Surviving the Andersen Brothers

Not So Haunted

Caleb, Zach, Vincent, Lucas, and I stood in the library, the boxes of my past surrounding us. They all were waiting on me to do something, however Lucas was probably only here to ensure Vincent and I did not speak. No one said anything now, though. Everyone looked to me except for Vincent.

            “You have to go through them at some point,” Zach said.

            Vincent sighed and went for the boxes. I glared at him. He didn’t seem to notice. Vincent opened one of the boxes. It was filled with clothing, male clothing. My father’s clothing. Before his old, stale scent could drift my way, Vincent slapped the box closed.

            The green-eyed brother turned to look back at me with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry,” he said.

            I shrugged with a halfhearted smile. I was not going to break the promise I made to Lucas. That was just too much drama to deal with.

            Zach and Caleb moved to boxes of their own choosing, opening them and rummaging through.

            Lucas and I stood back. I didn’t want to see what they contained and Lucas, I assumed, didn’t care to learn any more about my old life. Zach found a box full of pictures and picture albums. Caleb found a box full of old elementary school projects and awards. Vincent also found a smaller box of photo albums.

            My eyes were on Vincent, watching for his reactions to what he saw in the pictures. There was a small smile that played on his lips. I smiled too.

            Lucas cleared his throat, pulling my attention away. He went to the box with Vincent and pulled out an album to skim though. I rolled my eyes, suddenly not feeling like watching Vincent.

            “Oh my gosh, Jazz!” Zach exclaimed, pointing to a photo. “You are such an adorable lion!”

            I laughed. I vaguely remember being dressed as a lion for Halloween when I was five or six. I went to look over his shoulder.

            “Jasmine,” Caleb called, “What is this?”

            I looked over at him to see a blob of clay, hardened and, apparently, molded in some fashion with two holes in it. I couldn’t remember what time in my life that was from.

            “That is a good question,” I told him, laughing. “Does it say anything?”

            Caleb rolled it around in his hands trying to find words inscribed on the lumpy ball. “Pencil holder, I think,” he announced.

            “Then, to answer your question, it is a pencil holder.”

            “Jasmine Clark, what the hell is this?” Zach demanded, calling my attention back to him. This made everyone gather around him. He was pointing to another picture, featuring a young me in a white shirt with a mustache stuck to my face.

            I laughed really hard, grabbing my gut.

            They looked at me like I was crazy, waiting for an explanation.

            “I was obsessed with mustaches when I was little so my dad bought me some fake ones,” I told them. “I didn’t know they got pictures with me wearing them.”

            They all giggled at me—except for Lucas.

            “It sure would have been something to have known you young,” Caleb said.