We Were Ghosts--The Secret Life of a Survivor Read online

  I leaned against the stall wall, not caring about its less-than-sanitary state. The smooth surface was cool against my hot face. I waited to see if I would continue to lose my breakfast or if I would survive this round. Running to the nurse and going home were out of the question. My mother would be mad if she had to leave work early and I refused to call Phil to come and get me. School was safer than those options, that as it was.

  Forcing myself to pull it together, I splashed cold water on my face and neck. I didn’t want to use the hand blowers and deal with the heat, so I pulled some of the toilet paper from the closest bathroom and dabbed my skin until I was no longer dripping. My skin color was a little more red than green, which meant I would be okay. I had no idea what I would say to Zack in defense of my moment of insanity, though he couldn’t be too mad at my brilliantly unscripted move. I had stayed true to my word, and drawn fire away from him. Unfortunately, I had made myself the target.

  I craned my neck around and checked my reflection for any signs of vomit. Seeing that I was okay, I reassembled the walls that separated my two worlds and blocked out the memory of Phil from the previous night so that I could focus on school. It was the only way to get through the rest of the day without breaking down.

  I took a deep breath and left my temporary safe zone. I had until Health, or maybe lunch, to figure out how to let Zack off the hook and tell him that he didn’t actually have to be my date. I would let him in on the ruse and tell him to play along long until Heather decided that she was interested in someone else, preferably a senior, who would take her out of the junior hallway for most of the year.

  “You’re still coming to my house tomorrow night, right? Please tell me you’ll come,” Megan pleaded as we sat down at the lunch table by the window. I was the only one who was invited to her house to watch videos and eat pizza, so she made sure that Jill and Kris weren’t in earshot. It’s not that Megan didn’t want to invite them over, but Kris had track after school and preferred to go home to relax at night and Jill had a boyfriend at a different school that she knew from church. It made Megan feel uncomfortable talking about our bi-weekly movie nights that I often bailed on, in front of the others.

  I was still feeling off-kilter from the morning’s suicide mission, so I nodded my head without really hearing her. I had no idea if I would actually make it to her house, but I agreed wholeheartedly.

  “Do you have a movie preference?” she asked, opening her bag of chips and exploding them onto the table.

  I grimaced and helped her wrangle the stray chips into a pile as Kris sat down. I didn’t have a chance to answer before Kris put down her lunch tray and leaned in close to me. “Are you really going to the dance with Zack?” she asked sounding skeptical and hopeful at the same time.

  “That is the rumor,” I shrugged helplessly.

  Megan leaned in and whispered, “She panicked during her face off with Heather and lied her backside off. I admit it was a spectacularly boldfaced lie and I enjoyed seeing the look on Heather’s face, but there will be blowback from this,” she said shaking her head sadly. I had filled her in on what was going through my mind, or hadn’t been going through my mind, during Physics. I had to explain why I had bolted. She had thankfully sympathized with me and offered me moral support. She told me that Zack had approached her a few minutes earlier while she was grabbing her lunch from her locker, and asked where I had run off to earlier. She told him that she didn’t know what had happened, as a good best friend should.

  Kris nodded and picked up her sandwich, unfazed by the account of my mental breakdown. “I think it’s nice that you stood up to Heather, even if Zack isn’t interested in going with you to the dance. I think we need to stand up more for each other in general.”

  I was surprised by Kris’ ability to see the good in almost every situation. Maybe I was doing a good thing.

  When I looked over at Zack’s table, he had his head down as the other guys were pointing at me and laughing. I had a hard time swallowing as my throat tightened and my hands went numb. It seemed that my good deed had an unintentional downside. Zack was now being harassed for going to the dance with me. I felt like I couldn’t win even if I had a crystal ball.

  Walking into Health Class, I wanted to crawl along the floor and into the corner. I could take notes perfectly well from the floor. It was no big deal, right?

  I was surprised to see that Zack wasn’t in class. He had left lunch early without speaking to me, which I thought was a little hypocritical after asking me to help him. I guessed that our versions of helping someone varied greatly, even though he had agreed to my spur-of-the-moment declaration in front of Heather. He didn’t walk into class until ten minutes before it was over. Scott accepted his hall pass without breaking his concentration and continued his lecture on tourniquets.

  Zack spared a glance at me and nodded, though his eyes were vacant. He spent the rest of the ten minutes writing notes or doodling on the edge of his notebook. At the end of class, he grabbed his books and slid down the aisle before turning to me. “Can I borrow your notes on what I missed?” he asked without looking at me.

  I nodded until I saw that his eyes were glued to the ground. “Sure,” I replied quickly. He was out the door before I could get out of my seat.

  My high from the morning’s battle had worn off and I retreated into my comfortable semi-numb place when I entered into History. It was easier to shield myself from the disappointment of screwing up with Zack than to dwell on it. Zack was obviously mad at me and wasn’t interested in pretending to be my dance partner, which was for the best in the end.

  I avoided him in the hallway at the end of the day and sat in the back row of the bus so that I could figure out how my day had gone so wrong.

  Chapter 6

  After school, I sprinted into the woods and risked punishment because I couldn’t stay trapped inside the house. It felt like everything was closing in on me. I needed a few more moments of false security before the clock screamed 5:00 PM. All I wanted to do was sit next to my log and figure what had happened this morning.

  My stomach was still in knots as I thought about Heather’s threat, Zack’s distant expression in Health, and the boys mocking Zack, or rather, me. He had no way of knowing what he was getting himself into when he asked for my help. He didn’t understand that the popular kids like Steve Alder and Mike Whitman would make fun of him for supposedly dating me. I was no one. I wasn’t worthy of sitting at the cool table. I wasn’t invited to the parties that sprang up over the weekends. I was the girl with her nose in a book who talked to the quietest girl in school. I was weird by association. I rarely engaged with people beyond my small circle and when I did, I didn’t add much to the conversation. As far as they were concerned, I was a ghost and not worthy of hanging out with the new kid who had the potential to be one of the cool kids.

  Zack had the looks, the great hair, the air punches when something funny was said, and he had the gift of being anonymous. He had no past to judge him by. He had no funny missteps like saying the word penis in class, or a day where he accidentally wore one white sock and one navy sock to an assembly. He also didn’t have the problem of the collective memory of an entire class witnessing him have a panic attack in Sex Ed class or seeing him burst into tears Freshman year, as I did. He had a clean slate and could be whomever he wanted to be.

  Walking toward my sanctuary, I heard a strange thudding noise. I looked up and saw Zack’s gray hoodie standing in front of a thick tree. My feet stuck to the ground when I watched him punch the tree. It wasn’t a light tap or a move of frustration; he was slamming his fist full-force into the rough bark. Bits of bark flew off in every direction as he punched it with his left fist, followed by his right fist. I could hear him panting from the effort. Moreover, I could hear his anger every time he grunted and let out a pain-filled yell.

  I stood watching him for longer than necessary. I should have stepped in to stop him, but it seemed therapeutic in a strange way. Wha
tever was going on, this was how he dealt with it. My stomach dropped when I realized that he could still be upset about this morning.

  Breaking out of my stupor, I carefully walked closer and held up my hands. He didn’t see me at first because his hood had fallen down over his face. When he did see me, his concentration disintegrated. He faltered and lightly tapped the tree with his left fist.

  “You should leave,” he said out of breath.

  His words cut me to the bone until I realized it was more of a warning that I had treaded on his personal space.

  “I’m not sure what that tree did to you, but you’re lucky that it can’t hit back,” I blurted out, hoping to distract his anger.

  My bizarre statement caught his attention long enough for him to let out a long breath and pull back his hoodie. He chuckled slightly and placed his palm against the tree as if he was apologizing to it. He shook his head and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. It was then that I saw the unshed tears in his eyes.

  “I guess I am lucky that it can’t hit me back,” he said sarcastically.

  I wasn’t sure why it sounded like some kind of private joke that he had with his tree friend, but I didn’t question him about it.

  “Did someone steal your lunch money?” I asked as a simple way of broaching the subject.

  He shook his head and ran his hand through his disheveled hair. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and his cheek.

  “No. I made the football team,” he said as explanation for his tree punching.

  I opened my mouth and then closed it. I stared at the tree and frowned. “Is this one of the drills? Are you required to beat up trees as a part of your training regimen?” I asked, doubting that the school would approve of such an eccentric exercise.

  His sniffled and wiped his face again. That’s when I finally saw the broken skin on his knuckles. Instinctively, I stepped forward to offer my first aid expertise but he pulled his hands behind his back when he noticed the blood pooling around his knuckles. I stopped mid-step and looked up at his face, trying to figure out why he wouldn’t allow me to help him.

  “No, this isn’t training. It was just a stupid thing to do,” he said flatly.

  I tried to organize all the pieces of the puzzle as I attempted to form a theory about why he would want to hurt himself if he had made the team. It was supposed to be an exciting moment, not one that inspired rage. When my tumultuous thoughts finally put the last piece into the picture, I completed my step toward him until I was close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder.

  “You don’t want to play football, do you?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. The answer was dripping onto the ground behind him as drops of his blood splattered onto a few of the dead leaves.

  “My father expects me to play. He used to be the quarterback in high school and college. He got a scholarship because of football,” he said through his clenched teeth.

  I thought back to lunch and Health class and converted his expression from embarrassed to forlorn and everything made sense. He had been stressed about trying out for the team all day. I was selfish and stupid to believe that I had caused his misery, though I was slightly relieved to know that I wasn’t the source of his melancholy.

  “Did you play your hardest during the tryout? Did you give it your all, or did you phone it in?” I asked, wondering if he had tried to hide whatever skills he possessed.

  He laughed humorlessly and wiped his nose again with his sleeve. “I can throw a ball and hit the receiver’s chest every time, as long as he’s where he’s supposed to be on the field. Today, I acted like I had never seen a football in my life and I even tripped at one point.” He leaned over to pull up the pant leg of his khakis to show me a red scuffmark below his shin. It too had been bleeding at some point.

  I bit my thumbnail and felt for him. “I guess no one told you how terrible our football team is. I think they would accept me if I tried out, though admittedly, I can throw a mean tennis ball. I could probably channel that into a decent throw with a football,” I shrugged.

  He laughed at my throwing motion and the determined face I made as I pretended to hurl a football. “Maybe you should take my place,” he chuckled.

  I modestly dusted imaginary dust off my shoulders and nodded. This made him laugh even harder.

  Kicking a rock near my foot, I looked up at him through my lashes. “Why don’t you just tell your father that you didn’t make the team?” I asked, willing to be a part of the secret.

  His face fell and he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “My dad already spoke to the coach. He was the one who managed to set up the tryout since we’re halfway through the season. They don’t normally let kids join this late, but my dad told him about my record from my old school and the coach practically dragged me to tryouts this afternoon. It was all he could talk about during gym class.”

  I nodded. “Mr. Bolyer is a huge football fan and an exercise nut. His arms are thicker than my legs. He keeps forcing the girls to play flag football during gym even though we hate it. I personally enjoy trying to tackle James Feller whenever he has the ball. He liked to pull my hair in the 1st grade when he sat behind me.”

  Zack nodded, amused by my story, but suddenly looked over his shoulder toward his house.

  “How are you going to explain the blood on your hands?” I asked, assuming that he was worried about what his parents would say.

  Without missing a beat, he turned, looked me directly in the eyes, and said, “I fell off my bike.” His tone startled me so badly that it took me a moment to collect myself. He didn’t sound angry or upset—he sounded convincing. He had committed to the lie the exact same way I had committed to my lie when Phil accused me of being in the woods with a boy. If I hadn’t known the truth, I would have never questioned Zack’s lie. He was a pro...just like me.

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat and stared at the ground. I heard Zack’s father calling for him through the hollowness in my ears.

  “I have to go,” he replied as he pulled up his hoodie. He was halfway through his yard before my brain reset. I was following him before I understood what I was doing. I wasn’t done talking to him and still needed to address my faux pas from this morning.

  Zack was inside the house by the time I reached the back steps. I trotted up the stairs and raised my hand to rap on the metal screen door, but something made me stop before my knuckles touched the door. There was a strange noise coming from the house. It sounded like a flat tire flapping against the asphalt.

  The flapping was joined with another sound. It was Zack grunting in pain as he apologized profusely. “I’m sorry. I won’t be late again. I promise, I will do better during the games. I was having an off day. Please! Stop!”

  “Coach Bolyer said that you had a terrible tryout. He said that you tripped over your own feet and looked like you didn’t know how to throw a ball. What were you thinking? Why would you do that? Do you know how hard I worked to get you that tryout? Do you have any idea what it took for me to convince him to let you play? Second string, that’s what you are. How could you do that? Why would you ruin this? You’re stupid and lazy. Why would throw away your God-given talent? This could blow any chances you have at a scholarship. We were forced to leave Jefferson because of you getting into fights. You had a chance to bring in the college scouts and you blew it. You are worthless, just like your mother!” his father yelled. The steady flapping sound continued. It sounded more like a belt strap hitting something the more I analyzed the thudding sound.

  Zack’s voice quieted until he was sobbing, then he stopped making any noise at all, though the belt kept hitting him. My brain understood that he had phased out and gone somewhere else, a technique I was well versed in. It didn’t sound like the first time this had happened based on the consistent strikes.

  I was stumbling through the woods before I realized where I was. My entire body was shaking, not just from shock but from anger. So many things finally fell in
to place. He hadn’t acknowledged the blood on his knuckles or the pain from breaking the skin. He was obviously used to ignoring pain, cuts, and bruises. He was furious because even when he tried to fail, his father wouldn’t let him. He was being forced to play football, and was pressured to be the best at something he didn’t want to do.

  I remembered how Zack had winced when Heather put her hand on his arm...twice. It wasn’t that he disliked her touch, but he probably had a bruise on his arm. He must have been in pain when she touched him; either that or he just didn’t like to be touched. It was why he had felt betrayed when I didn’t come to his rescue. No one had stopped his father from hitting him and berating him. I vaguely wondered if his father hit his mother too after the “worthless like your mother” comment. It was possible that both of them were being abused.

  Making it into the house, I curled up on my bed. I rocked myself back and forth as the mystery of Zack began to unravel. He was quiet, but his good looks drew him into the social crowd. He didn’t like being forced to do things, like deal with Heather’s clinginess. He had been stressed out all day about tryouts, so he had ignored whatever the boys were saying at lunch. He was stuck inside his own world, just like I was.

  I took a number of deep breaths to calm myself as tears streamed down my eyes. How could this be happening to him? How could no one else notice? Kris was the only one who seemed to be able to see through his façade, at least enough to see his discomfort. I had seen it, but not identified it, though it should have been a huge red flag for me. I should have been able to identify it from a million miles away, but I hadn’t.

  I finally broke down and sobbed. I wanted to scream when I finally understood the look in his eyes the first day we had met—that mischievous sparkle he had when he spoke to me. He was breaking the rules by talking to me. It wasn’t a rule about talking to a girl, or to me specifically. It was a rule that he lived by—that we lived by. Don’t get too involved and show the real you. He had let down his guard for a split second and let me into his world, which was dangerous when keeping a secret like this. Ever since then, he had been letting me into his world a little piece at a time. He had trusted me enough to confide in me about not liking Heather and ask for help in avoiding her. He had trusted me enough to tell me that he didn’t want to play football. Sadly, he didn’t trust me enough to tell me about his cruel father, though technically we were still strangers.