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“Then I know just the place.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that Sienna brought me to the old paper mill. Friday night is practically an open invitation, after all. And if there’s one thing teenagers in Fairhope are good at, it’s turning this condemned property into party central.

The place still looks like it should come with a tetanus shot and a waiver.

Broken windows gape from the old brick building, rust stains streak down the metal siding, and weeds have swallowed stretches of cracked pavement. The chain-link fence surrounding the property does little to improve the eyesore that is Crowley Mill.

But tonight, someone has done their best to make the place look almost festive.

Strings of cheap white lights zigzag between rusted poles and sag overhead, bathing the yard in a soft glow. Music blasts from speakers dragged outside, loud enough that the bass vibrates through the soles of my shoes. Coolers sit open everywhere, packed with ice and beer, while two kegs have been set up on an old wooden pallet.

Someone has even strung lights through the broken windows on the upper floors.

From a distance, it almost looks pretty. But I know better.

Up close, it’s still a rotting paper mill filled with drunk teenagers eager to make bad decisions.

I ignore the few looks thrown my way as I reach into the nearest cooler, grab a beer, and crack it open. Foam spills over my fingers and splatters onto the ground. I drink anyway.

When I feel the weight of a few stares, I instinctively brace myself for the slurs that usually follow.

Miss Extra Credit.

Trash.

Whore.

But they never come.

A few strange looks, sure, but that’s about it. After a while, I guess bullying the same person gets boring. No one bothers to trip me in the halls, knock books from my hands, or laugh whenever I enter a room anymore.

But that’s not the biggest perk of being a ghost.

Ghosts don’t get haunted by the Fairhope Reds.

They already accomplished what they set out to do.

They broke me.

Why waste time kicking around the pieces?

“Hey.” Jalen drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Why don’t we go up on the roof? Looks like everyone’s having a good time up there.”

I tip my head back and see the roof packed with people. Beneath strings of lights, bodies sway to music blasting from a set of speakers someone apparently hauled up there. Groups crowd the edges with drinks in hand, shouting over the noise, while a couple makes out against an old ventilation unit like the rest of the party doesn’t exist.

Normal teenage shit. The kind I used to think I’d get to have.

Football games. Parties. Getting drunk with friends and making stupid decisions I could laugh about the next morning.

Funny how everyone else got to keep being teenagers while I ended up feeling twice my age.

“Why not?” I shrug. “Sienna? You coming?”

When she doesn’t answer, I glance over my shoulder and find her staring across the yard.

Craig is leaning against the side of the building, looking at Sienna like he’s been waiting all night for her to notice him.

“Nah.” She takes another swig of her beer. “You guys go on ahead without me,” she continues, heading straight for him.