Watchers

Ghost & Girl

They named me Cole because they thought my hair would be black. And why not? It made sense to them. Both of them had hair as dark as black holes—those things that suck up planets and stars in outer space. Sometimes I think about weird things like that. You know, when it's quiet and I'm trying to sleep. Gloom makes me think about that kind of stuff. Anyway, my parents had hair the color of crows and eyes to match. I got the eyes, like shiny onyx marbles, but I didn't get the hair. In fact, I didn't get a shade anywhere close to what they'd thought it'd be: my hair is as yellow as butter. Whiter, even. It's white-blond, and I think it looks stupid. Who ever heard of blond hair and black eyes? My friend Adam says I look like a ghost, but that's all right; I think he looks like a girl.

Adam Nyler has big puppy eyes, with really long eyelashes. He's got something strange with his eyelids, too. They're kind of dark, like they're permanently bruised. So it looks like he's got makeup on. And he doesn't help his look any with the longish hair he has. All the guys are growing their hair down to their chins (except me; I hate my hair, so why would I want it any longer than it has to be?), and Adam cuts his straight across at the bangs. Oh, and Adam got the hair I was supposed to have—it's as black as what mine should've been. So he got my looks, and who knows whose I've got. Sometimes I wonder how we're put together, decided on I mean, because somewhere in the assembly line of looks, my parts got mixed up.

I said my name was Cole, but I didn't give you all of it. Cole March. Cole Orville March. A stupid name, if you ask me, but what do I know? Some of the kids at school call me Dot COM, because that's what my initials spell: COM. They think they're funny. I think they're just really, completely bored. Whatever the case, they get on my nerves. But what happened last summer didn't concern any of them, so I don't care what they think. It was only me and Adam, and because of everything, we are always going to remain friends. We will also always have a secret, and it's the sort that can't, under any sort of absolute torture, ever, ever be told.