Authors: Melissa Pearl
That's right.
He hands his wife - Mary? Yeah, I think it's Mary - the pepper and gives her a private smile. Man, they look so in love it's sickening. I mean, ewww. How old are these people?
I ignore the thought that my parents used to look at each other that way and instead return my attention to the fact Dale is being a stubborn ass. I can't believe he doesn't trust me. After all we've been through today.
I cross my arms and shoot him a few death glares, but he's oblivious.
"So, Dale, how are you getting on with Mr. Moffat?"
"Yeah, okay." Dale nods.
"Okay? I was sitting next to you for half the class and you didn't take one note," I call across the room.
Dale's shoulders tense and he shoots his parents a close mouthed smile. My eyes narrow. Stepping towards the table, I decide to play the bitch everyone knows me for.
Squatting down beside the Finnigans, I do my best to throw a squirm jamboree for my untrusting companion.
"Actually Mr. and Mrs. Finningan, your son is probably failing physics."
Dale shovels a fork full of rice into his mouth and glares in the direction of my voice.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he gets a big, fat F on his transcript." I grimace. "Not so great for college apps, am I right?"
Leaning forward, Dale clears his throat and shuffles in his chair.
"If I were you, I'd be asking to see his school work, because if the amount of notes he took today were anything to go by, he might not be doing so well in other areas either."
The fork drops from Dale's hand and in spite of the fact he can't see me, he manages to aim a black glare right in my direction.
"Dale, sweetie, are you okay?"
He holds his breath for a beat, then shakes his head.
"No, actually. I need to tell you guys something."
"What are you doing?"
I step back from the table as his parents both lean forward, looking concerned.
"The truth is..."
"Are you insane, right now? They won't believe you can hear a ghost!"
He sighs.
"I think I'm failing physics."
Confusion stunts my next statement.
Mrs. Finnigan looks disappointed and Mr. Finnigan leans back with a thoughtful expression.
"Bummer," he eventually says.
"Yeah, I know, Dad. I'm really sorry, but I just... I really hate it and don't understand what Mr. Moffat is talking about half the time. I just don't think I can do well this year."
"But you're doing so well in everything else."
"Yeah, well Biology's a little hard, but I love my other subjects."
Mrs. Finnigan's lips bunch together, and then she looks at her husband. They have one of those silent conversations that only married couples seem capable of.
"We talked about you studying a range of subjects this year."
"I know, but I don't enjoy it. I want to transfer out of the class and do something I'll excel in."
Like they're ever going to let that happen.
The couple finish their silent conversation then look to Dale.
"Okay, well I'm open to discussing that."
What?
"We're really sorry it's not working out."
"Yeah, well I should have been up front from the start. I never wanted to take Physics."
"Then why did you?"
"Because I wanted to make you guys... proud."
"Oh sweetie." Mrs. Finnigan reaches across the table and grabs Dale's hand. "We'll always be proud of you and you know, your honesty right now is just making us prouder. We love you, kiddo."
Their conversation continues as they discuss other subjects that Dale might take. Their voices turn to static noise as I lean against the wall.
My eyes burn with unwelcome tears.
We love you, kiddo.
I can't remember the last time someone told me they loved me and they're just saying it like it's an everyday occurrence.
I notice Dale look over his shoulder. He slowly searches the room as he nods at his parents' comments.
He's looking for me.
I should call out and tell him where I am, but I can't.
Instead I creep out of the room.
The kitchen door is ajar, I squeeze through it, cross the road diagonally and turn down Piney Lane. A few hundred yards later, I'm walking around the back of my house and climbing the stairs. Mom always leaves the bathroom window open. I have no idea how I'm supposed to actually climb through it. I stand outside and look at the narrow gap. I might be able to fit through it... but with hands as dense as smoke, I have no idea how I'll grip the frame to pull myself up.
I let out an irate huff. I can't work this stupid ghost thing out. My feet seem capable of walking on solid surfaces and my butt seems capable of sitting on any kind of seat, so why do my hands glide through everything? Maybe it's a mind over matter type thing.
My eyes narrow as I study the window and will myself to believe it is a solid object that no part of my body can fall through. I decide that the faster I do this, the less thought will be involved. Taking a breath, I launch myself towards the window, my foot lands on the sill as my hands touch the frame.
Of course my brain then decides to remind me that this is all just ridiculous and my hands fly straight through the glass followed by the rest of my body. I land in a heap on the tiled floor. Jumping up, I do a little heebie-jeebies dance. I whirl back to look at the window, shudder once more then make my way through the house. It's cold, dark and silent.
I step into my room and look around my pristine belongings. My bookshelf is neatly lined with untouched books, the clothes are neatly folded into every draw or hung neatly on every hanger. My subtle bedspread is pulled tight to perfection... just the way I like it.
I frown.
Everything feels cold. Cold and gloomy.
Spinning on my heel, I descend the stairs to the living room and force myself not to look out the window. There's a light on in the kitchen. I follow the amber glow and stumble across my mother. She's sitting at the kitchen counter, picking at a microwave meal.
"Mom?"
I step in front of her. She's in zombie mode again. Her fork is poised just above her food. It's like she knows she needs to eat, but can't quite make herself do it.
I look at the clock on the stove. 6.50pm. Dad is nearly an hour late, what else is new?
My mother blinks and finally comes to. She looks at the clock and huffs, throwing her fork into her bowl and stepping away from the counter. With practiced efficiency she goes to the cupboard and grabs a large wine glass. She selects a bottle, pops the cork and pours herself a huge glass. It's gone after four big swigs.
"Whoa, Mom."
She pours another glass and slaps the bottle on the counter. She goes to guzzle it then stops and gently places it down. A sudden sob spurts out of her mouth as she dips her head. Her blond locks fall over her face and her shoulders shake.
"Don't cry," I whisper.
She doesn't hear me and the sobs keep coming out of her, slow and pitiful.
I back away. I can't be here. I can't watch this again.
Stumbling out of the room, I run to the bathroom and fall back through the window. I don't even care. All I want right now is yummy warmth.
The kitchen door is closed when I return to the Finnigan's home. I curse then walk around the side of the house looking for another way in. I can see Dale's window is wide open. I wonder if he's left it like that for me.
Does he think I can freaking fly?
I kick the rock at my foot and watch my boot whoosh through it.
This sucks.
I'm about to slump to the ground when the front door opens.
"You don't need to worry, Mary. He's being honest with us, that's the most important thing."
"I just want him to be happy. I don't want a repeat of-"
Mr. Finnigan places his finger gently on his wife's lips.
"That will never happen again. Don't be afraid. We have to trust him now."
She gives him a soft smile.
"I know."
With a tender gaze, Mr. Finnigan leans down and kisses his wife. I take my chance and crawl past them and through the front door. I'm sure I end up pulling my hips through their legs. They both seem to shiver as they step away from each other.
"Have fun."
"I will. This couple are fantastic. So suited. These pre-marriage sessions have been great."
"Only one month 'til the wedding. I can't believe it."
Mr. Finnigan gives her a grin.
"Can't wait to marry them."
"Bye sweetie. Love you."
"You too, babe. Home soon."
I watch them exchange one last adoring look before scampering up the stairs.
"I didn't know your Dad was a minister."
Dale jumps a mile as I walk through his open doorway.
Dropping his head in his hands, he mumbles something about whether or not his heart will be able to survive this then looks up at me.
"He's not anymore. He does counselling, funerals, weddings, stuff like that."
He sits back in his chair with a sigh and rubs his eyes.
There is an empty chair next to him. I take a seat and clear my throat so he knows where I am.
He turns my way.
"Hey, are you okay? You just disappeared."
"Yeah." I shrug, trying to sound casual. "I just went home."
"Everything okay?"
I don't answer him straight away, I can't. I just gaze at his computer screen. He's been researching first aid pages. I can also see his Twitter account open, but the page isn't up, so I can't scan it for my name. I glance at him and see the map book open beneath his hands. He's marking out routes to try and also has a page of questions he's compiling to ask my friends.
"Nicole?" Dale asks softly.
"I don't get it." I shake my head, thinking about the day I've just had.
"Get what?"
My voice takes on a distant quality as I picture Dale's parents kissing each other goodbye then think about my mom crying in the kitchen. It then flashes back to school and I listen to my friends laughing about me being dead.
"I'm popular. I'm pretty. In spite of their nastiness today, girls still want to be me and guys want to be with me." I snap out of it and look straight at Dale. "You barely have any friends. You have scars on your face that scare everyone away."
Dale frowns and licks his lips.
"Is there a point to this or are you just trying to give me a complex?"
I pause for a long beat then look into his beautiful brown eyes. "Why do I want your life?"
Dale's face folds with a look of such compassion and sympathy I have to turn away. I can sense him about to say something, but he's interrupted by a tap on the door.
His mother pops in and looks around the room. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."
"Oh, no, I'm just..." he blushes.
"Acting out scenes for your book again?"
He lets out a nervous chuckle.
She grins at him then puts her hand on her hip as she walks through his room and closes the window. "You should be doing your physics homework, not writing."
"I'm transferring, remember?" His cheeky grin is adorable.
His mother flicks the drapes closed.
"You're not transferred yet and until you are, I want you to give it your best... then you can write until you're crossed eyed."
She pats his shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am." He salutes.
She gives a little laugh then kisses his cheek before leaving.
To be honest, I'm glad for the interruption. I don't want to have my question answered. I don't want to see that look on Dale's face again, because that look makes me want to melt.
I sit up straight and shake the bangs out of my eyes.
"So are you writing a book or a short story?" I ask brightly.
Dale hesitates, obviously surprised by my abrupt mood change. Jumping up, he closes his door and comes back to his desk.
"I'm going for a novel."
"Why won't you let me read it?"
He plops back down in his chair.
"It's still the first draft. It needs some major work and I'm not really ready to share."
I wrinkle my nose at him.
Flicking the map book closed, he moves it to the side of his desk.
"Listen, I better get my homework done. I'll go as fast as I can, then we can plan out a route for tomorrow."
"Okay," I mumble and rest my chin in my hand. I watch him work with a confused little frown on his face. It's actually quite adorable. I turn away and peruse his desk then smile when Dale absentmindedly grabs a book off the top of his manuscript. I lean over it and start reading.