Sherry Ficklin - Losing Logan

Reluctantly he leans forward and sticks out his tongue, making a licking sound like a dog.

“Anything?” I ask hopefully.

“Maybe just a little? But I might just be smelling it through my mouth.”

“Huh.”

I stare at the fork for a second, debating whether to eat it or put it back in the box. I mean, he didn’t get his germs on it or anything, did he? Do ghosts even have germs? Ghost cooties?

He’s watching me with an amused expression. I shrug and take the bite, stuffing the empty fork back in the carton. He grins, obviously pleased.

“So, really, who wanted you dead?” I ask. “I mean, besides me. Who did you tick off recently?”

He flops down on my bed, folding his hands across his stomach and staring at the ceiling.

“I have no idea. But I think I have an idea how we can find out.”

I lean to the side, propping my chin up with my fist. “Enlighten me.”

“You need to talk to my friends,” he says as if it’s the most obvious, simple thing in the world.

“You mean that bunch of people that I’ve never spoken to in my life? Those friends.”

He rolls his head to the side, looking at me. “Yeah. Why not?”

I’m totally caught off guard by the suggestion. It’s like asking a fish to talk to a bird.

“Sure, I’ll just walk up to Kaylee’s door and say, Hey I know this is a little weird, but your boyfriend is kind of haunting me and he wants to know what you guys did right before he died, because he thinks someone killed him . She would have me arrested. Or committed. Or both.”

“She’d just pepper spray you.”

“Also something I’d like to avoid.”

He looks away again. “No. School starts in a few days. We need to figure out a way to get you into the inner circle, make you part of the group.”

I feel my eyes go buggy. “Oh hell no. Hell. No.”

“You already said you’d help.”

I sigh, leaning back. “I didn’t say I’d let you throw me to the lions.”

“They aren’t that bad.”

I stare at him. He’s obviously in some kind of death induced denial. One bad word from Kaylee alone could blackball me from any event or club for the rest of the year. Granted, student council isn’t glamorous, but I need it on my college applications. Plus there was always the very real possibility she might scratch my eyes out. I’ve seen her do worse.

“We will start with Bruno.”

I sigh. I’m not winning this argument, I can just tell. This is my life now, being bullied and stalked by a dead guy. Lucky me.

“Why him?”

“He asked me for your number at the end of last year. I think he’s got a little thing for you.”

My mouth hangs open. I couldn’t have been more surprised if he started belching puppies.

“He never called me.”

Logan waves me off with a flick of his hand. “He’s shy. Probably couldn’t get up the nerve.”

Bruno is a good looking guy, I have to admit. He’s one of those muscular dudes with a dark tan and dimples. Somehow boyishly cute and brutally handsome in the same breath, and of all Logan’s friends, he is also the only one who has ever looked me right in the eye instead of looking right through me. It was in Pre-calculus last year. He asked me for some notes he missed. He smiled when he handed them back to me. And I never thought anything of it. Until now, that is. Now it feels like a flashing neon sign I’d somehow overlooked.

“What are you thinking?” Logan asks, shaking me from the not so unpleasant memory. I shake my head. No way. Bruno was probably just looking for a summer tutor.

“I’m thinking there is no way that your pack of lemmings will accept me as one of them. Not in a million years.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re smart, funny in a sour way, and even kinda pretty. You just need…”

I’m trying to read the expression on his face.

“A flea bath?” I finish, judging by the wrinkled up nose and narrowed eyes he’s giving me, I assume those are his next words.

“I was going to say an image adjustment.”

His words sting more than I let him see. “Oh really?”

“Yep. Some new clothes, a little sunshine or makeup or something so you don’t look so pale. A hair cut. You know, a makeover. Don’t girls love makeovers?”

I leap out on my chair and squeal, kneeling beside the bed. “Yeah, in cheesy 80’s movies. And are you going to be my fairy godmother and make me a dress for the ball, too?”

“Wrong movie.”

I rock back on my heels and put my hands on my hips. “Wait, is this the movie where I go to prom only to have a bucket of pigs blood poured on me?”

He rolls to his side and props himself up on one elbow. “Wrong again. This is the movie where you ask your best friend to help you polish yourself up so you can earn yourself a place in the herd and figure out who killed me.”

“So My Fair Lady, Ghost Hunters edition. How does it end?”

“With at least one of us dead.”

I put a finger to my lips and shhh him. “Spoiler.”

I lay awake in my bed long after I’ve sent Logan on his merry way. Staring at the ceiling, wondering what left turn I’ve taken to land myself in this particular pot of crazy. When I finally fall into a restless sleep, I dream of Logan when he was alive. We were in the hall at school, crowds of people buzzing around us like wasps, glaring. But we just stand there, our eyes glued on one another across the room. A person in a black hoodie walks up behind him, raises a massive knife and starts slashing him in the back. I scream but no sound comes out. Logan doesn’t flinch, even as the blood sprays the lockers behind him. Then the people around us stop, turn away from me, and watch in frozen silence as Logan crumples to the ground in a bloody heap. I scream again but I can’t move. When the faces turn back to me, they are all covered in blood.

I jolt awake, nearly flinging myself out of bed. Three times last night the dream had been the same. And each time I woke as I was now, sweaty and flushed, my heart pounding like drums in my chest. I slam my hand down on the wailing alarm clock, but even once it’s dead the sound vibrates inside my skull. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut and wondering if this is what a hangover feels like.

“Good morning sleepy head.”

I let out a startled noise and trip backward, landing on my butt.

“For shit’s sake, don’t do that.” I say finally as Logan stands over me chuckling.

He holds out his hand like he’s going to help me up. I raise an eyebrow at the gesture.

“Really?”

He shrugs and drops his hand, walking away.

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

I struggle to my feet and he drops into my sitting chair. “So, were you dreaming about me? You kept saying my name in your sleep.”

“How long have you been here?” I accuse, narrowing my eyes.

He waves me off. “A while. I got bored. Nowhere else to go.”

I turn my back to him, sliding open my closet. “Stalker.”

“You know, you should be flattered. I mean I could be stalking anybody right now. Cool people.”

I yawn and pull a pair of dark jeans and my soft grey Henley off of their hangers.

“Yes. Lucky me. And to think, you’re passing up the opportunity to literally be a fly on the wall at the playboy mansion right now just to hang out here and irritate me into an early grave.”

A knock at my door makes me jump. Mom peeks her head in, looking around.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” She widens the door a little, checking behind it. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

I sigh, “No mom, just…practicing my lines. Carlos is making me try out for Gone with the Wind with him this year.”