Call Spirits in Your Past **Book Two**

Chapter 38 (Friday)

Verspri? Dryda asked. Can you hear me? She sat on the windowsill, holding shirts up to the light, most of her classmates sleeping on the floor behind her. Bella was awake--Dryda glanced back, and corrected herself; had been awake--hence Dryda holding several shirts to the window. Bella found them in one of the sewing classrooms and brought them back so they could change into something cleaner, but Dryda didn't trust them. They smelled like old dust.

Verspri? she asked again.

He didn't reply. Dryda bit her lip; could they send dreams through their telepathy? If not, she had no idea how to interpret the badly spelled "choclat" on a distinctly strawberry cake. Was that what Verspri dreamed about? Chocolate on strawberry cakes?

She hopped down from the windowsill, puffing up a cloud of dust from the ground. Bella hadn't found a broom for them, since food was certainly more important. And soap. And, apparently, different clothes.

Couldn't they sneak into the sewing room and sew their own? What if the kid who made this gray t-shirt was...she shuddered. Wouldn't Bella think it strange to wear something that belonged to Dryda? And Dryda didn't even know who made this.

Bella stirred in her sleep, so Dryda placed the gray shirts on a dusty bin and gently shook her awake. "Huh?" Bella mumbled.

"I've got to use the restroom," Dryda whispered.

"Ahkay," Bella muttered and rolled over, almost completely away from her orange blanket--taken from one of the half-empty bins around the room.

Dryda bit her lip. That would have to do. They could ask Kwayo, she supposed, if Bella didn't remember.

She approached the exit, tiptoeing over concrete wiped clear of dust by so many footsteps. She pressed her ear to the metal door for a solid ten seconds before turning the knob, squinting into the dark hall. She fleetingly wished for a weapon, but pushed the thought away. She wished that every time she had to leave by herself. Though, she could add "self-defense" to the reasons Bella or Kwayo could get them a broom.

She eased the door shut behind her and crept along, fingers trailing the bumpy, concrete walls. Her feet collected dust, lightly stepping around the heap of metal scraps, and the rocks, and the pile of bat dung. She hadn't ever seen the bat that slept in the ceiling beams, but clearly something lived up there.

The old bathroom lived down two right turns, then a left, then behind a white, paint-peeling door. She winced at the squeak of the hinges, walking blindly forward into the room until her hands found the cord for the lightbulb. She pulled it and blinked in the flash of light, but froze at a sudden, sharp inhale. She spun around, staring at the lonely bathroom stall. It was shut.

Dryda's skin turned to wood, leaves sprouting from her exposed arms. She carefully stepped forward and nudged the stall door. It didn't move, and she stepped backward. Had anybody left the room before her? "Tago?" she hissed. "Manuel?"

The door shook, and a wispy redness seeped through the narrow cracks around the edges. Dryda stepped away, bumping the lightbulb cord. "Um..."

The redness slowly formed into letters, and Dryda tilted her head. "Please don't tell," she read. She asked, "I'm sorry...I don't even know who you are."

The redness morphed, spelling something else. Does it matter? The redness moved again, I'm not supposed to be here.

Dryda frowned. "If you're not supposed to be here, then aren't I not supposed to be here either?"

The redness stretched out, the letters shrinking. How was I supposed to know you have class right now too?

"Oh," she frowned. Who was hiding in a dark bathroom just to skip class? "Why'd you have the light off?"