Cara Shultz: The Dark World

“Why the library?” I asked as we slowly made our way through the empty hallway to the staircase. “Do you read the books people leave out or...?”

I trailed off as dread colored Dottie’s face, and she shook her head rapidly, as if she were trying to shake off whatever mental image had rattled her.

“The library—it isn’t that bad over there,” she stammered, looking at the black steps as we slowly thudded down the stairs, her footsteps a faint echo of mine. She was quiet for a bit, and her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. “It’s not really scary in the library—just quiet. When I end up getting sucked back into the dark world tonight, I’d rather be in the library.”

“I wish you could stay on my side tonight,” I said, my heart breaking a little as Dottie smiled wistfully.

“I wish I could stay here permanently,” Dottie said with a humorless laugh. She wanted nothing more than a second chance at life—and not to have impulsively decided suicide in the school bathroom was a better option than facing her domineering father and telling him his fifteen-year-old daughter was pregnant. But Dottie’s boyfriend—the all-American dreamboat, Bobby—had disappeared. She’d felt all alone. Abandoned. So Dottie had made the worst decision possible. She’d told me she’d regretted it after slicing into her second wrist, but of course by then it was too late. She’d ended her short, promising life before it had even begun.

Dottie stared down at her wrists, her shoulders slumping. I couldn’t even give her a hug. I felt the tears begin to prick my eyes as we rounded the corner into the library—just in time for me to smack directly into Logan Bradley.

“SORRY ABOUT THAT,” I mumbled, wiping the few tears that leaked out on the heel of my hand. Pepper seeing me talk to myself was one thing—I felt a smug satisfaction in her freaking out over it—but getting caught all weepy by the one person who had been halfway decent to me? Embarrassing didn’t even cover it—even if he was just using me for my school supplies. I might have to invent a new word to accurately capture the humiliation. I stared down at Logan’s scuffed black Converse, unwilling to meet his eyes with my probably bloodshot ones. How he got away without wearing the uniform-mandated brown shoes, I had no idea.

“It’s cool— Hey, are you okay?” Logan asked softly. I reluctantly looked up into his warm, light brown eyes, shaded under the brim of his navy Yankees cap—another uniform infraction that went unpunished.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I insisted, doing my best to smile brightly.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because you’re kind of crying right now.”

“Flirt, Paige! Bat your eyelashes at him. Your eyes don’t look that puffy, and your nose isn’t too red.” Dottie barked more not-so-helpful flirting tips, and the corner of Logan’s mouth curled into an amused smile, his shoulders rising in silent laughter. I felt like strangling my dead friend—until I remembered that Logan couldn’t hear Dottie.

Which meant he was laughing at me. Logan. The one person who had seemed halfway decent.

“Don’t worry about it,” I snapped, angrily dashing the backs of my hands across my cheeks. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now that I’m the resident crazy girl. Crying in the hallway’s just another sideshow performance by Bellevue Kelly.”

Logan’s smile promptly vanished. He took a step back, his eyebrows pulling together as a dark look briefly crossed his face. He folded his arms and stared at me.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. And that’s the dumbest nickname I’ve ever heard,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“Then why are you laughing at me?” I countered, narrowing my eyes.

“I’m not laughing at you.” Logan’s eyes flickered from mine to stare down the hallway behind me.

“Miller’s coming. That’s who I was laughing at,” he added, giving me a pointed look. “He’s got his toupee on crooked.”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly. I toyed with my bracelet, embarrassed by how quickly I had rushed to judge him. What do you know, Logan Bradley’s an endangered species: a legitimately nice human being.

“I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling with that rug,” I muttered.

“An actual rug would look more realistic,” Logan said seriously. “It’s like he skinned a teddy bear and glued it on his head.”

I gaped at him—who knew Logan had jokes?—before bursting into laughter.

“What? It’s really bad,” he said, and I just nodded in agreement.

“He looks like he’s in a bad mood,” Logan said, tilting his head as he stared down the hall. “You should probably get out of here before he finds a reason to give you detention.”

“I like this one for you, Paige,” Dottie gushed next to me. If her eyeballs could have popped out with giant cartoon hearts, they would have. “Now get out of here before you embarrass yourself. We’ll talk boy strategy tomorrow. I already have some ideas!” Good thing she was a ghost, because Dottie was about as smooth as gravel.

I mumbled a quick goodbye before heading off to my locker, trying to avoid looking back at Logan as my perpetually boy-crazy friend remained behind, staring goofily up at him. I grabbed my coat and was walking out of the school’s thick metal front doors when I heard Miller’s unmistakable gruff voice in the hallway behind me. He had four students I’d never seen before in tow, and it looked like he was giving them a tour. There were three girls and a boy—a tall, dark-haired boy who stared after me curiously. He gave me a slow smile before turning his attention back to Miller. That smile sent chills racing down my arms, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, but not in a good way. It was less Mr. Sexypants and more Mr. Windowless Van.

The door wheezed shut behind me with a hiss of the air brake as I stepped out onto the concrete front steps of Holy Assumption, only to see Pepper and her friends clustered on the corner, Pepper smearing her carefully applied lip gloss all over Matt’s skin as they sucked face. You stay classy, Pepper.

I shoved my gloveless hands in my pockets and changed direction to avoid Pepper’s sycophants as I began the long walk home from the Upper West Side to my family’s apartment on West Forty-Fourth Street. The subway wasn’t an option for me—it was full of ghosts, and not all of them were as pleasant as Dottie.

I replayed my brief encounter with Logan in my mind as I walked. I didn’t know much about him. Logan had transferred into Holy Assumption at the beginning of junior year and was pretty quiet in class. He hung in the back, observing everyone. I tried to think of all the times I’d seen him in the halls, and I couldn’t recall ever seeing him with a group of friends—or even one friend—although I thought I’d seen Andie sidling up to him a few times. But he shouldn’t be so desperate for friends that he needed me, the social pariah, as an ally. Maybe he was merely a legitimately nice person, nonjudgmental and kind. I’d read about those mythical figures in books, although I sure as hell hadn’t met any. I’d figured they’d gone extinct with the dodo bird.

And what was up with new kid Smirky McSmileson giving me the eye?

I kicked a coffee-stained paper cup into the gutter, where it rested on top of a stubborn mound of soot-covered snow that refused to melt. I felt a little cruel dismissing Smirky as creepy—hadn’t I complained enough about being labeled with that particular epithet? But I brushed that last thought aside quickly. The new kid would hear I was a psycho soon enough, and he’d want to run from me, not flash borderline shady smiles my way.

Shrugging off all thoughts of school, I put my headphones on, cranking up some bootleg live music as I walked home. I daydreamed about the concerts I wish I could have seen until my numb fingers fumbled with the keys to the front door of the five-story apartment building I lived in with my parents. We were on the second floor, in a walk-up apartment. My mom always talked about someday moving—her dream was to be on the fortieth floor of some shiny glass high-rise with majestic views of the Hudson River—but apartment 2W worked for me. I was terrified of heights. Besides, I had a pretty sweet deal: my bedroom was at the opposite end of the apartment from my parents’ bedroom, which meant I could blast music as loudly as I wanted without bothering them. My keys had just unlocked the dead bolt when I heard my father cheerfully call my name over the loud screech of the hinges.