history, and connections.
“Oh my God, I totally lost track of time,” Julie said, aghast. “We should go back to the dorm.”
“I’ll row you both back,” Spider offered, slipping his hand around her waist as she let go of his wrist. “We came over in some boats.”
“Thanks, but you guys go ahead,” I replied. “I’ll walk.”
Julie looked dubious. I gave her a little nod and she said, “ Oh ,” as if she realized that I didn’t want to go on a boat in the lake where Kiyoko had died. “If you’re sure . . . ”
“I am,” I told her.
“’Kay.” Julie bent forward, her wheat-colored bob swaying as she kissed my cheek. “And everything’s . . . okay?”
“Yes.” She’d thought I’d lost my mind last semester, and had begged me to see my old therapist during the break. “All checked out,” I added, even though that bordered on a lie. Actually, it was a lie. Dr. Yaeger had retired.
We walked down the broken stairs together and they peeled off toward a trio of rowboats pulled up on shore. The boats were painted white with LAKEWOOD added in large green letters. I watched as they pushed the boat into the water, Julie stepping in at the last moment, Spider balancing on a rock jutting out of the water, then hopping in, too. I gave them a wave and Spider took up the oars. Julie waved. She looked so much older with her haircut; having a boyfriend had matured her, it seemed. I reminded myself that she could swim; so could Spider. But the lake was half-frozen, and if something happened . . .
I hate this place , I thought, as they disappeared into the darkness. I exhaled, watching my breath, feeling my eyes well. I imagined my tears freezing to my cheeks.
I remembered Kiyoko’s blue-white face again, and her shiny eyes. Lurching forward, I felt my stomach clench, hard, and I coughed slightly, trying to keep everything down. The day had been long and stressful; the party was a bust. But I had seen Julie, and there was peace between us, and Spider adored her. Good things happened to good people.
Lowering my head against the chill, I stuffed my bare hands in my pockets and started walking. Two weeks gone by, and I had forgotten how to dress for Northern California. Yesterday it was shorts and a tank top; tonight, I needed mittens. It was cold, and I was tired. And scared. I wished with all my heart that there was a route back to Grose that didn’t involve walking along the lakeshore.
After a few minutes, I heard a sharp crack, like a breaking branch. A chill scurried up and down my spine and I cocked my head, listening. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, going back alone. Maybe Marica and the other Grose girls were ready to go, and we could walk together. Or maybe they were behind me, hurrying to catch up.
I turned around—
—And I nearly ran straight into Mandy. And Lara. And Alis, lined up beside her, three abreast. They stood in shadow; I could only make out their silhouettes, standing very still.
“ Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, ” Mandy whispered. Then her head snapped back, and she exhaled slowly, almost as if she were dying. She straightened, and took a step toward me, into the moonlight. Her eyes were completely black, and the smile on her face was terrifying—crazy. Cruel.
And I knew she was Mandy no longer.
“Hello, Celia ,” she said, in a voice that was not hers. Syrupy-sweet, with a Southern accent, and filled with deadly menace. I knew that voice—it was Belle Johnson, the ghost who blamed Celia for her death and the deaths of her five friends, in the fire of December 20, 1889. The same fire that had cut Celia’s life short. The fire that haunted me.
Nausea clenched my stomach. Acrid smoke seared my eyes. Flames crackled in my ears. I took a step back, into a stand of pine trees, and knocked the back of my head against a low-hanging limb. The impact rattled my skull and I grabbed onto a couple of branches to keep my balance.
“Julie,” I groaned,
“Oh my God, I totally lost track of time,” Julie said, aghast. “We should go back to the dorm.”
“I’ll row you both back,” Spider offered, slipping his hand around her waist as she let go of his wrist. “We came over in some boats.”
“Thanks, but you guys go ahead,” I replied. “I’ll walk.”
Julie looked dubious. I gave her a little nod and she said, “ Oh ,” as if she realized that I didn’t want to go on a boat in the lake where Kiyoko had died. “If you’re sure . . . ”
“I am,” I told her.
“’Kay.” Julie bent forward, her wheat-colored bob swaying as she kissed my cheek. “And everything’s . . . okay?”
“Yes.” She’d thought I’d lost my mind last semester, and had begged me to see my old therapist during the break. “All checked out,” I added, even though that bordered on a lie. Actually, it was a lie. Dr. Yaeger had retired.
We walked down the broken stairs together and they peeled off toward a trio of rowboats pulled up on shore. The boats were painted white with LAKEWOOD added in large green letters. I watched as they pushed the boat into the water, Julie stepping in at the last moment, Spider balancing on a rock jutting out of the water, then hopping in, too. I gave them a wave and Spider took up the oars. Julie waved. She looked so much older with her haircut; having a boyfriend had matured her, it seemed. I reminded myself that she could swim; so could Spider. But the lake was half-frozen, and if something happened . . .
I hate this place , I thought, as they disappeared into the darkness. I exhaled, watching my breath, feeling my eyes well. I imagined my tears freezing to my cheeks.
I remembered Kiyoko’s blue-white face again, and her shiny eyes. Lurching forward, I felt my stomach clench, hard, and I coughed slightly, trying to keep everything down. The day had been long and stressful; the party was a bust. But I had seen Julie, and there was peace between us, and Spider adored her. Good things happened to good people.
Lowering my head against the chill, I stuffed my bare hands in my pockets and started walking. Two weeks gone by, and I had forgotten how to dress for Northern California. Yesterday it was shorts and a tank top; tonight, I needed mittens. It was cold, and I was tired. And scared. I wished with all my heart that there was a route back to Grose that didn’t involve walking along the lakeshore.
After a few minutes, I heard a sharp crack, like a breaking branch. A chill scurried up and down my spine and I cocked my head, listening. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, going back alone. Maybe Marica and the other Grose girls were ready to go, and we could walk together. Or maybe they were behind me, hurrying to catch up.
I turned around—
—And I nearly ran straight into Mandy. And Lara. And Alis, lined up beside her, three abreast. They stood in shadow; I could only make out their silhouettes, standing very still.
“ Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, ” Mandy whispered. Then her head snapped back, and she exhaled slowly, almost as if she were dying. She straightened, and took a step toward me, into the moonlight. Her eyes were completely black, and the smile on her face was terrifying—crazy. Cruel.
And I knew she was Mandy no longer.
“Hello, Celia ,” she said, in a voice that was not hers. Syrupy-sweet, with a Southern accent, and filled with deadly menace. I knew that voice—it was Belle Johnson, the ghost who blamed Celia for her death and the deaths of her five friends, in the fire of December 20, 1889. The same fire that had cut Celia’s life short. The fire that haunted me.
Nausea clenched my stomach. Acrid smoke seared my eyes. Flames crackled in my ears. I took a step back, into a stand of pine trees, and knocked the back of my head against a low-hanging limb. The impact rattled my skull and I grabbed onto a couple of branches to keep my balance.
“Julie,” I groaned,
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