B00B9FX0F2 EBOK (4 page)

M
oreland! You’re slower than my grandmother, and she’s in a wheelchair!” Coach Caroline Walker’s PE class was tough even on the best of days. On this particular morning, exhausted from sleeplessness, Jason wondered if collapsing on the spot might provide some relief from the suicide drills she was forcing them to run.

When he’d said good night to his mom the night before, she’d taken his laptop to the living room — it was something she did casually, as if she were grabbing a load of his laundry or straightening up his schoolbooks, but he knew she did it to keep him from going online when he should have been sleeping. He’d considered sneaking downstairs to retrieve it, but he also wanted to forget every strange, confusing piece of information it contained about Lacey Gray. Maybe if he left it there, he reasoned, the news stories about her death and her friends would disappear. And so he’d spent the night kicking at his sheets and staring at the ceiling, trying unsuccessfully to separate the girl he knew from the girl in the obituary he’d read.

He wasn’t sure what time he’d finally drifted off, but when his alarm sounded in the morning he jolted up from a dream where he’d been falling from the sky, plummeting toward an Earth that was nowhere in sight. For a moment, as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, he’d groggily thought the horrible news
of the day before had been part of the same nightmare, but the very real memory of finding the
Brighton Times
article came flooding back in an icy rush. He’d hoped school would distract him from the questions he didn’t even know how to begin to ask, but so far he’d had little luck.

PE was a class most kids slacked off in, but Coach Walker took the obesity epidemic very seriously, and, Jason thought, perhaps a little personally. She seemed determined to turn all of her students into Olympians, no matter how un–athletically inclined they were. This morning she wore a red and black Windbreaker and barked directions from beneath a yellowing basketball net.

“Three more sets to go! Slowing down isn’t going to make this any easier, O’Donnell!”

The ancient gym was freezing. The air inside was damp, and it reeked of generations of sweaty teenagers. Jason had spent entire pickup basketball games and volleyball matches wondering whether kids in the ’90s just didn’t use deodorant. Smells like teen spirit indeed.

The whistle sounded and he reversed direction, gasping for breath as Meredith Singer, a stocky blonde who played trumpet in the school jazz band, blew past him. He pushed the mess of brown hair back from his forehead and did his best to keep up. The problem was that the faster his mind raced, the slower his legs wanted to go, and try as he might, he couldn’t turn off his brain.

Snippets of conversations with Lacey floated through his head.
Things are sort of … complicated right now.
Complicated because you’re dead?
You just have to give me a little time to
figure out what’s going on with me.
Well, yes, I imagine a dead person
does
have a lot to figure out.

If he hadn’t been so distracted, he’d have enjoyed the sight of his gym-short-clad classmates all panting like Labradors, sliding to a stop and turning on their heels each time they heard the shriek of the whistle. On an average day, he would have daydreamed about swapping out prom portraits in the yearbook with ones from gym class, everyone sweaty and pink-cheeked and breathless. But this wasn’t an average morning, and his normal disdain for his fellow students had morphed into envy at their Facebook feeds, which contained nothing more threatening than evidence of their latest breakups or unflattering photos from the sophomore camping trip.

He limped through the last of his sprints and then dragged himself into the dank locker room to change for history. The school had showers, but Jason had never seen anyone use them, and for all he knew water wouldn’t even come out if you turned them on, but gym teachers were required to give their classes ten minutes to clean up — a rule Coach Walker followed only grudgingly.

Jason quickly pulled on a gray-and-white-striped T-shirt and narrow black corduroys, and drew his phone from his bag. He had nine minutes until history started. For a moment he just stared at the screen. What was he going to do — Facebook Lacey? He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Marcus Segal painstakingly folded his Roosevelt High basketball shorts and lined his sneakers up perfectly in his locker. Sometimes other people’s problems were so obvious from the outside. If Marcus wasn’t so anal about everything,
people would like him more. He wished someone would sit Marcus down and explain it to him, but now wasn’t the time. He’d told Rakesh he’d meet him in the quad before history. He checked his watch. If he hurried, he wouldn’t be late, and it would leave him exactly five minutes to explain what had happened the night before. Jason had no idea where he would even start.

“Hey, man.” Rakesh was leaning comfortably against the flagpole with mirrored Wayfarers on, the white frames popping brightly against his brown skin. “You ready to drop some crazy civil war knowledge?”

Jason had entirely forgotten about his homework. Briefly, he returned to his real world problems, and then he remembered he’d shoved the Robert E. Lee printout into his book bag before tumbling down the Lacey Gray Google rabbit hole.

“I’m just hoping she doesn’t call on me,” Jason said. “I have, like, two letters, and I barely even looked at them.”

“Yo, even I did this one. What, were you busy last night?” Rakesh was skeptical. Online assignments weren’t hard.

“Something, uh, sort of happened….” Jason trailed off as they made their way into the main building and down the hall. Rakesh already rolled his eyes every time Lacey was mentioned. Was he going to think Jason was stupid — or worse, crazy — for getting tangled up with someone who was … Jason still wasn’t sure what exactly Lacey was.

“What does ‘something, uh, sort of happened’ even mean?”

Jason looked around to see if anyone was listening. “You have to promise not to say anything.”

“Dude, what’s with the secrets all of a sudden? It’s like one of us is James Bond, except that I’m not sure it’s me, and I have a
serious
problem with that.”

“Will you please just lower your voice?” Jason snapped, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about this here. Can we go to Michael’s?”

“Leave school in the middle of the day?” Rakesh said with mock horror. Then he shrugged and grinned. “Sure, why not?” Rakesh kept smiling as they exited toward the parking lot. “But for the record, I am totally the James Bond of the two of us.”

“So walk me through this again,” Rakesh said ten minutes later as a waitress slid a plate overflowing with steak, eggs, potatoes, and pancakes in front of him.. Michael’s was an all-night diner on the edge of town. It boasted an all-you-can-eat salad bar that consisted mostly of iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing, but the real draw was the roomy booths and the cheap menu that offered breakfast all day. It was where kids went after parties got broken up, and on nights when there were no parties but everyone was sick of the Wawa parking lot.

“While I was doing my history homework last night, I Googled her.”

“You hadn’t Googled her before?”

“I’m not some sort of stalker.”

Rakesh scoffed.

“No, really, I’m not. I mean, I know you think I get a little carried away when I like someone —”

“Last year you read every post on Julia Granholm’s wall dating back to eighth grade, and then you made me read them, too. Forget carried away — try obsessed.”

“This is different,” Jason continued. “And I’m not just saying that. The thing about Lacey is that, for once in my life, it felt like I might have a
real
girlfriend. Not someone I fantasized about marrying in the fifth grade like Nicole Trufardi. Not someone like Tanya Bellows, who sends me misspelled notes telling me I’m sweet and not someone I only liked because she looks like a swimsuit model, which I still maintain Julia Granholm does. With Lacey, I thought this is what it feels like getting to know someone you like and who likes you. This is what it’s
supposed
to feel like. Until …”

“Until you found out she was dead,” Rakesh said flatly, his mouth full of eggs.

“I still don’t know if she
is
dead!”

“Okay, you found an obituary for a girl who looks and sounds like the girl you’ve been dating online who you’ve never met in person, and then you found another article that adds another nail to her coffin. Literally. Am I missing anything?”

“No, but …”

“So you’re in love with a ghost? Is this what those Twilight books are about?”

“I’m not in love with anyone! Also, don’t pretend you haven’t seen all of the Twilight movies in the theater the weekend they came out.”

“Would you say no to Katie Betz?”

“That doesn’t explain why
New Moon
made you cry. And not the point! Can we go back to talking about me, please?”

“Sure, yeah, we can definitely go back to talking about how you’re in love with a ghost.”

Jason slumped against the booth. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Look, as you know, I think it’s a bad idea to date anyone you haven’t met in real life, no matter how alive or dead she is. It’s like I told you when you first started messaging ‘her’” — he used air quotes around the pronoun — “for all you know, it’s a dude at the other end of your messages. Or some lonely middle-aged whack job. But if you really like this girl, then I’m going to help you.”

“Help me how?” Jason was always wary of the plans his friend dreamed up.

“Let me do a little digging tonight. There’s something about this story that’s weirdly familiar. Not to mention I want to see what the girl who’s gotten your panties in such a twist looks like.”

Jason would never have admitted it out loud, but a small part of him worried what would happen if Lacey met Rakesh. With his love of Top 40 radio and popped collars, he wasn’t what he imagined Lacey going for, but he had yet to meet the girl who was immune to Rakesh’s charm. “If I told you to forget it, would you let it go?”

“Not a chance. But I promise I won’t steal her from you. Bro code, yo! I love you, man.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he did whenever Rakesh began invoking the bro code or reciting silly, sentimental lines from buddy comedies. He wasn’t happy to have been so transparent about his fears, but he was a little reassured.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But you’re buying this lunch. For my emotional hardship.”

“You should be buying me lunch! I’m about to save you from yourself.”

“Do you want to find another ride back to school?”

“I’ll pay for your grilled cheese, but you owe me.”

W
hen the final bell rang at the end of the day, Jason headed to the library. He’d wanted to start investigating Lacey as soon as possible, but Rakesh had squash practice — a sport his mom forced him to play. He pretended to hate it, but he was one of the best players in the state, and it was no secret Rakesh enjoyed the attention that came with his rank. Not to mention the fact that colleges were already contacting him about playing on their teams.

Jason studiously avoided the computers and instead settled himself at a desk tucked away behind the biography shelves where he cracked open his copy of
Hamlet
. The night of their first assignment, he’d sat in front of his computer, skimming the opening act with one eye while the other closely observed his Facebook chat list, waiting for Lacey to sign on. Ghost stories weren’t his thing. At least, as of last week, they weren’t. But this afternoon, with his scuffed-up New Balances propped on the extra chair he pulled up, he began to read in earnest. He went slowly at first, methodically untangling the thorny Shakespearean language, but as he began to get a feel for the characters, he sped up, not minding when he missed a word or two. Jason and Hamlet had more in common than he would have guessed — manipulative jerks for stepfathers, crushes on girls who probably shouldn’t like them back, channels open with the friendly neighborhood ghost. He was fully absorbed
in the drama of Denmark when he heard the faint buzzing of his phone in his bag. Fumbling for it, he saw that he’d missed three calls and two texts from Rakesh.

“Hello?” he whispered.

“Yo, you were right. She’s totally hot!” Rakesh’s voice blared through the speaker. “Where are you?”

“In the library. Wanna meet me at my car?”

“No, man, I got a ride home when I realized you had better things to do than answer my calls. Not cool, by the way. Come over. I have something to show you.”

Tanya Adams answered the door at Rakesh’s. She wore loose linen pants, a white tunic, and fuzzy shearling slippers. Her eyes lit up when she saw her visitor. “Jason, so nice to see your face, how are you?”

“I’m good, Mrs. Adams, how are you?”

“I can’t complain.” She kissed him on the cheek while welcoming him into the hallway. “Please, you must eat something. I made a casserole for dinner.” Jason hadn’t eaten since Michael’s. He was torn between the urgency to find Rakesh and see what he’d discovered and the gnawing pains in his stomach. As if sensing his dilemma, Mrs. Adams added, “Come on, I’ll make you a plate to eat with Rakesh, and in return you will tell him he must clean that nasty pit he calls his room.”

“Okay, thank you, Mrs. Adams.”

Jason enjoyed the aroma of spices as she piled broccoli next to the square of eggplant casserole on his plate. The Adams household was strictly vegetarian, and Rakesh’s mother would flip if she knew about the sausage and bacon he devoured at
Michael’s. Still, as much as Jason liked cheese fries and hot wings, he had a soft spot for the health food Mrs. Adams had been serving him since childhood. She asked about Jason’s mom and Jason passed along her regards before he ventured upstairs. Bruno Mars was wafting down the hallway when Jason knocked on Rakesh’s closed door.

“What!” he shouted angrily from within. Jason let himself in, and Rakesh laughed. “Oh, I thought you were my mom coming up here to tell me to clean my room.”

“Oh yeah, she told me to tell you to clean your room.”

“Whatever. We have important business to discuss.”

A small part of Jason hoped all the stories he’d seen last night had disappeared when Rakesh tried to search for them. Sure, it would mean he was crazy, but on the other hand, he’d have a living, breathing girlfriend — or at least a shot with a living, breathing girl, which was more than he had now. He braced himself for what Rakesh had to say.

“This Lacey Gray situation is crazy.” Jason sat down on Rakesh’s bed, too nervous to respond. Rakesh continued speaking excitedly. “So, I remembered why her name seemed familiar. It’s her brother, Luke. Remember last year during the Roosevelt-Brighton game? He had that illegal check on Aaron Sparks that dislocated his shoulder. It basically ended the season for the team.”

Jason didn’t follow Roosevelt High sports the way Rakesh did, but it sounded vaguely familiar. Aaron Sparks had been a big-shot senior, and even though Jason wasn’t among those who compared his injury to crimes against humanity, it had been all anyone could talk about for a while.
Crazy jock frat boy
in training
. That was how Lacey had described her brother. He wished he’d asked what she meant.

“That was him?” Jason said weakly.

“Yeah, and his buddy Troy Palmer is the class act who laughed about it from the sidelines. I hate those guys.”

At least these details verified Lacey’s existence. Lacey was a real person. She really had a brother and a life. It was what he’d wanted for so long, but it no longer felt like a gift.

“Anyway, I realized all this,” Rakesh went on, “when I searched for Lacey on Facebook.”

“Did you find her?” Jason asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Yes, but …” For the first time, Rakesh’s enthusiasm wavered.

“What?”

“I didn’t exactly find her profile.” He turned away from Jason and began fidgeting with the seal-shaped paperweight that sat on his desk. “I found a page dedicated to Lacey Gray. It’s all messages written to her after she died.”

So this was what Hamlet felt like when he saw the ghost
, Jason thought. He was crazy. It was that simple.

Sitting at his computer, talking over his shoulder, Rakesh opened Facebook. “So I looked her up, right? And the people who show up — here’s one in Oklahoma, here’s one who goes to Cal State, and there’s a bunch more, but none of them are from Brighton. But look, below that, there are pages. And here’s the Lacey Gray memorial page.”

He clicked it, and Jason left the bed to get a closer look.

He couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. It was a different photo. This one was posed, the type of thing that would go
above your name in the yearbook. Her hair was more carefully styled, less rumpled, but the eyes were the same deep watery blue, the smile that even now flopped Jason’s stomach. It was so obviously the same girl.

Rakesh stayed mercifully silent as Jason took it in. The birthday, the date of her death, the poetry. The joyful face he’d been wanting to see. Set against the blue and white background where he was so used to seeing her, this was somehow worse than the obituary. This felt like a betrayal. He read the testimonials her friends had written.

The queasiness in his gut increased with each new message. He scrolled down for what seemed like forever, reading until he couldn’t take it anymore, and then walked wordlessly back to the bed and sat down with his hands on his knees.

Jason didn’t know how long they sat like that before Rakesh finally asked, “What do you think it means?”

“It means someone named Lacey Gray is dead.” His voice sounded odd, like he was being strangled while he spoke.

“Okay,” Rakesh drew out the word, choosing his next ones carefully. “J, the girl you’ve been talking to, is it this girl?”

“I know you think I’m crazy,” Jason began, but Rakesh cut him off.

“That’s her picture, that’s her high school, blah blah blah. But is this the girl you’ve been talking to? Her profile, I mean?”

Jason was having a hard time following what Rakesh was saying. “No, that’s not it.”

“Why can you see her profile but I can’t?” Jason looked at him blankly. When he didn’t answer, Rakesh added, “I
don’t
think you’re crazy. But something crazy is definitely going on here. I want to know what.”

Amid all the confusion in his mind, Jason felt a rush of gratitude for his friend. He thought of Horatio and Marcellus swearing the oath on Hamlet’s sword. “Hold on, let me try something.” He gestured for Rakesh to get up.

Sitting down at the computer, he logged out of Rakesh’s Facebook account and in to his own. He noticed Rakesh had changed his profile picture to a James Bond portrait. Jason asked him about it.

“I had Bond on the brain,” he said with a smile.

Jason began typing in the search bar at the top of the page. He’d entered L-A-C when two recommendations dropped down. The first was the profile picture he was so familiar with. The second was the page he and Rakesh had just examined. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. With the mouse, he hovered over the first one and looked at Rakesh.

“Go on!” he said impatiently, and Jason clicked.

As he did so, he tried to envision what her profile had looked like the last time he’d checked it. He’d noticed early on that it was restricted — she could post status updates but no one else could post on her wall. It wasn’t exactly conventional to hide your wall like that, but Jason had chalked it up to her renegade spirit; the generic girls who treated high school like a beauty
pageant could have all the inside jokes and duck-face photos they wanted, but Lacey was keeping it simple and classy. He’d kept tabs on her silly statuses and shared links via his news feed, but he hadn’t spent a lot of time on her profile.

He had the sinking feeling he’d missed something huge by not paying more attention, and as her profile loaded his fears were confirmed. Her wall at first seemed innocuous enough, littered with the updates that had inserted little jolts of joy into his news feed, but it was something on the left side of the page beneath the picture that now made him sick to his stomach:

“Oh,
snap
,” Rakesh breathed.

The status updates were for his eyes only. Rakesh was right, something crazy was going on. The boys exchanged a look, and Jason slowly backed away from the computer as if it were capable of attacking him.

“I guess the good news is that now we know you’re the only guy in Lacey’s life?”

Jason attempted to laugh, but the noise sounded strange and hollow. He really
had
wanted to be the only guy in Lacey’s life. Through his daze, he heard Rakesh asking him what he was going to do now.

“I’m going to confront her.” The response was as surprising to him as it seemed to be to Rakesh. But after the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the only option.

“What are you going to say?”

Jason shook his head. “That is a good question. I’ll let you know when I figure out the answer.”

That night, in bed, he toggled back and forth between his messages and the memorial page. Seven hundred forty-six people liked it. In the past he had found himself ranting over the limits of the like button. “Like” had no place when it came to a memorial dedicated to a sixteen-year-old girl who died. But that was the least of his problems right now. Seven hundred forty-six people wanted Lacey Gray to rest in peace. But Lacey Gray also had one friend no one knew about.