Ghostgirl: Homecoming Page 2

  “The rest of you will find a room at the dormitory across the courtyard,” Markov said plainly.

  What rest of you, Charlotte thought? There was no one else left. He meant her.

  “Enjoy your time together catching up,” Markov said pleasantly as he dismissed the interns. “And … have a nice day.”

  “Nice, indeed,” Charlotte groaned at Markov’s closing line, feeling her happy face observation had been confirmed. “And the laugh’s on me.”

  Everyone filed out with their significant others. Long lost souls, connected once again. The only thing Charlotte seemed to be reunited with was the old feeling of being alone. Unclaimed. It was like death by a thousand paper cuts as each coupling made their way past her. She wasn’t even sure whom she wanted to meet again on the other side. Still, she always took it for granted that there would be someone.

  “We’re all alone in death … and some of us after,” she sighed, feeling sorry for herself. As the crowd departed and the office door closed, Charlotte looked up and saw someone she hadn’t noticed before, another girl sitting across the room looking at her.

  The girl was definitely put together from head to toe. Her dark frizzy mane pulled up high, with not a strand out of place, accented her sharp features and full lips. Her long geometric-print frock was studiously worn and faded to make it look like she didn’t care, but Charlotte knew better. There was nothing casual at all about the outfit, or the girl, at first or even second glance. She seemed to be all business, except for the flirty smile she flashed in Charlotte’s direction.

  “Hey,” the girl called out enthusiastically, before Charlotte could actually get out the words to ask what she was doing there. “I’m Matilda. You can call me Maddy.”

  “Nice to meet you … Maddy,” Charlotte said, both appreciative and a touch disconcerted by Maddy’s warmth. They were total strangers after all.

  “I guess we’re roomies,” Maddy chirped cheerfully.

  “Oh, ah, I’m not sure … I’ve got to talk to Pam and Prue before …”

  “I just assumed …” Maddy’s voice trailed off. “Since we were the only ones left …”

  Charlotte knew that look on her face. How it felt to reach out and be, well, rejected.

  “Did any of your ‘friends’ offer to take you along to meet their loved ones?”

  “No … but …” Charlotte started in an attempt to make excuses for her friends, but stopped herself. It was obvious she was, at least for the moment, forgotten. “You know, we’re all here because of me,” Charlotte said, unable to resist the urge to puff herself up in front of a new girl. “All except for you, I mean.”

  “That’s really impressive,” Maddy said offhandedly. “How soon they forget, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte said quietly.

  “Not much point in sticking around here, then. Want to go home?”

  Charlotte balked for a minute, still a little dazed and slightly demoralized by it all, but then came around.

  “Sounds tempting. Let’s go.”

  Maddy smiled back invitingly as they left the office and started across the courtyard toward the enormous, circular, sky-scraping apartment tower that would serve as their dorm for, well, however long they were stuck there.

  “This is… home?” Charlotte asked Maddy unconvincingly as she eyed the building.

  It was impressive in height but impersonal, just like the phone bank. Part obelisk, part Space Needle, perfectly suited to the strange military-type compound. Timeless and Spartan. She and Maddy walked in, stopped at the front desk, and said hello to the doorman. He looked back at them impassively, handed them keys to an apartment on the seventeenth floor, and pointed them in the direction of the elevators. Small talk, apparently, was not part of his job description.

  “Seventeen?” Charlotte muttered aloud. “That’s random.”

  “You better get used to it.” Maddy shrugged matter-of-factly as they walked.

  There was a crowd at the elevator, so Charlotte stopped talking. They pressed “up” and waited along with a bunch of unruly kids and a really sweet young couple — high school sweethearts, maybe — for the elevator to descend. The bell sounded, doors opened, and they all got on. The elevator started “up,” slowly.

  “Why should I get used to it?”

  “Think about it,” Maddy said. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen,” Charlotte answered, still a little oblivious.

  “Me too. We’re seventeen and … always will be.”

  Just as it began to sink in for Charlotte, the elevator stopped at the sixth floor and a few of the kids got off. Then at the seventh and eighth, a few more exited at each level. Her heart sank as the elevator rose.

  Charlotte tried to see a positive side, but couldn’t. She always looked forward to getting older as the payoff for a childhood of insecurity and loneliness. Now, there was nowhere for her future self to live, no need for a future self to exist at all, in fact, even in her mind. And that girl, that future incarnation of herself, more than anyone else, was the hardest person to say goodbye to. Charlotte watched the last of the children exit on the twelfth floor, and felt a little less sorry for herself. But only a little.

  The elevator doors opened to a circular hallway carpeted with a musty gray indoor/outdoor carpet. Charlotte imagined the smell of mildew, and even though she was dead, the thought of it made her itch a little. The girls made their way to their room and Maddy slowly opened the door and flicked on the light.

  “What is this?” Charlotte snorted, surveying the dank accommodations.

  The room was bare, industrial looking, and “issued” with cement floors and large windows, unfurnished except for a table, two folding chairs, and two beds, if you could call them that. They were bunks, actually, stainless steel bunks that were built into the wall. The plush bedding, stained-glass windows, and carved bedposts of Hawthorne Manor were just a fond memory now.

  “As if anyone would ever want to steal these,” Charlotte said, tugging on the immobile bunk frames with all her might. Touching them made the circumstances much more real to her, and much more unpleasant.

  “I don’t know,” Maddy said, a hint of optimism in her voice. “I kind of like it here. It’s … cool.”

  “It’s cool, all right. Like ice.”

  “Hey, at least we’ve got each other, right?” Maddy said, trying to get Charlotte to smile.

  Charlotte could come to only one conclusion: whatever this was, it was not a stairway to heaven.

  Chapter

  2

  Pushing in the Pin

  A true friend stabs you in the front.

  —Oscar Wilde

  How can you ever know who your friends are?

  A true friend is someone who is always there for you, with no agenda other than the friendship itself. We rely on our friends to lift us up in bad times, to keep us grounded in good times, but most importantly, to be there for us when we need nothing at all. Charlotte wasn’t sure who her friends were anymore, but she was sure that she needed them.

  Another day, another dolor. Charlotte spent the evening staring out the window and then hit the sack after another uneventful day. She was quiet, making sure not to wake Maddy, who she thought had crashed after having had, yet again, a busy day at work. After a few minutes of silence, however, Maddy spoke up.

  “Maybe this is none of my business, Charlotte, but … no, forget it.”

  “No, please go ahead, Maddy. We’re friends. You can ask me anything.”

  “Do you think some of the girls at work, especially Prue and Pam, I mean, take you for granted sometimes?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The curiosity in Charlotte’s voice suggested Maddy might have hit a nerve. Charlotte was used to being talked to condescendingly and had pretty much let it roll off her back to the point where she didn’t much notice it.

  “I don’t know, it just seems like they all owe you a lot, that’s all,” Maddy continued. “But you’d never
know it from the way they treat you. Maybe it’s just me… .”

  “They’re my friends,” Charlotte replied defensively, sticking up for them. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

  “Close friends?” Maddy asked, her voice becoming a little raspy. “Really? You could have fooled me.”

  Charlotte was silent.

  “I’m going to sleep. Good night, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte didn’t really hear her. She was too busy trying to cope with the feelings of insecurity Maddy had just uncorked.

  As Maddy rested, Charlotte floated down from her top bunk and took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs next to the large window. She could see the housing developments below and the fence, but everything outside the fence was at a sharp downward angle, descending from the campus, as if they were living at the top of a steeple. It would have been nice to get some fresh air, but not even a supernatural being could pry those windows open.

  She started to question herself, focusing on her flaws, magnifying them, like pimples in an unforgiving cosmetics mirror. Wasn’t she supposed to be past all this stuff ? Transformed somehow from the geeky loser she had been to the wise and wonderful spirit she had become. Just now, she wasn’t feeling very … evolved. She looked over at Maddy and was unnerved by her wide-eyed expression.

  “Mind closing your eyes? I don’t really want to deal with the whole ‘vacant stare’ thing right now.”

  “Per your request,” Maddy said sleepily as she took her fingers and manually closed her eyes.

  Maddy was definitely different from the other girls, but at least she was there. To Charlotte, that meant a lot. Everyone else was too busy working or being reunited or whatever. She closed her own eyes and fell asleep.

  The morning sun had broken through the gloom for the first time since she’d been there, and Charlotte took it as a positive sign.

  “C’mon, Maddy,” Charlotte hollered down the hallway with some frustration. “We’re going to be late.”

  She’d been standing there holding her finger on the elevator button for who knows how long, and she could just imagine the choice words the tenants on the floors above and below were having for her right now. In fact, she didn’t need to imagine as the unkind phrases began floating up through the shaft and into the car.

  “Not exactly the best way to make friends,” she said aloud.

  She began to think about all the morning rituals she remembered from her Life. No matter how eager she ever was to leave her home, whichever one she’d been placed in that year, waking up was always such a chore, she recalled. At least one upside of death was that all the inconveniences demanded by good hygiene could be sidestepped forever.

  There was no more wiping sleep out of her eyes, washing her face, brushing her teeth, weighing in on a foot scale that was always five pounds off — at least that is how she preferred to see it. No more agonizing over what outfit or hairstyle to wear. No more fearing the bathroom mirror or the full length, for that matter; no more obsessing over how to cover that day’s blackhead with pancake makeup, which only drew more attention to it anyway, and then remembering to strategically place her hands over it when she talked to someone up close. Clear the face, clear the air. In fact, Charlotte thought, reaching with her free hand for her face and rubbing her permanently smooth, pale complexion, death was a terrific cleanser. Too bad you couldn’t bottle it.

  Charlotte poked her head out of the elevator and started to yell down once more when she saw Maddy pop through the apartment door cheerily.

  “Nice to see you again,” Charlotte said sarcastically, releasing the door button just as Maddy stepped through the portal.

  “What’s the rush? What are they gonna do, fire us?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is the point?” Maddy asked, her tone of voice cooling in a way Charlotte hadn’t experienced before. “It’s not like your phone is ringing off the hook.”

  Now there was an observation Charlotte could have done without. It was pretty irritating not getting any calls, but so far, all the interns had at least had the decorum not to rub it in her face.

  As the girls arrived at the phone bank, sounds of displeasure filled the air.

  “Usher!” Mr. Markov shouted. “You’re late!”

  “Busted,” Maddy giggled, ducking behind Charlotte and crawling over to her desk, out of the office manager’s sight.

  Charlotte looked behind her for some support but Maddy was long gone. Pam, Prue, and the others picked their heads up from their calls momentarily and looked over at her, shaking their heads. Charlotte slowly made her way to Markov’s office and prepared for the very public blamestorm she knew was coming.

  “Aren’t we all late here,” Charlotte joked, trying her best to redirect the abuse.

  “This is getting to be a habit,” Markov chided, not at all amused. “One you need to break right now.”

  “We were just, ah …”

  “People are counting on you, Usher.” Markov interrupted loudly. “You are letting them down.”

  Charlotte wasn’t sure exactly who it was she might be letting down, her co-workers or her callers, since neither seemed to be paying much attention to her. Markov was definitely paying attention, however, and he was serious as a heart attack. Judging by his expression, he looked like he might be about to have one. The best move, she decided, was just to go along and not ask too many questions.

  “Yes, sir,” she responded in an almost clipped, military cadence. The only thing missing was the salute.

  Markov stared her down and decided she was sincere.

  “Don’t let it happen again,” he said sternly.

  Charlotte shrunk away from him and backed down the corridor, inadvertently smacking into Pam’s desk just as she was ending a call.

  “What’s up with you?” Pam asked, surprised at Charlotte’s uncharacteristic nonchalance. “I think that new girl is rubbing off on you.”

  “Her name is Matilda Miner,” Charlotte said peevishly. “And at least she’s close enough to rub.”

  “What do you mean ‘close enough’? I’m your best friend over here.”

  “What did you do last night?” Charlotte asked, seemingly out of the blue.

  “Ah, nothing much,” Pam paused, giving it some thought. “Mr. Paroda came over to give me my piccolo lesson and Prue, Abigail, and Rita happened to stop by. It turned into a little recital.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Charlotte said dismissively. “Sorry I missed it.”

  “Charlotte, c’mon. It’s not like that. I know you’re frustrated about not getting calls and all the reunions, but that’s not our fault.”

  “You know what I did last night? I stared up at the ceiling from my bunk.”

  Charlotte swiveled her head around and stared at all the interns eavesdropping on her bitch session with Pam. As she did, each of them lowered their eyes and pretended to be working. All except for Maddy.

  “Not that you really care,” Charlotte moaned to Pam and walked over to her desk. “Any of you.”

  Chapter

  3

  Bad Connection

  Fantasy love is much better than reality love.

  —Andy Warhol

  The idea of someone can often be much more attractive than the reality of that person.

  That’s why long-distance relationships work. Your idealized romance remains untainted by bad breath, bad habits, and embarrassing parents. Your so-called soul mate is always the person you’d wanted and wished for. The major drawback is, your soul mate is never around. Trouble really starts when the long-distance relationship you are having happens to be with your own feelings.

  At Hawthorne High, Charlotte’s best living friend, Scarlet, could barely keep her eyes open during last period history. After fidgeting with her vintage specs, she started pulling out wayward threads from her self-silkscreened Lick the Star tee while the marching band rehearsed a horrible rendition of Nick Cave’s Do You Love Me? She ga
ve them points for desperately trying to make the trombone sound like his vocals, but after a while, it all started to give her a headache.

  Mr. Coppola, her well-groomed, single, forty-something teacher, who still lived with his widowed mother, was reliving yet again the most interesting experience in his life: his appearance as a teenager on Let’s Make a Deal.

  “Okay, people. Since you’ve all aced your pop quizzes yesterday, let’s just sit back and relish our successes, shall we?” Mr. Coppola said.

  He motioned for the door to be opened as if he were going to unleash some sort of “Oprah’s Favorite Things” giveaway. Everyone let out a moan of recognition. They all knew what came next.

  “What’s behind door number one?” he exclaimed as Sam Wolfe, practically on cue, wheeled in a rickety steel A/V cart with a dusty old TV on it. It’s as if they’d rehearsed it, and knowing Mr. Coppola as Scarlet did, this was not an unreasonable assumption. Still, she was always happy to see Sam.

  “Do we have to watch Howie Mandel again?” a boy in the back shouted.

  Mr. Coppola spun around as tightly as a professional ice skater and ran up to the boy.

  “Howie Mandel?” he raged in disbelief. “It’s Monty Hall! There’s no comparison. Monty Hall is a legend — the gold standard of game show deal making.”

  Mr. Coppola’s face had turned apple red by now, his eyes bulging and a faint lisp detectable through his tirade. He was tightly wound, Mr. Coppola was, and seeing who could raise his blood pressure to the boiling point had become a sport for every class since he’d come to Hawthorne. The most direct route was a full-frontal onslaught of Monty Hall.

  “Now be quiet, and try to learn something,” he ordered, signaling Sam to begin.

  The static-y third generation videotape rolled, and Mr. Coppola watched intently, waiting to see himself. Everyone sat there in the dark, watching the screen and waiting for Mr. Coppola to shout, “There I am!” And right on schedule, at seven minutes in, a young, mustachioed Mr. Coppola — dressed in a Xanadu T-shirt, tight running shorts, knee-high tube socks, and Adidas sneakers — appeared, for exactly two seconds, right behind Monty Hall, who was, as always, making a deal with some rube who couldn’t decide between a Cadillac and a donkey.