Ghost of a Chance (18 page)

“Good,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “They should be gone for a little while.” Now I just have to make sure I don't get caught breaking and entering. “Come on,” I tell Lily. “We're going in.”

*  *  *

Sure enough, Lily had the code right. Once I punch the code into the keypad, the door of the suite swings right open. We walk into a main sitting area that has three more doors off it. Which means the suite has three rooms—one for Stella and Lily, and two for whoever else lives in it.

The suite is completely quiet. So either the roommates in the other two rooms are out or, more likely, they're sleeping. And I'd really like to keep it that way. Hopefully, we can get in and out before anyone sees us.

I'm about to ask Lily if she remembers which room is hers when I notice there are construction paper cutouts on each door in the shape of stars. Each one has a name written on it.

The door to my left says “Stella” on one and “Lily” on the other. It's one of those things they probably do before everyone gets to school to make it seem welcoming. Normally I would think that kind of thing is super-cheesy, but now I'm thankful.

I tiptoe over to the door and put my hand on the doorknob.

“It'll be unlocked,” Lily says. “Stella never locks her door.”

I hold my breath and hope she's right. I turn the knob. It opens.

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “We're in.”

I push the door open.

The room is neat and tidy, with two single beds, two desks, and two closets in the far wall. A purple shag rug sits on the floor, and the walls are filled with posters, mostly of Nicholas Sparks movies.

“Oh, God,” Lily says. “I totally forgot about Stella's
obsession with Nicholas Sparks.” She stops in front of the poster for
The Lucky One
. “Although I don't mind the one with Zac Efron so much.”

“Okay,” I say, anxious to get going. “So what are we looking for?”

“The balcony?” she suggests.

Against one wall there's a pair of light purple billowy curtains in front of a sliding glass door.

“Wow,” I say as I move closer. “Whoever designed these dorm rooms really wasn't that smart. Why would they give college students balconies when everyone knows there's a chance the students are going to fall off them?”

But Lily doesn't answer me. She's just looking out onto the balcony with a stricken expression on her face.

“We don't have to do this, you know,” I say, even though it's a lie. We kind of do have to do this. If she backs out now, I'm not sure when we're going to get the chance to come back. But if she feels pressure, she might freak out, so I'm going to pretend like this isn't a big deal.

“No, I'm okay,” she says.

Thank God.

I push the sliding glass door open and step out onto the balcony. I hope this thing isn't, like, compromised or anything. It feels sturdy, but you never know—I mean, Lily did fall off it.

Hmm. There's definitely not much of a view from here. All you can see is the other building across the path. Another dorm. And the balcony is pretty small. There's a very tiny table and chairs out here, but there's not any room for anything else. I can hardly move. No wonder Lily fell.

I hope someone started a petition or something to remove these balconies. Although I'm not sure how you would remove them. I mean, they're stuck on. But still. There has to be a way. Maybe I should mention it to my dad. I bet it would be a huge project for his construction company, and I'll bet he would get—

“There's nothing out here!” Lily says, looking around. “There's nothing. . . . I mean, I thought there would be something important or that I would at least
remember
something. But I don't. I don't even remember falling.”

“Well, give it a second,” I say. “Maybe you just need to relax and let it come to you.”

“Okay.” But she doesn't seem convinced. We stand there for a few moments, waiting to see if she remembers anything.

I pull my phone out and text Ellie back.

What time are you going to the mall?

If I can get this over with quickly, maybe I can meet up with her.

“Maybe there's something else in the room,” Lily says
finally. “I just . . . I don't know. I'm not really feeling it out here.”

I resist the urge to point out that she hasn't really been feeling things anywhere lately, but I don't. There's no need to be mean about it.

“Okay,” I say. “Um, maybe we should go back inside?”

She nods. We walk back into the room, and she looks around.

“Anything?” I ask.

“Sort of.” She shrugs. “I don't know. This place seems familiar, but it feels more like . . . I don't know, like it's some kind of dream or something. Like a place I used to know but don't anymore, if that makes sense.”

“That makes total sense,” I say.

Lily walks over to one of the twin beds, the one that's against the far wall. It's made up in a Creamsicle-colored bedspread. While the other bed is disheveled, like whoever slept in it didn't make it, this one is made so perfectly, it looks like it should be in a hotel room. It even has these super-cute orange-and-white-striped throw pillows.

“This was my bed,” she says. “I used to sleep here.”

She sits down and slides all the way across until her back is against the wall. “I remember!” She's grinning happily. “Maybe if I stay here longer, I'll remember something else!”

“That's great,” I say, not wanting to discourage her. I hope whatever it is she's planning on remembering she does in, oh, about twenty minutes or so. I'm assuming that's about how long it will take Madison and Stella to finish their pancakes. Of course, it could take them a lot longer, but who wants to take chances?

“Yup,” Lily says. Her eyes have a faraway look in them.

I make my way over to one of the desks in the corner and sit down. If this is going to take a while, I might as well be comfy. There are pages and books spread out all over the place. College work looks hard. I'll bet my seventh-grade math is nothing compared to this stuff.

“God, this is so weird,” Lily's saying. “I can remember sitting here. I can remember working on my homework in this bed. I can remember writing here.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “And I think . . . I think I can remember falling. I was leaning over, trying to look at a flower or something, and I leaned too far and just . . . lost my balance.” Her eyes fly open. “I remember something else, too.” She gets a weird look on her face, the kind of look you get when you've remembered something you don't want to remember.

She slides her hand down between the bed and the wall and pulls out a spiral notebook. The fact that she can do this is crazy—ghosts are usually not that powerful. She must have gotten a surge of energy, which means that
whatever she found is probably very, very important.

The front of the notebook is covered with printed-out pictures. Flowers, cartoon hearts, pictures of Lily and Stella, a picture of a mountain.

“What's that?” I ask.

“This is my journal,” she breathes. “This is . . .” She trails off and starts flipping through the pages. “Oh my God,” she says. “This is the reason I needed to come back.”

“To get your journal?”

She nods. “My mom and I . . . we had a fight right before I died. We made up, but I wrote all this horrible stuff about her in here. If she ever found it, if she ever read it, it would kill her.”

Lily's crying now, the tears sliding down her cheeks slowly as she reads through her journal. “We need to destroy this,” she says. “Or at least take it somewhere that my mom will never find it.”

“Good idea,” I say. I gesture to the side of the room, where there's an incense stick and a book of matches sitting on a nightstand. “Should we burn it?”

Lily wrinkles her nose. “Isn't that kind of dangerous? We're not even supposed to have incense in the dorms. In fact, the only reason that's even there is because Stella insists on having it. It's ridiculous.” She stops and looks at me, a huge smile on her face. “Wow,” she says. “I'm remembering things left and right.”

“Yeah, you're right,” I say. “Maybe we should bury it or something.”

“No!” She shakes her head. “I want it gone. And I want it gone now. We have to burn it.”

But now that she's suddenly on board, I'm rethinking this plan. “What if we set off the fire alarm? Or what if someone smells the burning?”

“We're not going to set off the fire alarm,” she says. “And we'll be gone before anyone smells anything. Come on. It won't even take that long. We'll do it in the trash can. There are bottles of water in the fridge so we can douse it after.”

I sigh. “Fine,” I say. “But if I get arrested for arson . . .” I trail off, because honestly, there's not much I can threaten her with. She's already dead. And besides, if this works, she'll be gone.

She grins and watches as I take the journal and rip out each page, tossing them one by one into the metal garbage can. Then I take the empty covers and light the corner of one with a match and drop it on top of the pages. This is actually kind of disappointing.

“Wow,” I say. “I thought there was going to be some kind of big inferno.”

We both stand there watching the pages burn and the flames die out until there's nothing left but a few ashes. Then I grab the bottle of water and pour a little on the embers, just to make sure it's safe.

“Phew,” I say, standing up. “Now let's get the heck out of here.”

But when I look up, Lily is gone.

*  *  *

Well. That settles that. Another ghost gone to the other side. I can't help but feel a little happy with myself. I mean, even though I had tons of personal problems going on, and even though Lily was the sister of my archenemy, I was able to put everything aside and help her.

Of course, now I just have to get out of here.

I'm on my way back down the stairs when I hear the
ding
of the elevator. And then I hear Madison's voice going, “Ew, it smells like burnt popcorn in here.”

I'm still trying to keep from laughing when I get back to my bike.

I'm in such a good mood that I don't even mind the bike ride home. It's actually kind of nice.

Ellie texts me back, and we make plans to meet at the mall later.

So when I get inside and see my dad sitting at the table, eating a grilled cheese sandwich, I don't feel like I should avoid him. In fact, I feel like I want to sit down and talk to him.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi.”

“How was work?” I ask.

“It was good.” He doesn't ask me where I was, which I'm thankful for. I'm not sure what I would say to him at this point.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Uh, would you like a grilled cheese?”

My dad is a pretty good cook, and one of his specialties is grilled cheese sandwiches. “Can I have bacon on it?” I ask, grinning.

“Of course.”

I sit down at the kitchen table and pull the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands as my dad starts assembling the ingredients for the sandwich. It's a bit awkward, just sitting here with nothing to do, so I decide to make myself a hot chocolate.

I get up and grab a mug and fill it with water, then pop it into the microwave.

“So should we talk about what's been going on?” my dad asks as he butters two pieces of bread for my sandwich.

“I'd like to,” I say, taking a deep breath. “But first I want to say that I'm really sorry for skipping class. That was not cool of me. I was . . . Me and Ellie were in a fight, and I know that's not an excuse, but I wanted to talk to her. It felt more important than class at the time.”

“And I owe you an apology,” he says. “I shouldn't have let your mother into the house like that the other day. But she showed up here wanting to talk, and I felt like I
owed it to her to listen to what she had to say.”

There's a sizzle as he places three pieces of bacon into the frying pan.

“Why?” I ask. “Because she's my mom?”

He nods. “Yes. And because you'd gone to see her, and so I thought . . . I don't know what I was thinking. I should have asked you if it was okay.”

“Yes,” I agree. “You should have.”

“Call it a draw?” he offers. “You forgive me for that, and I'll forgive you for skipping class?”

I pull my mug out of the microwave and mix a hot chocolate packet into the hot liquid. “Really?”

“Well, provided you don't do it again.”

“I won't,” I promise. “Getting detention is enough of a punishment, trust me.”

He nods.

I sit back down at the kitchen table and wait until he sets the sandwich down in front of me. I take a moment to inhale the delicious scent. After my huge bike ride, I'm totally ravenous.

“Listen,” my dad says. “I want you to know that I'm going to support you always, no matter what. I want you to know that just because your mother was here the other day doesn't mean you have to let her into your life. That's your decision, and no one else's. If you don't want to see her, that's your prerogative.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say. “I really appreciate that.” I take a bite of my sandwich, letting the warm cheese and buttered bread warm my soul. Paired with the creamy hot chocolate, it's the perfect meal to have while making up with your dad.

“And I also want you to know that I know I'm not the best with feelings and emotions, but if there are things you want to talk to me about, I'm always here. No matter what.”

This last part makes me tear up a bit. I know it couldn't have been easy on my dad, being a single parent. And now that I'm a teenager, I'm sure it's even harder.