Kissing Midnight (15 page)

“Sure!” Mariana calls brightly. “Just a second.” Then to me, in a whisper, she says, “I need to ask you something.”

“Anything,” I say, and I mean it.

“Did you say something?” the receptionist asks. “Are you on the phone?” I can hear the doctor saying something out there, too, but I can’t make it out and I don’t know if it’s because he’s farther away or if it’s because I’m fading. “There’s no one in there with you, is there?”

“No one,” Mariana says, and it’s about to be true. When I hold my hand up, I can see right through it.

Mariana must see I’m fading because she starts to whisper very fast. “I need to know something.
If
you are really a ghost and
if
you can see other ghosts…” She takes a deep breath. “Then why haven’t you seen my brother? I mean, if someone were trying to contact me, wouldn’t it be him?”

I want to say a million things. I want to tell her I don’t know how this works, that I’ve only talked to a few others, that all I know I’ve learned from library books, but I can’t trust myself to speak. I feel like I’ve taken a sedative and it’s quickly taking effect. My hand looks threadbare, like the knees on an old pair of jeans.

Suddenly I’m afraid I won’t see Mariana again. What if I disappear and she isn’t here when I come back? I remember the pain in her eyes during her therapy session. If I’m not going to get the chance to talk to her again, there’s something I have to say. “It’s not your fault, what happened to your brother.”

She looks away, but I still catch a glimpse of the tears in her eyes.

“You have to believe me on that one. I know, because I did it, too.” Even though it’s the very last thing I want to talk about, I feel like I have to say it. “I killed myself.”

Her eyes dart back to meet mine, and for a second I think she might reach out and touch my hand, but she doesn’t. I can tell she’s struggling. A minute ago, she wouldn’t admit I was real, and now she wants to ask me something. “Can you help me understand, then? Can you tell me why he did it?”

I want to say,
that’s way out of my league. Everyone is so different
. I shake my head.

“Why
you
did it, then. Will you tell me that?”

I want to say
I’d tell you if I knew
. I don’t even understand why
I did it! But the sadness in her dark eyes is so deep, the need so strong. I feel my own need, like a mirror of hers. She needs to hear, but maybe I need to tell, too.

I’ve never told anyone what happened.

But then, I’ve never had anyone to tell.

And there it is: my excuse to talk to her again. I’m not going to let it go.
Yes
, I nod,
I will
.

“Find me,” she whispers fiercely. “Meet me in an hour by the library.”

But you have to get off campus
, I think.
You have to get far away for your own safety.

“Mariana?” It’s Dr. Sterling’s low voice this time.

“I’m coming!” She calls, her voice full of forced normalcy.

“Mariana…” I echo.

“It’s Saintly,” she whispers, turning the door knob. “My friends call me Saintly.”

“Jesse,” I manage as the door swings through me. Then everything goes black.

Saintly

I have no idea how I make it back to my dorm. My imagination is on overdrive, my nerves on edge. The winter wind sounds like spirits moaning, and the snow clouds gathering above seem to form ominous shapes. I try to concentrate on the glow of the Christmas lights in the windows, to fill my brain with happy thoughts, but it’s no use.

My mind is spinning with Jesse.

I saw a lot of hallucinations at Westgate—more than I care to remember—but this was the first time I’ve ever spoken to one and had it speak back. She seemed so real! And I almost wanted her to be. There was an understanding in her pale gray eyes, a compassion that made me feel like she would get what happened with Enrique, like she would listen.

If she were real.

But if she is…. I shiver and press my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat. If she’s real, that means the ghosts she warned me about are real, too. It means they all are.

Why didn’t I leave campus for the holidays? Why didn’t I beg my mother to let me come to Mexico, even for a week? Just thinking about it, I can almost feel the warm sunlight on the bricks of the patio, taste my
tia
Anita’s spicy
menudo
with sweet
bunuelos
for dessert, smell the thick incense at the midnight
misa de gallo
at
abuelita’s
church
….
Christmas is over, but the relatives will still be there. It’s enough to make me want to call my mother right now and beg her to put me on a plane.

But my mother would know something was deeply wrong the minute she laid eyes on me. She’s too intuitive—all of the women in my family are. She would take one look at me and send me back to Westgate.

Besides, it would hurt my mother to see me, and not just because of the shame and worry she felt when I went into the hospital. In my mother’s eyes, I’ve always been part of a set. Seeing me without Enrique is seeing only half of something.

Enrique! I can barely handle thinking about him at all. Why did I make Jesse promise to meet me to talk about him? At the time, I felt desperate to see what light she could shed on his death, but now my courage has evaporated. The last thing I need is to let myself get any more tangled in this insanity. I have to be with normal people, concentrate on ordinary things.

Which is why I’m so disappointed to see Delia’s note, scrawled on the whiteboard on our door: “Committee meeting for ball. See U @ dinner.”

It’s better she’s not here
, I think. Delia may not be intuitive like my mother, but it wouldn’t take much to see that I’m upset. My hands shake as I unlock our room. It takes three tries just to get the key in the lock, and when I finally do get the door open, I nearly have a heart attack just at the sight of Delia’s coat hanging on the closet door. All my senses are on edge. I fumble two anti-anxiety pills out of their bottle and swallow them with a handful of water at our little dorm-room sink, not even bothering to find a cup. Then I let the stinging cold water run over the pulse-point of my wrists, the way my mother used to when I would get heat exhausted as a child. I splash the water on my face, too—but only for a second, because I can’t stand to shut my eyes too long. I’m too afraid of what I might see in the mirror when I open them again, convinced something will materialize behind me, melt out of the wall…

I just can’t stand to be alone.

My fingers tremble on the buttons of my cell phone, but I find Dev’s number.

He grabs it on the second ring. “Saintly!” There’s a smile in his voice. I can feel a little of the anxiety melting away at the sound. “I was just going to call you. I was thinking, with all the time we’ve spent getting ready for the dance and all, we’ve never actually been on a normal date. Are you up for a restaurant? Movie?”

“Yeah,” I manage, “Normal sounds so good right now.” Just hearing the kindness in Dev’s voice is enough to put me over an emotional edge.

“You sound upset.” I can imagine the frown of concern on his handsome face. “Is everything okay? Did I…Are you mad at me?”

“No.” There’s a wobble in my voice.

“Then what, sweetie? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.” Dev sounds uncharacteristically serious. “Saintly, I’m coming over.”

I know I should protest. I don’t want Dev to see me acting like a basket case. But I can’t make myself say no. “Okay,” I say. “Come over.”

“Already on my way.”

Dev is here in a matter of minutes, but it’s enough time for me to drive myself half insane, imagining footsteps in the hallway and ghostly reflections in the mirror. Just the sound of his knock on the door is enough to make my palms sweat and my adrenaline spike. “Who is it?”

“Dev. Is this locked?”

I cautiously flip the bolt lock but keep the door chained. Inching it open, I peer out at Dev through the crack.

He gives me a curious look back. “Why on lockdown?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “You smoking up in there?”

I try to laugh, but it comes out choked.

Dev’s smile falters. “Open the door, Saintly.”

I slide the chain lock off.

Dev doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and puts his arms around me, strong and reassuring. I’m surrounded by his warmth, the woodsy scent of his clothes. “Seriously,” he says softly. “Why the high security?”

Why is right. I mean, what good does it do to try to lock them out? They’re ghosts who can walk through walls.

Either that, or they’re already in my head.

Without meaning to, I start to cry.

Dev doesn’t pull away. Instead, he pulls me against him, tucking my head under his chin and gently stroking my hair as I cry into the soft wool of his sweater.

“I’m sorry.” I push away from him. “I shouldn’t…” I turn away so he can’t see my swollen eyes.

But Dev gathers me back in. He holds me tight against his chest. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Saintly.”

“We’ve only known each other for a little while,” I sputter, “and here I am crying all over you. You’re going to think I’m…”

I can’t bring myself to say
crazy
. Just the thought makes me cry harder. “I already broke down on you at the warehouse…”

“Will you forget about that already? You’re upset, and I just want to know why, that’s all.” Dev’s voice is gentle. “I hate to see you sad, Saint. Tell me what’s wrong.”

What can I say? A million lies flash across my mind, and a million versions of the truth, too. He’s being so sweet. I want to tell him everything—God, how good would it feel to tell him everything?

“I can’t.” I pull away again.

He lets me go but keeps hold of my hand. “Why not?”

“If I told you…” I shake my head, letting a curtain of hair fall between us, hiding my face. My cheeks feel hot with shame.

“What would happen if you told me?” Dev sits on the bed, pulling me down beside him. “What’s the worst thing?

“You wouldn’t want to be around me anymore,” I say without hesitation.

He pulls back and looks at me, surprised. “You care that much what I think?”

I think about it for a moment and realize it’s true. “I do.”

“Wow.” Dev sounds surprised, and for a second I’m worried I’ve said something too intimate, too forward—that my caring will drive him away before my crazy even has the chance to. Then he says, “I feel the same way about you. You know that, right?”

I look up at him in spite of myself. “You do?”

“I just wasn’t sure…” He takes a deep breath. “I know this probably isn’t the time to say this, but you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while, Saintly. I know we only just met, but there’s something about you…” He shakes his head. “For a second, on the phone, when I heard the tension in your voice, I was afraid—this is self-centered of me. Surprise, surprise, right?—but I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore. I thought I might lose you.”

The shock of it makes me forget to cry.
Dev
is afraid of losing
me
?

He shouldn’t be. I’m such a mess, losing me would be the best thing for him. “Would that be so bad?”

The expression in his eyes is so serious, there is no room to doubt it. “You don’t know,” he says. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go, if I didn’t give this a chance.”

I couldn’t live.
I don’t dare move. It’s like his words have lit a candle in me, and I’m afraid, if I even breathe, I’ll blow it out. My voice comes out tiny. “But you could have anyone.”

He gives a bitter little laugh. “Could I?” He smoothes a damp lock of hair away from my tear-streaked cheek. “Well, I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

My heart is pounding.

“Now tell me,” he says, “Why so sad?”

“I’m not quite as sad anymore.” It’s the truth. The shock of Dev’s sincerity has knocked the sadness out of me.

He smiles gently. “Tell me.”

But I can’t. I want to even less, now that I feel we have something to lose. “I don’t want your opinion of me to change.”

Dev takes my chin gently in his hand and tips my face up until my eyes meet his. “Do you think I don’t have any secrets?”

Something about the way he says it makes a chill creep through me.

But I’m being silly. Everything sounds sinister to me now.

“We all do,” he says. “Every one of us has things we hide. You’re afraid you’ll lose me?”

I nod weakly.

“I’m not so easy to lose, Mariana.” A funny little smile plays across his lips. “I don’t think you could lose me if you tried. The only way to truly lose me is to never let me in.”

He’s right, of course. I’m afraid of driving Dev away with the truth, but aren’t I driving him away already by shutting him out?

But how can I bring myself to let him in?

“Well…” I hesitate, stalling. “Tell me one of your deep dark secrets first.”

Dev is silent for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath. Taking both of my hands in his, he says, “I lied to you the first day we met.”

I look at him, confused. “You lied to me?”

“Yes,” he says. “But now I’m going to tell you the truth.”

Dev

“The truth about what?”

I have her full attention now. She turns her tear-streaked face to me, her eyes wide.

How much should I say? Not the whole truth, obviously. But Saintly is perceptive. She’ll know if I lie completely. Best to stick as close to the truth as I can without giving myself away.

“The first day we met,” I say carefully, “you asked why I was switching schools in the middle of the year. I said that my old school wasn’t challenging enough.” I allow myself a rueful smile. “That’s not really true. The truth is, I lost someone I cared about, and I couldn’t handle being there anymore.”