No, what’s happening? I’m so close.
I sprinted for my house on Hanscom, cutting across the joint yard. My torso was already going see-through, my hands ghosting at the edges like steam off pavement, and I could only assume my head was gone too. The porch light was on. Someone was downstairs. Mom.
I hit the steps weightless, reached for the doorbell, and my finger slid through it like mist. April’s voice bled into my skull—muffled, crying, not words so much as shapes—and her sadness hit my chest like it was mine. The world thinned to white, then snapped to black.
I stumbled forward into a warm, pink-bright bedroom that smelled like lotion and paper. Everything was neat and organized: a white desk and chair, a wide dresser with a mirror, makeup and hair products arranged by color, a flat-screen on the wall, a bookcase taller than me, heart-shaped frames of April and her family. The closet door hung open. April stepped out, pulling a white shirt over her head—purple bra, purple panties, long braid swinging—and my heart and brain both screamed as my body hardened from transparent to solid the closer she came.
I backed up, and her voice brushed my mind again the way Oya does, like a tap on the inside of my skull. She tugged the shirt down—Care Bear on the front, because of course—and when she opened her eyes, they landed on me. Her pupils shrank. Her cheeks flared red. She gasped and shouted my name.
“Lonnie!”
She yanked a robe from a hook, threw it on, and her footsteps thundered down the hall. The door burst open and her parents rushed in, both in matching nightclothes. Her mom’s gaze swept the room like radar, eyes sharp, searching for anything wrong. Her dad walked straight toward me.
My stomach dropped. I braced for another beating. Then his foot passed right through mine.
He turned to his wife, relief washing across his face, and both looked at April.
“April, what’s wrong?” her mother asked.
April’s mouth opened, but she cut her eyes toward me. I slid behind her dad, testing, and my hand passed through his shoulder like smoke. They couldn’t see me. Couldn’t feel me. Except April.
Rhonda appeared in the doorway, squinting right at me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” April said. “I saw—” she fumbled for something—“a spider. It surprised me.”
A spider? I thought. Rude.
“You sure it wasn’t a boy sneaking into your room?” Rhonda smirked.
“Rhonda, room,” their dad boomed. “And you—since when are you scared of spiders? You love spiders.”
“It just came out of nowhere,” April said, lowering her head.
“I wish I could be invisible,” Rhonda muttered. “Might as well be in this house.”
Their mom followed her out, calming her down. April’s dad sighed, patting her shoulder. “We’ll go with ‘spider.’ But I hope it’s not boys getting you riled up.”
“No, Dad. I was changing and it was there.”
“Alright,” he said, glancing at the ceiling. “Try to sleep. Forecast says snow—maybe no school tomorrow. Love you, kiddo.”
He kissed her forehead and left.
When the door shut, April and I looked at each other. She locked the door with a stretch of her arm and nodded at the bed. I hesitated before sitting beside her.
“How much of me did you see?” she asked.
“I didn’t see you naked, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, voice cracking.
She looked at me, studying. “So, like a bikini. Fine.”
Silence sat heavy between us.
After a minute, she whispered, “Are you dead?”
I felt dead. “No. I was almost home, then I started fading. I heard you crying, then I was here. I thought I was solid.”
“You are,” she said. “At least to me. I think Rhonda saw you too.”
“That’s not good.”
“She could see Oya when it mattered,” April said softly. “Makes sense she can see you. She was the one who broke us out of Mr. Lymper’s. She knows things.”
Her thoughts flitted through me like whispers on the wind. Did he see my butt? I hope not. It’s not big like the other girls. Why is he here? Of all times?
“I didn’t come on purpose,” I blurted, ignoring that part. “I tried my door and ended up here.”
“I didn’t say anything,” she said. “Yeah right—a teenage boy with ghost powers just appears in my room.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait. You said you heard my voice at your door?”
“Yeah.”
“Then… you can read minds?”
“I guess,” I said. “Didn’t mean to. We were talking out loud a minute ago, right?”
“Until I thought about you seeing my—” She stopped. We both looked away.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t know. I don’t even know how to stop. I should go.”
I ran straight through the wall, out into the cold. April reached the window, staring as I sprinted toward the road. My breath came steady, too steady. The world hummed around me. The memory of headlights and screeching tires pressed at my skull. Andy’s boot. Brenda’s stare.
I crossed the street easier this time, maybe because I wasn’t fully there. My body didn’t ache. Didn’t tire. I reached my house and—again—the world melted. My skin shimmered. Then April’s room formed around me.
“You’re solid again,” she said. “When you appeared, you were wavy—like heat over a road. Then clear. Now normal.”
“Every time I try to go home, I end up here.” I frowned. “Did you… want me here?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. This is my fault.”
“How?”
“Remember yesterday? Daniel said I was in danger, told me to see his mom. But before that—Wednesday—I showed him my journal. He said I shouldn’t mess with it. I opened the Oya page, and he shut it. Said he doesn’t do myths or magic. His mom, Anna, met us later. She took my journal, said I’m a one-badge mage.”
“One badge?”
She nodded. “Rookie level. She said without experience or a Piece, my mana would eat me alive. But she wouldn’t take me on because rookies are too risky. Then she told Daniel not to worry about me because I wasn’t worth it. Too weak.”
Her voice cracked.
“So when he wouldn’t read with me,” she said, “I felt small. Like nothing. I thought if I cast the summoning spell myself, I could prove I wasn’t. I didn’t know it would summon you.”
A tear traced her cheek, falling onto the purple comforter.
I reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.
“Why am I never enough?” she whispered.
“We’ll fix it,” I said. “You’ve got a friend in me.”
Her sobs softened. Underneath them, her thoughts ran wild—boys are gross, everyone likes Tracy, Daniel likes Tracy—but I stayed quiet. I let her cry.
When she finally fell asleep, I tucked the blanket higher and sat beside her. On her neck, faint light pulsed beneath the skin—a mark like a living tattoo. A lamp shape, burning steady.
A Seal. A bond.
Maybe Oya could hear her too. Maybe both of us were bound without knowing it.
I didn’t have answers, only resolve. I still needed to get home, to fix my parents, to make things right. But April—rookie badge or not—wouldn’t be alone again.
I sat there until my eyes gave out, not tired, just done. She slept soundly, the glow of her mark painting her skin gold. I watched over her, her steady breathing the only proof that after everything, some part of this world could still be peaceful.