I guess I’d thought it would be the same with Will. He’d yell and kick up a fuss about the changes I’d made but eventually realize that I’d done a good thing. Lily looked better than she ever had. There could be no doubt about that. Okay, and yeah, I benefited, I suppose, but it wasn’t like it had come at her expense or anything.
And he knew that. Just as I knew he liked what I’d done but couldn’t deal with it. He was, once again, punishing me by holding me accountable for a past that wasn’t mine. Like it wasn’t hard enough to be Lily; I had to be Lily in a specific way to meet his expectations. Whatever.
Would it have killed him to admit, even grudgingly, that I looked nice? I felt my eyes well up. Being that mean was just uncalled-for and so not like him. He’d left me no choice but to walk away before he saw my reaction. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“Are you okay?” Misty frowned down at me from the top of the porch stairs.
“I’m fine,” I said, wiping away a tear that had escaped, careful of my mascara. Despite my new look, I didn’t have any better control over the tear ducts. Lily had been and always would be faster to cry than me.
I climbed the steps, holding on to the rail, and the screech of Will’s tires on the otherwise quiet Sunday morning drew our attention momentarily back to the street.
“He’s kind of a jerk, huh?” Misty asked, cracking her toes against the floorboards, a habit that used to drive me crazy but now seemed nothing but achingly familiar.
I shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Come on in,” she said, pulling open the screen door and leading me into the dim front hall. “You want to use the—”
Without thinking, I’d already detoured around her to the small bathroom just inside the door to grab a tissue for my stupid teary eyes.
“Oh, good, you found it.” She frowned at me.
“Sorry…My grandma’s house is set up like this,” I said. I was going to have to be more careful. I’d spent as much time at Misty’s house as at my own; probably more, actually. Remembering to pretend I was a stranger to it would be tough.
She gave me a strange look but nodded.
“This way.” She headed down the hall toward the kitchen.
I followed slowly, caught up in absorbing how little her house had changed from what I remembered. I couldn’t begin to count how many times I’d eaten dinner over here or stayed the night, and Dr. Everly, Misty’s mom, had included me with Misty and her three younger half brothers without batting an eye. Looking back on that time now, I suspect she knew things were not so great for me at home, though she probably hadn’t figured out exactly how bad, or she would have been on the phone with some kind of agency to get me out. For that reason alone, I was grateful that Dr. Everly’s new husband, Kevin, and the “Screaming Three,” as Misty referred to the three boys her mother had produced with Kevin, kept Misty’s professor mom pretty distracted.
Being here in this place from my past, one of the few left intact for me, breathing in all the same smells, a wave of longing for the familiar swept over me. Maybe it would be worth swallowing my pride, forgiving Misty, and trying to forget everything that had happened, in exchange for a small portion of the comfort and feeling of safety I’d once experienced here.
If I did that, though, I’d be doing exactly what Will accused me of—using Lily to walk back into a form of my old life. The larger question was, did I care what Will Killian thought when he so clearly did not care what I thought…about anything?
I might have gone on considering this question—and my various options—except that as soon we walked into the kitchen I received the clearest sign possible that the past was just that, and there was no going back.
Dr. E. and Kevin must have had the kids out somewhere, because the normally chaotic kitchen was quiet and empty except for a curly-haired girl standing in front of the open fridge in her pajamas, eating what appeared to be raw cookie dough from the tube with an oversized spoon.
Leanne leaned around the fridge door and raised an eyebrow at us, or, more specifically, me. “What’s this?”
Leanne Whitaker was now Misty’s go-to friend for weekend sleepovers? Seriously?
I struggled to keep the hurt and anger from showing on my face, knowing it would only make things worse.
When I’d been alive, the three of us had mostly gotten along fine, all on the varsity squad together. But Misty and I had been a pair, with Leanne a little on the outside. That’s just the way it was. I’d never particularly cared for Leanne. She was always too eager to enjoy someone else’s misfortune, which was, frankly, tacky. And I’d experienced that firsthand a few months ago, when I first came back as a spirit to find her talking trash about me. Bitch.
I knew Will would have lumped the old me in with her, but I never saw Leanne and me as being anything alike. Yes, people thought I was cruel, but I think there’s a difference between giving a brutally honest assessment of a situation, which may cause pain, and causing pain so you can take some kind of delight in it. Yuck.
That same trait made Leanne someone you didn’t want as an enemy, though, so a friend she was. But not the kind of friend you trusted. At least, I hadn’t, and I couldn’t believe Misty was being naive enough to do so.
Then again, Misty had never been a great judge of character. That had been my job in our friendship.
“Leanne, this is…” Misty looked at me. “What was your name again?”
See what I mean? She’d let a virtual stranger into her house. Not that I was complaining, in this particular instance, as it benefited me. “Ally Turner,” I said.
Misty nodded, rubbing her eyes like she wasn’t quite awake yet or hadn’t gotten enough sleep. “Right. Ally.” The dark circles beneath her eyes looked even more pronounced than they had yesterday.
Leanne cocked her head to one side, evaluating me.
Crap. I held my breath. This would go a lot easier if I didn’t have to deal with whatever impressions they might already have of Pre-Coma Lily. Misty hadn’t recognized this body, of course. I’d barely remembered Lily’s existence. There was no way Misty would have. But Leanne…
Her eyes narrowed, and an evil grin spread across her freckled face. “I know you.” She slammed the fridge door shut with the bottom of her foot, sending the magnets holding the twins’ artwork to the floor, and pointed her spoon at me. “You’re that girl who lost her shit in front of everyone at one of Ben’s parties last year.”
Damn it.
“What?” Misty frowned at Leanne.
“Yeah, yeah,” Leanne said, waving her spoon around in excitement. “Ben was being his douchey self.” She rolled her eyes. “He showed up with his hands all over that freshman. Henley? Hanley?” She scrunched her forehead in concentration, trying to remember. “You know which one I mean. And this chick freaked.” She sounded delighted.
“Hello, standing right here?” I muttered.
Leanne ignored me. “Anyway, there was this huge scene. And then she drove off and crashed her car.” She paused to give me a skeptical look. “I thought you died.”
“I was in a coma,” I said tightly.
Misty turned to me. “That was you?” she asked, sounding worried for the first time that maybe she’d let someone who was less than stable into her home.
Thanks a lot, Lily. I could feel my face burning even though I’d had nothing to do with any of that Ben Rogers stuff. I wished, for once, that I could remember this giant confrontation between Lily and Ben. I’d been at the party, but either I’d missed seeing it, or it hadn’t registered as anything out of the ordinary. And given the way Ben was, it might very well have been the latter. Girls were always either fawning over him or yelling at him, postfawning. Still, while I was wearing Lily’s face, it would be helpful to know if that scene had been as bad as Leanne was implying, or whether she was amplifying it for her own entertainment and my discomfort. I supposed I could have played the memory-loss card and had someone tell me exactly what
had gone on, but finding a trustworthy eyewitness—in other words, not Leanne—was the trick. So I’d have to roll with it.
“That was a long time ago, and not why I’m here,” I said, shooting a death glare at Leanne, who grinned in response. “I came to make sure you were okay,” I said to Misty, which was kind of true. “You seemed really upset yesterday, and I wasn’t sure if Malachi was able to help you.…” Gag. Like Malachi was helping anyone but himself.
“She was at the psychic’s yesterday,” Misty said to Leanne, wrapping the end of her ponytail around her fingers, another nervous habit. “The one who’s been trying to help me?”
Leanne made a sour face that could have been in response to the fact either that I’d been somewhere with Misty or that Misty was going to a psychic. Apparently more than once, I realized, as her words clicked through.
“You’ve been there before?” I asked incredulously.
She shrugged. “He said it would probably take a few times before he could cleanse my aura.”
Such a scammer. “Please,” I said at the same time as Leanne, who gave me a disgusted look.
Whatever. She didn’t own the word.
“But he didn’t come back yesterday, like, not at all,” Misty said to me. “He missed the rest of his appointments.”
“Sweetie, I told you, he’s only after your money,” Leanne said with a condescending smile. “Someone was probably on to him, and he bailed.”
Wow. So Leanne and I actually agreed on something. Though she’d obviously let Misty go to Malachi in the first place, which I would not have allowed.
“No.” Misty shook her head vigorously. “I’m telling you he’s for real. He knew stuff about me and about her.” Her voice took on a hushed urgency. “Stuff he couldn’t have known.”
Leanne rolled her eyes and spooned another bite of cookie dough into her big fat mouth.
Misty turned to me. “You know,” she said defiantly. “You saw them. The ghosts in his office. The ones he says are his guides.”
Interesting that Malachi was apparently aware of his spirit companions. Maybe he wasn’t the fake he seemed to be. Or maybe he was really good at being that fake. Having spirit guides wasn’t an uncommon fact about mediums/ psychics. He’d probably just done his research.
“She was with that creepy dude from school, Will something. Remember him?” she asked Leanne.
I winced on Will’s behalf, and Leanne gave a noncommittal grunt.
“They were both seeing something that wasn’t there. It was the weirdest thing.” She gave a shudder and then turned back to me. “Ghosts, right?”
I hesitated before responding. I needed Misty to believe me if I was going to figure out what was really going on here. But if I spoke up now, I’d be cementing Ally’s reputation as a freak, which I might have to live with for a while.
What to do?
Finally, I nodded. Figuring out who was pretending to be me was more of a priority at the moment. Besides, I’d be out of this body before too long…probably.
Leanne snorted, and I hoped she’d choke on a chocolate chip. “Ghosts don’t exist, Misty. I told you.”
“Then why did you insist on sleeping in the guest room last night instead of my room?” Misty demanded.
Leanne focused on digging out another bite of dough. “Whatever,” she muttered. “It was warmer in there.”
Misty looked to me. “She’s here again. Alona, I mean.” She twisted her fingers together nervously. “Since last night.”
My ears pricked up. “She’s here now? How do you know?” I tried for a discreet look around the room and saw nothing out of the ordinary, no blurry spots.
Misty shook her head. “I just feel it sometimes. Like there’s someone watching me.” She smiled sadly. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m not crazy. I know it’s her.”
“Do you want to show me where that feeling is strongest?” I forced myself not to sound too eager. “Maybe I can take a look?”
Leanne smirked. “Miss Pathetic here suddenly has special spooky powers.”
Forget choking. I hoped that cookie dough was chock-full of salmonella.
“It’s called a near-death experience. You should try it sometime,” I said sweetly. “Maybe without the ‘near.’”
Leanne gaped at me.
I turned to Misty. “So?” I asked briskly.
She nodded, wide-eyed. “Uh, sure.”
I stepped out of the way and let her lead me back into the hall and up the stairs. I couldn’t help noticing the changed photos on the stairwell wall. I was no longer in any of them.
Not that that was entirely shocking. Kevin, who was about ten years younger than Misty’s mom, was obsessed with documenting his new family, which had included Misty and me at one time. He had a bunch of these artsy, wrought-iron picture frames/art pieces all the way up the wall. He changed the photos out about every month, swapping in the latest family images.
This particular selection appeared to be about summer activities. The twins, Owen and Ian, with their older brother, Colin, all in matching water wings. Colin attempting to drink from the hose but mostly spraying his face. Misty and her mom sitting together on the porch swing, talking to each other, their faces serious and their dusty toes dragging across the boards. And some kind of picnic with all of them…and Chris, my ex and Misty’s current boyfriend.
There were a few pictures of Chris, some with him in the background, as I would have been once, and others focused on him.
In the one closest to me, he had Colin on his shoulders and a twin (don’t ask me which was which, I’d never mastered that) wrapped around each ankle. He was pretending to struggle to move forward, but I could tell that beneath the faked strain on his face, he was having fun. His eyes were crinkling up at the edges like he was fighting not to laugh. And behind him, Misty was out of focus, but I could still see her grinning.
They were happy. Kevin was a good photographer, catching the truth in a moment like that.
“So you and Chris Zebrowski, huh?” I asked, and immediately wished I could pull the words back.
She glanced warily over her shoulder at me, pausing on a step.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it wasn’t like that,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s what you said. So what was it like?”
I could see her weighing the moment, deciding whether she should have to answer me or not. After all, who was I to her? “He sees me,” she said. “And I see him.”
I frowned. Huh? “I saw…I mean, I’m sure Alona saw you.” I mean, I’d been a lot of things, but visually impaired was definitely not one of them.
But Misty wasn’t done yet. “Alona…Alona was like this giant storm, you know?” Her voice was distant, like she was seeing something other than the stairway. “You got swept along with her, and after a while you weren’t really sure where you were or who you were except as it related to her. I wasn’t Misty. I was Alona Dare’s best friend. Chris was Alona Dare’s boyfriend.” She shook her head. “Know what I mean?”
Not exactly.
“But Chris and me, we found each other, and it’s real.” Her voice rang with fierceness, and her gaze met mine without hesitation, as if she was daring me to challenge her words. “We see each other for who we are, not as accessories to somebody else.”
In that second, I felt a wave of envy so strong it nearly knocked me backward down the stairs. Not because it was Chris, but to have someone know me like that…I wanted that with a craving I felt in my borrowed bones.
She started up the steps again.
I followed, taking each stair one at a time with my hand on the railing, and wrestled with the mix of emotions churning in me. I’d had Chris in my life, but he’d never looked one-tenth as content as he did in those photos. It hurt, seeing proof that it wasn’t him but me who was flawed.
My eyes stung with tears. Every instinct told me to blame the two of them—Misty and Chris. They had been greedy, selfish, and cruel. They’d
done this to me. But how can you deny something when the proof is right in front of you? The truth was, they’d done this regardless of me. I was a nonentity, which somehow hurt more than if it had been a deliberate strike against me.
She reached the top of the stairs and turned to wait for me.
“So why aren’t you wearing his ring?” I asked in a voice that was probably harsher than it should have been. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking, either.
“I didn’t say yes yet,” she said, looking at her bare left hand as if making sure the ring hadn’t somehow appeared there suddenly. “I’m eighteen. We’re going to different schools.” She gave a little shrug.
On the top step now, I waited, sensing, hoping, there was more.
“And how am I supposed to say yes to him when Alona is still so upset?” she asked in a small voice. “She’s, like, not at rest because of us.”
I let out a silent breath of relief. I hadn’t lost her completely. I still mattered to her, even if it wasn’t really me who was doing the haunting that had her so concerned. That somehow lifted a burden from my shoulders I hadn’t even known I was carrying.
“Well.” I cleared my throat against the lump of unshed tears. “Let’s go see what we can do about that.”
She gave me an odd look—and why not? Ally Turner had no reason to be emotional about any of this—and gestured for me to walk ahead of her. Her room was the last one at the end of the narrow hall, past the tiny guest room and the former master bedroom that her three brothers now shared. Dr. E. and Kevin had renovated the study downstairs last year, turning it into their room.
Misty’s room looked much the same as when I’d been there last, a couple of months ago. Yeah, I’d visited her a few times after I’d died. Her grandmother’s quilt was still on her bed, rumpled from where Misty had slept beneath it. The television on her dresser blared a rerun of The Hills, and all the dresser drawers hung open from the last time she’d searched them for socks or whatever. She always did that, left the drawers open, arguing that it saved time. Over the years, I’d banged my hip or knee on their sharp edges more times than I could count.