Her name is Anne. A simple, single syllable name, but fitting for a queen. She should be easy to spot in the crowd of students, but I don’t see her. Instead, it is the goth girl from class that I see heading towards me. Her grey trench coat trails behind her and I notice her dark eyeliner seems to be running. Or perhaps she applied it to her face that way to make it look like black tears falling from her eyes. She smiles and I think she is going to stop in front of me, but she doesn’t. She keeps moving past me, a smirk upon her face.
“Good try,” she mutters as she continues down the hall.
“What?” I turn to follow her. It’s obvious she can see me. I want to know why. While she keeps going, I hurry to catch up. “Hey!”
She doesn’t acknowledge me. Now she acts like she doesn’t see or hear me at all. But maybe she just doesn’t want other students to think she’s crazy. I guess it would be weird having an open conversation with someone no one else can see.
I don’t want to lose her in the crowd, so I go to shout her name. But I realize I don’t know it. She is just like I was in life, a shadow in everyone’s peripheral. People have seen her in the halls, class, even on the bus. And yet no one knows her. Her name is unknown to all. And everyone seems to like it that way. She’s the weird one. She’s the kind they make up rumors about. She’s a witch. She’s gay. She drowned a puppy in elementary school. She threw a chair at one of the teacher’s last year. Of course, none of it is true. At least, I don’t think it is. Like I said, I don’t know her anymore than anyone else does.
The goth girl is weaving back and forth among the other students. So much so that I can’t keep up. Maybe she’s on the way to her next class. Or maybe she’s trying to lose me. The irritating, pesky ghost boy. She rounds a corner in the hallway and I surge forward to catch up. Following her path, I make the turn and run straight into three boys.
It’s not that I bump into them. Instead, as can be expected of one who is spirit, I pass right through them. I catch the feeling of cruelty and superiority, and then it is gone. It is like a wave of nausea that passes so quickly it takes your breath away. It’s similar to the disorientation I felt while sharing the body of Joey Mattson. But these guys are not anything like my first host had been. And I’m glad I passed through them rather than try to make any of them my new host. After all, I have never had a desire to be Derek Wells, the biggest bully in school.
If you are feeling lost or wish to re-read any of the episodes, Ghost Boy Blues now has its own page and table of contents. You can find it here