Wraith (3 page)

“Why not?” I regretted the words the minute I said them. The reason why was clear. Everyone thought I was psycho. No one but me thought he was.

“First of all, Michael Brooks and Trey Arnold have been his best friends since second grade. They weren’t going to abandon him just because he got in trouble.” My eyes narrowed in confusion, barely registering Ava’s movements as she packed up her lunch.

“Wait…what?” I asked. “But he’s new…he just transferred here, right?”

Ava shook her head. “No. He’s always been a student here. Well, he was until he got sent to some kind of boot camp or wilderness program or something for nine months. He just came back.” She lifted her head to get a better view. “I will admit though, he didn’t look like that before he left. The short hair is definitely new. They must have shaved it. Not to mention he looks like he grew a couple feet.”

I turned discreetly in my seat in an attempt to get a better look at him. He was talking easily with his friends, while he leaned back casually in his seat and propped his feet on the bar beneath the table. His hair was still short but as the days passed, it lacked the tidiness from when I first saw him. It seemed the hair on his face grew faster than that on his head though, as his beard was spreading thickly across his jaw. He glanced in my direction, and our eyes locked for a split-second before he turned away, re-engaging his friends.

“Boot camp? What did he—” The bell rang and the sudden clatter of chairs and trash being thrown away as students rushed out of the room to their next class.

“I’ve got to run—math test—but I’ll see you in art, okay?” Ava called, swinging her satchel over her shoulder and darting toward the door.

“Bye.” I waved, but my eyes were on Connor and his friends as he ducked out the door and into the swarm of kids in the hallway.

N
INETY MINUTES LATER, I’M
perched on my stool next to Ava and waiting for Ms. Anderson to stop talking about shading techniques. I was dying to find out more about Connor. I couldn’t stop watching him, trying to envision his lanky frame and scruffy beard in military boot camp clothing. I shook my head to remove the ridiculous image from my thoughts.

There was no way that kid spent time in boot camp.

Ms. Anderson finally directed us toward our projects and I rummaged through my bag for my drawing pencil.

“Hey,” I whispered to Ava who was already busy with her picture. “Do you have an extra pencil? I think I left mine in my locker.”

She shook her head no and mouthed, “Sorry.”

I walked over to Ms. Anderson’s desk and asked for a hall pass. She handed it over with a disapproving nod, and I bolted out the door and out into the hall. The corridor had that calm, cool feeling all schools have when everyone is in class. The only sounds came from a locker door slamming near the science wing and my footsteps echoing off the shiny floor. I turned the corner and gasped when I came face to face with Evan.

“Watch it!” I whispered, peeking over my shoulder. “What are you doing?” I continued to walk toward my locker, with him hot on my trail.

“I saw you come out here, so I thought I would drop in and say hello.” I turned to glare at him and was rewarded with a megawatt smile. “Hello.”

“Evan. You need to go, and I have to get back to class. Ms. Anderson is PMSing or something and I don’t want to get detention.” My fingers spun the dial on my lock and I searched for my pencil, eventually finding it behind a stack of books.

“Fine! But I need you to give that kid Connor a break. If he tries to talk to you again—just do it.” I looked at Evan suspiciously and noticed he refused to make eye contact.

“No. Have you heard where he’s been?” My voice rose and I dropped it back down looking around for other students. I couldn’t afford getting caught talking to “myself” in the hallway again. “He was basically in kid jail!”

Evan leaned against the wall of lockers, crossing his arms over his chest and fixed me with a glare. “You of all people should know not to listen to rumors.”

A twinge of guilt manifested at his accusation, but I refused to give in. Yes, I listened to the rumors, but I’d seen him with my own eyes vandalizing public property. “I’m not talking to him. I’m not giving him the chance to make fun of me or whatever it is he’s up to. In fact it makes more sense now, with his background, that he was messing with me. He probably broke into my records and found out just enough to freak me out.”

I’d begun walking again, leaving Evan behind me, pouting against the wall. “Fine. Just…” I looked back before turning the corner and saw he had vanished.

“Ooof!” I exhaled when I slammed into someone hard. “Watch it!” I shouted.

“You watch it.”

I focused on the jerk I’d run into and who currently had his hands on my upper arms, holding me upright. The jerk who had crystal blue eyes and warm, firm hands.

Connor. Of course.

I shrugged my arms away from him and glanced away from his eyes and hair and his warm skin, and swallowed the apology that had been on my tongue.

“Excuse me.” I attempted to dart around him.

His hand gripped my arm, attempting to stop me. “Wait.” I twisted out of his reach. Now that I knew he was a troublemaker of some variety, I really didn’t want to tangle with him again. I didn’t want him to make fun of me.

“Jane, right?” His feet moved behind mine, and the thick soles of his boots scuffed the floor. “Your name’s Jane, right?”

“Leave me alone.”

We were approaching the Fine Arts Hall and I assessed that in twenty more feet I could be back in the classroom, away from him.

“Stop, okay? Just give me a minute.” His voice was low but laced with frustration, and I couldn’t help but turn.

“What?” I half-whispered, half-yelled. “What do you want?”

When he saw that I’d stopped, his shoulders—perfectly broad, in that not too wide, not too narrow kind of way, I noted—relaxed, and I saw the glimmer of relief in his eyes. “I want to talk to you for a minute. Dammit.” He rubbed the corner of his mouth. “I want to apologize, for the other day.”

I eyed him. “Fine. Apology accepted. Finished?”

“No,” he snapped. “I’m not finished. I apologize for my rudeness and just coming up like that. I know…I know that was harsh, but we need to talk. Away from school.”

I shook my head in disapproval before he finished talking. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

I took a minute to assess Connor head to toe. He wore a black T-shirt under an open button-down shirt, jeans and black work boots. There were multi-colored paint drops on the hems of his pants. He appeared normal and I knew he had friends and I knew he had been in trouble, but he seemed to know more about me than he should, and all I wanted was to stay invisible.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I don’t want part of it. I know what the other kids say about me and you just got back and all, but everyone has finally left me alone. Just because it’s new to you doesn’t mean I’m willing to be your punching bag. Find someone else to mess with.”

I said the words with as much venom and confidence I could muster, ignoring my shaking hands. I ran back to class, pulled out my drawing and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Several minutes passed before I heard the door swing open and Connor entered the room. He’d obviously waited outside so it wouldn’t appear we were in the hallway together—further evidence, in my opinion, that he didn’t really want to have anything to do with me. With my head down, I waited for the sounds of his stool to slide back as he settled into his seat. It didn’t happen. Instead, I sensed him hovering by my desk, taking the long way back to his. In reaction my heart hammered in my chest.

I refused to look up.

I wouldn’t look up.

There was no way I was looking up.

I looked up.

But what I saw wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t looking at me or attempting to talk again. Connor’s eyes were glued to my portrait. The portrait of Evan I’d been working on for weeks. I’d finished the majority of his face and all of his wavy, light hair. I worked on his chin, trying to get the angle right, trying to accentuate the dimple at the bottom. I’d erased and reworked it dozens of times so far and was about to quit. Other than the chin, it was pretty good—fairly accurate.

“Mr. Jacobs, please take a seat,” Ms. Anderson directed from her desk, causing an almost-frozen Connor to flinch.

He moved as directed, but when he sat our eyes locked once again. To my surprise he mouthed the word, “Wait,” and reached for the thick piece of drawing paper on the table. After pausing to study it for a moment, he flipped it over so I could see. My hand flew to my mouth on instinct and I fought an overwhelming urge to vomit as blood rushed to my ears.

Connor’s portrait was an exact replica of mine.

I
WAITED UNTIL AFTER
dinner to call Ava. My room was tucked away on the third floor in the former attic space. Two dormer windows faced the backyard. My parents thought I was working on homework, and they were busy with their own nighttime routines. Although they would have been pleased I was on the phone with a friend, I doubted they would have approved of the topic. Closing the bedroom door behind me, I listened to the short rings.

“Hello,” I heard a voice, older and male.

“Hello, may I speak to Ava please?” I asked, using my polite, speaking-to-an-adult tone.

After a bit of shuffling and calling in the background, Ava’s voice appeared on the line.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me, Jane.”

“Oh, Jane! I had no idea who would call my house. I usually only use my cell. What’s up?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, umm…I had a question, about school; can you talk?”

“Sure.”

I paced my room, walking the narrow space from one side to the other, since the ceiling angled on both sides. “I, umm…well, really it’s about that kid Connor. I need to know more about him.”

Ava giggled into the phone. “So you do like him. I knew it.”

“No…no, I don’t. It’s just…” I sighed, not wanting to explain. “He followed me out of class today and…I just can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or not.”

Ava was quiet for a minute, but finally said, “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Why did he leave school?”

“I told you, they sent him to some boot camp or wilderness program for troubled kids. I’m not sure exactly. There were a lot of rumors flying around at the time.”

“Rumors?”

“Everything was fine—just like it had always been, he was pretty smart and involved. He always had lots of friends and a couple girlfriends here and there. Then he just got weird. He was involved in a couple fights, bad ones, and then…”

“Then what?” I held my breath.

“Then one day he shattered every window in the house with a baseball bat and built a bonfire in the middle of the living room. His mother came home before the fire had fully formed and called the fire department and the police. We didn’t see him again until now.”

“Wow.” He really
was
messed up.

“Is he bothering you that much, Jane? He’s never bothered kids at school before, well, girls at least; the fights were with other boys. But if you’re scared, I guess I wouldn’t blame you for being worried.”

I considered her words. I wasn’t exactly scared of him, not in the way she said, but her story definitely put it all in a different light. Why he was focused on me, though, and how did he know my secret?

“No.” I sat on my bed, pulling my feet under my body. “No, it’s not that bad. Like I said before, it took me long enough to settle in and I just don’t want him to blow it for me. I think if I continue to ignore him, he’ll back off.”

“Probably,” she said. “He was always generally nice and very popular. He’s smart and artistic. It was bizarre when he lost it last year, but who knows, maybe he was having some problems we don’t know about. His friends accepted him back fairly easily. I suppose the rest of us should as well.”

Acceptance. It was the one thing I’d desired since our move. Evan was right. I should know better than to judge someone on rumors, but then again, something was going on with Connor Jacobs and he was trying to involve me now. I couldn’t deny that.

“H
ERE,” I SAID TO
my grandmother, pulling the plate of china out of her hands. “Let me set the table.” She reached in the cabinet for more plates.

“Thank you, dear.”

“No problem,” I said, trying not to drop the stack of fragile fine china I carried in my hands. My mother’s mother, Bebe, was great. I’d always enjoyed her presence and even spent weeks with her as a child during the summer. She was fun and loved games and art. It was nice to be near her after such a stressful time. I wasn’t sure how much my mother had told her about the incident at school or the visits to the doctors, but when I arrived she wrapped me into a tight embrace and smoothed my hair like she had when I was little. I suspected she knew more than she was letting on.

I carried the plates into the dining room and laid them around the table, mentally counting in my head the number of guests and seats. Between my parents, my grandmother and my Uncle John there should have been five. I held up the extra plate. “I think you gave me one too many, Bebe.”

Bebe arrived into the dining room a moment later with a handful of silverware. “Oh, your Aunt Jeannie is coming for dinner—didn’t your mother tell you?”

I shook my head and set the plate on the white linen tablecloth. My Aunt Jeannie was really my mother’s cousin, but she was older and had always been more like her big sister since Bebe had helped raise her. I’d only met her a couple of times. She’s an artist in New York and traveled often. My mother and Bebe often told me we were similar in disposition and attitude, but I couldn’t see it. Images of her bohemian style and artistic life came to mind—what I would give to have her carefree attitude.

“She should be here anytime,” Bebe continued, handing me the utensils, and squeezing my hand in the process. “Put these out and I’ll be in the kitchen.”

I laid the shiny silverware out, fork on the napkin, knife and spoon to the right of the plate, meticulously working my way around the table. I glanced up and noticed Evan standing near the doorway.

“I couldn’t resist coming to see you,” he said laughing. “I wish I was getting ready to eat turkey, dressing and all the rest. What kind of pie did your mother make?”

Cautiously, I looked over my shoulder, before whispering, “Apple.”

“Ugh, I loved apple pie. And pumpkin. And cherry.” I suppressed a laugh as he ran his hands over his belly and licked his lips in memory.

“So what you’re saying is, you loved pie.”

He laughed back. “I did. I was a growing teenage boy. I ate everything in sight.” He walked around the room, touching the antiques placed decoratively around the house. “I see why your mother moved to an older home. She must have missed all this.”

During times like this it was hard to remember Evan was eternally sixteen. He had rare moments of maturity and insight. “Maybe. I think she likes the energy in an old home, but her decorative style is definitely more contemporary than my grandmother’s.”

He paused in front of a wild, abstract painting in the center of the wall. “I don’t know…this one is rather bold.”

I walked over to stand next to him and studied the vivid strokes and heavy paint. There were thick pieces of paper and words swirling around several nondescript forms that jumbled together so I didn’t understand what they meant. My hand moved forward and grazed the name etched into the bottom.

Jeannie Monroe.

A voice startled me from behind, causing my fingers to withdraw. “I can’t help but touch paintings myself, even though they tell you not to.”

I turned to find my “aunt” standing in the doorway. She was tall and thin, her hair streaked with gray, and she still wore it long and curly down her back. She was beautiful and elegant, even in a white T-shirt with a fluffy, knitted scarf at the neck. A long, denim skirt and suede cowboy boots completed her outfit, and I was immediately jealous at her ability to dress casual yet nicer than everyone else.

“Aunt Jeannie! You surprised me!” I said, once I caught my breath.

“Your mother said you were in here,” she said.

Evan remained close, I could feel his presence. Although my heart slowed its pounding from being startled, I felt it pick back up when I looked at my aunt’s expression. Her brow furrowed and the corners of her eyes tightened in what I interpreted as confusion or concern as they flicked in the space Evan and I occupied.

I forced a smile on my face and was relieved when I heard the boisterous laughter of my mother and grandmother in the kitchen. “We should see if they need help.”

Jeannie hooked her arm through mine and together we moved through the doorway toward my family, leaving Evan behind.

A
FTER DINNER, I SLIPPED
away from the adults for Bebe’s library. The high-ceilinged room off the front parlor was my makeshift bedroom when I visited. More than a library, it was a fascinating mixture of books, paintings, and collectibles. She collected pieces from all over the world and I loved staying in there.

Evan had been gone since dinner, which was a bit unusual, but perhaps the family togetherness was more than even he could handle. He didn’t mention his family much, other than the fact he had two sisters and a mother who survived the terrible crash they had all been in. That in this accident he’d lost his life. I’d asked him about them before, names or ages, but he was hesitant, never offering anything tangible. His sadness was evident and it was clear that he missed them.

I listened to music while flipping through a leather-bound photo book. Inside were photos of my mother as a child with her parents, doing the typical childhood activities, picnics, playgrounds, school dances, and birthday parties. My mother was ten years younger than Jeannie, and at a particular point in time my aunt made her appearance in the photographs as well. I studied one in particular when I heard a light rapping on the door.

“It’s open.”

“Can I come in?” Jeannie waited at the door. I made room for her on the couch

“What are you looking at?” she asked, nudging the book with her hand.

“Oh, just one of Bebe’s photo albums. Pictures of you and mom.” I tapped the white-trimmed square photo with my finger. They were at the beach, lying on towels in bathing suits.

Jeannie sighed at the photo. “Oh what I would give for that body today. That bikini is quite small.”

I squinted at the photo, considering the style of her 1970s bathing suit. “How old were you here?”

“Twenty,” she said without hesitation. I raised my eyebrow and she caught it. “I remember specifically because that photo was taken about a month before I dropped out of school and moved to California.” 

My jaw dropped of its own accord. “You did what?”

She laughed again, louder this time. “Yes, I suppose they wouldn’t tell you about that, huh?”

I shook my head. No one had ever mentioned any of this to me. “What happened? Why’d you do it?”

She closed the photo album and leaned against the couch cushion. “This town was too small for me. I wanted out, to see things, to do things. I loved my family, but I never belonged here.”