’s nobody else in the hallway I just ask, “Do you know what they want with me? Is it about you?”
    He’s right beside me now. I don’t know. I just know that they’re waiting for you and they seem pretty hyped about talking to you.
    “If you know that much, how come you couldn’t just hang around and hear what they’re saying? That way you could just tell me what they want.”
    Because I’m not on your payroll.
    I stop walking at his smart retort. “And I’m not on yours. So if this has something to do with what you want from me then it’ll have to wait until I’ve decided whether or not to help you.”
    You haven’t decided yet? What, am I, like, on probation?
    “No. According to your story, you’re stuck between hereand eternity. And you need me to get you there, so if I