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The end of the day can’t come fast enough.
When the bell finally rings to signal it’s time to go home, I beeline for the doors. I’m going straight home and hiding in my room. I can’t come back here.
It’s a great plan, but it’s turned upside down when I see who is standing outside the school. Em.
I stop dead in my tracks. Em doesn’t notice me; she’s talking to a handful of students — Jackson’s old friends.
One of Jackson’s friends sees me, pointing me out to Em. I gulp as we lock eyes. Her face is bruised, and there’s a bandage on her cheeks. She looks exhausted and angry.
Cautiously, I make my way over to her.
“Em, I am so sorry,” I start as I reach her.
Em narrows her eyes at me. Now that she’s closer, I can see her eyes are red and swollen from tears. Even with the clear anger on her face, the venom in her voice takes me by surprise.
“I want you to know that you won’t get away with this – you fucking psychopath.”
Her words hit me like a slap across the face. “Wha-” I start under my breath.
Em is looking at me like I took a knife to her brother’s throat. My eyes widen in disbelief at the implication.
“Em, no! You have every right to be mad that I didn’t try harder to stop you guys from getting in the car. But I had nothing to do with the accident! Nothing!”
Could Em really think I tampered with their car to cause the accident? I can understand being blamed for not stopping the accident, but causing it? There’s no way.
Em flushes with rage, her hands balling into fists at her sides. I think she might actually hit me. “LIAR!” she screams.
I step back in horror.
“The police didn’t find any evidence of tampering, but I know you did something! I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but you won’t get away with this. I’ve shown everyone in our grade your messages fromthat night. You will pay for this!” Em finishes, her voice cracking with unshed tears as she turns and stalks away.
I can’t find it in me to follow her. Clearly, Em has made up her mind and thinks the absolute worst of me.
I guess thinking I’m a murderer is easier than believing ghost stories.
All the students that had gathered to watch the show trickle away, dismissing me. I feel the telltale pain in my throat, warning me the tears are coming. I sink onto the sidewalk, hugging my knees to my chest. The tears come freely.
I couldn’t stop them even if I wanted to.
When I finally have control over my sobs, the school parking lot is empty. It’s starting to get chilly. I didn’t bother with grabbing a coat this morning.
What’s the point of bundling up when you can’t feel anything?
My vision blurs again. Only this time, it isn’t from tears; it’s from the see-through human in front of me – ghost girl.
I don’t even flinch. I have bigger problems.
She’s in her usual state of worry, waving at me and trying to get my attention. But instead of humouring her, I lower my head back down, resting my forehead on my knees.
“Go away,” I mutter.
All I want is to be left alone.
The eery glow doesn’t disappear. I look back up to see her waving her hands wildly, indicating that I should go back into the school. Ignoring her antics, I turn away from her.
Ghost girl doesn’t take the hint. She reappears, now kneeling in front of me. She shakes her head and points to the school again. Her message is loud and clear, and I should probably be worried.
I’m not.
