TWENTY-TWO
The whirring buzz of a drone flying over our heads casts a shadow on the sand.
Myah sits up on her towel, snatching off her sunglasses. “Boy, if you drop that thing on us, I’mma break your other leg!”
Robby, covered in sunblock like a frosted cake, fumbles with his controller, flying the drone away from our spot at the beach. He limps closer to the water, wearing a large bucket hat, his cast wrapped up tight in layers of plastic bags and duct tape.
I grab my camera with my brand-new lens, paid for by the city of Savannah, and snap a shot of him. The doctor says he’ll be able to get his cast off by the end of the month. So he’ll be starting a new school on crutches, but Robby doesn’t mind.
“Everyone’s gonna ask me what happened, and I get to tell them! I’m gonna be famous!”
Behind us, our parents snicker in matching beach chairs with a speaker between them, playing house music. Dad hasn’t been to the beach in a few years. The sun looks good on him. Even Lena looks relaxed, letting Robby hobble around the shore with his new toy.
The drone zooms back overhead. Myah groans and rolls over on the towel.
“Let’s get in the water before I kill that boy.”
The sea feels like a warm bath as my toes grip the rocky sand.
School is starting next week, which is nuts.
In Harlem, we don’t start until after Labor Day.
In the South, kids start school in the middle of the summer.
I guess it’ll be like that a lot. Me comparing everything to Harlem.
Myah’s been introducing me to some more of her friends, so seventh grade won’t be so weird on the first day.
Dad had Mr. Horton print and frame my photos, with plans to hang them up in our new home.
During the day, when he’s not dead tired, Dad follows me around while I take pictures of the city.
Savannah really is a pretty place. I’ll probably never get tired of it.
While we’re still waiting for our stuff in storage to arrive from New York, Aunt Peggy did ship Grandma’s albums. I was able to show Lena and Robby all our family photos, including the ones Mom took.
Speaking of photos, it sucked that I had to turn down the program at the Studio Museum.
But Lena has connections with the photography department at SCAD, which will be starting a young photographers program next year.
They’ll even have a gallery showing, so everyone will be able to see my “ghost” photo.
“Did you see Asher on the news this morning?” I ask Myah.
Myah waves her arms through the waves. “Yeah. I kinda feel bad for him.”
“Girl. For HIM?”
She laughs. “I don’t mean feel bad like that. The guy definitely was a scam artist. I feel bad ’cause Britney went crazy and ruined any chance he had of being famous.”
According to the police, thanks to my recording, the case against Britney was pretty rock-solid since she admitted to everything. She pled guilty right away. Not to mention, while we were all in the house that night, Asher had gone to the police. He couldn’t carry the guilt any longer.
Jabari, his mother, and brother went back to North Carolina. He and Robby play online almost every day. He doesn’t talk about the days he spent in that house, and honestly I don’t blame him.
With all the commotion we made, the city put a pause on the demolition of the Myers House. Or whoever’s house it was since that Myers story was all crap. The city doesn’t know what they’re going to do with the house yet, but until then, ghost hunters have been circling.
“And you saw Rebecca Hutton’s parents on the news?” Myah asks.
I sigh. “When do we not see her on the news?”
There’s still been no sign of Rebecca Hutton. She’s either run away or she’s become another ghost in a city of ghosts. Only time and some good ghost hunters will tell.
Myah glances over at Robby, making sure he can’t hear us. “So. What are we going to say about the house?”
“What do you mean?”
She gives me a look. “Girl. Come on. You know you saw that piece move.”
I remember the Ouija board piece worming its way to the word NO. But I don’t shiver or feel afraid. ’Cause I know whoever was there was trying to help us.
I smile. “Yeah. I did.”
She smiles back and splashes some water my way.
I won’t be going on a ghost tour anytime soon. I think I got the answers I’ve been searching for.
Maybe Grandma really is a ghost or maybe she’s already gone on to the great beyond. Maybe she didn’t feel the need to stay ’cause she doesn’t have any unfinished business. She knows that me and Dad will be okay, ’cause we got each other. ’Cause we trust our guts.
But if I do ever find myself in another city and get the itch, I think I know how I’m gonna introduce myself now:
Hi. My name is Harmony Roundtree. I’m twelve years old, and I definitely believe in ghosts.