Dust Thou Art

Chapter Two

Ha, finally right? Well nobody had really been reading so I kind of stopped...but I read comments and saw more than one vote (which sadly, is usually myself) and got inspiration and confidence.

Thank you so much to all my commenters and voters! Woo!

-Makayla Rayne

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"Ivy..." I heard someone...something?...whisper. It was that kind of whisper that gave you goosebumps, gave you flashbacks of that one time in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets where he hears the voice of the baskilisk. Totally cryptic.

I thrashed in my sleep, attempting to ignore it.

"Ivvyy," it moaned, drawing out my name.

I flopped over again, trying to tell myself it was a dream or something.

"Ivy!" something horribly clear--and loud--said in my ear. It was a deep voice, recognizable.

My eyes flew open to see dark emerald ones peering into mine. "Michael!" I accused, narrowing my gray eyes at him in contempt. "What the hell?" I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 4:23 AM, seriously?

Michael gave an uneasy smile but didn't back away from the bed. "What?"

"Whispering my name? Uh-huh, nice try. Give me a nightmare why don't ya?"

A look of confusion swept his features. His brow furrowed. "Whisper your name?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't play dumb Michael."

"Ivy I didn't whisper your name."

I blinked at him, tilting my head. "You didn't?"

Michael shook his head in response, his expression turning into worry.

"Great," I grumbled, flopping back onto my pillow with a quiet thud. "I'm seeing dead people and now I'm hearing voices! Just flipping fantabulous. You're sure nobody else was in here? Irene? Abby?"

"Nope. Irene is with Abby and Abby is confined to the backyard by her..." He averted his eyes, not finishing his sentence. But I understood. By her grave, her tombstone. She held on to it, so she was tethered to it until she could learn to let go.

"Shit." I threw my arm over my eyes. "Go away Michael. It makes me uncomfortable if you watch me sleep. Like you're some creeper psycho slasher chainsaw guy. Like Leatherface or something."

"Fine, fine." And with a near-silent swishing sound the cold chill and Michael's spirit had left my room.

With an unintentional shudder, I ducked under the covers and fell back into a light sleep.

Ah, school. The place so many teens had dubbed "prison" and rightfully so.

We had so many rules--why did we call ourselves a free country again?--we were constantly on a schedule, a clock running our lives, and even had somewhat rationed meals.

Jamis Brack, oh Jamis Brack. He was gorgeous and my gaze always seemed to wander to him. Michael sat on my other side, glaring dubiously at him.

Then, in the middle of class, he strode over behind Jamis, an odd little smile on his face.

"Michael," I muttered, acting like it was a cough.

Jamis glanced at me. "You say something Blake?"

"Ah, no." I blushed under his gaze.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Michael's gaze darken as he leaned to Jamis's ear to whisper, "Hey pretty boy."

Jamis shuddered, like a chill swept over him but did nothing.

Michael smirked. "Oi! Pretty boy!" he said a little louder. Jamis squirmed for a moment, looking uncomfortable. Michael's grin became similar to the Cheshire Cat's. "Hey pretty boy, yo mamma is SOOO FAT I took a picture of her LAST CHRISTMAS and guess what? It's STILL PRINTING!" He yelled so loud I got a headache, flinching every time his voice rose. But I couldn't help but grin and let out a giggle that I muffled with my hand. I'd told him that one.

Michael wasn't around when Yo Mamma jokes were invented. I had to explain them to him and everything. But eventually he got it, attempting to come up with his own. They weren't exactly funny; I didn't get the humor. Like, "Yo Mamma's so old, she remembers the Revolutionary!" Um...okay then Michael.

Jamis had a sudden violent tremor shake through him. He put a hand to the back of his neck and I saw goose bumps rising on his skin. He glanced at me, a smirk on his lips. "What? You look like you just saw a ghost."

I disagreed. A furious blush had risen to my cheeks the moment he'd glanced at me. And besides, when that expression was used the person's face was usually pale, eyes wide, with their mouth either round in surprise, or clenched shut.

Besides the blush, my mouth hung slightly agape and my eyes were a little round I guess from shock. I didn't reply because I knew I'd stutter.

After class Michael strode next to me. I quelled the urge to shiver. Michael frowned. "Well he can't hear me or see me I guess. But he can feel me."

"Anyone can feel a ghost Michael," I reminded him with a sigh. "Duh."

"That's not what I meant. The feel I mean is like--oh never mind. It's hard to explain to the living." He didn't look annoyed though, he looked understanding. "So what did you think of his innuendo?"

I shrugged. I really didn't know. "Um, I'm not sure. I think he knows...what I can do, I mean."

Michael ran a hand through his dark brown hair, pressing close enough to me to avoid someone that goosebumps rose everywhere on me. He gave me an apologetic look. "When you were little and they called you Tree Talker Freak or whatever, did anyone know it was...dead people...that you were talking to?"

I shook my head. "No. They just thought it was trees. Or they would've called me something more like...Psychic Freak or I dunno, Sixth Sense Kid."

The corner of Michael's mouth quirked up. " 'I see dead people.' "

"Exactly. But that kid was dead...anyway...was that your test?"

His lips pursed. "Part one anyway."

I almost stopped in the hallway, nearly making a super-tall senior guy run into me. He grunted in annoyance as he treaded my heels.

"Whoops, sorry," I muttered, feeling meek under his height. Dude was probably over six foot. And little me over here was the Ompa Loompa at five two and a half.

Michael glowered at the guy, smacking him in the forehead. I didn't glance back to see his reaction. But judging by the look on Michael's face, it was probably priceless.

"So anyway, part two would be what?"

"You know how they say a magician never reveals his secrets?"

"Yeah. And?"

"This applies."

"Michael you're a ghost not a magician. And that is completely irrelevant."

"Whatever. Point is, I'm not telling you." He leaned against the locker beside mine as I twirled my combination. Michael crossed his arms, but let one wander to my face. He brushed back a gold curl from my forehead, sending chills up my spine.

I didn't shiver this time. I'd grown used to the touch of spirits, my friends. I just sighed. Michael hadn't tried to pull anything like this in a while. His cold fingers lingered on my temple before trailing down my jaw, neck, shoulder, arm, until they rested on my hand. He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.

"You're always so warm," he whispered, raising my hand to touch his icy cheek, colder than death itself. "Always so alive."

"Well yeah," I joked, my voice cracking. I swallowed, willing the goosebumps he had raised from not only his cold touch to disappear. "All the living are like that."

He shook his head. "Not," he whispered, "all of them. Not at all."

I jerked my hand back. See? He's annoying. Sure, he was sweet at times like this but as soon as I glanced back at him he gave a signature cocky grin and with a silent swishing sound, he was gone from the hallway.