Avenging a Ghost

Chapter One: Labeled As Crazy

There are three ways your life can go when you can see ghosts.

The first one is becoming a medium, allowing people to communicate with their loved ones. People who don't believe in that stuff---and that's most people---will think that you're crazy. You'll probably barely be able to afford a one-room apartment, much less food and drink for your many cats.

The second one is ending up in a psych ward, constantly afraid for your life. People will definitely think you're crazy then.

The third one is becoming a detective. Even if the case isn't a murder case, talking to ghosts will still be helpful. People will think that you're either the most brilliant person in the world, never believe you and think you're grabbing for attention, or think you're crazy.

Number three sounds like the safest route for me, because if I take that path, there's a chance I won't be marked as insane.

But when you're in high school? You're going to be called crazy until you graduate. And I'm only in freshman year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Be orderly and quiet!" Mrs. Jefferson barks. "Phones away! You two, no public displays of affection! That is clearly stated in the Roosevelt High School handbook, page three, paragraph six!"

"Mrs. J, they can't see you," I remind her, putting my headphones away. "You're dead."

She sniffs. "Well, just because I don't officially teach here anymore, doesn't mean that they shouldn't abide by the rules. I'm glad to see that you're still staying in line, Miss Maxwell."

I smile tightly. Mrs. Jefferson always stays in the front hall, so she doesn't know that I skip Physics at every opportunity. The only person who does know is Aaron, and he skipped every day when he was alive. If you think about it, it's kind of sad that my only friend is a punk rocker from the 90's who got killed by his ex-boyfriend (who's currently rotting away in jail).

Okay, I lied. Casey's my friend, too. But she can't see or talk to Mrs. J, or Aaron, or any of the ghosts that hang around Portland, so it's hard to talk to her about them. She'll willingly talk to me about Percy Jackson, or Tim Burton movies, or Marvel, or anything we're interested in, but ghosts have always been an area that we try to avoid.

"Lauren!"

Speak of the devil. "Hey, Case," I say, smiling at her. "I like the pink."

"Abuela helped me pick it out," Casey tells me, twirling the new pink streak around her finger. "I wasn't too sure at first, but I really like it."

"It totally suits you."

"So, what are your plans for Physics today?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "You're not going to bail on me again, are you?"

I groan. "Casey, you could pass Physics with your eyes closed. I, on the other hand, am a lost cause."

"Bullshit. You just want to hang out with your boyfriend."

"Case, you do know that we're both gay, right?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pushing open the side doors, I let out a sigh of relief. Skipping class is so much easier when you bribe the Depressed to mess with the campus security. Just because people don't see ghosts, doesn't mean that they don't see the effect. It helps that a lot of ghosts can move things around.

"Hey, Aaron," I say, waving to the slightly transparent boy sitting on the steps.

"'Ello." He stands up and shakes out his long black hair. "Bribe the Depressed again?"

"Yup. Plus, I got James to sign me out, so I won't have an unexcused absence."

Aaron grins. "Takes a lot of work to get James to do anything other than mess with the living girls. What'd you say to him?"

"Told him I'd get him beer. He'll forget about it in, like, five minutes, so I won't have to honor it."

He nods. "That sounds like him. And if he remembers it, just use that thing from the meh-meh."

I stare at him. "You mean the meme, right?"

"Yeah. That. The 'ok boomer' thing."

I laugh. James was a kid from the 60's who drank too much and died in a car crash. He's pretty much the epitome of a baby boomer---if that baby boomer never grew up and remained an asshole teen. I think the only reason he stays on the Roosevelt campus is because he likes to harass girls---both living, dead, and Depressed.

The Depressed ghosts are every kid who's commited suicide. You'd expect them to be all sad and pale, but they're actually really nice and helpful. They recognize that they've missed a lot of opportunities and left people behind, so they dedicate their death to helping kids who are going through hard times.

You know when you've had a bad day, and everything is weighing on you, and you're about to break down from stress and anger, but then something tells you to calm down and keep moving? That's a Depressed, giving you a second chance.

Obviously, it doesn't always work. But it's always nice to have people to talk to after you die. I've seen recent Depressed showing the others Dear Evan Hansen and Heathers, which gives me a happy feeling that I can't really explain.

"So, what did we do today?" I ask Aaron, raising an eyebrow. "No haunting exes, I hope?"
Aaron looks down at his feet.

"DUDE!" I elbow him. "Raymond is in prison for life! He doesn't need you mocking him at every opportunity!"

"The guy killed me because I broke up with him," Aaron countered. "I think I can torture him all I want."

"There are tons of other things you can do besides that. You can listen to music. You can watch a movie. You can read a book---do you know how many LGBTQ books there are these days? Maybe even find another boyfriend."

"We've been over this," he groans. "There's nobody for me to date."

I fold my arms. "C'mon, there are tons of gay Depressed guys. You could at least try dating one."

"No."

"What about Damien? He's been flirting with you ever since he died," I press.

"I said no."

I sigh. "Aaron, you're never going to get anywhere if you're too scared to move on."

"I'm not scared," he mumbles. "Ghosts aren't scared. That's a fact."

"Aaron..."

"Okay, fine. If it will make you leave me alone, I will tolerate Damien. Happy?"

"Better than nothing," I say, shrugging.

"Who the fuck are you talking to?"

Me and Aaron turn around to see a girl with wavy brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a judgmental expression. I don't need to see the J embroidered on her jacket to know that it's Phoebe Jefferson, the great-granddaughter of the old school principal.

Fuck my life.

"Nobody," I tell her. "Just myself."

Phoebe rolls her eyes. "Lemme guess, you were talking to one of your imaginary friends, right? That dead delinquent from the 80's?"

"I died in 1998, and I never did anything to get me arrested," Aaron snaps. Completely ineffective, as she can't see or hear him.

"I think you're mistaken," I say coolly. "I don't have imaginary friends."

"Keep telling yourself that." She turns on her heel and stalks away, muttering "freak" under her breath.

"If she's going to tease you about me, she should at least get my deathday right," Aaron grumbles. "Serves her right when she dies and she finds out that you're her great-grandma's favorite student."

I snort. "Puh-lease. Phoebe Jefferson is going to live forever."