A Ghost in the Glamour: A Linx & Bogie Story Read online

  “Hey,” he said after the bell rang.

  “Ohmygosh, your voice is really nice too,” I said in a rush.

  Raul laughed, but it was true. His voice had definitely dropped early. There was none of the crackling most of the boys my age had.

  I turned bright red again. “Sorry.”

  “Hey Linx.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If I tell you a secret, you’ll stop blushing.”

  “I really doubt that,” I muttered, hoisting my backpack on my shoulder.

  Raul leaned in—ohmygoshhesmelledsogood—and whispered, “Girls aren’t really my type.” He pulled back, winked, and stretched his arms out. “I have lunch now. You want to eat with me?”

  Oh. Oh!

  But he was kidding if he thought I was going to stop blushing. He was still way too handsome not to embarrass me.

  Wait, had he invited me to eat with him?

  I asked, “Don’t you already have friends here?”

  He shook his head. “No one with a cool name and insane artistic talent. You?”

  “I was homeschooled most of last year,” I said quietly. “’Cause… people kinda suck.”

  A flash of understanding in his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “But I’d love to sit with you for lunch. If you’re inviting me.”

  “Cool.” He walked out of the classroom and I followed. “Buying or bagging?”

  “Bagging. My nan—my grandma—thinks the food the school serves is made of poison and plastic.”

  Raul laughed. “She sounds like my grandma.”

  Bogie followed us down the hall, hovering over my shoulder. “He’s a good one, kid,” Bogie said quietly. “He’s the kind worth knowing.”

  Yeah. I smiled. I had a feeling Bogie was right.

  Frank watched Linx with her new friend, grateful for the kindness he saw in the boy’s eyes. They sat under a tree, chatting away, and he was grateful she’d found someone she liked.

  High schools were so damn big now. When he’d been in school, he knew everyone in his class. He didn’t know how that was possible at a big city school like this one. It looked more like a college campus to him, except high school kids were still little shits.

  Linx attracted more attention than she realized. When she grew into her face and got more confident, she was going to be a looker. Those boys harassing her that morning weren’t just teasing her. He’d caught them giving her the eye, but not in the innocent way Raul was looking. He’d felt the oily darkness around them, and he was keeping his eyes open.

  Linx might think he was a hard-ass, but he worried about her. The last year at her middle school had been hell. Sometimes he suspected Linx left her room just so she could give him shit about following her. It was the only thing she seemed to enjoy about her life. That and her drawing. He’d been grateful when Linx’s nan, Peggy, convinced her daughter to let Linx study at home.

  It wasn’t like Frank didn’t know his little medium was in for a rough time being stuck with him. He tried to give her as much privacy as possible, but other than a few nudges he got from passing spirits, Linx’s life was his life. He was stuck with her the same way she was stuck with him.

  Linx was his now, whether she wanted it or not.

  Frank kept his distance in the shaded courtyard, watching over Linx and Raul as they got to know each other. The new boy was smart enough to keep her interested, perceptive enough to realize Linx wasn’t like other girls, and confident enough that he didn’t make himself a target. Frank approved.

  He saw the two boys from earlier in the day spot Linx with Raul. Their lips curled, and Frank drifted over to listen in.

  “… Ghost Girl. I heard about her. She has like… serious problems.”

  “Mental problems?” the other boy asked.

  “Something.” The first boy nodded at Linx and Raul. “Looks like she found another freak to hang with.”

  Both boys looked like the stereotypical “cool kids” Frank had become accustomed to seeing in Southern California. Both were Caucasian with blond-tipped hair that might have been from the sun or a bottle. He couldn’t tell the difference. They had deep tans and spiked hair. Their T-shirts had the name of a surfboard brand on them and looked pressed.

  Spoiled rich kids, Frank thought. Interchangeable and boring. Nothing nearly as interesting as an antisocial little artist with acidic humor who drank her coffee black. These two didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as his girl. He could feel his irritation turning darker.

  “I don’t even get why freaks like them are allowed in school,” the second boy said. “Shouldn’t they have, like, separate schools for freaks?”

  Both boys laughed.

  “Shouldn’t they have separate schools for idiots?” Frank muttered.

  “I wonder if I have any classes with her,” the first boy asked. His eyes were gleaming, and Frank caught the scent of a predator.

  This one could be dangerous.

  “Not likely. She’s a freshman, dude.”

  “Maybe I’ll find a way to get to know her.” He sneered. “Give her a proper welcome to high school.”

  The burst of rage was quick and enervating. Frank took advantage of it, shoving his hand on the back of the boy’s head, pushing his face into the tray of spaghetti on the table.

  “What the fuck?” the punk sputtered as he wiped his face and stood. “Who did that?”

  Frank checked Linx, but she was all the way across the courtyard. She hadn’t even noticed the boy. The punk was standing with red sauce on his face, glaring at all the kids laughing around him.

  “Hey, Jordan,” one girl said. “I think you have a little something on your face.”

  She had a coterie of girls around her, all giggling at the boy named Jordan.

  “Something on my face? Isn’t that what I told you last night, Ashlee?”

  If looks could kill…

  Frank drifted away from the drama at the lunch tables, satisfied that the boys’ attention had been diverted. No one was looking at Linx. All the attention seemed to be toward the kids at the lunch tables.

  Still, Frank would make a note to keep an eye on that Jordan kid. Bullies didn’t care if they picked good targets for their rage. They just picked easy ones.

  Far off on the grass, Linx laughed at something Raul said, and the sound lifted the dark cloud Frank had been under all day.

  Remember, kid, you don’t need a lot of friends. You just need one if they’re good.

  Lunch with Raul was so much better than I ever could have guessed. Raul was awesome and funny, and everyone ignored us except some of the girls who were checking him out when they thought he didn’t notice. Raul noticed, by the way. Every single one of them. He noticed everything, but… he actually seemed to like me. Plus he was great at giving tips about who to avoid and how to fly under the radar with the older kids.

  By the time I headed to art, my last class of the day, I was hopeful I’d be able to avoid the stigma of junior high. I figured if I could get through the first week of high school without attracting any attention, people would leave me alone for the year. They’d have their little groups, and I’d be safe.

  I’d made it to the classroom. I could smell the paint and lingering scent of turpentine. I was almost home…

  “Ghost Girl!” a voice said behind me.

  My stomach dropped. I didn’t want to turn, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  It was the boy from this morning, but he was wearing a different shirt. He looked older than me and much bigger. I ignored him and practically ran into the classroom, Bogie at my heels. I could feel his aura, all spiky and dark, but he couldn’t do anything. It took a lot of energy for a spirit to affect anything in the physical world.

  “Ignore him,” Frank said. “Get into class. Go introduce yourself to the teacher.”

  Yeah, cause that didn’t sound dorky at all.

  “Ghost Girl!” the older boy called again, the sick laughter all for my benefit. He knew he was getti
ng to me.

  I walked to the front of the empty classroom to see a Latino man with a grey ponytail making marks in his book. He looked up over half-moon glasses, and his dark brown eyes met my panicked ones.

  “Can I help you?” he asked slowly.

  I’d purposely rushed to art. I wanted to get the best table if I could. I was the only one there. Me… and my new tormenter.

  “Hi. My name is Linx—Lindsay Maxwell—and I’m in this class, and I just wanted to know if I could get a seat by the window because I love natural light when I’m painting, and also I love art.” I blinked hard, praying I wouldn’t cry.

  I’d almost made it. This morning when I woke up, I knew two things: I would make no friends in high school, and art class would be my sanctuary. It was the one thing about high school that I was really excited about. The whole reason I was here.

  It looked like I might have been wrong on both points. I think I had a new friend in Raul, and art class might just be the worst.

  The boy hadn’t left the classroom. He was standing behind me, excited by my fear. I could feel him feeding on it like a parasite.

  The teacher looked at me, then looked at the boy behind me. “Can I help you?” he asked the boy.

  “Yeah, I’m in this class too. Can I sit by her?”

  No no no no no.

  The teacher looked back at me, and I tried to communicate how much I did not want this guy anywhere near me. I could feel Bogie walking back and forth through the kid, trying to throw him off. It wasn’t working. He was too excited by my discomfort.

  “You look a little old to be in beginning art,” the teacher said. “What year are you?”

  “Junior,” the boy said. “But I’m behind on my fine art requirement.”

  “And what’s your name?”

  “Jordan Kinsecki.”

  “Hmmm.” He scratched his pencil on his temple as he looked at his book. “Well, I’m Mr. Rivera. And I’m afraid I don’t have you on my roll, Jordan.”

  “I’m transferring into this class,” Jordan said.

  I bet you are, asshole.

  “You already talk to your counselor about that?” Mr. Rivera said.

  “I will.”

  “I’m not sure we’ll have room.” The teacher met my eyes, and in that moment, I knew I had an ally. “You’ll have to get approval from me and your counselor.”

  “I told you. I need it.”

  “Talk to your counselor then, Mr. Kinsecki” he said. “For today you can take the front corner desk. Sort your schedule out with your counselor after school, then come talk to me.”

  The boy didn’t leave. I could feel him hovering at my back.

  The teacher cocked his head. “Didn’t I tell you to take your seat?”

  “Yeah.” I felt him retreat.

  I stood in front of the art teacher, shoulders slumped. I could see his seating chart. He had plenty of spaces. Jordan Kinsecki was going to make it into the class if he wanted it. I’d be dealing with him all year in the one place I’d hoped would be my refuge.

  “Hi,” the teacher said. “Like I said, I’m Mr. Rivera. Linx is a cool name. Do you prefer that to Lindsay?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I believe you’re on the third row back, closest to the windows, Linx.”

  “Good light,” I said. It was hard not to feel defeated even though I was thrilled with where I’d been assigned.

  “It’s a good seat,” Mr. Rivera said. He dropped his voice. “Do you have a problem with that young man?”

  How much to tell? What to tell? I didn’t want to be the complaining girl. The girl who cried bully. Complaining about the harassment at my middle school had done nothing but make it worse.

  “I don’t know him,” I said.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  Bogie said, “Tell him. Tell him, Linx. This guy gets it.”

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know him. But he’s going to call me Ghost Girl all year. He knows… someone. He heard about me from someone.”

  “Ghost Girl?”

  “Yeah.” I left my expression blank. I could feel Frank behind me. I felt the brush of his arm on my neck. It was the closest he got to a hug, and I don’t think he realized he did it.

  “So…” Mr. Rivera steepled his fingers. “Do you see ghosts?”

  I didn’t say anything, figuring it wasn’t a serious question. Of course I didn’t see ghosts. Only crazy people saw ghosts, right?

  Frank said, “Tell him, kid.”

  “Don’t want to,” I said under my breath.

  “Well no,” Mr. Rivera said. “I suppose seeing spirits would be upsetting for most people. The fact that you do means you must have a very strong personality and sense of self.”

  Wait… did he believe me? I frowned.

  “I’ll keep an eye on Mr. Kinsecki,” he said. “But keeping him from taking the class might cause more trouble than it’s worth. Do you understand?”

  I understood I had a kick-ass teacher. “Yeah,” I said. “I get what you mean.”

  Mr. Rivera smiled as the other students started to mill about the classroom. “So you like art?”

  “I love art.” I smiled too. “When I grow up, I’m going to be an artist.”

  Mr. Rivera stood and leaned toward me. “Something tells me you already are.”

  I walked to my desk, and Jordan Kinsecki was the last thing on my mind. I glanced around the classroom and saw a couple of girls standing at the back, worn sketchbooks in hand, surveying the classroom from the edges. I saw a guy with black hair hanging in his eyes, sitting at a desk and staring down at the paper where he was drawing a skateboard. Mr. Rivera was talking to another boy in the front, and I noticed his shirt had green paint on the hem.

  And there was Jordan Kinsecki, awkwardly sprawled in the desk in the darkest corner, his overly styled hair and brand-name T-shirt standing out like a sore thumb.

  “See, kid,” Frank said. “In this place, he’s the freak.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “He might hang around anyway.”

  I glanced at Frank from the corner of my eye. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for you to come to class with me. If you want to.”

  He sat in the empty chair beside me. “I got nothing better to do.” He stretched transparent legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Besides, that Mademoiselle Gerard is some dame.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh my gosh, Bogie, don’t be gross. She’s my teacher.”

  He smiled and faded away just as the boy with paint on his shirt sat in the chair he’d been occupying.

  “Hey,” the boy said.

  “Hey.” I looked at his hands. They had paint on them too, so I stuck out my hand. “My name is Linx.”

  Backseat Driver

  “Now, you’re going to ease off the brake,” Nan said, “and press down on the gas.”

  The slow roll made my heart pound when my foot left the brake. I pressed down ever so slightly…

  The car jerked forward and I slammed my foot back on the brake.

  “Jeez, kid! It’s a good thing ghosts can’t get whiplash,” Frank said from the backseat. “But think of your grandmother, will ya?”

  “Frank,” Nan said. “You need to calm down. I can feel your energy from up here even though I can’t hear you.”

  I kept my foot planted firmly on the brake. “This is not a good idea.”

  “You have to learn how to drive, Lindsay. You live in Los Angeles.”

  “I’ll make Raul drive me!” He already had his license and the keys to his grandma’s old Buick.

  “That is not a reasonable long-term plan,” Nan said. “Now take your foot off the brake and try again.”

  Had my mom’s old Honda always been so huge? I used to think the Civic was cramped, but somehow, in that deserted Sears parking lot, it seemed massive. I slowly took my foot off the brake and rolled forward.

  “Now press the gas.”

  “Slowly,” Frank said.<
br />
  “Do you have to be here?” I asked. “Don’t you have… ghost things to do?”

  Nan said, “Oh Lindsay, darling, don’t be rude. Frank is part of the family. It’s Christmas.”

  “You’re a treasure, Peggy.”

  “You always say that,” I muttered.

  “Who are you talking to?” Nan asked.

  “Both of you! You’re both here to torment me.” The car was rolling forward, and my foot was hovering over the gas pedal. I had a vision of my foot pressing down and the car rocketing into the front of Sears where a row of giant concrete pylons sat. Probably to keep the front of the store safe from teenage drivers.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “You can do this,” Nan said.

  “I’m already dead,” Frank said. “So it doesn’t really matter if you kill me.”

  “Frank!”

  I was probably the only sixteen-year-old in the world who screamed in terror when car keys with a bow on them fell out of my stocking on Christmas morning. Nan had calmed me down and told me I was long overdue. She and my mom couldn’t keep driving me around forever. The “Raul has a car” argument fell on deaf ears.

  “Lindsay.”

  “Yes?”

  “Lindsay. Dear girl.”

  “Yeah?”

  Frank said, “Put your foot on the gas, kid!”

  I put my foot on the gas and the car shot forward, but not as fast as the last time. It was a jerk, and then I let up and we slowed to a crawl. I coasted with my foot lightly on the accelerator for the length of the parking lot.

  I laughed in relief. “I’m driving!”

  “Slower than molasses,” Frank muttered.

  “Shut up, Bogie.”

  Nan’s voice, as always, was the voice of reason. “You’re doing very well. But you may want to speed up. Just a little.”

  “Why?”

  “How fast are you going?”

  I forced my eyes down to the speedometer and saw the arm pointing at 15mph.

  “Okay.” I pushed down ever so slightly, and the arm pointed to the 20. Then the 25. “Look!”

  “Yes, very good,” Nan said. “Now, we’re coming to the end of a row. You’re going to want to slow down a bit and turn right to go around that curb.”