Lucie

When I finally returned there, Bay Area High School seemed different. The rooms seemed dimmer, not as much laughter bounced off the walls, people smiled less. I thought, surely, something had to be wrong. It was my third year at the school, so I knew it took a lot for over half the student body to look that solemn as they passed me in the halls. None of them knew about my brother, none other than Jiya, so what was it?

    I tried not to think too much about Dempsey, as thinking about him had been the only thing I'd been doing for the past three days. Mom had let me take those few days off, and I sat around the house, wallowing in my despair. Once I had even gone into his room, but had left in tears, because it was too much to handle. He had still had so much to do with his life—why him?

    I reached my locker, shuddering a little. For some reason the air conditioning was turned down extra low; even in a sweater I was still a bit more cold than I wanted to be. I focused on the mechanical action of putting in my combination, of the spinning and the stopping, the spinning and the stopping, the click of success. I did not think about anything else, nothing else, nothing else.

    "Lucie?"

    It was Jiya. Of course it was Jiya; who else would it be? I shut my locker door, and she was leaned against the next one over, a frown at her mouth, her eyebrows lifted gently. Sympathy rolled off her, or maybe pity. It was hard to tell.

    Her hair was in a French braid down her back, brown eyes candid. "Hey," she greeted, her tone soft and tentative. "How are you holding up?"
     "Fine."

    Her eyes narrowed. "Lucie, I'm serious."

    I gripped my books firmer against my chest and walked past her; Jiya had to jog to keep up. "Let's talk about something else. Did something happen? Why does everyone look so upset?"

    Jiya was quiet. Jiya was never quiet.

    "Jiya?" I stopped walking, whirling to face her. Her russet skin looked redder than usual at the cheeks. "What are you not telling me?"

    She bit at her nails, which were painted white this week. Jiya had her nails down to a science. She never painted them the same color two weeks in a row. "You're going through enough. I don't think—"

    "Jiji, tell me."

    She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her face into her hand. "It's Caden," she mumbled, voice muffled by her palm. "Someone found his body outside a laundromat last night. Police are saying he jumped off the roof."

    "Caden killed himself?" I gasped in disbelief, shaking my head. This was all too much, too soon. First my brother, and now my friend? "But he was never unhappy..."

    Jiya spread her fingers, peering through them. "I thought so too. Everyone's a bit surprised. It's too bad. I can't imagine why..." She trailed off when she saw me shiver. "You okay?"

    "Fine," I said. "I just...I think I'm going to go to class now. I need to clear my head."

    "Yeah," Jiya said with a nod. "Of course."

    I smiled at her, and it was a genuine one, then walked on towards the science hall.

I tapped my knuckles against the picnic bench as I waited for Jiya in the courtyard, where we'd been eating lunch together since freshman year. There was a soft breeze rustling the trees above me, blowing my hair into my face. Yes, I was still cold, and had been all day now. I was exhausted. I just wanted to go home and drink some hot chocolate to warm myself up, and not think about anything. Dempsey. Caden. Two deaths on the same night. Why?

    Jiya was crossing the courtyard with a lunch tray in her hands, the grass between the concrete swaying at her feet. She set the tray down on the faded table, which was most likely once a much brighter red than it was now. "Still doing okay?"

    I plucked a fry from her tray and popped it in my mouth, observing the tiny courtyard with narrow eyes. Of the few people who ate outside on a daily basis, they were always lively and talkative. Now, however, they were all quiet and subdued, the courtyard washed in an eerie quietude. I was uncomfortable. I had been trying to be optimistic all day, but when no one else around you was, it was difficult. "You betcha," I replied to Jiya. "Let's talk about something else besides death. How about tennis? How's tennis?"

    Jiya smiled at me, stray hairs from her braid blowing into her face. "Tennis is good. Won all my matches so far."

    "Good. Great. Fantastic."

    Jiya's smile faded then, and she shook her head. "Lucie, I can't. This feels fake. If you want to talk about Dempsey, we should just talk about him."

    I stopped listening. To both my surprise and my disdain, Swim Trunk Boy had come out of nowhere. He was standing behind Jiya now, still in his white T-shirt and dark swim trunks, watching us talk. I went from cold to freezing in seconds. Why did he never change his clothes, and how did he always seem to materialize from out of literally nowhere? I'd never even seen him at the school before. Was he some sort of stalker?

    "Hey, what's with you, anyway?" I said, calling to the boy. People turned and looked at me, Jiya stared, and the boy's eyes only widened, just as they had a few nights ago. He was always surprised when someone said something to him...what was up with this kid?

    Jiya turned, looking restlessly around. "Lucie, who the heck are you talking to?"

    I regarded her strangely. "The guy standing right behind you! Duh!"

    Jiya's eyebrow lifted. "What guy? There's no one there. Are you sure you're okay?"

    "Tell her to go," said a voice, and I was surprised to find it was Swim Trunk Boy's. "Tell her to leave."

    My head was spinning. The invisibility, the sudden appearances...this couldn't mean what I thought it did, could it? I searched frantically for evidence against my claim, but found none. To Jiya, I said, "Jiya, I think...could you just go for a second? I'll talk to you later, I just need a second."
     Jiya was still begrudging. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on."

    Swim Trunk Boy was watching the two of us apprehensively. I reached forward and grabbed Jiya's arm, prying my eyes from his. There was concern written all over Jiya's face. "Jiya. Please."

    For a moment, I was positive she was going to stay anyway, but she didn't. She just nodded, got up, and left, leaving her tray behind. I could tell there was something she wasn't saying, however, a quiet judgement lurking somewhere behind her lips.

    Sighing, I turned so that I was facing the school's front lot instead of its door, and jumped, because then Swim Trunk Boy and I were up close and personal. He was inches from me now, and I could see him in plain view: pale hair hanging in gold-flecked blue eyes, a young face, an innocent appeal. There was one strange freckle on the bridge of his nose, like an accidental pen mark. I said, "Look, I don't know what the hell's up with you, but you need to leave me alone."

    "I can't," he replied. "Sorry, but I can't. You shouldn't be able to see me and I need to know why you can."

    "What are you, dead?" I asked. I meant to add a laugh onto the end of that, but it never came, and the boy didn't look in the least bit amused.

    He said, a bit mournfully, "Yeah. I am. I have been for two years now."

    Though I'd been thinking this, I had not expected him to, or wanted him to, I guess, say yes. But he had. There was a boy in front of me and he didn't look older than sixteen and he was dead.  "I'm...sorry?" I tried. "I didn't—"

    "You shouldn't be able to see me," he said again. "Why can you see me? Are you an angel? A demon? Are you dead—"

    "Whoa, whoa, Vinny," said an additional voice, and I looked past Swim Trunk Boy to see a guy pushing himself off the courtyard's sycamore tree, striding towards us. He had an odd look to him, the hood of a gray sweatshirt pulled up over his head, his black pants a bit too wrinkly. I didn't see him all that clearly until he was standing beside the ghost. His hair was a mess of unkempt waves, a brighter gold towards the edges, a darker brown at the roots. In this boy's face there was a strange gentleness, despite the scar splitting his lip, and the one running from his cheek to the bridge of his nose.

    He shoved his fingers into his pockets, regarding me with studying, steely eyes. "Let's not interrogate the girl. You found her. Good job."

    "Who are you?" I demanded, staggering backwards. I didn't have time for this, didn't have time for ghosts and people who looked to be associated with said ghosts.

    The scarred boy presented his hand towards me; I noticed his fingers, too, were littered with marks. It set curiosity off within me, ticking like a bomb. I shook his hand warily. "Cian Horne," he said, "and this Casper the friendly ghost is—well, not Casper. This is Vinny. My brother."

    "You have a...dead brother?"

    Vinny sighed, looking away. "It's a long story."

    "And we're not here to tell it right now," said Cian, placing one foot beside me on the bench and leaning over it. He looked up towards the clear skies, then at me again. "We're here for you. Vinny here told me you saw him the other night, and, you know, myself being the only person capable of laying eyes on him, it concerned me. What's the deal, then? Freak accident? An open mind, or something?"

    "I have no idea, alright? You don't have to be concerned if you both just leave me alone," I snapped. I was growing impatient; to deal with a dead boy, his brother, and two tragedies all in a week was too much.

    "Well then," replied Cian, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Must be about Dempsey, right? Unless you're that upset about Caden."

    I hesitated. "How do you know about that?"

    "Lucie," he said, and smiled at the surprise on my face, "I know lots of things. Who is Dempsey, huh? Might as well tell me. I'll find out somehow. Vinny's whole invisibility thing is quite useful, for example."

    I sighed raggedly, pushing my hands up into my hair and staring at the ground, which Vinny's feet touched but simultaneously did not touch. Everything seemed to make my head hurt. "My older brother. He got in a car accident, and everyone's saying he's dead, but they don't have a body yet."

    Vinny asked, "So he's M.I.A.?"

    "You could say that," I admitted, trying not to think too much about the fact I was having a conversation with a dead person. "I want to believe he's alive, but...it's useless. He's gone, just like Caden is."

    "I'm not so sure about that."

    I looked up at Cian, the source of the voice. "What?"

    The scar splitting his lip was halved as he smiled; it was a strange smile, pulled slightly up at one side, in a way that made me unsure of whether or not he should be trusted. "I can help you, Lucie."

    "I don't even know you," I argued, unable to keep the derision from my voice. "What makes you think I need your help?"

    His grin grew. "Oh, I don't think, darling, I know."

    "No," I said, grabbing up my lunch box and getting to my feet. The smugness on Cian's face drained; now he just looked surprised. Vinny, on the other hand, seemed pained. "I don't need any help. Why don't you and your dead brother leave me alone to mourn mine?"

    They both blinked at me.

    "Bastards," I muttered, and then I was gone.