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  "No problem," Darcy said haughtily. "Speaking of secrets, how's Petula?"

  "Why don't you come see for yourself?" Wendy Thomas suggested, opening a major inroad to their tight-knit circle. "We're going stalking again tonight."

  "Love to join," Darcy chirped. "What should I wear?"

  Before she could get another word out, The Wendys and Darcy were distracted by loud giggles and gasps coming from a gaggle of junior girls at the other end of the lot. Given the mounting prom pressure, it could only be because of a guy. They walked over to see just what the excitement was about.

  "Who is that?" Darcy purred, nearly licking her lips.

  Scarlet, oblivious to the tumult making its way from the parking lot into the school, was listening to new songs she'd just demoed. She was extra happy today because the baby-return countdown widget she'd installed on her PDA showed just a few days left of parenthood. She caught sight of Petula walking toward her and tossed the doll at her.

  "Think fast," Scarlet said, showing at least one thing she had in common with The Wendys: a total lack of motherly instinct.

  Petula snatched it from the air and cradled it gently, shaking her head in disapproval at her sister's carelessness as they crossed paths. When she looked up and, to her surprise, saw

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  Damen heading her way with The Wendys just behind, she stepped around the corner to observe the situation unnoticed.

  Scarlet, still lost in her music, felt an unexpected tap on her shoulder and turned around angrily, ready to lace into whoever had interrupted her playback session.

  "Are you free for lunch?" Damen asked, an enormous smile breaking out across his face.

  Scarlet was nearly in shock, so much so that for a second she didn't know how to respond. What a nice surprise! Why didn't you tell me? WTF! A million things were flooding her mind at once as a crowd of onlookers coagulated around them. But only one thing managed to escape her red-glossed lips.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling out her earbuds and throwing her arms around his neck.

  "I came back for the semester," Damen said. "Happy?"

  Happy? Well, Scarlet thought, that was one way to put it. Astonished, confused, and a little wigged, might also do. Did he get kicked out? Did he lose his financial aid? She guessed she was about to find out and tried to slow the panic she was beginning to feel.

  "Of course," she said, draping herself around him again as they walked to the cafeteria. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "That didn't sound very convincing," Darcy said to The Wendys as they strolled off in the opposite direction, with Darcy taking the lead, three steps ahead of the other two girls.

  Petula, who overheard the whole thing, couldn't help agreeing. She couldn't begin to figure what was up with Scarlet's ambivalence about Damen's return, but at that second she

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  was distracted by a much more pressing personal matter: the departure of The Wendys and Darcy.

  "A flying V?" Petula noted suspiciously as she spied them leaving. "That's our formation."

  Charlotte hung back in the parking lot and watched Damen lead the throng into Hawthorne High as if it was a scene from some kind of old Hollywood cast-of-thousands epic. For some people, so little changes, she thought. The faces surrounding Damen were different, but the crowd itself was pretty much the same. Especially from a distance.

  She remembered comforting herself when she was still alive by reading magazines about how lots of the popular high school kids peaked early, their glory days already almost behind them. Damen wasn't destined to be one of them, though. With him, it wasn't the trappings of success, football uniform, athletic ability, good looks, cool car, popular friends, or pretty girlfriend that he relied on or allowed to define him. It was just him, his essence. You didn't need to know a thing about him or where he came from to feel that.

  Eric had a lot of that, as well, she thought. It was expressed differently, maybe, but the overall impression was very much the same. That's why she liked him so much, she thought as she watched Damen in action.

  Charlotte laughed as she saw Pam and Prue following The Wendys and Petula, pretending to gag themselves with their stiff index fingers as they walked behind Damen.

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  Looking more closely, though, Charlotte realized it wasn't Petula in the lead. It was some kind of perky Petula bizarro. That made sense--Petula would never follow anyone--but it was definitely odd to see The Wendys without her. They couldn't navigate their way out of a bathtub without Petula.

  Charlotte gave her curiosity a breather and decided Pam and Prue could fill her in some other time. She needed something to lift her spirit, so to speak, and the emotional hydraulic she was looking for was staring her right in the face: Dead Ed, dead ahead.

  She felt a little guilty as she headed down the hallway to the basement door, but quickly assured herself that Damen would be fine without her for a while. A short climb down and then up the stairs, back into the hallway, and she was there.

  The door was slightly ajar, and Charlotte peeked in, not wanting to disturb any lesson that might be in progress. But to her surprise, the room was quiet, dark, and nearly empty. She stepped in tentatively.

  "Is there anybody in here?" Charlotte called out.

  "Hey, you're stepping on me," a skinny, sleepy girl with big eyes and dark circles under them cried out from under Charlotte's feet.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," Charlotte winced as she looked down contritely at the groggy wraith.

  "My fault," the girl said. "I was dead tired."

  "Aren't we all," Charlotte jibed, feeling an instant camaraderie with the girl.

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  "I'm Mercury Mary," she said, perking up and offering her hand. "What brings you here?"

  Mary was a total type A personality--outgoing; opinionated; and a high-protein, low-carb sort of chick. She reminded Charlotte of Pam, the way she talked and asserted herself. Charlotte liked her immediately, but thought it best not to reveal too much information to a new student.

  "Honestly, I'm not sure," Charlotte said sincerely. "What about you?"

  "Mercury poisoning," Mary confided. "Too many trips to the sushi bar."

  "Everything in moderation," Charlotte said.

  "Good advice," a voice behind her noted timidly, "but it's a little late for that now."

  "It's a little late for all of us," Charlotte laughed, pulling out her favorite joke.

  Unfortunately, it didn't land too well in this room. She hadn't kept in mind that these ghosts were newbies, inexperienced. They hadn't crossed over. They didn't know that it would all be okay and that it was never too late. For them, it was still a tedious and uncertain waiting game, and given the amount of empty seats in the class, Charlotte knew they might be waiting a long time.

  "Are you here to save us or something?" the girl behind Charlotte asked, a tremble in her voice.

  "You're safe here," Charlotte assured her, reaching for her outstretched and shaking hands and holding them tightly. "You're shaking," Charlotte said, trying her best to calm her.

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  "That's pretty much how she got here," Mercury Mary volunteered.

  "I was startled to death by my best friend," the girl explained. "It's not that rare, statistically, at least."

  "I'm Charlotte," said Charlotte in a soothing tone, "and I can promise you there's nothing to be afraid of here."

  "I'm Beth," the girl responded. "But they call me Scared to Beth."

  Charlotte kept her poker face, figuring she had no right to be judgmental, considering she'd been a victim of gummy-cide, which was so rare it had claimed only one victim, as far as she knew.

  "I'll bet she'll never guess my name," the last student in class boasted, her frazzled and discombobulated expression matching her unkempt hair and wrinkly, mismatched outfit.

  "That's Toxic Shock Sally," Mary advised. "She didn't know that a tampon had to be changed, um, regularly."

  "It's not that I didn't know,"
Sally denied, embarrassed. "I just have a problem with scheduling."

  "More like a problem with personal hygiene," Beth mocked.

  The other girls started laughing, but Charlotte could manage only an empathetic smile. She touched Sally's shoulder in solidarity. She could see that Sally was probably not cared for very much in life. No one to brush her hair at night, to help pick out her outfits for school, to teach her about her body. The truth was, Charlotte related to her, not having had a mother to teach her these things either.

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  Seeing Charlotte's reaction shut the other girls up in a hurry. She considered saying something, to reprimand Beth and Mary, but every group, no matter how small, has its own dynamic, Charlotte thought. Her Dead Ed class certainly had its own "personality," with bullies, pranksters, geeks, and freaks, and once the rest of these seats were filled, this new class would too. They would find their balance on their own without her interference.

  Sometimes, it occurred to her, the best way to help is to keep out of the way. So, she began to say her goodbyes.

  "Don't be embarrassed," Charlotte said, looking at Sally sweetly. "I choked on a gummy bear. It doesn't get any lamer than that."

  "Charlotte, what are you really doing here?" Mary asked, this time a bit more forcefully.

  "Maybe she's here to teach us," Sally conjectured.

  "Oh, no, I'm not qualified," Charlotte said. "I've still got a lot to learn."

  Damen and Scarlet were whispered about as they walked to the lunchroom, as if they were some kind of celebrity couple hitting the red carpet. Damen was not bothered, having grown accustomed to ignoring the commotion around him during his relationship with Petula. But Scarlet always hated the attention, which had only grown more fawning and intense since Homecoming.

  Phone cameras were snapping the scene and textperts were

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  sharing the news in real time with other underclassmen who'd never seen Damen in the flesh. It was surreal, even for the teachers who also got word and stuck their heads out of their busy classrooms to see for themselves. It was like looking directly at the sun.

  Damen and Scarlet took two seats in the corner of the cafeteria and sat close together. Scarlet seemed a little on edge to him, like she was spoiling for a fight. He knew the look, since he used to get it from her every time he came to pick Petula up, back in the day. Maybe Scarlet was just irritated by the admirers shuffling around the other side of the cafeteria, trying to eavesdrop on them.

  As he thought of what he could do to help her relax, he noticed she was wearing an outfit she'd bought last time he was home when they went shopping together. Damen even helped pick it out. He thought that might be a good icebreaker.

  "You look great," Damen cooed, reaching for her hand.

  Ordinarily, a compliment from him would mean the world, but right then it just reinforced everything she wasn't liking about herself.

  "Thanks," she said dismissively. "You picked it out, didn't you?"

  Despite the attitude Scarlet was giving him, she loved the outfit and the fact that he'd chosen it, which was why she was wearing it. But right then, it was feeling like a prison jumpsuit.

  "Nice shirt," she said of Damen's plaid cotton oxford, as

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  she pulled her hand from his. "On your way to Debate Club?"

  "What's your problem?" he asked, taken aback.

  "What's yours?" she asked derisively. "College boy."

  "I am a college boy," Damen reminded her, hoping to defuse some of the tension. "Are you embarrassed by me or something?"

  Scarlet had no idea what she was feeling or why she was being so impossible, but she really tried to stop herself.

  "No," she said, ashamed of herself for doling out unwarranted criticism. "Of course not."

  "You had me worried there for a minute." Damen sighed and smiled.

  He still had her worried, she thought.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked more sharply than she had in the hallway.

  "I came to ask you to prom," Damen deadpanned.

  "That's funny," Scarlet snapped, crossing her arms, tapping out seconds with her forefinger. "I'm still waiting."

  Damen was only kidding about prom, but it still hurt him a little that she was so dismissive of it.

  "You won," he said proudly.

  "Won?" she asked, totally confused. "Did you get a job with Publishers Clearing House?"

  "No," Damen chuckled, imagining himself knocking on some poor old lady's door with a camera crew and an oversize bank check. "You're a finalist in the INDY-ninety-five songwriting contest."

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  "Don't you have to actually enter something to win?" Scarlet asked, the anxiety rising in her throat.

  "Or," Damen boasted, "you can be entered."

  "Damen?" Scarlet asked accusingly, in a tone she might use with a small child who'd just broken a flower vase. "You didn't."

  "It hasn't been announced yet," Damen went on enthusiastically, choosing to ignore the disapproving scowl that was now plastered across her face. "So just keep it quiet for now, okay?"

  "Then how do you know?" Scarlet asked tersely, hoping this might be some premature April Fool's gag he was playing on her.

  "I have inside information," Damen bragged. "Now that I'm an intern at the station!"

  "Out of all the places to do an internship, you picked here? You could be anywhere doing something really cool."

  Damen was stunned that Scarlet would diminish his achievement. They both loved the station and barely could have dreamed about working there. At the very least, Damen thought, she should have been happy that he was going to be home for the semester.

  "I don't want to be anywhere, I want to be with you," Damen said. "I thought that was what you wanted too."

  Scarlet was now at a total loss for words, but her silence was speaking to Damen loud and clear. It didn't get any better when she finally piped up.

  "I am so tired of you thinking that you know what I want," she said.

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  He felt like he was intruding on her, as if she didn't want him around. It was now completely obvious to him, but he didn't understand why.

  "Scarlet, are you seeing someone else?" Damen asked.

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  Chapter 10 Nobody but You

  Gravity cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.

  --Albert Einstein

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  We all fall down.

  They call it falling for someone for a reason. Like some silent movie banana peel, love can trip you up and bring you down flat on your back when you least expect it. Either you will bounce right up, undaunted, or become paralyzed. Either way, you will carry the reminder of it forever. Whether it leaves a tiny scar or a permanent injury, only the future can tell.

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  That's it," Petula said calmly, despite the excitement of her eureka moment. "It is so obvious."

  It wasn't exactly Stephen Hawking intuiting the theory of Everything, but it was as close to an epiphany as Petula was likely to get.

  "That was hard work," CoCo exhaled, acknowledging how tough it had been to burrow into Petula's subconscious and leave a fashion mantra with her.

  Petula needed some direction, some greater purpose for her late-night escapades, and CoCo was just the right soul to provide it. Suddenly, it all made sense to her.

  "Look good," she recited, with CoCo mouthing along from a chair beside her bed, "feel good."

  Her creative juices flowing and mind racing, Petula snuck into Scarlet's bedroom and scooped up the last bit of possible giveaways piled on her floor. Petula planned to fulfill their potential and carried them back to her room, dumping them on top of her own stack. She winced slightly at the thought of her fine threads mixing with Scarlet's but felt totally able to justify it as part of her new calling.

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  Then she headed for the guest room, which was next to her mom's bedroom. It was typically spare, cheaply carpeted, an
d underfurnished, with a few old pictures, figurines, and paintings no one wanted. It was a holding cell for stuff with just enough sentimentality to keep, but not meaningful enough to display.

  Petula walked over to the closet and stood before it for a few moments before reaching for the handle. She opened the door like a coffin lid, slowly and respectfully, and took very shallow breaths through her mouth, hoping to avoid the musty odor that wafted from the enclosure. The smell of mildew passed quickly, and she began rifling through the garments hanging in front of her: a rack full of men's clothing, all but forgotten since her dad took off, leaving his wardrobe--and his family--behind.

  As Petula pulled each piece forward--overcoats, cardigans, suit jackets, pants, shirts, ties, most still in the plastic from the dry cleaner's--she realized that they hadn't been forgotten at all. She could recall in greatest detail watching him walk slowly down the stairs wearing the cardigan on weekend mornings, the suit and tie as he rushed out the door to work each day, the pajamas he slipped into each night before reading her a bedtime story, the bathrobe he wore as she watched him shave with the old-fashioned brush and soap, and the powdery smell of his aftershave that filled the bathroom right afterward. As she pressed her nose to the collar, she wasn't sure if it was the actual aroma or the memory of it that still lingered after all these years. It didn't matter, she thought; she could smell it just the same.

  When she was younger, she could remember arguing with her mother about keeping his things. Petula would accuse her mother of hanging on to the past, to bad memories that

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  would only keep her from moving on in her life. To Petula, her father's leaving was like a death--maybe even worse because it was voluntary. It was something to be gotten over and forgotten. But now, she was overjoyed and comforted that they'd kept everything. And not just kept, but preserved, like some kind of a museum exhibit of their family's past.