The sun was still high overhead, but the day had turned cool, finally giving way to fall. The air was chilly, with a salt tang, and out on the horizon, a line of sailboats bobbed, seeming to shimmer.
Seagulls pecked at our feet, nibbling on stray French fries that someone had left before us. Jamie and I sat on a bench, our legs touching, but neither of us wanting to be the first to pull away.
“Do you ever think about how if you were to draw a map of America, we’d be outside of it?” I asked. “Right now, we’re an outlying plot point, hanging off the side of the continent.”
“You’re so weird,” Jamie teased.
“You’re just figuring that out now?” I raised an eyebrow.
Jamie laughed. He had a nice laugh, a deep rumble, like a science-fair volcano. And his eyelashes looked so long, catching the fading sunlight, that I couldn’t help but stare.
He was the kind of beautiful that made me wonder how everyone else stood it, how they talked to him on the street or sat next to him in class without wanting to reach out and trace their fingers against the sharp lines of his jaw, just to make sure he was real.
“I think I know what I want to spend my last tokens on,” Jamie said.
“What?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
Jamie reached for my hand and led me back into the arcade. He twisted around, smiling at me, like it was going to be the greatest surprise ever which game he chose, and I almost believed it. Because his eyes were shining and his hand was warm, and he was a boy who could see things that were invisible to everyone else, the only living person in the world who knew my secrets.
The electricity was back between us, crackling more than ever, and I knew he sensed it too.
He led me to a funny old photo booth in the back of the arcade, the kind with a little curtain strung across the entrance and lights on top. Jamie slotted his last few coins into the booth and then pulled aside the curtain.
“Step into my office,” he instructed with a flourish.
It was cramped inside the booth, with just a little bench in the back, and the dark, expectant camera lens pointing at us. We were squeezed closer together than we’d ever been before, even in the hot tub, or maybe the aloneness was what made it feel that way.
“Ready?” he asked, leaning forward to push the button that would start the countdown for our photo strip.
I nodded, and the booth came to life with a rattle, the flashbulb pulsing as it counted down the timer.
“What are we doing in the photo?” I asked, realizing we hadn’t planned anything.
“This,” Jamie said.
And then he kissed me. It was sweet and warm and caught me completely off guard, because it turned out he had planned something for the photo after all.
The kiss was over in an instant, and when he pulled away, I couldn’t tell if I was dazed from the flashbulbs or his lips.
“Aren’t you supposed to kiss on the last one?” I asked, breathless.
“Whoops,” Jamie said. “Guess we’ll have to do it again.”
This time, when he kissed me, I was ready to kiss him back. And it was a different kind of kiss, long and deep and full of verses. It was a ballad poem of a kiss, the kind where your tongue goes off on great adventures and returns home different than before.
We didn’t stop kissing until all the flashbulbs were spent, all the photos were taken, and the booth had gone dark. When we pulled apart, I could hear the gears whirling inside the wall, preparing our pictures.
Claudia was waiting for us when we stepped out of the booth. She was holding our picture strips, and she looked very smug.
“You do know this is a photo booth, not a kissing booth, right?” she teased, grinning.
“Give me those,” I said, grabbing for them.
I was expecting a disaster, because I never photographed well. But our pictures were perfect. They were black-and-white, like an image of something that had happened a long time ago. Like the kind of photos you find at a flea market or see printed in an old book.
I looked so surprised in the first frame that I had to laugh. But the next three were so intimate that I hardly recognized myself. Was that girl really me, that black-and-white girl in the photo booth, kissing that beautiful boy, with her hand cupped around his face and her hair trailing in loose waves?
Hair. Oh my god.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, dashing to the bathroom.
The salt air on the boardwalk had done something to my hair. My cheeks were flushed, and my lips were swollen, and my hair was a perfect cascade of soft brown waves.
It’s just a spurious correlation, I told myself, taking a couple of deep, steadying breaths. It isn’t real. But part of me worried that it wasn’t nonsense. That it was only a matter of time before my personal superstition would prove itself true.
WHEN SAM DROPPED me off at home, Jamie’s kiss already felt like something I’d imagined. I kept touching the photo strip in my pocket, reassuring myself that it was real.
I went upstairs, humming one of the songs that had been playing on Sam’s stereo, this upbeat hipster thing. I put the song on my iPad and then flopped onto my bed, staring at the photos of Jamie and me.
“Hellooooo,” Logan called. “You can stop ignoring me now.”
“I’m not ignoring you,” I snapped. “I’m busy.”
I twisted around.
But I didn’t see him.
“Where are you?” I asked, frowning.
“Right here,” Logan said. “Why?”
“Right where?” I asked, trying not to panic.
“I’m literally right in front of you,” Logan said.
I couldn’t see my brother.
Oh god.
I felt my heart speed up, because I didn’t know what to do.
“Um, right,” I lied. “Of course.”
Logan had gone almost totally transparent before, but it was never like this. There was always an outline. But this time, he just . . . wasn’t there.
What if he was never there again?
“You’re lying!” Logan accused, frantic. “What’s wrong? Why can’t you see me?”
“I don’t know!”
“Well, do something!” Logan insisted.
“Like what?” I asked.
“I DON’T KNOW! SOMETHING!”
The lamp on my bedside table flickered ominously.
“Logan!” I scolded. “Calm down!”
Except I wasn’t exactly calm myself.
“We’ll figure this out!” I promised.
“How?!” Logan shouted.
“I’m calling Jamie,” I said, searching for my phone. It was the only thing I could think to do.
“We don’t need him!” Logan insisted.
“Yes, we do!” I said.
My phone was at the bottom of my bag, and I dug it out, dialing Jamie. But the call went instantly to voice mail. I hung up before leaving one.
“Logan?” I tried.
But he didn’t answer.
“Are you still here?” I asked.
Nothing.
“I’m sorry. Logan, please,” I begged. “Move something. Go through the pipes. Do anything.”
I waited, but the lights stayed on, and the papers on my desk stayed still, and the plumbing didn’t so much as rattle.
I didn’t know if he’d come back in an hour, or tomorrow, or never again. And the not knowing terrified me. He’d shown up irregularly before, but never like this. Something was wrong, and I was terrified we wouldn’t be able to fix it. Terrified that he’d disappear on me again, forever, before I was ready. Before I had a chance to say good-bye.
I curled into a ball, clutching a pillow to my chest. My eyes burned with tears, and I could feel eyeliner sliding down my face, but I didn’t care.
“Please come back,” I whispered. “Logan, please.”
17
I WAS A wreck the next day, and Jamie could tell something was wrong. At lunch, he kept shooting me wo
rried glances and nodding toward the quad like he’d follow if I made an excuse to leave.
So I said I was going to study precalc in the library.
“Want some help?” Jamie asked, the picture of innocence.
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
Claudia winked at us when we left, like she thought we were sneaking off somewhere to cuddle.
“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked. “You didn’t reply to any of my texts last night.”
I glanced at him guiltily. My phone was . . . somewhere. Still on my desk, probably. I hadn’t even checked it.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Is it me?” he asked quietly. He looked so nervous, and so prepared for the answer to be yes.
“No,” I said. “It’s Logan.”
Jamie seemed to sag with relief. But then he saw the look on my face.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“My car?” Jamie suggested.
We hung a left toward the parking lot and climbed into his Prius. There was a stack of library books on the seat, which would have charmed me any other day, but I chucked them into the back without comment. Jamie turned the radio on low, which helped dilute the silence.
“When I came home from the pier last night, I couldn’t see Logan,” I said. “He told me to stop ignoring him, but I hadn’t even realized he was there.”
Jamie frowned.
“You couldn’t see him at all?”
I shook my head.
“But I heard him just fine,” I said. “It’s never happened before. He’s always been there. Never half there.”
“I’m no ghost expert, but do you want me to come over after school and check on him?”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Because last time, at Sam’s—”
“I’ll be fine,” Jamie said firmly.
He flashed me a reassuring smile, but then something awful occurred to me.
“What if Logan isn’t the problem?” I asked. “What if it’s me?”
I could barely bring myself to think it. To imagine what it would be like if Logan was still there but I couldn’t see him.
“Then we’ll figure it out, okay?” Jamie promised.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“I have the world’s worst timing, don’t I?” Jamie asked.
He was talking about the kiss. His hand was still on top of mine. It was such a small thing, but for some reason, having that physical connection between us was strangely comforting. I remembered that first day in art history class when Jamie had scooted his desk over until it was touching mine, and how invasive that had felt. Funny how much could change in a few short weeks. How much I had changed.
“It could have been worse,” I said. “You could have tried to kiss me right now.”
“That would have been terrible,” Jamie said seriously.
“Catastrophic,” I said.
His fingers were tracing designs on my palm now, and it was making me shiver.
“Good thing I didn’t,” Jamie said. “Kiss you right now, in this car, I mean.”
He leaned toward me, a mischievous smile on his lips, and before I knew it, we were kissing over the cup holder. The seat-belt clasp was digging into my side, and it felt totally inappropriate, but neither of us pulled away. If anything, we leaned even closer, like the answers were waiting at the bottom of our kiss, and if we only kissed deeply enough, we’d find them.
“HELLO?” I CALLED, pushing open the front door. “Logan?”
I put my bag down on the bench. Next to me, Jamie started taking off his shoes and then grinned.
“Just kidding,” he promised. “Logan, bud. You here?”
But there was no response.
My stomach clenched.
Please, I thought. Please please please please pl—
“Maybe.” Logan drifted into the room, pouting. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
I let out a breath.
“Oh, thank god,” I said, and then I turned to Jamie. “You can see him too, right?”
Jamie nodded.
“Logan, don’t you ever disappear on me again,” I scolded.
“Jeez, fine,” Logan said. “I’ll hang around all the time. I’ll even watch you sleep.”
I shot him a look.
“Joking,” he promised.
Jamie laughed.
“Jamie! What’s your favorite Star Trek?” Logan asked, drifting toward the living room.
“Jamie can’t stay, he just stopped by—” I began.
“I can stay a little while,” Jamie insisted, his chin jutting stubbornly.
So we spent the next hour parked in front of the television, watching the Enterprise get overrun by tribbles. Logan and I sat on the couch, and Jamie took my dad’s favorite armchair.
I knew he was doing it to put some distance between himself and Logan, but I was still disappointed. Not that we were going to snuggle on the sofa in front of my brother’s ghost, but still.
Logan was riveted to the TV, and I kept glancing at him and smiling. He looked reasonably solid, too. Whatever had happened last night was probably nothing to worry about. Maybe it was like a dropped connection, like when you’re driving through this one part of the canyon and the GPS on your phone stops working.
Logan started to fade partway through the second episode.
“Noooo,” he moaned.
The overhead light flickered, and then he was gone.
Jamie frowned, staring at the light.
“Weird,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think Logan should be able to do that.”
And then he winced and massaged his temple.
“Aspirin?” I asked.
“Got it covered,” Jamie said, digging into his backpack and removing an arsenal of supplies. “Told you I could take it. That was, what, an hour?”
I crossed my arms, watching as Jamie swallowed the pills and typed a note into his phone.
“You’re conducting an experiment,” I accused.
“Field research,” Jamie amended. “Just in case I wind up at a college that’s loaded with ghosts.”
Jamie leaned forward to place his water bottle on our coffee table. And then he let out a little oof and stayed like that, bent over, with his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, since it was my fault he felt like crap.
“I’ll live,” Jamie said with a shrug. “Besides, don’t you ever wonder if there’s a reason?”
“A reason?”
“That we can . . . you know. See ghosts?”
I hadn’t, because until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t thought there was anything special about me. Whenever I’d added up the sum of my parts, I’d always come up with a lesser number than the ones I gave to everyone else.
“The universe doesn’t work like that,” I said finally. “It isn’t neat, or rational, or anything you can understand. Because it’s a place where fifteen-year-olds die from a beesting, and where parents bury their children, and—”
“—married professors sleep with their TAs,” Jamie supplied, offering me a thin smile along with the terse summary of his parents’ divorce.
“This world doesn’t make heroes,” I said. “It just creates more and more victims.”
“And more and more ghosts,” Jamie pointed out.
“You’ve seen a lot of them,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
Jamie didn’t answer right away, like he was mentally debating how much he wanted to tell me.
“A few,” he allowed. “Palo Alto wasn’t terrible, but San Francisco is seriously haunted. Whenever my friends went up on the weekends for concerts or movies or whatever, I’d have to make an excuse.”
Jamie scrubbed a hand through his hair, and I realized that was why he’d insisted on staying at Sam’s party. Because he was sick of sitting things out. Of conjuring excuses.
And so was I. But at least when I bailed on people, I got to hang
out with Logan. Jamie had just stayed home alone.
“Pro tip,” I said. “You might want to avoid the Trader Joe’s parking lot.”
“There’s also a camping area my dad likes out by Laguna Beach. Very no bueno.”
“I’ll make a note,” I promised.
“So,” Jamie said, glancing over through his criminally long eyelashes. “Now that we’re all alone, what do you think we should do?”
“Well,” I said, pretending to consider it. “Isn’t the PSAT coming up? Shouldn’t we start studying for that?”
I reached for my backpack, somehow keeping a straight face. And then I couldn’t stand it. I burst out laughing.
“You suck,” Jamie complained, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me forward until I was straddling his legs with mine.
“Hey, I can’t help being an extremely gifted actress,” I joked.
“Well, I can’t help being an extremely gifted kisser,” he said, grinning, as he leaned in to prove it.
OUR FRIENDS COULD definitely tell that we’d become a thing. Sam kept staring at us during lunch on Wednesday. He was lying on his stomach in the grass, his chin propped in his hands, grinning.
“You two,” he guffawed, shaking his head. “And here I was hoping Jamie had come back for me.”
“Well, I did,” Jamie said, blowing Sam a sarcastic kiss. “But you were already taken, so Rosie here is the next best thing.”
“That’s honestly what he said to me,” I confirmed. “He asked me to be his runner-up to Sam.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. And then he glanced over at Claudia.
“Hey, Claude, when you’re done with him, you just let me know,” he teased, winking at Sam.
“Oh, I’m done,” Claudia joked. “Take him away, please.”
I lay back in the grass and closed my eyes, feeling the sun warming my face. I was dimly aware that we were in the middle of our crowded quad, that we were sitting on a thin peninsula of grass that jutted out between the lunch line and the tables, that people were probably staring at us, but in that moment, I didn’t care.
I felt Jamie lie down next to me. Heard the rustle of the grass as he settled in. I knew without opening my eyes that he was on his stomach, that he’d kicked off the heels of his shoes but not the toes. And maybe it was some paranormal ability, sensing that, or maybe it was just knowing someone.