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Am I burying my head in the sand?
Yes.
Do I feel bad about my decisions?
No.
I’m totally fine. The twitch over my left eye has always been there.
By evening, my nerves are completely frayed. But I’m still dead set on pretending my life is not in shambles. Right now, that means prom.
I don’t have much choice – not if I don’t want to become a ghost. Because if I skip prom, my bestie is going to straight up kill me.
While I don’t have many friends, I’m lucky to have one solid best friend. Emily, or Em as she prefers to be called, is a spitfire and a half.
When Em moved here a year ago, she told off every one of my bullies. Her smart mouth should have gotten her bullied, too, but Em has a ‘get out of bullying free card.’ Aka, her twin brother, Jackson.
Jackson is the popularity king. He plays just about every school sport and is set to earn a varsity scholarship.
Since the school loves Jackson, and Jackson loves his sister, people don’t mess with Em. Luckily, since Em and I are usually together, that same bullying immunity translated to me. Herd immunity at its finest.
I’m not really a ‘school dance’ kind of person, but when you finally make a friend, you’d be surprised what you’re willing to do to make sure you aren’t alone in the world again.
So, I’m putting on the final touches of my makeup and trying not to pull at my dress’s strapless top.
The dress is Em’s doing. It’s a deep purple and knee-length, flaring at my hips.
“The flare is to give the illusion that you have an ass.” Em teased when she pulled it off the rack.
Em is full of shit. We both know carbs have a magnetic pull towards my butt.
I check my phone to make sure I’m not running late. Emily and Jackson are set to come pick me up in another 5 minutes or so.
Nailed it.
I move to grab my clutch when a familiar ghost appears in front of my door. It’s the ghost girl from the soccer field yesterday.
This time, I don’t scream. Instead, I gasp, jump about a foot, and drop my phone.
I think not screaming shows some level of personal growth.
How stereotypical would it be if I asked the ghost whether she’s ever heard of knocking?
At least this time, I’m not completely freaking out. Now, I can lookpastthe fact that she’s see-through and get a good look at her.
Ghost girl looks young, maybe close to fifteen years old. Her hair is up in a bunch of braids crisscrossing her head – fancy braids. She’s wearing some kind of gown – nope, it’s a toga.
Maybe this ghost died at a Halloween party. Being forced to spend the afterlife in a costume, that must suck.
Alternatively, this ghost died a long time ago. Like not in this millennia type of long. Do ghosts get more powerful with time?
Mental note: do not piss off the boss-level ghost.
Luckily, the ghost doesn’t look upset. She’s looking at me with the same ‘please don’t scream or freak out’ expression.
I peek around her to make sure my door is closed since I’m worried looking through her might be rude.
The door is shut. It’s best if the people in my house don’t hear me talking to myself. I take a deep inhale before breaking the ice for what will undoubtedly be another one-sided conversation.
