The Ghost in Me (14 page)

She brings her hands up, rotating them slowly in front of her.

I pass my hands through hers, feeling the familiar chill of air. Nothing's changed, at least not there. But when our eyes meet, hers wide with astonishment, I'm reminded that even though she's a ghost, she doesn't know everything. She can't predict the future. And like me, can still be taken by surprise.

Chapter 29

Monday morning packs me a surprise.

No one is talking to me. Not Roz. Not Cass. Not Elise. Not even Duey, although he did try to smile. But still, as I quickly realized, he isn't the person who's most important to me. It's Roz.

"Just tell me what I did!" I plead, when I manage to grab her by the sleeve before third hour.

She shrugs off my hand, turns to face me in a huff. "It's all over the school, so how could you NOT KNOW?" Her fingers scrunch in mock quotes.

"What are you talking about?"

"Let's see," she says, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "Let's travel back in time to a little talk we had last week, when you told me Duey wasn't interested in Brittley." She nods, as my mouth drops. "Yeah, I guess that wasn't an out-and-out lie. Only technically, your lack of additional information was. That it's YOU he's actually interested in. You're dating. Or were dating. People are taking bets to see which side wins out."

"Dating? We see each other at rehearsals."

"Close enough. Especially since that's what he's calling it."

"What HE's calling it? Look, you don't understand. That isn't what I planned."

"Yeah, right. Just like you didn't plan to land the leading role with him. If I didn't know better, I'd think you had this whole thing worked out from the beginning."

"I didn't!"

She holds up a hand at my words, shuts her eyes tight. "Let me ask you this," she says, her voice hissed. "Just how much of you is really pulling the strings when it comes to Wren? Or, is that all an act, too?"

She stands back, steels me a hard look, juts her chin. "Wren's already told me you're not letting her kiss him in the final scene. Trying to shut out the competition? Even with a ghost?"

"Shhhhh!" I hold my hands out, take a quick look around, before meeting her eyes again. "I'm not! You know I'm not!"

"Yeah, right. Why don't you save your arguments for Mrs. Augustus's essay on persuasion. I bet it'll be your first easy A. But just know that I, for one, am not going to believe a word of it."

• • •

All it took was the choice between sitting with the nerds at lunch or sitting with Duey, who was still avoiding any sort of eye contact, to make me realize I can't do it. I can't be me.

And because I happen to live with the best understudy on the planet--i.e., Wren--it didn't take long for me to figure out I can use her full-time.

"You get to live your dream," I say, when I find her reading an old picture book in my navy blue bean bag.

She holds up a finger, her lips moving, as she finishes her sentence. "What dream?"

"Life. School. Learning. Living. All that you ever wanted to keep doing. I want you to be me for the next little while. At least until Saturday, when this play is over."

"I thought ye didn't want me in school for the whole day. Especially with the way me mouth is always feeling a need to speak."

I give her a wave of hand, fake half a laugh. "I'm over that. Really. And you do need to be at school this week. I see that now. All sorts of details are being finalized outside class--in the halls, at lunch, in the bus lines after school--" (this is a lie, of course), "and you're missing them because you're not there. I think it'd be better if you were."

She stands, letting the book which she'd been holding fall to the floor. I'm still blown away that she can manage that. To anyone else who couldn't see her, that book would have been floating.

"Are y' sure?" she says, her voice beginning to gush with excitement. "Y' won't be teasing me now. I thought y' might be leaning the other way. Of not having me be in the play
at all
, seeing as y' were getting used to doing that one scene on yer own."

"No, I'm not teasing you. I want you to be me for the whole day. Every day. This whole week."

She scoffs like she doesn't believe me. "Why would y' be having me do that?"

"Why not? It's only one week. Till the play's done. It's like Mom said, you can learn something. I already know most of it, anyway. Besides, you want to be there more than I do, anyhow. So, what do you say?"

I wait, holding my breath, thinking I can fill her in on the minor details later--of my needing new friends, a new lunch table, a new morning locker routine....

Knowing Wren, those details won't faze her. She's witty enough, brave enough, to go out and forge a whole, new social network.

After a moment she comes over and extends her arm, holding up her palm in front of me. I place mine across hers. It's only a matter of seconds before the heat of mine mixes with the chill of hers, bridging the gap in the middle.

"Till death be tearing us apart," she says with a giggle.

It's the first time I've heard her joke about not being alive.

Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe she's finally come to accept where she belongs--or, where she is--and ultimately--although I doubt we'll ever lose her--where she has yet to go.

I muster the energy to return her smile, meet the dark recesses of her eyes. This deal is supposed to be a good thing. To help Wren help me, and not just because I've been dumped by my friends.

"Till death do us part," I say.

Chapter 30

The ground rules are this--

1. Don't say anything stupid.

2. Avoid Roz, Cass, and Elise. Roz would know Wren in a heartbeat, and I'm not sure what she'd do if she found out I'm not "all there."

3. If anyone asks what's up with the accent (which they have), Wren is to say she's staying in character to practice for the play. This, as it turns out, has already earned me brownie points from Diggs, who used me as an example for the class.

4. Do my school work. That's right. If she's in class, she can do the work. As payback for all this "living again."

Chapter 31

I didn't know life could be this great.

Okay--so I'm not entirely living it on my own. I'm getting a whole lot of help from Wren, but still. This whole body possession project has gone much better than I expected.

For one thing, I've got a new set of friends. Sure, I have nothing in common with them, and their wardrobes seem to be limited to various shades of gray and tan, which I suspect may have something to do with their interest in history, but at least I'm not roaming the halls and lunch room alone, and at least I don't have to really talk with them. Wren does that, and they love her for it, especially since she knows
so much
about all things historic. They got all sorts of tips for their history reports, which were due... yesterday....

I have no idea what Wren did for mine....

Not that it matters. She said she'd take care of it, so I have to believe she did. I just wonder how I missed an entire class.

Oh, well. When will I ever get another chance to get credit for a class presentation I didn't do?

Never.

Which leads to the other thing that's turned out so great. I love not being me. At least for now. No more skin blushing red, no more stuttering like a fool in front of a class, no more breaking out in sweat when I think about Duey.

In La-La Land I don't have to feel anything, be anything, or do anything to get by. And time goes by so quickly. It's almost as if time stands still for me, while it ticks by for the rest of the world, which makes being here--floating nowhere--so easy.

But even Wren has her limits, and there's only so much of me she can stand, which is obvious when she suddenly decides to slip out, like now, when we're supposed to be heading for the bus.

"See y' later, now!" she says, making me feel like she's pulled a rug out from under my feet. I fight to keep my balance, as she slides off toward the far corner of the school yard. It's a good thing I decided to check up on her. She might have left me here for nothing but a bag of bones.

"Where are you going?" I call out, knowing that with the clamor of kids anxious to find their rides home, I'll look like I could be talking to anybody.

"The theater. C.J. will be waiting for me!"

I run after her, not caring if I have audience. I probably just look like a girl running, only not after anything that anyone (aside from Roz) can see.

"Are you going to stay there until rehearsal tonight? Or, are you coming home first?"

"I'll be staying. But ye'll be wanting to pull yer own strings. Yer mother is bringing the costumes for a final fitting and dress rehearsal. And since she's not supposed to know about our little arrangement, I don't think ye'll be wanting me around."

"Oh." I had no clue about the costumes.

That must have happened in another one of those moments I was taking a time-out.

With an echoing, joyful, "Goodbye-now!" Wren dashes off, fading into the field like a dandelion seed blown on the wind.

Standing there, feeling the weight of my own skin, I'm envious of her position--her ability to slip from one life to the next, enjoying the best moments that both worlds have to offer, without having to live through the gut-wrenching details.

Chapter 32

I'm parking my bike outside Ardenport Community Theater, having found the energy to bring myself to this last rehearsal, when Roz appears. Only she doesn't
appear-appear
out of thin air, the way Wren does. She just steps up to me from around the corner.

I skitter back, catching my balance on the seat of my bike, before leaning forward to fumble with the lock. Nerves, laced with panic, boil in my gut, as I clamp the chain closed. Letting my fingers brush the seat, I give Roz a fake smile to show I'm not bothered.

"One hundred and forty-seven loin-cloths?"

That's what she says. I'm not sure how to respond.

Judging by the tone of her voice and the look on her face, I think I'm supposed to know what she's talking about.

Roz blocks my path, as I step toward the doors. "Admit it," she says, taking my arm.

"Admit what?" It occurs to me that I'm a horrible understudy for being, of all things, me.

"Admit you've been letting Wren take over the past week."

I swing my backpack to my other shoulder, shift the weight in my feet.

"Well?"

"Well, I haven't."

"Really? Then explain the loin cloths."

I brush my fingers through my hair, roll my eyes in frustration. "Explain
what
about what loin cloths? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Exactly," Roz says. She puts her hands on her hips, takes a step closer. "You've been cutting school.
This whole time.
You've been sending Wren in your place."

"Nope."

Roz shakes her head. "There's no way you'd get up in history
by yourself
and go on and on about the history of underwear."

My mouth drops. Roz's presses into an affirmative line.

"Mr. Scanlin had to cut you off. Well,
not you
.
Wren
. The only girl between us who knows what people wore down to the tiniest details before underwear was even invented. And a girl who probably has connections to those who might know how many loin cloths King Tutankhamen was actually buried with in Egypt."

"One hundred and forty-seven?"

She nods.

I let out a breath of defeat. "When did that happen?"

"Yesterday. Funny you don't know."

"Well, I know now." I make a move to get past her, but she blocks my path again.

"Don't you think that's going a bit far?"

"No. And why would you care? It's not like you and I have been talking."

"Me and her, you mean."

"It's still me."

"Is it?"

"Close enough." I stretch the cricks in both sides of my neck, let out a breath. "I'm just giving Wren a chance to do something she never did."

Roz crosses her arms, gives me a raised-eyebrow look.

"And giving myself a vacation."

Roz throws her hands up, before slapping them down to her thighs. "I thought Wren was just supposed to get you through auditions. I guess I can understand why you'd let it go further into helping with the whole play. But Myri. Your whole life? You're giving that away, too?"

"I'm not giving away my life."

"Oh, really." Her voice goes flat.

"Not permanently, anyway."

"Even if it's just temporary, it's not good. She's not you, Myri. Not even close."

"So?"

Her eyes go wide. "So?" she says, mocking me. She changes course. "What about Duey?"