The Year of Shadows by [email protected]

Author:[email protected]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-08-06T16:00:00+00:00

I

T WASN’T UNTIL THREE GHOSTS IN—PEARL Branson, Sue Han (heart attack), Reggie

25

Black (tuberculosis)—that things started to fall apart. Right before Thanksgiving week, we were supposed to turn in these essays to Mrs. Farrity. An expository essay, to help prepare us for the end-of-theyear tests everyone in the state had to take.

I’d completely forgotten about mine.

When Mrs. Farrity stood by my desk, the other kids’ essays stacked neatly in her hands, I just stared at her. Every time I blinked, my eyelids scratched together like sandpaper. It had been a long couple of weeks. I was amazed I wasn’t puking my guts out in the restroom, much less at school or even awake. How in the world were we supposed to get through forty-eight more ghosts? That’s all I could think about. Had we taken on too much? Were Henry and I insane for trying this?

And our ghosts—would they ever come back? Not only was I exhausted from sharing with the ghosts, but I’d also stayed up late every night after Nonnie fell asleep, the old séance materials surrounding me and Igor in my lap. I whispered to my ghosts, asking them to come back. Begging them to come back.

So far, they hadn’t listened. I blinked up at Mrs. Farrity, my brain whirling with everything in the world but my essay.

Mrs. Farrity drew her lips tight. “See me after class, Olivia.”

When the bell rang, I trudged up to her desk, trailing my hand along the top of each chair I passed. I hoped it looked casual. Really, I was just trying to stay upright.

“Forget something, Stellatella?” Mark Everett whispered as he shoved past. “Or did you just spend all your time drawing instead? Idiot.”

One thing exhaustion does to you is dull your control center. Like, the part of your brain that tells you you should or shouldn’t do something.

That’s why I punched Mark Everett.

Or tried to, anyway.

At the last second, right before my fist connected with that stupid face of his, Joan grabbed my arm and pulled me back. I teetered back on my heels and almost fell over.

Mark ran out the door, laughing.

I yanked my arm back. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because he’s not worth it,” Joan said calmly, shaking back her hair. “He’s a lesser being. And you’re welcome.”

Then she left, and it was just me and Mrs. Farrity. Who stared at me like she was trying to dissect me with her brain.

“I’m worried about you, Olivia.” If her lips got any thinner, they would have sucked her face inside out. “You’ve always been somewhat distractible, but you usually at least do the assignments.”

I nodded. Coming up with words was so hard when all I wanted to do was keel over. Or hunt down Mark Everett and sic some ghosts on him. “Yeah. I know. I’ve just been . . . busy.”

Mrs. Farrity eyed my gloves. “You’ve started wearing gloves a lot. Why is that?”

“I like them. They keep germs away.”

Then she eyed my arm, the one with the burn. “And you’re always wearing jackets these days.

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