Wraith

a novel by

Angel Lawson

Copyright © 2012 by Anna Benefield

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious.

Any similarity to real persons, living or dead,

is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Lawson, Angel.

Wraith/ Angel Lawson – 1st ed.

ISBN: 978-1469992839

ISBN-10: 1469992833

1. Young Adult—Fiction. 2. Ghosts—Fiction. 3. Death—Fiction. 4. Forgiveness—Fiction. I. Title

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Book Cover by Samantha Marrs & Anna Benefield

Y
ANK

I felt the sharp tug on my ponytail. Evan. What amounted to fun for him was really just obnoxious. I expected nothing less from my best friend.

YANK.

I winced this time. He wanted me to react. I wouldn’t, though. He knew I couldn’t risk turning to stare at his empty seat. I was at his mercy. To everyone else, the desk was unoccupied. None of my classmates wanted to sit near Jane Watts and risk social suicide.

Cool air stirred behind my neck and I braced myself. For a brief second, I longed for the days when Evan’s touch didn’t affect me. Usually, I liked it. It made things more
real
.

YAN—

I shifted forward, slouching over my desk. “Ha!” I said, too loud and inappropriate for AP English. Half the class—including Ms. Bates—looked in my direction, and I clamped a hand over my mouth before coughing. “Excuse me,” I said to the girl closest to me. She sneered in reply. Jeez, can’t a girl cough?

“I’m sorry,” Evan said. He whispered even though no one else would hear him. “I’ll behave.”

Whatever. I shifted away from him and for the first time I saw the new kid everyone was talking about. From this position, I could only see his profile. He had an angular face and brownish skin—possibly a leftover tan from the summer. At first glance he seemed cute. Of course, at first glance I appeared normal and sane, although the mere presence of Evan proved otherwise.

It didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t the only one observing the new boy. The majority of the class seemed to have reason to face his side of the room. Oblivious to the attention, he worked the pencil across the page with one hand and his other rubbed the back of his shorn hair. He was sketching—and this fact alone piqued my interest. I wondered what he was drawing and if he would be in my art class. But then, I considered, he could just be a doodler, one of those guys who created comic book figures and super heroes fighting dragons who then saved huge-chested women in skimpy clothing. He was probably a geek. Or a pervert. Or both.

“With that haircut I bet he’s drawing army men with buzz cuts and hand-grenades. How long before Ms. Bates catches him and sends him to the office for zero tolerance,” Evan said, having the same thoughts. “Who wears their hair in crew-cut? Probably just got out of military school.”

The girl next to me coughed, (less spastic than I had) breaking the monotony of the room, and the new boy looked away from his paper. I diverted my eyes, focusing on the swirly butterfly I had been shading on my own paper. Curiosity got the best of me, though, and after a moment I took a peek to the side. He looked in my direction, but not at me—not exactly. His eyes were glued right behind me. To the seat I knew was technically empty, the seat of my best friend and current tormentor.

Pretending to stretch, I knew before I even looked what I’d find behind me. The thing that made me an outcast among my classmates. Sure enough, Evan sat quietly, his mouth twisted into an angelic grin, blonde, messy hair dipping into his eyes, and his brows furrowed in question. My eyes shifted back to the new kid, who stared at the two of us, his eyes darting back and forth. His behavior became disturbingly clear.

He could see Evan, too.

“T
HAT WAS NICE OF
you to make an appearance in my lit class today,” I tossed out, not even attempting to hide my sarcasm. The afternoon autumn breeze cooled my face as we climbed the hill on my street. After a full day trapped inside a sweaty, hormonally-charged pubescent environment, some fresh air was a blessing. I waited for Evan to bring up the boy from class, too chicken to approach it myself.

Evan shoved his hands in his jeans. It was his only pair and had a wide, fraying rip in the knee. “Meh, I was bored.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” I looked over in time to catch the sly grin forming on his face. Even if I wanted to be mad at him, I couldn’t. Not under our circumstances. He may be annoying, but in reality, he could be so much more if he wanted. I made a mental note to thank him for his consideration the next time he actually did something nice.

“So that kid…” he prompted.

“Saw nothing. Did nothing. Knows nothing.”

“Denial much?”

“Works for me.”

He frowns. “What if he saw me?”

“What if he didn’t? Do you think I’m going to approach some guy and ask him? People already think I’m a freak. No need to make it worse.”

Evan laid his arm over my shoulder. “I think he did and so do you, but we can wait and see.”

“Maybe.”

“Remember the first time you saw me?” he asked. “You didn’t even flinch.”

“I thought you were cute.” I laughed. “Not really. I was completely freaking out. I had my eye on an umbrella next to my desk. Not that it would have worked.”

“Your lack of fear kind of hurt my feelings.”

“Liar.”

We stopped at the cement stairs that scaled the hill in front of my home. Goodbyes with Evan were easy. We had a routine.

“Later,” he said, kicking the bottom step.

“Later,” I replied, loud enough for only him to hear, and climbed the steps toward my home.

‘L
ATER' IN REALITY WAS
the time it took for me to enter the house, say hello to my mother, eat a snack under her caring and watchful eye as I recounted my day, and then eventually escape up to my room.

“How was work?” I asked. My parents owned an antique/art gallery blocks from our home, cleverly (they thought) called “Don’t Cut Your Ear Off.”

“Good,” she said, sitting next to me and swiping an apple slice from my plate. “Daddy had to wait for a new artist to come by. She hand-paints ceiling tiles.”

We had lived in this house for less than a year, but every day I knew that even though it wasn’t the right move for me, it was for them.

I should have known something was up the day they called me for a family meeting, which really wasn’t much of a meeting as it was just the three of us. While I sat across from them on the loveseat they announced their decision.

We were moving. Not over the summer or after I graduated—now. Smack in the middle of spring semester. I bartered and begged. I came up with schemes to stay with my best friend, Grace, but they held firm. Within weeks they quit their jobs and bought a hundred year old home in the city. With one quick decision our sprawling, suburban house was sold and we moved to an urban, gentrified neighborhood with dog parks, bike paths and high-ceilinged, hip retail shops that begged you to go in and spend money.

“He’ll be home for dinner though,” my mom said.

“I’ve got some homework,” I said, placing my plate in the sink. My mom gave me a fast hug before I climbed the stairs to my room looking to the corner near the desk for Evan. He was right where I expected him.

“Hey,” I said, dropping my backpack on the floor and lying on the bed, spreading out across the mattress. Today had been exhausting.

Evan mumbled a hello from his corner, but nothing else, and I pushed my face into my pillow. My eyes fluttered closed and I drifted, thinking of new boys and pretty, artistic fingers. Did he really see Evan? Could he see Evan? The thought paralyzed me with fear. I pushed it from my mind and the next thing I knew the room was growing dark. I sat up with a lurch.

Evan was still in the corner.

“How long did I sleep?” My voice was raspy and gruff.

“An hour or so.”

I looked at Evan standing in the shadows of my room. His blond, curly hair was messy as usual and his jeans had that single tear at the knee. I wondered, not for the first time, what he would look like dressed differently. I caught my reflection in the mirror on the back of the door and made a face at my rumpled appearance.

“Do you hate having nothing to do all day?” I asked, smoothing out my hair. Even though I asked these same questions before, he always answered them patiently. He had little else to do but humor me.

“My time doesn’t work like that. You know this.” He shook his head in annoyance but continued anyway. “When we’re together like this—talking—time seems normal. But other times, when you sleep or I just wander, it’s like it stops existing. Time is just fluid, then.”

I was sitting upright now, watching him as he watched me. “Like being asleep. Time passes without you noticing?”

“Kind of.” He nodded.

“I wish we had met before,” I said. “Before…this. Before it happened.”

Evan nodded in agreement. “But we didn’t. Instead, we’re like this. Which is okay, right?” He smiled but for once it didn’t reach his eyes and it made me uncomfortable.

From the bottom of the stairs I heard my mother’s voice calling me for dinner. I stood quickly, running my hands over my messy hair one last time before I walked downstairs.

“Thanks for being here,” I said, my fingers on the door knob.

He tilted his head and frowned. “Where else would I be?”