Manifest (5 page)

So
last night instead of seeing more spirits or dreaming of being in the graveyard with more dead people, I dreamt of Ricky. In the real sense, I mean. He was living and breathing and he was my boyfriend. We were sitting by the creek in the park, just like we had yesterday. He held my hand, touched my cheek, then he kissed me.

It is at that point I wake up. My body is hot all over, even though I’d long since kicked the covers off me. My hand instantly goes to my lips as I remember the kiss in my dream. Then I remember Ricky was also in my dream, alive. Which is damn simple of me since I know for a fact that Ricky is dead.

So I still haven’t been kissed and I’m crushing on a dead boy.

No way, no how.

As I head for school I’m determined to keep Ricky Watson out of sight and definitely out of mind. If I’m craving a kiss, or a boyfriend for that matter, I’d just as soon find somebody with a change of clothes…and a pulse.

“I called you yesterday,” Franklin says, coming up beside me with a smile that I admit is cute but kind of silly.

No way is anybody that happy all the time. I just
slammed my locker door shut and there he was, appearing as if by magic or fate.

“My battery was dead,” I say automatically, not real sure why I am lying.

He nods as if he believes me. Today he’s wearing jeans, dark blue, that are too long and rest on his white shellhead sneakers. His shirt is polo, sky blue, the horse on his left side is yellow. He smells good. Probably using some of his father’s cologne because he smells older, like a boy trying to be a man.

“I’ll walk you to class,” he says. I’m just about to tell him it’s not necessary when over Franklin’s right shoulder I see Ricky.

For a second I’m alarmed, then I remember nobody else can see him. Unless they also have some freaky afterlife power. He’s leaning against the locker, directly behind Franklin. He’s frowning, looking Franklin up and down like he doesn’t approve.

This, of course, ticks me off. Who does he think he is? I don’t need his approval to be with Franklin. As a matter of fact, the thought of being with Franklin makes a lot more sense then being with a ghost.

“Ah, sure,” I say, trying to get Franklin away from Ricky.

But as I speak Franklin follows my gaze, turning to see what I’m looking at. At first I’m worried but, of course, he sees nothing and when he turns back to me he looks puzzled.

“You okay, Krystal?”

“Huh?” I know I sound confused so I make myself stop looking at Ricky, who is now using his fingers to thrust into his mouth like he’s gagging. “I’m fine. Just thought I saw…ah, a bug or something.”

Franklin nods. “Well, you know the town’s close to the water and all this rain we’ve been getting lately draws a lot
of insects. My father says we might be heading for a hurricane or another big storm.”

We’re walking toward my class now, Ricky having been left behind. But Franklin’s mention of a hurricane catches my attention. “It’s April, Franklin. Hurricane season doesn’t start until June.”

Franklin shakes his head. “Not in Lincoln. We’ve been known to have weird weather patterns. Like El Niño just picks on us for the hell of it.”

“El Niño?”

“Yeah, it’s the name they gave the wacky weather pattern that warms the central and eastern Tropical Pacific waters. Causes all sorts of storms and weather anomalies.”

I stop walking because I’m at the door to Biology now. “And what are you, the town meteorologist?”

He laughs, then reaches out a hand and touches my hair. The touch is light but it moves him a lot closer to me. My heartbeat falters a bit but I blink quickly and it goes away.

“Nah, that’s my father. I’m just really interested in things that aren’t normal. I like to find oddities and see what makes them tick.”

Well, he’d picked a great oddity in me. I try to smile and move out of his grasp at the same time, with finesse so he doesn’t notice that I’m uncomfortable with him touching me.

“Can I sit with you at lunch?” he asks.

“No,” I hurry up and answer, remembering my lunch intrusion on Friday. “Are you even on my lunch period?”

Franklin shakes his head, still smiling. “Yeah, I am. Do you want to sit with me instead?”

I open my mouth, almost asking him which side he sat on, but we’re interrupted.

“Hey, Franklin,” Sasha says in a cheery tone as she comes up to stand next to us. She’s wearing a long crinkly skirt that starts out this dark shade of teal at the bottom
and gets lighter heading to the top. Her blouse is white and cinched around her tiny waist with a thick gold belt that matches her earrings and her shoes.

I try not to envy how cute and stylish she looks, seemingly without even trying, when she says, “Hi, Krystal.”

It is way too early in the morning for all this cheerfulness. “Hey,” I mumble as I hear Franklin speak to her, too.

The bell rings and everybody looks up above the door where one of the speakers rests. We stare at it for a few seconds, as if our looks alone will shut it up.

“I should go,” I say, recovering first.

Franklin takes a step back, adjusting his books in his arm. “Yeah, me, too. If I’m late for English, Mr. Tordy will be too happy to give me detention.”

“Ugh, Mr. Tordy is the worst,” Sasha adds.

“So I’ll see you in the cafeteria?” Franklin asks me.

I really don’t want Sasha hearing this conversation, but since she’s looking from me to him, her perfectly arched dark eyebrows lifting in curiosity, I don’t have much of a choice. Why can’t she just go away? She makes me too uncomfortable. Actually, both of them being so close and talking to me as if we’ve known each other forever is uncomfortable.

“Sure,” I say in the hopes that he’ll go on to class and take Sasha with him.

“Cool. See ya, Sasha,” he says as he turns and walks away.

“Bye, Franklin.”

I turn to go into my class but know that isn’t going to work. Sasha’s hand on my shoulder stops me.

“I need you to come with me,” she says.

“What? No. It’s time for class.”

“This is more important than class.”

“You’re crazy. I’m not cutting with you.”

“Krystal, you don’t understand. This is important.”

I’m shaking my head, still refusing to get caught up in what she’s saying. By now the hallway is practically empty because the second bell is about to ring. That’s the one that tells you you’re late and you’d better get your butt in gear before you’re caught out of class.

“Get off me, I’m going,” I say and pull away from her.

But something keeps me from moving; something keeps me from turning away. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s there.

“Fine,” Sasha says, then takes a couple steps back from me. I see her look around real quick and I do the same. When I return my attention to her, she’s gone.

She didn’t disappear.

I know she didn’t because that’s impossible.

Human beings that are about five feet three inches tall and maybe a hundred or so pounds do not simply disappear into thin air.

Maybe she ran away. Really fast. Faster than the speed of light? That isn’t possible either. Sasha is
not
Supergirl.

Today’s biology lesson picks up where we left off on Friday with diffusion, osmosis and cell membranes. I have no idea what Mr. Lyle is saying, since my mind is totally not on work.

One minute Sasha was there, asking me to come with her, and the next she was gone. Vanished.

No. Not possible.

Okay, just calm down and be rational. Try to keep this in perspective. She was there and then she was gone. She was going to be late for class, both of us were. So it’s logical that she did simply run away. What’s not logical is the fact that I saw no trace of her in the long hallway that stretched toward the next turn that would take her to other classes. Now, I don’t know what her first-period class is, let alone where it is in the building. But unless it is the very next class
to mine, there’s no way she could have run down that hall so fast that I didn’t even see her back as she retreated.

My stomach churns, not like hunger churning and not like the nervous jittering I feel when Ricky is around. But like a sort of dread, like I know something is about to happen. Something important.

Are you going to sit here all morning trying to figure out what happened or are you going to finally get a backbone and go see for yourself?

I nearly jump out of my chair at the sound of his voice. My textbook and pen fall to the floor, causing everyone to turn and look at me.

Isabella Jackson is absent today so the chair beside me was empty when I’d come into class. Now, it isn’t.

Ricky is sitting there, his elbow propped on the desk, his head resting on his hand as he stares at me. He has bushy eyebrows and right now they are lifted in conjunction with the question he’d just asked.

I open my mouth, about to answer him, when it dawns on me that nobody else sees him sitting there or hears him speaking to me. Clamping my mouth shut, I lean over and scoop up my book and pen.

Mr. Lyle had stopped talking at the noise I’d caused. Now he simply turns, lifts his arm and begins writing something on the blackboard again.

She’s downstairs waiting for you. Her and that boy from the tracks.

I take my pen in hand and position myself to begin taking notes. We’d have a quiz at the end of the week and I’d no doubt fail since I’m not paying attention.

I think they have something to tell you. Something that might help you.

I want to scream at him to shut up. To leave me alone and let me get on with my normal, disaster-filled life. But I know that I can’t. Even if I could, he probably wouldn’t
listen. In the few conversations I’ve had with Ricky Watson I’ve quickly come to realize that he doesn’t take “no” for an answer. Or maybe girls don’t tell him “no” that often and that’s why he isn’t used to it. Either way, he doesn’t seem to take my sarcasm to heart and get lost like I tell him to. He sticks it out, determined to get his point across.

In the meantime, he seems to take pleasure in telling me off or being as blunt as he possibly can about my actions, my wardrobe, my life.

All you have to do is get a hall pass and go. It’s not going to hurt anything to listen to them. Then you can make up your mind, come back and live in your little shell.

That last comment has me glaring at him. Of course he laughs because he has a warped sense of humor. No matter how cute he is. And in that instant I wonder why someone would kill him.

I turn away from him because the questions are filling up my mind. Who killed Ricky? Why am I the one who has to help him? Where did Sasha go? How does Ricky know they have something to tell me?

And then without another thought, my hand is going up until it’s raised high in the air and Mr. Lyle is looking at me impatiently. His dark brown face is grim as he folds long arms across his chest. I gulp, trying to find the nerve to speak. He looks like he’s just waiting for me to ask him something so he can shoot it down.

“Yes, Miss Bentley. You have something to contribute to the lesson?”

“Ah.” I hesitate and swallow. The entire class is looking at me now. I feel like I have something hanging from my nose or my bra is showing, they’re staring with such weird expressions. Then I steal a glance at Ricky and he’s waving his hand as if to tell me to get on with it.

“Um, can I be…excused?” I finally manage and clear my throat afterward.

Mr. Lyle’s mustache kind of twitches as he presses his thick lips tightly together then moves to his desk and scribbles on a notepad. I get up from my seat and am about to take the slip of paper from him when he attempts to come around the desk and bumps his leg. There’s a clinking sound, then muffled laughter from the students. Mr. Lyle is really pissed at me now even though I’m not the one who bumped into the desk. With one hand he’s holding the hall pass and with the other he’s rubbing the side of his leg near his pocket that looks like it’s stuffed full of something, keys probably. I hurriedly take the hall pass from his hands before he can say another word or I change my mind.

The minute I’m outside the classroom, the door shut behind me, I’m too afraid to move. For one, I don’t know where I’m going. And for two, Sasha and Jake don’t know me. What could they possibly have to tell me? Unless it’s something about Ricky, about his killer. But how would they know to tell me? I wonder if they’re ghost whisperers, too.

I know he’s there even though I don’t see him. Since there’s nobody else in the hallway I just ask, “Do you know what they want with me? Is it about you?”

He’s right beside me now.
I don’t know. I just know that they’re waiting for you and they seem pretty hyped about talking to you.

“If you know that much, how come you couldn’t just hang around and hear what they’re saying? That way you could just tell me what they want.”

Because I’m not on your payroll.

I stop walking at his smart retort. “And I’m not on yours. So if this has something to do with what you want from me then it’ll have to wait until I’ve decided whether or not to help you.”

You haven’t decided yet? What, am I, like, on probation?

“No. According to your story, you’re stuck between here
and eternity. And you need me to get you there, so if I were you I’d be a little more polite.”

Polite? Man, please, that’s why you’re walking around in a funky mood all the time. Somebody should have snapped you out of this Lifetime network depression a long time ago.

“I am not depressed!” I shout as I stop walking and turn to face him.

Yeah, you are. And for a spoiled brat that’s like the end of the world.

I take a step toward him and he starts to smile.

What? Are you going to hit me because I pissed you off?

Ooh, it is so tempting. But could I punch a spirit? With my luck, probably not. “Forget it,” I say with more exasperation than I want him to hear. “I don’t even know where I’m going.”

They’re in the basement, by the boiler room.