Invisible Ghosts by Robyn Schneider

  Max snorted.

  “And Rose is doing costumes,” Claudia pointed out.

  “Actually, that was a lie so I could work at Medieval Times,” I deadpanned.

  “Wait, really?” Abby asked, as everyone else died laughing.

  The pizza showed up a few minutes later. Sam lined the boxes up along the edges of the pool like sandbags, and even dragged the cooler over.

  “So no one has to get out and freeze,” he said, shivering as he joined us in the hot tub.

  Then Nima started complaining about being left out, and somehow he wound up on Abby’s lap, with his head against her chest and his feet sticking up in the air.

  “Can I join?” Seth asked, padding over from the flip cup game.

  “No!” everyone shouted.

  There really wasn’t room. Already, with eight of us, the hot tub was so crowded that water had started spilling over the sides, soaking through the empty pizza boxes.

  Over by the folding table, there was a loud cheer as someone flipped their Solo cup in one try. Suddenly, it seemed hilarious how cramped we all were, or maybe that was just my second beer. All I knew was, the lights strung in the trees had gone soft around the edges, and the music was good, and I could feel Jamie’s leg against mine, warm and smooth from the chlorine.

  I leaned back, watching the heat from the hot tub drift toward the stars. I didn’t care anymore that my butt looked massive in my bikini bottoms or that the hot tub was making my hair frizz.

  Suddenly, I felt Jamie’s hand on my thigh. I stiffened, unsure what he was doing. Then he nudged me, very gently, in the side. And I realized he was trying to get my attention without anyone else realizing.

  Logan had shown up at the party. He hovered by the beer cooler, looking unsure.

  When he saw that we’d noticed him, he waved.

  “Hey,” he called. “I thought this was a house party. Where is everyone?”

  I shook my head, hoping he’d get the message.

  He didn’t.

  Go away! I mouthed, making a shooing motion with my hands.

  “You okay, Rose?” Claudia asked, frowning.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s just, someone has a very familiar foot.”

  “Oh my god, are those s’mores?” Logan moaned. He drifted toward the fire pit, fascinated, as Reyna and her friends took marshmallow-toasting selfies. Suddenly, the flames shot upward with a dangerous crackle, nearly tripling in height.

  The girls shrieked, knocking over their chairs as they backed away.

  “Oops,” Logan said, backing up guiltily. He drifted over to the hot tub. “Wait, you guys have pizza? And is that beer? Rose, are you drinking beer?”

  The jacuzzi jets let out a tremendous blast, then turned off entirely.

  Everyone groaned.

  “What the hell?” Sam muttered, hoisting himself out of the water to take a look at the timer. “Must be some kind of power surge.”

  “Yeah, supernatural powers,” Logan said, looking smug. He took over Sam’s spot, dangling his gross, sock-covered feet into the hot tub. He looked pleased with himself, as though he’d found something he could participate in.

  “It’s kind of crowded here, isn’t it?” Jamie said meaningfully.

  “A little bit,” I agreed.

  “Okay, whoever is doing the foot thing, stop,” Claudia insisted.

  “It’s not me!” Sam called, fiddling with the control panel.

  “WE KNOW!” everyone yelled back.

  I glanced over at Jamie again. He didn’t look so great. There was sweat on his brow, and his breathing was labored. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was having some kind of allergic reaction.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jamie said, hoisting himself out of the hot tub like it was an ordeal.

  “Me too,” I said, following.

  We padded into the kitchen, shivering, even wrapped in our towels. Except I didn’t think Jamie’s shivering was from the cold.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered.

  Jamie was leaning against the counter like he needed it to stand.

  “I just need a minute,” he gasped. “It must have been the water.”

  “No one’s allergic to water,” I accused. And then I realized what had been in the water. Not what. Who.

  “Jamie,” I said, my voice low. “Are you, by any chance, allergic to ghosts?”

  “I was going to tell you,” he mumbled. And then his knees buckled.

  “You should sit down,” I said, grabbing his arm.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted, twisting away. “I just need an aspirin.”

  He staggered toward the bathroom, and as I watched him go, my concern gave way to anger.

  It was so obvious now that he’d been hiding something. The way he always got headaches when Logan was around. Why he’d asked how often Logan showed up and how long he stayed. How he kept escaping to the kitchen when we’d been watching TV.

  I’d thought it was just a spurious correlation, but it wasn’t. Being around ghosts made Jamie sick. And Logan showing up at this party was entirely my fault.

  “Rose?”

  I turned around, expecting it to be Jamie.

  “There you are,” Logan said, looking pleased. “Sam got the hot tub working again.”

  “What are you even doing at this party?” I demanded, trying to sound stern. “I told you not to come.”

  “Well I got bored, sitting at home,” he said. “Mom and Dad are watching Anthony Bourdain.”

  But that wasn’t an excuse. I’d told him not to come, and he hadn’t listened. He couldn’t just trail me everywhere. Especially now that I knew what was going on with Jamie.

  Oh my god, Jamie. He still hadn’t come back from the bathroom.

  “Logan,” I said. “Go home. Now.”

  “Fine,” Logan retorted. “Kick me out of this stupid party. I don’t care. I’ve been to better ones.”

  Except he hadn’t. This was his first, I realized. But it was also mine. My first high school party. My first maybe-date with a boy. And Logan had turned it into a disaster.

  After Logan disappeared, I let out a sigh of frustration, and then I went to check on Jamie.

  “Hi,” I said, knocking softly on the door to the bathroom.

  There wasn’t an answer.

  I tried the handle, but it was locked.

  “Jamie?” I called, trying not to panic.

  There was a long pause, when I thought no one would answer. Finally, the door opened.

  Jamie looked like he had the flu. He couldn’t stop shivering, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  “I told you, Cleo,” he said, attempting a grin. “Nothing to worry about. I’m better already.”

  His knees buckled, and I grabbed his arm, catching him. His skin was hot to the touch, like he was running a fever.

  “No, you’re not,” I said sternly. “Sit down.”

  Jamie did, easing himself onto the floor. His shivering had gotten worse. I pulled some towels off the rack and draped them around his shoulders.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

  “You need to see a doctor,” I said, sitting down next to him.

  “And say what? Hey, doc, I think I’ve got ghost flu?”

  “Okay, maybe not,” I conceded. “But you should have told me.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I muttered, since he didn’t owe me an explanation. It wasn’t as though I was his girlfriend.

  “I was going to tell you,” Jamie promised. “It just seemed so stupid to bring up. ‘Oh, by the way, I kind of get migraines if I’m around ghosts for too long.’”

  When he put it like that, it did sound like I was making a big deal out of nothing. Except this wasn’t nothing.

  “This isn’t a migraine,” I pointed out.

  “Nope.” Jamie pulled a towel tighter around his shoulders.

  “So what was different this time
?” I asked.

  “The hot tub must have amplified it,” Jamie said. “Water’s a conductor, you know?”

  I winced. I hadn’t realized.

  “Either that, or I’m allergic to pineapple pizza,” he teased.

  “Don’t even joke,” I warned.

  “Hey, lots of people are allergic to pizza,” Jamie pointed out. “All that dairy and gluten. Watch out!”

  “So I guess it’s a good thing it’s just ghosts,” I said.

  “Well, ghosts and penicillin.” Jamie closed his eyes, and I realized he was exhausted. “Let’s stay here another minute, okay?”

  I leaned my head against Jamie’s shoulder. Somehow, I fit perfectly there.

  We stayed like that for a while, just sitting silently on the floor of Sam’s bathroom in our wet bathing suits. And I realized I wasn’t mad anymore. Not at Jamie. Mostly, I was angry that Logan had ruined everything. He’d never gotten in the way before. But then, there’d never been anything for him to get in the way of.

  “Okay,” Jamie said, struggling to his feet. “I think I’m good to go back out there.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I asked.

  “I don’t want anyone to think there’s something wrong with me.”

  He bent over the sink, splashing some water on his face and finger-combing it through his hair.

  “You’re not seriously going—” I began.

  “Yes, I am,” Jamie insisted, daring me to argue.

  I stood there in disbelief for a moment, wondering why he was so determined to prove that he was fine, and then I followed after him.

  Everyone was in the living room, trying to choose a movie.

  “Rocky Horror!” Max shouted, and Sam gave him a withering look.

  “Must we parody ourselves?” he asked gravely.

  “In this case, yes,” Max insisted. “I demand the Time Warp, and I demand it now.”

  We went with The Princess Bride. Except I had to leave halfway through to be home before eleven, and no amount of texting photos of us watching a PG movie would change that.

  “I’ll walk you,” Jamie said, putting on his flip-flops.

  He was still a little unsteady, but he was doing a good job of hiding it.

  It was surprisingly warm out, and strangely still. A Santa Ana wind was coming, and I wondered if Jamie felt it, too.

  The Santa Anas were eerie; they made the ocean lie flat as they howled through our canyon. There were superstitions about this type of wind. They inspired chaos, everyone said. Drove people to commit crimes and start fights. I glanced at Jamie, who was scrubbing a hand through his hair, mussing it. He didn’t look like he wanted to start a fight. He looked like he’d lost one. Badly.

  “I can’t believe you went back out to the party,” I said.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Jamie demanded. “Go home sick?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Jamie shook his head.

  “It’s funny,” he went on. “Tiny, quiet Laguna Canyon. I assumed I’d have a shot at being normal here.”

  Jamie sighed and stared up at the sky. It was orange where it met the walls of the canyon, another sign of the incoming wind.

  “And then I messed it up,” I said, feeling terrible.

  I’d never considered the possibility that Jamie didn’t want to deal with any of this. That just because he saw ghosts didn’t mean he wanted to hang around with one.

  “How could you mess it up?” Jamie asked. “You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to about this stuff.”

  “Same,” I said softly.

  “So I guess it’s lucky I didn’t move to Shanghai,” Jamie said, half to himself. “For a lot of reasons.”

  We were outside my house. My parents had turned off the porch light, and standing there, staring at Jamie in the dark, I could hear the distant rumble of cars down on the parkway.

  “Hey, Cleo? I had a good time tonight.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I said.

  “Okay, fine, tonight kind of sucked,” he amended. “Plus now Sam’s convinced we hooked up in his bathroom.”

  “Crap,” I moaned. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  “Well, maybe that’s what happened in a different timeline,” Jamie suggested, going quiet, as though he was imagining it.

  I tried to picture it, too. My first real party, where Jamie and I had eaten pizza in the hot tub, and kissed passionately in Sam’s downstairs bathroom, and everything had been perfect and normal. I imagined myself floating home with swollen lips and agonizing what to text as I scrolled through his Instagram.

  “I like that timeline,” I said.

  “So do I.” Jamie grinned. “A lot.”

  “It’s not too late,” I said, shocking myself.

  “Actually, it is,” Jamie said. There was this awful moment where I thought he was going to say he could never like me in that way. And then he whispered, “Your parents are spying on us from the upstairs window.”

  16

  Dracula Cast List

  MINA: Claudia Flores

  LUCY: Abby Shah

  DRACULA: Max Coleman

  HARKER: Sam Donovan

  VAN HELSING: Jamie Aldridge

  DR. SEWARD: Nima Shirazi

  RENFIELD: Leo Swanson

  ATTENDANTS: Darren Choi, Seth Bostwick

  VIXENS: Reyna Washington, Lauren Meyer

  Gardner posted the cast list after school on Monday. My friends gleefully congratulated each other, and Max passed Sam a five-dollar bill without comment, having lost a bet over whether or not our teacher would cast Seth.

  I quietly wrote my name on the sign-up sheet for crew, under costumes assistant. A couple of my classmates had already put their names forward as dressers or stagehands, after finding out they hadn’t made it into the play. Crew was a consolation prize for them, a second choice. If they’d really wanted to work behind the scenes, they would have taken theater tech. But then, if I’d really wanted to work behind the scenes, I would have, too.

  “I can’t believe it,” Claudia kept saying, over all of them being cast, and then throwing sympathetic glances in my direction.

  I’m fine, I kept trying to tell her with my face, but I had a suspicion she didn’t speak eyebrow.

  “We have to go to Duke’s,” Sam proclaimed. “To celebrate.”

  So we all walked toward the parking lot, squeezing into Sam’s Suburban. He rolled the windows down, cranked the stereo, and executed the most terrifying left turn in the history of our student lot.

  Duke’s was on the pier, in the ritzier part of Laguna, the one they always show on TV. As Sam maneuvered the Suburban down Ocean, the air turned sharp, with a salt tang, and the street names changed to numbers. I watched as they counted down, marking the blocks left until there was nothing but the water.

  Up in the canyon, where we lived, the homes were bright and Spanish-style, but down here, everything was modern and glass. Even the boats bobbing in the marina felt like they belonged to a different world, one where people golfed on the weekends at their fancy country clubs.

  Being in this part of town brought back so many memories: Duke’s used to be the venue of choice for birthday parties back when we were kids. They had an old-school arcade with Skee-Ball and Dance Dance Revolution, and a counter where you could trade in your tickets for cheap plastic prizes.

  “Wow,” Jamie said as we climbed out of Sam’s car. “What happened?”

  When we were kids, the boardwalk had been an endless stretch of seafood shacks and souvenir shops. Now it was a parade of designer boutiques and artisanal gelato bars.

  “Gentrification,” Claudia said, twisting her hair into a bun. “Isn’t it vile?”

  We passed a salon that advertised a fifty-dollar blowout special and a pilates studio that also served pressed juice.

  Darren made a face.

  “Who would pay ten bucks for a green juice?” he wondered aloud.

  “Abby Shah,” Max supplied, trying
not to laugh.

  “Duke’s never changes,” Sam promised.

  And he was right. Even better, Duke’s was practically empty when we got there. It turned out Nima knew the guy working behind the counter, so he went up to chat. And when he came back, he was carrying an enormous drink cup full of free game tokens, which he upended on the table.

  “Boom!” Nima said. “You’re welcome.”

  “No, you’re welcome for all of those times we just had to go spin that spirit wheel,” Max said, raking up a pile of tokens.

  By the time the burgers arrived, we were all starving. Jamie and I were splitting fries, and I thought he’d dump them out onto the tray and divide them in half, but he just left them in the carton. We kept reaching in at the same time, and finally I gave him a look.

  “You’re doing that on purpose,” I accused.

  “Doing what?” he asked innocently. “Eating?”

  I made a disgusted noise and dragged my fry through our puddle of ketchup. But I was secretly smiling.

  After we ate, we all took handfuls of tokens and hit the arcade. Nima and Max quickly got into a Skee-Ball battle, while Claudia and Darren faced off at Dance Dance Revolution. Sam was over at the pinball machines, swearing he’d finally land himself on the high-score board.

  “This is so fourth grade,” I said, smiling.

  Jamie and I were watching the DDR battle.

  “You’re going down!” Darren kept insisting, and Claudia would just laugh, her hair swinging. They looked ridiculous stomping on those light-up arrows, arms hanging. Except neither of them was missing a beat.

  “Remember when I had my ninth birthday here?” Jamie asked.

  “Barely,” I said, since everyone had had their birthdays at Duke’s that year.

  He shook his head, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Bad memory. My parents fought that whole day.”

  “Then we’ll have to make a good memory here to replace it,” I said.

  Jamie grinned.

  “It’s a deal,” he said. “Air hockey?”

  “Always.”

  We played until our fingers were battered from the plastic puck and we couldn’t stop laughing. Afterward, Jamie got us some ice from the soda fountain and wrapped it in napkins, and we took it onto the patio to soothe our hands.