Chapter 17
I stand in the open doorway surveying them as I rub groggily at my eyes. I got up like fifteen minutes ago. “Don’t you ever sleep in?”
“Not when there are ghosts involved.” Theo is gripping a white pastry box. He flips the lid open without further explanation. All my favorite doughnuts from Carbs with Holes are nestled inside. I don’t know how to feel about the fact that he knew exactly which ones to select.
I take the box from his hands. “The doughnuts can stay. I’m still on the fence about the rest of you.”
I leave the front door open as I head for the kitchen.
The four of us sit around the island with coffee and put a sizable dent in the doughnut supply.
While we eat, we chat a little, mostly about the ideas that Arden and I have dreamed up for my room.
They’re thinking boho meets modern with a side of nerd, which apparently means fairy lights and cute nature-themed knickknacks, with lots of florals in bold colors, and books literally everywhere.
In my “study” (Arden’s word, not mine—though I love how antiquated it sounds), they think the vibe should be clean and classic, lots of pastels and white and black, minimalistic, with clean lines on the furniture.
Arden pops a piece of glazed doughnut in their mouth.
“She’s making me decorate around this gigantic Indiana Jones poster.
It doesn’t go with the aesthetic at all.
Nor the color scheme.” You’d think, from their tone and the look of desperation on their face, I had asked them to choose which of their pets would live.
“It’s inspirational. Hollywood is not exactly brimming with films about archivists. So he’s the next best thing,” I insist. Plus, Taylor bought that poster for me. It will be a little slice of home in my otherwise new space.
“Listen, I wouldn’t kick Indiana Jones out of bed,” Matt declares.
“Me either, Matthew,” my mom says as she sweeps into the kitchen.
Everyone goes silent.
I drop my head to the counter and pray for death. No one—least of all me—needs to be picturing my mom in bed with Harrison Ford. “Mom.”
Arden gently pats my messy bun.
“You kids be safe. I’m taking a quick trip over to Brown for some research, and I’ll be back before dinner.” Mom grabs her purse from the counter and slings it over her shoulder. “Make sure to clean up after yourselves. I’ve seen all the Ghostbusters movies. I know how messy busting ghosts gets.”
“Ghostbusters is fiction,” Theo and I say at the exact same time. Our eyes meet as we finish speaking, and from the fireworks that shoot through me, you’d think we’d both confessed our undying love.
One of Mom’s eyebrows arches. Her signature we’ll talk about this later look.
Great. Now I will have to deal with her and Arden insisting that there’s something between Theo and me.
No one says anything else until she’s gone, and then Theo’s eyebrows practically jump off his head. “You told her about the ghost?”
“She was at your talk. She already knew.” Besides, I don’t lie to my mother. And she doesn’t lie to me. That way, we never have to doubt each other. I really need that security after everything with Marjorie. “She’s not worried about it. Trust me.”
Theo shakes his head. “Another nonbeliever.”
“Where do you think I get it from?” Shifting in my seat, I face Matt. “So let’s see this spirit thingy.”
Theo narrows his eyes at me. “You’re weirdly excited about this.”
“Just remembering your promise that if you don’t find anything, you’re going to give my house a break from all the gadgets.”
“That’s a big if. Spirit boxes most reliably produce evidence of spirit activity.” Theo’s got this smart-ass expression on his face that I’d want to slap off if it didn’t make him look so cute.
I shrug at him. I did my own research on this particular equipment, and apparently it is also quite easy to fake results. I am armed and ready with facts, the world’s strongest weapons.
Matt hauls his backpack into his lap and digs around until he produces a black plastic rectangle with metal accents.
It’s about the size of a smartphone, but with a retractable antenna.
The display is three inches long and an inch wide and glows orange.
Below it are two rows of buttons. The bottom half is a speaker, and there’s a strap so he can hang it around his neck.
“I’m so excited to take this bad boy for a whirl,” he says. “I splurged on one of the high-end models.” He brandishes it toward Arden and me, like we would be able to tell its quality.
“It looks like a phone out of an eighties movie,” Arden quips.
Matt frowns. “This is a Spirit Speaker 4.0. It can scan more frequencies simultaneously than any other professional device or bootleg.” He loops the device over his head, then gathers his empty plate and stands. “If there are ghosts here, we’re gonna hear them tonight.”
Arden and I stand too, but before I can grab it, Theo picks up my plate and stacks it on his. “I got it,” he says. The softness in his voice goes right to my knees.
Arden watches him head across the kitchen. “Yep, you’re right, nothing at all going on there,” they whisper. Their mouth is fighting so hard against a smile it’s practically dancing.
“There isn’t,” I hiss. “He’s just nice.”
“Amity, I’m still carrying my dish and he took me to prom.”
The observation is another chisel to my already weak knees. As far as I know, no one has ever had feelings for me before, so I have no idea how to identify that.
Or what the hell to do. Again, where are the damned life manuals when you need them? Other people have survived this before; why aren’t they trying to help the rest of us?
I pivot toward the den. “Anyone need a sweater?” It may be eighty degrees out, but this house is never hot.
Arden cackles.
“Hey! It gets really chilly up there.” Even though heat, not cold, is supposed to rise.
I dig around in my suitcases for the open-front cardigan I finished this spring for myself, and the blue-and-white-striped one I made for Mom, since Arden shares her small, thin build.
Their eyes go wide as soon as I toss it to them. Shrugging into my sweater, I pretend not to notice. “You made this.” A statement, not a question.
“I did.” I’m still not looking at them.
“You said you didn’t make clothes.”
I straighten the sweater over my wide-leg jeans and sleeveless top.
“I said I didn’t make a lot of them. That”—I wave at the sweater they’ve put on—“took me almost four months. My dolls take me a week at most.” Instant gratification is key to fighting perfectionism.
If something takes too long to make, it opens up too much opportunity for self-critique.
I don’t even want to talk about how many sweaters got pulled apart before I finally finished these two.
“I don’t graduate from RC for another two years. We’ve got time,” they insist.
I sigh dramatically. “Help me make my space awesome, and then we’ll talk.”
Arden does a goofy little celebration dance, like they knew they could wear me down.
But honestly, there was nothing to wear away.
Arden…and Theo…keep asking me to hang out.
They keep wanting to see the crafty things I make.
They want me to help them, and they want to help me.
I’ve been clutching who I am so tightly to myself out of fear that it couldn’t be like this.
That I could breathe. Just be me. And that would be okay.
Theo and Matt join us in the den a second later. “We cleaned off the dishes and put them in the sink, and the rest of the doughnuts are in the fridge,” Theo reports.
“Careful, my mother is going to want to adopt you if you keep that up,” I joke.
Matt’s eyes pop wide and a huge grin conquers his freckled face. “Oh man,” he says to Theo. “That’s the last thing you wan—”
Theo cuts him off by kicking him in the shin. The tips of his ears are flushed again, and the same bright color has leaked into his cheeks.
Arden shoots me a look like they’ve just solved an impossible math equation.
Giving my head a warning shake, I slap a flashlight in their hands and push them toward the stairs. Theo does the same to Matt.
Which means we end up venturing to the second floor side by side.
He bumps me lightly with his shoulder, a smile on his face.
My body explodes at the contact, and I stumble. Theo has to catch me by the elbow to keep me from tumbling backward.
I set my palm over his knuckles to get my balance. That feel of his warm skin on mine is starting to become a bit of a problem for me.
I like it too much.
I peer into his face, then shake my head. “Why—”
“Oh shit! You guys gotta hear this.” Matt appears at the top of the stairs. He’s holding the flashlight below his chin like he’s telling a ghost story at summer camp. Around his neck, the display on his spirit box is lit up with numbers.
He clutches Theo’s other arm and drags us both the rest of the way upstairs.
Theo loses his grip on me as we reach the landing. I feel the absence in every inch of my body.
But then he searches for me over his shoulder. When he spots me, he reaches out his hand.
Like an absolute fool, I take it.
Every time Matt steps near the threshold for the big bedroom, static and noise burst out of his spirit box.
This is the fourth time he’s paced by the door to the same effect.
The numbers on the device’s display cycle quickly through a bunch of different frequencies.
107.8
76.3
97.6
With each change, a new sound erupts from the speaker. Sometimes it’s white noise, sometimes voices, sometimes music. Almost like someone is scrolling through random radio stations.
I want to point this out, but my brain is incapable of processing anything but the fact that it has been five minutes and Theo is still holding my hand.
And not just like, gripping my fingers. Real, serious hand-holding.
His fingers slotted securely between mine so that our arms are wrapped together and I’m standing closer to him than I ever have before.
And he’s talking to Matt and Arden like this is the most normal thing in the world.