Shine (2 page)

He’d hushed me then. I’d thought it was because I’d gotten too cheesy, but now I realized it was because this song lyric had come to life.

Logan filled the silence with one last “I love you, Aura.” Amid a final ethereal embrace, his light faded, then winked out.

It already seemed like hours ago. Fear was replacing the peace Logan had left behind. Staring at the phone screen that gave me no answers, I felt more alone than ever.

The bouquet of white roses I’d brought seemed to glow against his
dark gray headstone. I pulled out a single bloom to keep for myself. A stray thorn scraped my palm, leaving a thin red stripe but no blood.

The song’s last, quiet chord seemed to call to the handful of stars appearing above. They were a pitiful showing compared to the silver-studded sky blanket Zachary and I had lain under last night.

Hmm.
Our star-gazing field was only a half hour from this cemetery north of Baltimore. I longed to return to the field, to feel close to Zachary. But first I wanted to be sure his flight had taken off.

My voice mail alert bleeped. I sighed at Aunt Gina’s half-hour-old message. Why couldn’t she nag me via text like everyone else’s mom did?

The music stopped while her message played:

“Aura, it’s eight thirty. Don’t forget we’re getting up at five a.m. for your DMP interview, and we still need to go over what you’re going to tell them about Logan’s concert. I don’t want to be rehearsing in the car on the way to headquarters.”

“Fine.” I deleted the message and returned to the browser, which I refreshed again.

This time nothing happened. The status page for Zachary’s flight was now blank.

“Damn it!” My outburst drew the attention of the nearest ghost, a boy near my age wearing an old-fashioned high-school football uniform, the kind with leather helmets. Since ghosts are captured in the happiest moment of their lives, this guy could’ve been older than his apparent seventeen when he died. I imagined his “best day ever”—winning the state championship while his favorite cheerleader shook her pom-poms just for him.

The song switched to the swelling opening strains of Arcade Fire’s “Ready to Start.” The drums slapped my brain and the guitar crunched my nerves.

Propelled by the music, my longing took on an edge. Zachary had been unofficially deported for causing trouble for the Department of Metaphysical Purity. We’d sworn to meet up in Ireland for our birthdays in December, in defiance of every obstacle. But I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

Hell, I didn’t even know if his freaking plane had taken off. All I knew was that in the airport, he and Logan had met for the first and last time.

In a fresh browser window, I brought up the airline’s home page again, then thumbed in 346, Zachary’s flight connecting through London on his way to Glasgow, Scotland.

The site paused, searching, searching, searching… .

My grip on the phone grew slippery with sweat. I fidgeted with the seam of one of my worn black Skechers.

What was I worried about? Was I creeped out by the headstones’ lengthening shadows and the slow pacing of the ghosts? Like everyone in the world born after me, I’d lived with ghosts my whole life. They never scared me, unless they turned into the bitter, toxic versions of themselves known as shades, which were still pretty rare.

In the corner of my eye, something moved, dark and gray. I yelped and spun around, yanking out my earbuds. A squirrel skittered away to watch me from the top of a low-set headstone.

“I gotta get out of here,” I muttered. “This place is making me crazy.” Clearly, since I was now talking out loud to myself.

My phone buzzed, making my heart leap. Maybe it was Zachary with news about his flight.

But then it warbled the ring tone assigned to my best friend Megan. The screen said
TIFFANY
. I’d replaced my contact names with code versions after the DMP had confiscated my phone last week. Last night Zachary and I’d bought new phones, both red, to communicate solely with each other.

“Hey!” I answered. “Guess who I saw at the cemetery?” Everyone, including me, had thought Logan had passed on at his farewell concert two nights ago.

“Are you still there?” she blurted.

“I was about to leave. Gina’s bugging me to—”

“But you’re not driving now?”

“No,” I said impatiently. “Aren’t you gonna guess who I saw?”

“Aura … you don’t know, do you?”

“Know about what?” My laugh was nervous, even though Megan was known to go Maximum Drama over celebrity breakups and cafeteria gossip. “What happened?”

“You’re sure you’re not driving.”

“Megan! What?”

She paused for the length of a shaky breath. “What was Zachary’s flight number?”

The world stopped. Even the nearby ghosts seemed to halt in their tracks.

“Why?” I whispered with what felt like my last exhale.

“It just came on the news. A London flight out of BWI. It took off at eight thirty and—it went down. Flight 346.”

My body went numb. My eyes fixed on a stranger’s grave across the lane. A pensive angel stared back from her perch on a rose-marble headstone.

“Aura? Are you there? Was that his flight?”

I could barely feel my lips part. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh my God.” The last word was a squeak.

I swallowed, ready to topple. “Did they—were there any—” The word “survivors” wouldn’t come.

“They’re saying there was an explosion. It came down in—” Her voice broke. “Aura, I’m sorry. It came down in pieces.”

I
couldn’t breathe. I clutched the ridge of Logan’s headstone to keep myself upright.

Zachary. Zachary dead. Zachary gone forever.

Not possible. Not him, too.

A low drone began inside my head, like the buzz of distant bees. I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering the last I’d felt of Zachary—his soft, dark hair threading through my fingers as we kissed good-bye. Now my fingers felt nothing but the hard granite marker of death.

“Aura, don’t drive. I’ll pick up your aunt and come get you.”

“Unh …”

“Promise me!”

“I’m in the cemetery.” My voice seemed to come from a mile away.

“Just stay, all right? We’ll be there in fifteen.”

I hung up, then stared at the phone’s blank screen, where I would never again see Zachary’s name.

“No.” My tone was low and firm, as if this new reality was a naughty dog to be scolded. Zachary couldn’t be dead. It didn’t feel real.

But when Logan died eight months ago, it hadn’t felt real either, even with his body in front of me—and his ghost beside me.

I slid my hand along the front of his headstone, over the quote,
FOR WHAT IS SEEN IS TEMPORARY, BUT WHAT IS UNSEEN IS ETERNAL
.

Wait.

His ghost.

Zachary could be a ghost, like many people who died suddenly. But he could only haunt the places he’d gone during his life.

I had to see him.

I grabbed my bag and the white rose, then stumbled toward my car, weaving among the graves.

There was no one in the cemetery to stop me, so I drove fast, tires squealing. The car careened down the narrow lanes, banging its bottom on the uneven pavement.

My mind darted through all the places Zachary and I had been together. My house. His apartment. The Inner Harbor. Our star-gazing field. He had to be
somewhere
, wanting me to find him.

But if I saw his ghost, that would make it real.

I slammed on the brakes, skidding through the wide iron gates. The car came to a stop, a stone’s throw from the busy four-lane road.

I shifted into park, my right arm like jelly. Tremors swept through me, building in waves until even my teeth chattered.

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” My foot stomped the floor with every word. “No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!”

I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think, I could barely breathe. A flood of tears was dammed behind my eyes, waiting to drown me.

“Zach …”

My phone rang, as if in response. I grabbed it, seized by a delirious hope.

Which died when I saw the name on the screen.

I answered. “Dylan, it’s not—I can’t talk, I’m—”

The tears came at last, gushing like a cranked-up faucet.

Logan’s younger brother spoke slowly. “Oh my God. It
was
Zachary’s flight.”

I heaved a sob in response.

“Where are you?” he said. “I’ll come get you.”

“Cemetery. Megan and Gina—coming—”

“Logan’s cemetery? That’s here in Hunt Valley. I’ll be there in, like, ninety seconds.”

“Don’t hang up. Please.”

“I won’t.” There was a shuffling noise, then the jingle of keys. “Mom, I’m taking the car!” Then Dylan spoke into the phone again. “They don’t care, they’re so glued to the TV news about the crash. I don’t even have my full license yet. Where are my fucking shoes? Swear to God, I can never find anything after the maid people leave. It’s not their fault—Mom picks up everything ahead of time. Yeah, seriously, she cleans the house before the cleaning ladies come. Is that insane or what?”

I pressed the phone against my ear. Dylan’s rambling chatter felt like my last, thread-thin link to sanity.

“Here they are,” he muttered. “I’ll put them on in the car.” A door creaked in the background. “Hey, are you sure Zachary actually got on the plane? Like, did he call you or text?”

My phone.
The red phone
, our secret connection.

Dylan kept talking as my hands dove into my bag.

“ … my friend Rashid went to Disney World last week, and he sent me and Kyle and Jamal a brag-text when he was on the plane. Dickweed got to fly first class. Aura, are you there?”

“Hang on!”

Please, please, please, please, please.
I yanked the zipper on the compartment that held my red phone. It stuck.

Shrieking, I tore the fabric. The phone tumbled out onto the floor, screen side down.

Dylan shouted from my other phone’s speaker. “What happened? You okay?”

“Just wait!” I lunged to grab the red phone, jamming the emergency brake into my gut.

I turned it over.

NEW MESSAGE
, it flashed.

With a whimper of hope and fear, I jabbed the screen.

MISSED PLANE THEYR TAKUNG M

My hand covered my mouth. The message was marked 9:01 p.m. Megan had said that Flight 346 took off at eight thirty.

Zachary wasn’t on the plane.

“He’s alive,” I whispered to Dylan.

His astonishment barely registered as I used my other trembling hand to return Zachary’s message:

TKING U WHWRE? WHO
?

I punched send and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I waited, speechless, while Dylan told me which street he was on, described the cars he was passing, and yelled at the stupid driver who cut him off at the intersection. He kept talking, as if knowing I needed to hear a human voice.

I was still waiting, staring at the blank screen, when a car pulled in beside me. My red phone was set on silent mode—no ring, no vibrations—so I had to watch for Zachary’s reply.

It wasn’t coming.

Dylan opened my car door. “If he’s alive—” he said into his own phone, then realized what he was doing and hung up. “If Zachary’s alive, he’ll call you.”

“What if he’s hurt?”

“Then he’ll call from the hospital, or his mom will.”

His mom.
“Zachary’s parents!” Did they get on the plane? Had he lost them? Wherever he was, he needed me.

I rattled the red phone hard, as if I could shake Zachary’s location out of the speaker. “Where is he?! What did they do to him?”

“Hey. Hey. Don’t break that.” Dylan crouched down and took my wrist in a soft grip. “It’s gonna be okay.”

I lowered my chin, dribbling tears onto the blacktop between us. I wiped my eyes and noticed Dylan still hadn’t put on shoes.
His middle toe peeked out of a hole in his white sock.

Another car arrived, brakes squealing. I leaned on Dylan’s arm as he helped me up.

Aunt Gina lurched out of the passenger side, her pale face pinched in sadness. She looked like she’d been crying on the ride over but had dried her eyes, thinking she had to be strong for me. Again.

The full relief of Zachary’s escape hit me. I ran to her. “He’s alive!” My hug knocked her back against Megan’s car. “Zachary’s alive!”

“What? Honey, how do you know?”

“He sent me a text.” I shoved my red phone into her hands.

“He’s alive?” Megan was scooting around the hood, her long auburn braid bouncing over her shoulder.

“Yes!” I hurled myself into Megan’s arms.