Cara Shultz: The Dark World

I PEELED AWAY the cheap, greenish-gray paint on the wall of the third-floor girls’ bathroom. Underneath the dull paint, the wall was a bright robin’s-egg-blue. I’d started picking at the chipping paint in September, in the beginning of junior year, with the intention of peeling it all away and returning the wall to its original cheery color. Instead, I’d just made a mess.

Story of my life.

“Paige, are you sure you won’t get in trouble for ditching class?” my best friend, Dottie, asked. She stood awkwardly in front of the muddy-brown-painted bathroom stalls—really, whoever picked the colors for this bathroom was in dire need of a hug or some therapy—and nervously pulled the sleeves of her baby-blue cardigan sweater over the heels of her hands.

“Don’t stress it, Dots. It’s fine,” I reassured her as I peeled a satisfyingly large piece of paint off the wall. I tossed it in the wastepaper basket and brushed the chips off my hands. “It’s just study hall on the last day of midterms. Tomorrow’s Friday. I could flip off Vice Principal Miller and still avoid detention.”

“Okay, then,” Dottie said, smiling. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get into trouble, but I would happily have served my sentence in detention for some girl time with my best friend. I’d been busy studying for midterms, and I knew she had been lonely. I hopped up to sit on the radiator under the painted-shut window and leaned against the glass, shivering a bit as the cold January air seeped into the back of my uniform shirt.

“So, what are you doing to celebrate no more exams?” Dottie asked in a singsong voice, rocking back and forth on her heels and clasping her hands behind her back. “Thrill me with some exciting stories.”

I snorted as I let my feet drum out a dull rhythm on the radiator’s barely warm metal coils. “My dad got free tickets to some horrible play, and he’s dragging me to it. He thinks it will make me ‘cultured.’” I added finger quotes around the word. Saturday night would be spent at an interpretative dance version of Chicken Little called Poultry in Motion . Seriously. When I explained it to Dottie I thought she would never stop laughing.

“That sounds worse than when he got free tickets to see Cinderella as...what was it again?”

“A hippie,” I reminded Dottie, chuckling as I unwrapped a Hershey’s Kiss. “And instead of a glass slipper, the prince found a giant platform shoe and instead of the ball, she went to Woodstock.”

“Why is that so funny, again?” she asked, her pale blond brows furrowed in confusion. I was halfway through an explanation when the bathroom door swung open.

“Having another one of your riveting conversations, Paige?” sneered Pepper Dennis. Oh, how I loved Pepper. The only thing I loved more than Pepper was sarcasm. Most of the students at Holy Assumption ignored me, writing me off as a weirdo and a freak. But much like her namesake, Pepper was irritating when she was in my face. Before I transferred in at the beginning of sophomore year, Pepper was at the top of the class, the student unanimously recognized as most likely to be valedictorian. But now she was number two, after yours truly. I thought number two suited her—the girl really was a little shit. And right now she was giving me a hard time. Again.

“It’s better than talking to you, Paprika,” I said, punctuating my words by popping the Hershey’s Kiss into my mouth with a flourish. Dottie giggled.

“It’s Pepper, and you know it,” she grumbled, stopping in front of the mirror to expertly apply her eyeliner. Pepper had been dating Matt, universally considered the hottest guy in our class, since the dawn of time, to hear her tell it. In reality, it was since October. You always knew when they were going out after class, because Pepper was in the bathroom, applying flavored lip gloss with the artistic precision of Michelangelo.

“Well, paprika gives me a rash, so you can understand why I’d confuse you with it,” I said matter-of-factly, giving Dottie another giggle fit. But her laughter stopped when the door swung open again, and Pepper’s best friend, Andie Ward, walked in.

When Andie saw me, a repulsed look crossed her face. The bathroom door slammed shut behind her, and Andie audibly gasped at the idea of being in a room with me. Oh, the horror.

“Pepper,” Andie whined, her hands fumbling behind her for the doorknob. “What are you doing in here with...her?” She looked at me like I’d just kicked a kitten. I rolled my eyes. I’m pretty sure I managed to roll them a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees.

“She was talking to herself when I came in here, you know,” Pepper said with a cackle, throwing her eyelash curler in her oversize, sparkly makeup bag. “She’s such a freak.”

“Psycho,” Andie mouthed before stomping out of the bathroom, slamming the bathroom door behind her for emphasis.

I shrugged. This kind of reaction was to be expected when your best friend was a ghost.

I glanced over at Dottie, and she was slightly transparent, a sad look on her face as she started to shimmer away. Whenever she got upset, her ability to stay here faltered. It was annoying talking to a see-through Dottie; that’s when I really felt crazy.

“Don’t go,” I whispered as quietly as I could to Dottie, but my hushed words echoed around the empty bathroom. Dottie gave me that tortured look again, nervously pulling on her sleeves to hide the ugly red scars on her wrists.

“What did you say to me?” Pepper sneered, taking out a tube of cherry lip gloss and pursing her lips.

“I didn’t say anything,” I snapped, and Dottie became a shade more transparent. I gave her an exasperated look as I toyed with my bracelet, spinning it on my wrist.

“You better not leave. I’m cutting class for you,” I said through gritted teeth, pointing my finger at her for emphasis. I heard Pepper exhale loudly.

“I swear, Paige, I’m going to find out how you’re cheating and getting straight A’s, and then you’re out of this school,” Pepper vowed, and I rolled my eyes again. I’m a champion eye roller. I could go Olympic level with my talent.

Suddenly, Dottie was standing in front of me, in solid form, huffing indignantly. “She thinks she can threaten you? Well, why don’t you ask Pepper about two weeks ago, when she made out with her ex-boyfriend? You know, the dreamboat senior?” Dottie asked, a devious smile playing on her baby-pink lips as she patted her blond hair.

A wicked, delighted smile spread across my face. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I have a best friend who’s a ghost and sees all. So, nyah-nyah-nyah. Suck on that spicy little number, Pepper.

“Hey, Pepperoni,” I called, trying—and failing—to keep the amusement out of my voice. “I’ll tell you how I’m getting straight A’s when you tell Matt that you hooked up with Diego.”

Pepper blanched, and she dropped the wand into the sink, leaving a thick globby line of gloss on her chin.

“What are you talking about?” Pepper shot me her most menacing glare, but her shaking voice made her seem as threatening as a baby otter in a tutu.

“You know what I’m talking about,” I replied, nearly howling with laughter as Dottie held her arms around an imaginary person, wiggling her tongue as she mimed, as she would say, a “hot ’n’ heavy make-out session.”

“There’s no way you could know about that,” Pepper swore, her eyes wide.

“So you admit there’s something to know about?” I asked, and Pepper nervously ran her fingers through her short brown hair, making the carefully arranged layers fall askew.