from behind. It wasn’t until Mrs. Paracini started tossing items on the counter that she turned and found herself face to face with Tatum.
At first she didn’t say anything. She gave Tatum the iciest glare possibly known to mankind and slammed her shampoo bottle down hard enough to make it bounce. Tatum actually flinched, wondering how bad it would look if she turned around and ran. But there was already a bunch of people behind her; if she tried to leave, she’d really have to push her way through the crowd.
I’m not guilty,
she wanted to say.
It wasn’t me. Claudette made the whole thing up. I’m sorry.
So many words running around her mind.
She remembers everything Claudette said afterward, twisting the blame so no one would ever believe Tatum.
Tatum’s been after him all year. She sent him love letters and asked him out on countless dates. I feel really bad ’cause she showed them to me. I should have told a teacher, but I didn’t want to get her into trouble. She’s got serious mental problems. She even told me she went to class early one day to surprise him. She took off all her clothes and sat on his desk. Mr. Paracini handled it well. He told her to get dressed and to stop it. He said if she continued her bad behavior, he’d have to report her.
Anything else, Claudette?
She told me that she wants to marry him. That the two of them were destined to be together. She went to a fortune-teller or something like that, and apparently that’s what they told her. She’s really unhinged. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve been dying to get this off my chest. It’s horrible. I just want Tatum to get some help.
Tatum remembers staring at the magazines. Then at the candy. Anything to avoid looking Mrs. Paracini in the eyes. All she wanted was for that moment to be over so she could go home and hide in her bedroom till the end of the world.
The cashier ran Mrs. Paracini’s items through without a problem. When it was over, the teacher’s wife turned to leave. She pushed the cart about a foot and then stopped. She turned around and walked right over. Tatum stepped backward, bumping into the customer behind her.
“Psycho bitch.”
Mrs. Paracini turned and walked off, her head held high, the red shopping cart squeaking.
It felt like the entire store had gone quiet. When the cashier finally broke the silence by asking Tatum if she wanted paper or plastic, Tatum fell apart. Instead of answering, she ran for the exit, ignoring the smirking checkout girl and the whispers and angry mumbles of the people waiting in line behind her.
She’d barely made it to her car when the tears came. Tatum sat there for a long time, bawling, thankful it was too dark for anyone to fully see what she was doing. Her hands felt like they would never stop shaking.
* * *
Tatum sits on her bed now, trying hard not to think about everything. She got home about fifteen minutes ago. She actually forgot to go to the coffee shop and buy the mocha she claimed she wanted in the first place.
She has her computer turned on, and her fingers hover over the keyboard. She’s got Google open, but she’s not sure what to type. She doesn’t even know how to begin. The fact that she wants to do this is only making her feel even more foolish. Although she can’t think of a single reason how, she’s still positive she’s the brunt of some stupid joke. But another voice nags inside her brain, louder now that she’s alone, telling her that the whole thing goes far more mystical than that.
She types the words
ghost
and
Molly
and of course gets nothing. Lots of information on the movie
Ghost.
She’s never seen it, but according to IMDb, it’s good.
She adds to the search. She types in the proper name for Frog Road. She erases the name
Molly
.
She doesn’t get anything on the first page. Wikipedia offers a list of famous ghosts throughout history. Who knew there were so many? The second hit is “how to tell if your place is being
At first she didn’t say anything. She gave Tatum the iciest glare possibly known to mankind and slammed her shampoo bottle down hard enough to make it bounce. Tatum actually flinched, wondering how bad it would look if she turned around and ran. But there was already a bunch of people behind her; if she tried to leave, she’d really have to push her way through the crowd.
I’m not guilty,
she wanted to say.
It wasn’t me. Claudette made the whole thing up. I’m sorry.
So many words running around her mind.
She remembers everything Claudette said afterward, twisting the blame so no one would ever believe Tatum.
Tatum’s been after him all year. She sent him love letters and asked him out on countless dates. I feel really bad ’cause she showed them to me. I should have told a teacher, but I didn’t want to get her into trouble. She’s got serious mental problems. She even told me she went to class early one day to surprise him. She took off all her clothes and sat on his desk. Mr. Paracini handled it well. He told her to get dressed and to stop it. He said if she continued her bad behavior, he’d have to report her.
Anything else, Claudette?
She told me that she wants to marry him. That the two of them were destined to be together. She went to a fortune-teller or something like that, and apparently that’s what they told her. She’s really unhinged. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve been dying to get this off my chest. It’s horrible. I just want Tatum to get some help.
Tatum remembers staring at the magazines. Then at the candy. Anything to avoid looking Mrs. Paracini in the eyes. All she wanted was for that moment to be over so she could go home and hide in her bedroom till the end of the world.
The cashier ran Mrs. Paracini’s items through without a problem. When it was over, the teacher’s wife turned to leave. She pushed the cart about a foot and then stopped. She turned around and walked right over. Tatum stepped backward, bumping into the customer behind her.
“Psycho bitch.”
Mrs. Paracini turned and walked off, her head held high, the red shopping cart squeaking.
It felt like the entire store had gone quiet. When the cashier finally broke the silence by asking Tatum if she wanted paper or plastic, Tatum fell apart. Instead of answering, she ran for the exit, ignoring the smirking checkout girl and the whispers and angry mumbles of the people waiting in line behind her.
She’d barely made it to her car when the tears came. Tatum sat there for a long time, bawling, thankful it was too dark for anyone to fully see what she was doing. Her hands felt like they would never stop shaking.
* * *
Tatum sits on her bed now, trying hard not to think about everything. She got home about fifteen minutes ago. She actually forgot to go to the coffee shop and buy the mocha she claimed she wanted in the first place.
She has her computer turned on, and her fingers hover over the keyboard. She’s got Google open, but she’s not sure what to type. She doesn’t even know how to begin. The fact that she wants to do this is only making her feel even more foolish. Although she can’t think of a single reason how, she’s still positive she’s the brunt of some stupid joke. But another voice nags inside her brain, louder now that she’s alone, telling her that the whole thing goes far more mystical than that.
She types the words
ghost
and
Molly
and of course gets nothing. Lots of information on the movie
Ghost.
She’s never seen it, but according to IMDb, it’s good.
She adds to the search. She types in the proper name for Frog Road. She erases the name
Molly
.
She doesn’t get anything on the first page. Wikipedia offers a list of famous ghosts throughout history. Who knew there were so many? The second hit is “how to tell if your place is being
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