Second Verse (4 page)

“Hello?” I’m out of breath by the time I finally reach it.

“You are aware of the fact that there’s an airport that shares your name, right?”

I sigh into the receiver and wish for the millionth time that my mom had invested in caller id. Maybe it was time to join the 21st century. I make my way down the stairs. “Hey Vaughn. What’s up?”

Like I don’t know. A few days’ worth of ducking into stairways and eating lunch in the bathroom couldn’t go on forever.

“Where were you at lunch today? And in creative period? Way to ditch your friends all week.” His laugh is hollow. Vaughn’s not a guy who fakes it. Dancing around the subject has got to be killing him.

“I was meeting with Mr. Murphy about my Transformations project for Motion. I’m so behind.” I fake a yawn and try to stretch my voice into boredom. “I’m working on it now. I should go, actually.” I step into my room and turn on the light. The curtains billow with wind from the open windows, the screens rattling with it.

“Right. How’s this? If I had to guess, I’d say you don’t even have your sketchpad out of your bag, let alone open.”

I glance at my backpack, thrown haphazardly across my desk, with my sketchpad peeking out from beneath the books inside.

“Come on, Lange. We
need
to talk about what happened.” He sounds so defeated, I can’t even get mad, and he’s using that hard-to-refuse voice that practically purrs.

My first instinct is to say nothing happened, but we both know that’s not true.

Not even close.

Sure, everyone was kind of freaked out, and they’re even more convinced my house, or at least the barn, is haunted. But that weird sensation I felt? No one knows about that. Except maybe Vaughn. I don’t know. I’m not sure what he felt, if the energy that flowed between us went both ways. I know we both heard the voice. Those chilling words that have etched themselves into my brain over and over again.

Sell. Her. Sweeney
.

“Fine. What do you want me to say?” I sink to my bed and let my head fall against the pillow.

“Let’s start with the fact that you have a ghost that obviously wants to tell us something.”

I try to keep my voice even. “Oh come on. There’s no ghost. We all just got carried away. It was the history of this place. And the candles, and the Friday the 13th thing. It’s just a mind trick we played on ourselves.”

He’s silent.

“Lange.”

Lying on my side, I stare at myself in the window.

“Let’s put it this way,” he says in a shaky voice. “Up until a few nights ago, things were normal. I wasn’t hearing voices.”

“Wait, you heard it again?” I sit up and stare at my wide-eyed reflection in the rippled glass.

“Oh, so you admit you heard it.”

Ugh.

“Hear me out,” he says. “But don’t think I’m crazy.”

I listen, pressing my thumb against my cut fingers and flinching at the pain.

“I think something happened.”

“We’ve established that, genius.” But I know he’s not just talking about the voice or the candles.

“Will you listen? It’s something else. Something, I don’t know… inside? Do you know what I mean?” His voice fizzles.

I know how hard this is for him. I should tell him what I feel, what I felt that night, and upstairs a few minutes ago. But that would only feed it, keep it going. If I ignore it, it will go away.

He sighs, frustrated. “Okay, I’ll try this another way. Something strange is happening and for some reason, I think you’ll understand. Can I just come over? I’ve got something to show you. It will explain it better than I can. Please?”

I’m thrown off by his request, and he’s using that velvety voice again.

“Fine,” I say, despite my best judgment.

The only question left is what to do when he gets here. Do I talk, or do I keep pretending nothing is going on?

H
E SHOWS UP
minutes after we hang up. Hearing his car on the gravel, I bound down the north stairs and into the kitchen to open the back door. With his guitar slung over his back, and his hair all disheveled, he looks very rebel without a cause on my porch, his fist raised to knock. I smile and slip outside as he lets his hand fall.

“Hey.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and let the back door fall silently into its jamb.

“Hey.” He returns my smile, but it doesn’t light him the way happiness usually does. There’s no joking. No massacre of my name, no smirking.

“What’s up?” I don’t know what else to say as we settle onto the porch swing. I twist my hands in my lap, afraid that if they had their way, they’d be reaching for him again, trying for that strange, electrifying connection.

He lowers his guitar to the wide-planked floor and stares across my yard. “Um. This probably sounds weird, but can we go to the barn?” He looks into the dark, toward the barn, all serious like he’s watching his own funeral.

“That’s probably not a great idea.”

He turns to look at me, eyes wide and brimming with such passion I don’t know whether to be terrified or flattered.

“Lange, I—” He shakes his head, eyes down.

I wait, but he says nothing else.

Finally, I clear my throat. “You said you had something to show me?”

His face brightens briefly when he picks up his guitar. “Yeah, when I left here the other night, something happened. It was weird, like something clicked into place… Like I’d found something I hadn’t exactly known I was missing.” He shakes his head again. “I know it sounds nuts, but I became almost compulsive all weekend. Writing.” He pats the body of the guitar. “The thing is … ” he lowers his voice, glancing into the dark again. “I don’t remember writing much. I mean, I
remember
writing, but when it was finally done, and I played it through, I don’t remember the composition. It’s familiar, and it’s mine, but it’s like someone else wrote it.
Through me
.”

I shift on the bench, ignoring the tingling sensation blossoming in my chest. Things hadn’t exactly been normal for me either, but I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t want to understand him. Not when it comes to this.

“Vaughn…”

“I know. Crazy, right? You think I’m crazy.” He looks at his shoes.

“No—I don’t, I—”

“Well I feel crazy. I can’t stop thinking about it. That night.” His eyes are vibrant now, lit with energy and excitement.

I look away, trying to think of something else. Anything else. Because he’s right, I want more than anything to find out what we felt that night in the barn. I want the answers too, to figure out what those strange words mean. I want to touch his hand and feel those sparks of connection again.

The wind whistles high in the trees, but it’s Vaughn who makes me tremble.

“Anyway. I wrote this. It’s only the beginning so far, but… ” He strums his guitar, settling into his playing stance, knee up, guitar balanced. He holds the pick between his teeth while he
tunes the knobs, stopping to push his hair behind his ears. Before he even starts, my skin tingles with anticipation.

The melody envelops me, slips over me like a second skin. Like an arm that pulls me close. He looks down, nodding along and watching his fingers as they find the chords. But then he looks up and his eyes find mine.

My breath catches and stays in my chest as Vaughn starts to sing.

Shades are grey, are what you see
,

But if you look you will find me
,

In the space where stardust lies
,

In the dreams of lullabies

The water in the ocean rolls
,

with restless waves, but truth be told

it will never silence me
.

Forever you will come to me
.

Back again. Here I am
.

Like the wind across your hand
,

Your voice is resting in my ear
,

You’re in my veins, you’re crystal clear
.

Hold my heart it won’t be long
.

I will meet you far beyond
.

That abyss. Can’t be missed. That abyss
.

I
STUMBLE AS
I try and put one foot in front of the other. Vaughn’s hand is on my waist, gently guiding me up the stairs. Everything is hazy like I’m walking inside a cloud.

I can hardly stand, spots dancing in my vision until I lie down. In my mind, I see a weird scene, but it’s like I’m watching through that same fog. It’s Vaughn’s song, but his voice isn’t quite the same. It hovers just outside my thoughts, like a
memory I shouldn’t have, working its way through my mind and veins. Seeping into me. As the music fades, another flash appears, a bright light that hangs in the air.

The whole vision evaporates before I can grab hold of the rest of it. I lie in silence, staring at the water stains on my ceiling.

I rub my eyes. “What just happened?”

“You kind of almost passed out on your porch.”

“I did?” I rub my eyes. “Wow, that came out of nowhere.”

“Is that what you really think?”

An iron fist tightens, low in my stomach. I open my eyes slowly, afraid of what I’ll see. Vaughn looks down at me, leaning against my desk with his arms folded. When I don’t answer, he turns to look out the window. Toward the barn.

“I’ve been sick,” I lie. “My head’s just foggy.”

He doesn’t answer.

Finally, my mind clears enough to make me intensely aware of Vaughn in my bedroom. I push up on one elbow. “So, welcome to my room, I guess.” I croak out the words, looking quickly to make sure there are no bras hanging out of my drawers.

He pulls out my desk chair and sits down with a slight smile. “Thanks. But I think we’re past all that, don’t you?”

“Just trying to be nice,” I mumble as he pulls his guitar onto his lap, balancing it on his knee. I turn halfway on the bed to face him. “You want a drink or something? Twinkie?”

He returns my weak smile with one of his own as he starts to play. I drift in and out of sleep while he strums his guitar, working on that same beautiful melody. I listen, letting the notes burn into me. Stamping the lyrics to my memory. Wishing he’d never stop playing.

Your voice is resting in my ear, You’re in my veins, you’re crystal clear. Hold my heart it won’t be long. I will meet you far beyond
.

His face is fierce. Drawn and concentrated. He stops often to look at me, liquid brown eyes flecked with copper. In them is a place I don’t quite know yet, a great leap from where we were last week.

It’s a dangerous look.

And I bask in it, even though I shouldn’t.

I
CAN’T AVOID
Vaughn or my friends forever, so I head to lunch on Wednesday with my brown paper bag and my sketchpad, pretending like everything’s normal. I’m somehow late even though I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary after class and I curse the fog I’ve been living in this week.

“Where ya been?” Stace grins as she bites into her pizza. “You’re missing a very interesting conversation today.”

Cautiously, I pull out my chair. “That sounds suspicious.” We tend to get into lots of interesting conversations, but they don’t always end well. The last such talk involved listing famous people we’d hook up with. Stace practically ripped Vaughn’s head off with every suggestion he made. I’m not in the mood for a repeat.

“Nah, it’s nothing bad,” Kelly says, waving away my worried expression. “Since we’re still in Halloween mode—”

“Less than two weeks to go!” Stace says.

Kell gives her a look before continuing, “
and
after the night of the séance—”

Ben interrupts by humming the
Twilight Zone
theme song. Vaughn smiles, and when no one’s looking, he winks at me.

My sandwich crumbles in my grip.

“Anyway.” Kelly shoots Ben a shut-up look. “We’re talking about the strangest, weirdest things we’ve ever done.”

Wonderful.

“And?” I take another bite of my sandwich and try to act nonchalant. “What do we have so far?”

Stace bursts out laughing. “Total lameness.”

Ben huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not lame!”

“Riiiight,” Stace says, shaking her head. Even Kelly giggles behind her hand.

“What?” I look between the three of them. “What did I miss?”

“Ben and some friends at piano camp. They played ‘Bloody Mary’ in the mirror to try and freak themselves out.”

“Bloody Mary?” I chew thoughtfully, amused by the look of rage on Ben’s face.

Vaughn grins. “It’s when you go in a dark room and say Bloody Mary a bunch of times in a mirror to try and evoke the angry ghost of Mary who will come out and kill you.”

“Child’s game,” Stace adds with a snicker.

“It’s not a child’s game! And anyway, it was a few years ago. I was young.”

“You were still in high school.” Kelly scrunches her features in an
I’m sorry
way and rests a hand on his arm. “But it
can
be scary. I guess.”

“It’s no worse than yours.” He looks pointedly at her, rolling his eyes.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Ouija boards are totally scary!” Kelly says defensively. Everyone laughs.

I giggle along and try my hardest to not look at Vaughn. From the corner of my eye, I watch him laugh and wonder if it feels as fake to him as it does to me.

Especially after last night.

“Fine, what about you, Stace? If you’re so tough?” Kelly sticks out her tongue.

“Well,” Stace says, piling her lunch on her tray. “I do have one weird thing. But it’s kind of different. It’s nothing ghost or spirit-related, anyway.”

Sounds good to me.

But like a book that’s been slammed, Stace closes up. “Nah, it’s weird.”

“Come on, we’re all friends. Spill. It can’t be half as bad as Ben’s.”

“Kell!”

Stace looks at each of us, frowning. “Fine. But keep in mind, I had a weird childhood. I used to have these strange thoughts. For a long time, I thought they were normal, but I guess they weren’t.”

I shift my hands to my lap.

“And?” Vaughn’s voice is gentle. I don’t look up because I don’t want to see the way he’s probably looking at her.