The Ghost of You and Me Read online

  She used to take lots of days off after the accident. That this day off comes on the heels of my skipping school the day before and my visit with Dr. Moscowitz makes me suspicious. “Cookies?”

  Mom looks back down at the bowl and gives me a sheepish shrug. She knows I’m on to her, but she doesn’t own up to it. “Chocolate sounded good.”

  Charlotte steps forward. “It certainly does. I guess I picked the right day to come over. I haven’t had freshly baked cookies in a long time.” She holds her hand out to my mom. “Hi. I’m Charlotte. I’m new to Columbia High this year, and Bailey was nice enough to offer to be my partner for our history project.”

  “Oh! Right, sorry.” My hospitality skills are severely lacking. “Mom this is Charlotte Mitchell. Charlotte, Marlene Atkinson, a.k.a. Mom.”

  As the two shake hands, my mom’s face beams with so much pleasure her smile is nearly blinding. “Welcome, Charlotte. It’s a pleasure to have you.” Mom goes back to her stirring and raises her voice so that we can hear her while her back is turned to us. “So, what kind of project do you guys have to do?”

  Charlotte and I drop our bags on the kitchen table, content to work on our project close to the baked goods instead of making the three-story trek up to my room. “We have to pick a person from modern US history—the 1900s or later—and do a report on them explaining how they impacted our country’s history and/or society.”

  “Oh!” Mom stops dropping balls of cookie dough on to a baking sheet and whirls around with a spoon full of cookie dough in her hand so fast it nearly goes flying. “You should do Jackie Kennedy! She had such great fashion sense.”

  See what I mean about ex-first ladies? “If we’re going to do a Kennedy, wouldn’t it be better to choose President Kennedy?”

  Charlotte pulls the project outline out of a pink folder and chews on her pen as she scans the requirements again. “I don’t know. Mr. Thatcher seems like the kind of teacher who would appreciate originality. I mean, he gave us the freedom to choose anyone we want, told us to get creative with our presentations, and used Cinder and Ella as an example.”

  Had he? I didn’t realize Mr. Thatcher was that cool. Then again, the only thing I heard in class today was Jake and Chase’s whispered conversation behind me about how if Charlotte and I became best friends it would be perfect for the four of us to go out. I shook my head, trying to stay focused on the conversation.

  “Okay,” Mom says, “if we want to keep with the Kennedy theme but get creative, then maybe you should focus on Marilyn Monroe and highlight the alleged affair instead of the assassination.”

  I do a double take, not quite sure I heard my mother right, while Charlotte laughs. “Scandalous. I like it.”

  “Or you could do both women—the wife and the lover,” Mom continues as she slides the cookies into the oven. “You could still do your report on President Kennedy, but tell it from each woman’s point of view. Use them as a way to inform people about his life and career and just that time in US history in general.”

  “Yes!” Charlotte practically shrieks, she’s so excited. “And we could totally dress up as them for our presentation!” She sizes me up and her eyes grow wide. “You have to be Marilyn. You would be perfect. You have the body and the hair. We’ll put you in that white dress of hers. And I can totally do the pearls, hat, and gloves look. Yes! Let’s do it! We can get a life-size cardboard cutout of JFK to stand in the middle of us.”

  It actually sounds like fun, and Charlotte is so excited there’s no way I can say no. “Okay.” Both Charlotte and my mom cheer and clap their hands.

  Charlotte and I both pull out our laptops. Charlotte’s fingers fly over the keys as she eagerly begins to research the thirty-fifth president. “This is brilliant,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I can’t believe your mom is so cool. I really don’t believe you about your dad being a nerd now.”

  I’m not embarrassed that she said that in front of my mom. Dad is a nerd. Even mom laughs. “Actually, that’s true. Lance, bless his heart, does not have one ounce of cool in him anywhere. That’s actually why I fell in love with him. We both went to college at NYU. I was a fashion/design major surrounded by ‘cool’ people all day long, and every day on my walk home I’d see this guy in the coffee shop, studying away. He was just so helplessly…geeky. I couldn’t help but fall for him.”

  Charlotte and I both smile at the story. Charlotte sees my grin, and her eyes twinkle. “Like mother like daughter, huh?”

  It takes me a moment to get her meaning, but then my stomach drops. Mom sucks in a quick breath as well. Charlotte’s face pales when she realizes she’s hit a sensitive topic. “Oh, Bailey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—that’s the one thing everyone at school has told me about you, that you and your boyfriend were sort of a legendary beauty-and-the-geek couple. That’s why I knew I would like you. I didn’t think it would upset you. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  Charlotte is worrying her lip with her teeth, and there’s a shine in her eyes as if she’s on the verge of tears. I don’t want her to feel bad about bringing up Spencer. I’m tired of him being an elephant in the room.

  “Really,” I promise. And I mean it. The pang of grief has already passed. I picture Spencer in my mind. The image makes me smile. “Beauty and the geek. Spencer would have loved that. He used to wear this shirt when we went out together that said ‘It’s because I’m made of chocolate.’”

  Charlotte lets out a breath, and I watch as her shoulders visibly relax. She smiles again, but it’s not quiet the brilliant smile I’ve already grown used to seeing on her face. “He sounds fun.”

  I nod. “He was. And he was so sweet, and nice, and considerate, and romantic.”

  “So…the opposite of Chase Lansing, then.”

  I’m startled out of a Spencer daydream and answer her before I remember that my mother is in the room with us. “More like the opposite of Jake. Chase isn’t so bad, but he’s definitely no Spencer, and I’m absolutely not going to homecoming with him.”

  “Bailey!” Mom nearly drops a piping-hot cookie sheet as she pulls it out of the oven. “You were asked to the dance and you didn’t tell me? Did you say no to someone?”

  It’s not the scolding in her tone that makes me defensive but the disappointment bleeding from her eyes. “I didn’t say no to anyone. Liz said Chase was thinking about asking me, but he never got around to it, and then Charlotte mentioned going stag together.”

  “Though I never got an official answer on that question,” Charlotte says, making a face at me.

  Suddenly, I had both Mom and Charlotte staring me down. Charlotte shut her laptop, and Mom sat down at the table, holding a plate of warm cookies hostage as they waited for me to tell them I would go. Both of their faces suggested it was the only acceptable answer.

  My heart rate picks up as I look at their no-nonsense faces. I’m not good with peer pressure, and I know Mom and Charlotte are only the beginning. If I don’t say yes to them now, chances are I will end up saying yes to someone. Better I give in to Charlotte than Chase.

  A sigh escapes me, and both Charlotte and my mom clap and cheer because they know they’ve won. “We’ll have fun,” Charlotte insists.

  I meet my mom’s eyes across the table, and her small, secretive smile is just for me. She pushes the plate of cookies toward me—a peace offering—and says, “It’ll be good for you.”

  I’m not convinced, but what’s done is done. All I can do now is pray being at the dance without Spencer doesn’t break what’s left of me.

  Charlotte takes the plate of cookies from me and goes to town on the gooey chocolate-filled creations since I haven’t bothered to touch them. I’m not hungry at the moment.

  Mom gets up to pour Charlotte a glass of milk. Once Charlotte has sucked down half a glass, she puts her laptop away. Apparently we’ve done enough on our project today by simply deciding on a subject for our report
. As she zips her backpack closed, she grins at me again. “Hey, since you already told Jake and Chase that we’re going to go dress shopping in the city this Saturday, do you want to do it for real?”

  “I didn’t make that up. I did promise my mom I’d go with her and Julia. I just wasn’t planning on picking out my own dress.”

  Before I can invite Charlotte to come, Mom beats me to it. “You should come with us,” she says, clapping her hands together as if it’s the most brilliant idea she’s ever had. “We’re making a day of it—just us girls. Mani-pedis, lunch in a restaurant that’s much too expensive, and every shoe store in Manhattan.”

  Charlotte, surprised by the offer, bites down on her bottom lip, wanting to say yes so badly she’s about to burst, but her brows pull together and she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your mother-daughter day.”

  Charlotte’s voice wavers on the word mother. I shoot my mom a look, but it’s not necessary. She’s noticed Charlotte’s emotion, too. “Nonsense,” she says. “You’ve talked my daughter into attending a dance she’s been fighting me on forever. That earns you honorary Daughter For the Day privileges. Plus, since you obviously carry more sway than me, I’m going to need you there to make sure she actually follows through and buys a dress. Please come. We’d love to have you.”

  Charlotte gazes at my mom with a sense of hero worship. Eyes glistening, her face breaks into a brilliant smile, and she laughs as she enthusiastically bobs her head up and down. “Okay.”

  After taking Charlotte home, I sit in the car, unwilling to go in the house. There’s still quite a bit of time until dinner, and I don’t feel like answering an inquisition from Mom about Charlotte and hearing her gush about the upcoming shopping trip, the dance, how much fun I’m going to have, and how proud she is of me for agreeing to go.

  I don’t think I can get up to my room unnoticed—again, creaky stairs—so I decide doing my homework up in the tree house is my best option. The hinges on the old door squeal in protest as I push open the hatch for the first time in months.

  I sneeze from the dust that has settled and shiver as I look around the empty room, but it’s not from the cold. It’s the memories of this tree house that make me shudder. When I was young, this place was my fortress. I was a princess and the tree house my castle. It was huge and magical—a world of endless possibility.

  Now it seems so small and haunting. I’d experienced so much happiness, so much friendship, excitement, and love in here with my two best friends. Now all those feelings are nothing but memories—dreams as dusty as the old, faded wood the tree house is made of.

  “You haven’t been up here in months.”

  Spencer’s voice doesn’t startle me. If ever I’m going to conjure up a hallucination of my dead soul mate, it would be in our secret, special place.

  I wait to make sure there’s no moisture in my eyes before I turn to face him. I don’t want him to see anything on my face except for the joy his presence—even imagined—brings. Our time together shouldn’t be filled with sadness.

  When I turn around, my smile becomes genuine. I can’t help it. I know he’s not real, but my memory is vivid, and I see him in perfect clarity. Every detail is correct down to the last freckle. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “A lot of memories to deal with up here,” I whisper.

  He scans the small space and eyes the pile of blankets we kept up here for the nights he spent talking to me through my window. His walkie-talkie is still sitting in the windowsill. “The most amazing memories,” he says with a grin that’s almost naughty but not quite.

  I can’t quite accomplish his playfulness. “Those are always the hardest memories to face.” I reach for him, and my hand passes through his. My heart slumps a little. “I like the dreams better. I miss being able to touch you.”

  Spencer’s smile falters, making me feel bad for bringing down the mood. He motions for me to sit on the blankets. I take up my old spot and smooth out the blanket next to me, readying a spot for Spencer to join me even though he doesn’t really need a cushion to sit on. He settles down next to me, leaving an inch or so of space between us. We’re so close, and yet he’s impossibly out of my reach.

  He studies my face with such longing in his eyes that my heart aches nearly as bad as it did the night I watched him die. His hand hovers above my cheek, unable to make contact. “More than anything, I wish I could kiss you one last time,” he murmurs, voice trembling. “I didn’t say good-bye to you that night. I didn’t tell you I loved you.”

  “I knew,” I promise. My eyes fill with moisture. “Since that very first kiss, I’ve never doubted your love, Spencer. Not once.”

  Spencer’s hand drops to his lap, but his face lights up again into his beautiful smile. “I hope so. I only said it a million times a day.”

  I laugh. That was another Guinness record he was going for—saying “I love you” to one person more than anyone else in the world.

  Spencer closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the side of the tree house. It doesn’t quite rest against the boards as it would if it were solid. A serene smile washes over him, and he pulls a deep breath into his lungs. “I’ve missed the sound of your laugh. I’m glad you’ve found it again. I really like Charlotte. She seems to bring out the old you. You’ve smiled more today than you have all year.”

  It’s strange talking about the new friend in my life with Spencer, but I suppose it makes sense. I’ve been thinking that same thing since I dropped her off at her house, and Spencer is a manifestation of my subconscious thoughts, after all. Of course he’s voicing the things weighing on my mind.

  “I’m glad you’re going to the dance, too. I was hoping you would. I really think you’ll have a good time. I think you should take a date, though.”

  My knees, which had been pulled up into my chest, slide forward as I bolt to an upright sit. “Wait. You want me to go to the dance?”

  Spencer cuts me a glance. His mouth pulls into a crooked smile, as if he thinks I’m being ridiculous. “Of course I do. I stood you up last year, remember?”

  I choke on the audacity of his statement. “You had a good excuse.”

  Lifting one shoulder into a shrug, Spencer arches an eyebrow at me. “You still missed the dance because of me. I don’t want you to miss this one because of me, too. I want you to go and have fun, Bailey. Enjoy a night out with your friends. Laugh and smile…win a crown so that I can brag to all my new buddies on the other side that I snagged the homecoming queen in my former life.”

  I reach out to shove Spencer, forgetting that I can’t touch him. When my hand meets no resistance, I lose my balance and fall to the side. It’s an awkward angle, and I can’t catch myself. My elbow smacks into the floor, hitting my funny bone in just the perfect way to send stinging pain up my arm and forcing me to burst into hysterical giggles.

  Spencer tries to hold back from laughing for my sake, but he can’t stop his chest from shaking. When I meet his twinkling eyes, he finally explodes into a roar of laughter.

  “It’s not funny!” I whine, rubbing my elbow. But the giggles in my voice say otherwise.

  Spencer calms himself, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “You’re laughing again.” His laughter evolves into a dreamy smile. “How many times is that today? Four? Five? Talking to Charlotte was good for you. The dance will be, too.”

  “Okay,” I admit. I do feel a little lighter this evening than I have in a long time. “Maybe going with Charlotte won’t be so bad.”

  “I think you should go with a date.”

  “What?” I giggle, thinking he’s being a comedian again, but he’s not laughing. All the play in my voice evaporates. “You can’t be serious.”

  “A girl like you isn’t meant to go stag.”

  “Oh, what, so you think I should say yes to Chase, then? Let him be my king in your place?”

  “Chase Lansing?” Spencer snorts. “Bay, if you ever hook up with that tool, I’ll haunt you.
”

  “You’re already haunting me, smarty pants, and I hate to break it to you, but Chase is probably the only guy in school still without a date.”

  “You should ask Wes.”

  My mouth falls slightly open and I gape at him, unable to form any kind of reply.

  He made the suggestion lightly, but I know he’s serious because he’s turned his face away from me. Feeling my gaze on him, Spencer peeks up at me in a series of fleeting glances from beneath a fan of auburn lashes.

  “Wes?” I screech. “You think I should ask Wes to homecoming? Are you kidding me?”

  My anger makes him defensive. His face falls into a deep frown, and he pulls his shoulders back, puffing his chest out in determination. “Why not? He’s a better guy than Chase Lansing, and you have a lot in common. You could have fun together, maybe even be good for each other.”

  His request, though meant with love, hurts deeply. He wants me to move on. He wants me to give my heart to someone else. And not just anyone, but his best friend. He’s gone, and he’s trying to pawn me off on his best friend like I’m one of his precious football trading cards. How could he want that?

  I shake my head, refusing to listen to anymore. This isn’t right. Spencer’s just an illusion. He’s a manifestation of my own subconscious, and I can’t possibly want that. I can’t even consider the idea, because that would be the worst kind of betrayal. And it would bring up questions I’ve been refusing to answer since the night Spencer died.

  “No. That’s crazy. He doesn’t even like me. He’s hated me since the day I asked you to be my boyfriend.”

  Spencer rakes a hand through his hair, unsure how to argue with me when he can’t deny the strained relationship Wes and I had. “Things were…complicated with the three of us,” he admits. I scoff at the understatement. “But Wes never meant to hurt you. I know he didn’t. Give him a chance, Bailey. Trust me. Ask him to the dance, and just see what happens.”

  The image of Wes in the school hallway flashes into my mind. I can feel his arms around me, smell him, hear his low, steady voice as he asks if I’m okay. I hate that part of me really wants to go with him. A really big part. I can’t deal with this anymore. “I am not asking Wes to homecoming. No way. This discussion is over.”