CHAPTER NINE
“Well,” I said, plopping down next to Maggie in our usual cafeteria booth, “I think it’s safe to say this day wins the award for ‘Worst. Day. Ever.’” I groaned and covered my face with my hands.
Maggie gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. “Come on, Styles. It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? Mags, I fell asleep and screamed bloody murder in the middle of my English class.”
“No one can blame you for that. Mrs. Runyan gives everyone nightmares.”
I snorted. “Well, what about the part where I managed to make myself look like a gigantic idiot in front of the really hot guy I don’t want to admit I’m crushing on?”
“I knew it,” Maggie said with a grin. “Honestly, I really wouldn’t worry about it. Clark Kent embarrassed himself all the time in front of Lois Lane and they still managed to make it work.” She waved her hand. “I hardly think anything you’ve done today qualifies as catastrophic.”
I sighed. “Look, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but I seriously doubt there’s anything you could say that would make me even halfway reconsider my plan to go home and stay there until I’m thirty.”
“Well . . .” Maggie leaned forward, her eyes dancing. “What if I told you I had some information about your mystery man?”
My head perked up. “What kind of information?”
“Personal information. Like the kind you would find in—let’s say, someone’s personal file.”
“Personal file? But how would you . . .” My mouth dropped open. “You didn’t!”
Her sheepish grin was the only response.
“Maggie!”
“What? All the office aides do it!” she said with a shrug, not the least bit bothered by the fact that she had broken a rule, much less that there were laws about that sort of thing.
“You could get suspended!”
“I’d have to get caught first. Look, you’re my best friend, and I wasn’t about to let some random—albeit seriously hot—guy come swinging into the picture without digging up some information on him.”
I shook my head. “Maggie, I—”
“I know, I know. You’re welcome. Now do you want to hear this or not?”
I cracked a smile. There really was no stopping her once she got going. “Proceed.”
“Thank you. So his name is Tyler Marek, and he apparently just moved here a few weeks ago. He’s living with a friend of the family—some guy who owns a gym in town.”
“The one he took me to today?”
“I would assume so. And apparently, he hasn’t been enrolled in school for a while.”
“That’s weird,” I said. “Did the file say why?”
“No, but I bet it has something to do with his father’s death.” Maggie leaned forward, her voice no louder than a whisper. “According to the file, his dad was murdered a while back.”
“Murdered?”
“Yep. There was some kind of evaluation report from the counselor.”
Holy shit. It all made sense now. The look in his eyes, the tightened expression. No wonder he looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach when I asked about his dad.
“That’s awful. Was there anything else?”
Maggie shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. His file was pretty sparse. But hey, at least now we know he’s not a serial killer or some kind of psychopath, right?”
“Um, I guess.” I put my head back down on the table. “Although now I feel like an even bigger idiot.”
Maggie gave me another pat on the shoulder. “Like I said, all things considered, it’s not so bad.”
“And what exactly would you classify as bad?”
She thought for a minute. “Well, when Jason Aaron tricked Wolverine into killing his own offspring, that was pretty bad. And when Spiderman gave up his marriage to Mary Jane to the demon Mephisto in order to save Aunt May’s life, I cried for days. Oh! And Tony Stark’s battle with alcoholism—that was awful! And then there was—”
“Okay, okay! Point made!” I said, laughing. “Forget I asked!”
Maggie gave a satisfied smile and took a big bite out of her ham and cheese sandwich. “I also think I might have a lead on your whole ghost thing. What did you say her name was again?”
“Josephine.”
“Well, I think I found a way to get in contact with her.”
I stared at Maggie. “Contact Josephine? Seriously?”
She smiled sheepishly and pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of her messenger bag. She took a breath and slid it across the table.
I scanned the paper. It was an article about the moon’s orbit and its close proximity to the earth. I looked up. “Oh! There’s going to be a Supermoon on Friday.”
“Right! And according to my research, most paranormal activity coincides with some sort of celestial phenomena. Solstice, equinox.” Maggie began to tick items off on her fingers. “Eclipse. I think that’s when the veil between us and the spirit world gets . . . lifted. Or something like that.” She shrugged. “So, it should be easier for us to contact her. I think we should go to the cemetery and give it a shot.”
I blinked. “The veil between us and the spirit world?”
“Yes, the veil. Try to keep up, Styles. We’ve already missed the Autumnal equinox, and Halloween is still two weeks away. I think this is the closest thing we’re gonna get.” Maggie looked at me expectantly. “So what do you say? Are you in?”
I thought about it for a moment. “A good scientist examines the evidence, right? Well, a dead girl attacked me on the road, I’m having visions or dreams about said dead girl, and so far, despite everything I’ve tried, all I’ve figured out is that there’s some connection between her and my mom.” I let out a breath and shrugged. “I need answers. I need to find out why all of this has happened and what is has to do with my mom. This goes beyond logic and reason, so I need to look at the other variables.”
I tapped the paper. “If we’re gonna do this, we better start researching supermoons.”
Maggie squealed and clapped me on the back. “That’s the spirit, Styles!” She laughed. “See what I did there?
Maggie was too busy cracking up at her own joke to notice that I wasn’t laughing.
Someone moved beside me. I had looked up, making eye contact.
Standing a few feet away, and staring directly at me, was Josephine.
The paper fluttered slightly, before landing on my desk. The flash of white startled me enough to erase the image of her face. Even though three days had passed since that day in the cafeteria, Josephine was still everywhere I looked. I would turn the corner, and there she’d be, staring at me with those sad, knowing eyes of hers. It was seriously creeping the hell out of me.
“Just think of it like this, Styles. You’re like that kid from the Sixth Sense! How freaking cool is that?” Maggie had said. She, of course, grew more ecstatic after every new Josephine sighting. I, however, did not.
I glanced at the paper, my eyes slow to focus. It was my latest history essay about the Great Depression and FDR’s New Deal. But the grade circled in red ink at the top right corner was foreign to me. C+. I double-checked the name to make sure I had the correct paper. My stomach flip-flopped at the sight of my name written in my own, curling script. I’d never gotten a C before. Not even close.
I eyed the book sitting on the corner of my desk. Supermoons: Warnings from Beyond the Grave? Several pages of notes stuck out from the corners.
It had been an easy transition for me—throwing myself into the research—and I didn’t realize how much my focus had shifted until now. My Ivy League dreams sputtered to life in my mind, but that red “C” glared at me from the corner of the page.
“Damn you, Josephine,” I muttered under my breath, fighting the urge the crumple the paper. A lump was forming in my throat, but I swallowed a few times to dislodge it.
It’s one paper. Don’t panic, the voice inside my head reasoned as I shoved the paper into my binder, the lump growing bigger. Just one paper.
“Yeah, but scientists don’t get Cs,” I muttered, silencing the voice.
When the shrill bell rang signaling the end of class, I stood quickly, eager to escape.
“Lainey?” Mr. Reinhard, my history teacher, called out. He was staring at me over the rim of his reading glasses. “Can you stay for a few moments, please? I’d like to speak with you.”
“Yes, sir?”
Mr. Reinhard trained his eyes on me, his forehead furrowed. “Lainey, about your latest essay. I—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” I interrupted, “but please. I know it wasn’t my best. It’s been a weird few days. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I—” I broke off, not sure how to explain it further. “I’m just off my game right now, Mr. R.”
Mr. Reinhard nodded. “We all have off days, Lainey, but I’m concerned. This week, you’ve seemed really distracted. I’ve never known you to get anything less than an A.”
His voice was kind, but that only made the lump in my throat triple in size. “I know. I’ll try harder.”
Mr. Reinhard raised an eyebrow. “Is everything okay at home, Lainey? I heard about what happened in your English class when you—well, have you considered speaking with someone? Our counselor, Mrs. Fox—”
I shook my head. “It was just a nightmare. Stupid, really. I’m fine. I’ll do much better on the next essay, I promise.”
The lines around Mr. Reinhard’s eyes softened and he sighed. “Just go home tonight and get some rest. Okay? I think you need it.”
When he dismissed me, I practically ran toward the exit. I needed some fresh air.
Hissing through gritted teeth, I waited until I was safely out of the building before I let out a frustrated yell. A few people walking by stared at me, but I didn’t care.
There was a small grove of trees up ahead and a courtyard with benches and tables designated for students. It was mostly empty; a couple was making out on one of the benches, and one of the art kids was stretched out on the grass, sketching in a notebook. There was also someone else, a guy, propped up against one of the trees, his face hidden behind a book.
Plopping down on a patch of shaded grass, I closed my eyes and let out a long huff.
“Bad day?” a voice called out.
You have got to be kidding me. I opened my eyes and sure enough, a familiar pair of blue eyes were looking straight at me. Ty was leaning around his open book, the usual smirk on his lips.
“How do you keep doing that?” I demanded.
He raised an eyebrow at me.
“Popping up out of nowhere.” I waved my hand as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And always when I’m at my worst.” Ty chuckled and moved to sit across from me, ignoring my question. He pulled a brown paper sack from his backpack and handed me something wrapped in plastic wrap.
“A sandwich?”
“It might not be the answer to your problems,” Ty said, unwrapping his own sandwich. “But I personally believe that life is a whole lot more manageable on a full stomach.” He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded at me as if he were the authority on such matters.
I looked down at the sandwich in my hand. It was peanut butter and grape jelly—my favorite. My stomach rumbled at the sight of it.
I rolled my eyes, feeling ridiculous, and took a bite. It was actually quite satisfying, and I took another bite without any hesitation.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I swallowed. “Not really.”
Ty nodded and took another bite, chewing slowly.
We sat there without speaking, both of us focusing on our food.
Maybe it was because he didn’t push me, didn’t ask me questions I couldn’t answer, but as I sat there, the tension in my shoulders eased, and with each bite of the sandwich, the lump in my throat slowly dissolved. There were no expectations to meet, no obstacles to overcome. It was just easy. Sitting next to Ty, eating PB&J was the most normal thing I’d done in a while.
The calm was unfortunately short-lived, however. Something tugged at me; the last remnants of the handprint on my arm—now almost completely faded—tingled. I looked up, nearly choking on my next bite of sandwich. Josephine stood a few feet away. She stared at me as usual, but it wasn’t the normal look of intensity I’d become accustomed to. It was something much deeper. It took me a minute to place it, but when I did, it nearly took my breath away. The look on her face was sadness—the kind you feel deep within your soul. It made my chest ache.
Lainey. Josephine reached out a hand to me. Her eyes pleaded with mine. Lainey.
“Hey.” Ty nudged his shoulder against mine.
I tore my eyes away from Josephine’s face.
“You okay?”
I nodded. “Fine. Just a lot on my mind.” When I looked back, Josephine was gone. I sighed and turned my attention back to my sandwich. I have to figure all this out. I just have to.
As I swallowed my last bite, my eyes fell upon the book in Ty’s lap, the one he’d been reading before I showed up. It was a worn paperback, several of the pages loose and sticking out of the top. The cover was half missing, but I knew it well.
“The Great Gatsby?” I asked, pointing at the book.
Ty smiled, somewhat sheepishly, and picked up the book in his hands. “Fitzgerald is a favorite of mine.”
I smiled back. “Mine too.”
Ty had also finished his sandwich and was busy placing our empty plastic wrap back in the brown bag. When he had shoved the trash back into his backpack, he picked up the book and looked at me. He smiled at me, opening to the page he had dog-eared, and then began reading aloud.
I couldn’t help but stare. How was it possible that this mysterious boy who picked fights for fun understood the simple satisfaction of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the peaceful calm that came from reading beautiful prose?
Who are you? I mused, watching as he read.
He was a natural reader, his voice automatically rising and falling with the cadences of Fitzgerald’s style. His face was bright, and I could tell he was enjoying the story as much as I was. What a mystery you are, Tyler Marek. I smiled and lay back on the grass to listen, enjoying the stillness of the moment.
When the bell rang, Ty finished the page he was on and closed the book with a gentle snap. “Feel any better?”
“Yeah, I do.” I sat up, fighting a yawn. I peeked over my shoulder, but Josephine was still nowhere to be seen. I let out the breath I was holding. “Thank you for the sandwich . . . and for reading. It was really nice.”
Ty nodded his head. “You’re welcome.”
I stood up and dusted the grass from my clothes. “Chem for me next. You?”
Ty followed suit. “History.” He looped the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. “Can I walk you to class?”
My heart gave a tiny flutter. “Sure.”
We didn’t say anything as we headed toward the building, but there wasn’t any need to. I think we both felt the ease of just walking beside one another.
When we walked through the double doors, I saw Maggie pacing back and forth in front of her locker.
“Styles?” she yelled, waving at me. “Where the hell have you been?”
She stomped over, almost skidding to a stop when she saw who I was standing next to.
Ty chuckled under his breath beside me.
“Ty, this is Maggie,” I said, stifling my own laugh at the wide expression in her eyes. “Maggie, this is Ty.”
Ty stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Maggie.”
Maggie looked slightly shell-shocked, but she recovered and reached out to shake his hand. “You too.”
Ty gave her his signature smile and then turned toward the history hall. “See you guys later.” I waved and watched him go.
Maggie waited till he was out of earshot and elbowed me hard in the ribs. “Damn, Styles.” She grinned wickedly. “No wonder you skipped class.”
“God, Mags, can you just not? It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what was it?”
I stopped, the moment in the courtyard so perfectly undefined in my mind—I didn’t want to ruin it by slapping a label on it.
“It was a just a sandwich, Mags. That’s it.”
Maggie scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “A sandwich?”
“Yup.”
With a heavy sigh, Maggie rolled her eyes and started walking in the direction of her next class, one we shared. “Fine, keep all the juicy details to yourself. Just remember, Styles. Friends before food . . . and hot boys.”
I rolled my eyes and followed her, but when I turned the corner, I jolted to a stop.
There she was, staring at me again, the same mournful expression in her eyes.
“Josephine,” I whispered.
I took a step toward her, but inky black spots appeared before my eyes, and the world slipped away.