Uncertainty (8 page)

His cologne swam into my nostrils, and I breathed him in. He was the only person I knew who smelled that amazing. I realized as I was feeling that way that I shouldn't be. Not about him. Not anymore.

Wrenching away from him, I backed into the fantasy bookshelf. He didn't try to hold me or protest. It was a small space; there wasn't a lot of room to put between us. He was wearing a button down shirt, the top two buttons undone, his hair disheveled.

He dropped his hands to his sides, as though they were useless. My heart rattled crazily in my ribcage, and with my fast breathing, I kept getting the scent of him.

"You were supposed to guess," he said.

"I knew it was you," I said, my voice shaky. "I always know when it's you."

We stared at each other across the cramped area. His eyes were still lifeless, dull like dirty water. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to shake him and ask him what the hell he had been thinking messing with me. I wanted him to be the person he was when I first met him.

"What are you doing here?" It came out like an accusation.

"I come here all the time," he said, defensively. "I could ask you the same thing. I've never seen you at the library."

"Don't worry, I don't think I'll be coming back," I said, biting my lip.

Trying to get past him, he blocked my way. His hand brushed my upper arm and I yanked away from him. His touch was like slow-spreading poison.

"What happened back in school?" he asked, and his brown irises suddenly darkened, an effect I remember from way back.

"I don't owe you any answers," I said.

I maneuvered around him, and walked quickly out of the stacks. Tossing my English books on one of the unoccupied study tables, I marched past the checkout desk. Nurse Callie called out from behind me, but I ignored her. I didn't want to have to explain.

I could still feel the touch of his hands on my face, an invisible pressure.

Rushing down the steps into the stifling hot day, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail. The pinwheels on the lawn had picked up speed and were turning noisily.

"Why are you in such a hurry, chica?" Jenna asked. Out of nowhere, she was strolling beside me now.

I laughed, a weird sensation that came out through my nose.

"Why are you everywhere?" I asked.

"Why do you answer every question I have with a question?" Jenna asked, equally as huffily.

"I just thought you'd be bound to my house or however it's supposed to work. I'm going to Erasmus."

"Looking at pictures with your pops. Rad." Jenna rolled her eyes. "It's a beautiful day. School just got out. We should go skating or something."

She thought it was the beginning of last summer, since she had disappeared only a few weeks after Freshman year ended. But I kept silent as I realized it.

The sun lit up the fresh-cut grass. Tons of people were still taking advantage of the weather, riding bikes, jogging, power walking. I felt self-conscious. What if I was only talking to myself? I tried to be discreet with my communication.

"So why did you decide to follow me?" I asked Jenna out of the side of my lips.

"What's wrong with your mouth?" No detail got past the girl. Okay, except for one huge detail. "Did you have an aneurysm?"

"No."

"Well, I took a nap, then I realized I was bored enough to not care what you thought." She stretched her lithe arms above her head. "I've been really tired lately. I swear I'm turning into a grandma."

I knew Hugh wouldn't be happy when he saw me by myself. True to my assumption, when I walked into the open door of the gallery, Hugh scowled at me from his position at the front desk.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. He had been talking on his phone, but he flipped it shut. Gwen, his assistant, breezed out of the stock room with cardboard shipping tubes in her arms. "I thought you were getting books. Yet I see no books." He looked suspiciously towards my empty arms.

"Everything I wanted was gone."

"Did they clean out all the romance novels, too?"

"Har har."

"You should have given me a call."

"I'm almost sixteen years old. Give me a break. You know most kids my age are out all the time by themselves. Why am I such a delicate flower?"

"It's not about that," Hugh said gently. He started popping the tops off of the cardboard tubes, and sliding what looked like rolled up sketches inside. "Just because other parents would happily let their children tear down their houses, doesn't mean Claire and I have to be slackers."

"That sounds like you care a lot, Mr. Donovan," Jenna said politely.

This was my test. If either of them saw Jenna standing next to me, she was real. But neither of them acknowledged her speaking or even glanced in her direction. Gwen just smiled sympathetically at me from my father's pronouncement. My heart sank. Jenna seemed confused that Hugh didn't respond, then shrugged.

"The library is five minutes away, Hugh. Nothing was going to happen to me," I glared back at him, both disappointed that he couldn't see Jenna and sick of being treated like a helpless child.

"That's just like you, Ariel," Gwen said, amused, as she set down her cargo. "Keeping your mind busy even when school's been let out for summer. You have a good kid."

Hugh's anger seemed to disperse. "I have a willful kid," he said.

Blueprints were laid out in front of him. I could make out the shape of the gallery, the room we were standing in. I also noticed all the noise in the background, the distant sounds of hammers banging and an electric drill whirring.

"What's with the ruckus?" I asked, sitting on a stool near the counter.

Hugh groaned, rubbing his hands on his eyes. "Those idiot Thornhill people bought out that old ballroom at the end of the block, and now they're renovating it."

"Why?"

"I have no idea. Just to waste more money, is my guess," Hugh said. "They got bored with blowing their noses on hundred dollar bills." He folded the blueprint up untidily like an old newspaper and tossed it on the counter.

"So we're doing a little redecorating of our own," Gwen said, stepping in. She gestured to utility ladders set up on either end of the room. "We have some workmen coming in to change the light fixtures. Give it a bit more depth here, more drama."

Just then, a truck rolled up in front of the building, breaks squeaking. Two burly men in white overalls exited the front seat.

"I just hope they don't start busting holes in the ceiling. You hold down the fort here," Hugh instructed me, rapping his knuckles on the blueprint. He looked tired, like his head hurt.

I watched Hugh and Claire walk outside and start talking to the men. After a minute, I strode into one of the gallery rooms. The lights had been taken down there as well, so it was shadowy, the oblong windows letting in just enough sunlight through the blinds.

The colors of all the paintings had deepened, giving everything an air of mystery. The wall at the end of the room had been left blank, for Theo's mural. I felt a stab in my chest from missing her, and I hoped she was actually resting.

Jenna was hovering by my side the whole time. I could sense her tension.

I sat on a bench in the middle of the room, staring at the painting in front of me, but not really seeing it. It was an abstract, anyway; so to my eyes, it could have been anything. Red and black and white splotches all over the canvas; "Traffic" was the title on the brass plate.

"When are you going to vanish for good?" I asked wearily.

"Believe me, if I could, I would. But for some reason, I can't not be around you," she said grumpily.

"Doesn't that strike you as unusual?"

"Whatever. Hugh didn't say hi to me," Jenna said, sulking down beside me. "He and Gwen totally ignored me. Did you tell them—"

"They didn't say hi because they can't see you," I cut her off. "Most people can't see ghosts."

"Again with that. Okay, fine." She hopped back off of the bench. "Prove that I'm dead. If I'm a ghost, you shouldn't be able to touch me, right?" Her voice was quavering. She held her arms wide in a crucifixion pose.

"I'm done trying to convince you. I can't run in circles anymore. I'm retiring from the pro circuit."

"Oh no," Jenna said, shifting over so she was standing directly in front of me and I had to look at her instead of the blotchy painting. "Prove it."

I sighed, not really knowing how to prove something like that. What, should I drag her to the cemetery? Point cryptically to the letters on her headstone and shout, "See? Are you happy now?" That seemed too morbid, and knowing Jenna, she would just accuse me of doctoring a fake grave.

Reaching out my hand, I aimed for her arm. I figured my fingers would pass through. Instead, a current zapped me, a fainter version of when I'd bumped into Henry. There was nothing completely solid, but I did touch something, like plunging my hand into gel.

Somehow, it was like pinching myself in a dream. She was real. She was real because I felt her; not her skin, not her flesh, but her spirit. It left me with my mouth wide open as I retracted my arm.

"Ow! Why did you pinch me?" Jenna shouted, recoiling. She rubbed her forearm and looked at me accusingly.

"I didn't pinch you," I said softly. We exchanged a glance. And then I realized what I hadn't before, because I hadn't been close enough.

Her eyes. Not the black, insect-like eyes she'd had in my visions. Even Alyssa and Susan had those unsettling insect eyes. But now her eyes were back to their normal, alive shade of pale blue.

"What was that?" she finally asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know. That's a new thing."

Jenna sat down next to me, careful to keep herself at the other end of the bench. A vibrantly painted rose bloomed on the bench between us, the paint just starting to crack like black veins.

We sat in silent company, her shoulders slumping forward. She looked shocked, staring at the floor. I looked at the painting again through a blur of tears as I began to weep, and all I could see were shades of red and black running together.

"It's going to be okay, right?" Jenna asked softly.

"Yeah." And for the first time in months, I felt like that was true.

CHAPTER 7

THROUGHOUT THE WEEKS
that followed, it became deceptively normal to have Jenna around again. Everyone else in my life seemed to be busy with their own responsibilities — Hugh at the gallery as a busy selling season began, Claire with her work at the insurance company. Even Theo with her mural.

It was as though the last year had never happened. Jenna was back to her old self, more or less. We didn't talk about her being dead anymore. She hadn't believed that she was, after all, just that she was sick. I felt no reason to push the issue.

One day I was in my room, getting dressed. I noticed the calender was still set to March; I'd never bothered changing it, since the passage of time hadn't seemed to matter. I tore off all the months before June, and crumpled the pages into the trash.

Jenna and I spent all of our days together, gossiping about the politics at Hawthorne, talking about movies, and sharing memories. She didn't know Henry existed, which was a nice change. I almost mentioned him several times, but I thought it would be too much to explain.

I spent a lot of time downstairs or just by myself (at least, it looked that way to an outside observer) on the couch. It felt nice to be lazy, now that I didn't wallow in sadness.

Hugh took up painting again in the times that he was home. I tried to stand and watch him work a couple times. He had three canvases set up on easels in his studio. All dystopian paintings, all half-finished. Like he had ADD, he would bounce from easel to easel, paintbrush dripping.

Whenever I tried to watch, even if I was quiet, he would stop and grin painfully at me.

"I know you don't mean to, kiddo. But having someone stare at me breaks my concentration."

The only problem with being practically house-bound was that I realized I was beginning to lose my grip on reality. And I missed Theo; as much as I loved having Jenna around, there was a hole there that Theo usually filled. For the first time in my life, I realized how shallow Jenna could be, cracking on fat girls with muffin tops on TV, and endlessly discussing her nails.

In the last week of June, we were in the kitchen again, joking as I made microwave mini pizzas. Jenna never seemed to notice the fact that she was never hungry. I washed off my plate in the sink, and glanced out the window.

"Remember last year, when Ambrose wore his hat backwards for a month and kept chuckin' up deuces at the teachers?" Jenna said, snickering.

Actually, it had been two years ago, but it made me giggle. Our school bully had always thought he was such a badass. Odd that he had given me the most accurate advice I'd ever heard about love after Henry betrayed me.

I noticed movement from next door, and pulled the sun-faded curtains aside. Theo had come out of her house beyond the fence. I dropped my plate, and rushed outside.