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- I like to hate symbolic limits
An angry growl ripped its way out of her throat. Rhonda had been pacing the school grounds for hours now, testing the boundary lines that Mr. Martin had prattled on about as he followed her around the first week after her murder. In another world, she would have thought it was kind of sweet; a teacher keeping a student company, filling the empty space with scientific discussion to keep her calm as she navigated her emotions from deep melancholy to unquenchable rage. But Rhonda refused to think of anything a teacher did for her as sweet anymore. She stomped through the halls and out into the courtyard, her hands clenching and unclenching as her sides as she made a beeline for the edge of the grass where the school bus would stop to pick students up. The sun had just dipped down under the horizon, the streetlights and lights in the parking lots flickering on in the early November evening. Her classmates were standing here just a few hours ago, light jackets and hats donned as winter began its slow creep into the Wisconsin fall as they climbed into the bus for the bumpy ride back to their homes. Rhonda just wants to go home too.
The second her foot left the grass, stepping out into the street, she felt the now familiar tug and suddenly she was back in the counselor's office. She stumbled into the side of the cleared desk in the middle of the room, the nameplate bare after the police came to take all of his possessions this morning. Tears of frustration sprung into her eyes as she threw the door open, prepared to try the football field next. But as the door swung open and hit the wall with a bang, her steps slowed. She slumped down onto the uncomfortable couch just outside of the office, her eyes fixated on the record player as she tried to control her breathing. Every time she had been bounced back from the boundary around school, her airways had felt restricted. It went away after a few minutes, and she had been ignoring it for the most part, letting her frustrations fuel her through the motions of testing any boundary line she could think of. Now, after trying to leave the school for hours just to wind up at the site of her murder, she couldn’t ignore the ache and burn in her throat. She rested her hands against the polyester fabric beneath her as she took a steadying breath, letting her eyes close to stave off what she knew would be another emotional meltdown. As she released the breath, she ran through what options she had left to test for the boundary. The list had grown concerningly short.
She was so tired. Rhonda knew that she didn’t need sleep, Mr. Martin had rambled about that too one day as she sat catatonic in the library, following her school schedule in an attempt to feel normal. Despite her newfound ability to never need rest, she wanted the routine of falling asleep, feeling rested when she woke up, so she stubbornly made up the couch in the teacher’s lounge every night to fall asleep. She has yet to get any real rest; every time she closed her eyes, she was tormented by Mr. Manfredo’s cold stare, the pressure of the wall behind her and the hands wrapped around her throat, around her waist as he—
“Rhonda?’ a soft voice cut through her thoughts, causing her to flinch and look up at the doorway. Janet, hands clasped in front of her and safety glasses perched atop her head, leaned forward slightly into the room without crossing the threshold. “Mr. Martin and I were thinking of having a formal dinner tonight. The Home Economics class were making roasted chickens today, and I was able to salvage one to be pretty decent, if you’d like to join us.”
Rhonda didn’t say anything, not trusting herself to speak as she swallowed around the growing lump in her throat. Janet took a step into the room, her hopeful expression morphing into something more concerned. Suddenly, anger overtook her, matched with a rush of panic. Rhonda doesn’t want to have a formal dinner with a dead Chemistry teacher and his student. She wanted her mother’s tater tot casserole and strawberry jello at her own dining room table at her own home. If she agrees to this dinner, that means she’s admitting to never having her own home cooked meal again. Rhonda shrinks into the back of the couch, her eyes narrowing and shoulders rising defensively.
“I don’t want to have dinner with you.” The words came out awkward and harsh. She’s not used to being mean, and feels a pang of guilt immediately at the hurt on the other girl’s face, but she can’t play into this. The only people she wanted to have dinner with are her parents or Marjorie. Rhonda can't play house with these people, because that means she’s accepting that she’s just as trapped as they are. “Mr. Martin says that we don’t actually need to eat, and if I get hungry I can find my own food, thank you.”
Janet blinks a few times, then nods, her hair bouncing at the jerky motion. “I understand. I hope that you’ll join us another time,” She turns and walks with measured steps out of the room and down the hall. When she couldn’t hear her steps on the linoleum anymore, Rhonda curled up on her side, her cheek pressing against the green fabric. She let herself wallow for a few moments, regretting her words but thankful to be left alone again. She sniffles, letting a tear escape down her face and into the couch before she exhales shakily and stands, rolling her shoulders and walking slowly out of the room.
She’ll try the street on the other side of the football field. Maybe all that yard blurs the lines and she can break free.
- The felt, the ice, the passage of time, the melting down the window
“Come on Rhonda, why don’t you give it a shot?”
She rolled her eyes from the other end of the cafeteria table, propping her elbow on the hard surface and perching her head on her hand. Mr. Martin had been pestering her for the past few days to reach out to the new dead kid. The support group had all been at the Homecoming game, Janet, Fern, and even Dawn had made their way to the stands to watch as an activity to ‘keep up morale.’ It was brutal to watch what happened to the quarterback; she just didn’t see what that had to do with her. Now that the buzz from the dance and the first day back at school had started to die down, Mr. Martin and Janet ambushed her in the cafeteria during her lunch, the sounds of students thrumming around them as they insisted that Rhonda was the person who needed to approach Wally Clark and invite him to join the afterlife support group.
“He hasn’t left the athletic center since it happened.” Janet piped up from Mr. Martin’s side, looking at her with a soft, sincere expression. “It might be good to see another friendly face.”
Rhonda smiled sardonically at the two of them, not moving from her position. “What makes you think my face is friendly?”
This is what she had molded herself to be for the last twenty years. Someone who had walls, who bit back at every hand that tried to feed her. The barbs she threw used to hurt her as much as she could see it hurt the other spirits around her, but she numbed herself to the pain over time. It’s a sick sort of pleasure now, seeing that she can still affect others in a place that doesn’t acknowledge her existence.
Mr. Martin leaned back in exasperation, a go-to emotion when it came to her. Rhonda had noticed that he had all but given up on approaching her outside of group meetings, seemingly content that they don’t need to interact outside of that setting. He was clearly uncomfortable with her lashing out, shifting under her gaze. Janet, on the other hand, seemed to be a bit more used to her behavior, smiling back at her with a hardness entering her gaze.
“We also think it may be good for your journey to welcome someone to the group.” Mr. Martin was hesitant, adjusting his glasses before he clasped his hands together on the table.
“If you help keep someone from looping, maybe that can be a breakthrough for your ability to cross over.” Janet picked up where Mr. Martin left off, grabbing a small pad of paper she had brought with her, flipping through a few sheets before ripping one out and passing it over to Rhonda. “This is what I’ve gathered from the newspapers brought in by the faculty today. If he’s looping, maybe reading him some of his accomplishments might keep him from staying lost.”
“Goodie!” sarcasm dripped from her lips as Rhonda grabbed the paper, glancing at the long line of football achievements. “If I go to the athletic center and he doesn’t want to come, am I excused from the next group meeting?”
Mr. Martin sighed, shared a quick glance with Janet. “If you can convince Wally to come to the meeting today, you don’t have to come to the following three meetings.”
Rhonda weighed her options, running her tongue against her teeth as she lifted her head to fiddle with the paper. She can just pretend, not even try, maybe waste enough time to let the meeting pass and miss it anyway. Either way, she doesn’t have to sit with the rest of the group and talk about feelings.
“Done,” She stands from the table, pointedly ignoring the excited look the other ghosts share as she strides out of the cafeteria. She weaves through students in the halls, stopping at the newly refurbished teacher’s lounge to snatch a few cigarettes and a lighter before heading to the athletic building near the football field. It was predictably empty, being the middle of the day with fall beginning to fully set in. Leaves swirled around her as Rhonda approached the gates leading into the stadium. She began her search for Wally Clark, lighting a cigarette as she stood on the edge of the field. She took a drag, holding it in as she observed the empty field before blowing it out just as quickly as she turned to face the stand. A nasty habit to pick up, but hey, she’s already dead, what damage could this do to her now? She just savored the nicotine rush as strolled down the field towards the locker rooms. It kept her distracted from everything else as she smoked, kept her hands occupied as she fiddled with the lit cigarette and the lighter. Her body can’t adjust to the feelings and build a tolerance anymore, so every cigarette feels like her first. Reminds her of smoky cafes and clubs, a guitar and intense dark eyes. She finishes off her first, grinding the butt under her heel as she approaches the door to the men’s locker room.
As she goes to pull the door open, Rhonda hesitates. How do Mr. Martin and Janet do this? From what she remembers of her own introduction to the afterlife, it was calm and gentle. They were patient as she came to terms with her murder. She knows she was emotional and volatile; she doesn’t know if she has the kind of patience needed if this guy was anything like her.
She opens the door slowly, letting the light creep in. The lights were off, and Rhonda flipped them on. She could hear the rattle of a locker being shut somewhere further into the room. “Hello? Anyone here?”
A shuffle of feet. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor, and around the corner comes football star Wally Clark. His hair was wet, he must have just showered. Dressed in sweatpants, the ridiculous short shorts all the kids wore at school for PE, and a varsity jacket. She must have looked surprised, as he stopped in his tracks, his eyes lighting up.
“You can see me?” He passes a football between his hands. “Oh, thank god, it has been so weird here with no one being able to see or hear me. Like, I know that I’m, um, dead. Hah, hard not to know when you watch the ambulance drive on the field and you aren’t going with it. But I’m glad that there’s someone else here who can actually hear me. I kept trying to yell at coach when he was in here earlier and nothing from the guy. And I keep trying to go home, but everytime I get to the road I just end up back at the five yard line with a killer headache. Do you know anything about that?” Rhonda can feel her jaw dropping as he just. Kept. Talking. “Oh, you know what, sorry, that was rude. My name’s Wally, Wally Clark.” He extends a hand out to shake, expression open, almost happy.
Rhonda doesn’t know what to think. He’s already grasped the concept. No introduction needed, no patience or softness required. So she leans on what she knows and closes her mouth, glancing down at this hand and back up at him. “Like the moose?”
And Wally laughs. A real bark of a laugh, his hand dropping and head lifting up. “Yeah, yeah like the moose, Wally World and all that. That is a pretty funny movie isn’t it?” He looks back at her again, and it seems to finally click that there was something weird about seeing another dead person. “Wait, how can you see and hear me? I don’t think I’ve seen you at school before.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t have.” Rhonda lights her second cigarette before offering the last one she pilfered to the boy. Wally shakes his head, sniffing a bit with a scrunched up nose as she exhales smoke between them. He reminds her of the annoying collie her neighbors had, endless energy and constantly yapping at anything that moved. “Come on, this hermit thing or whatever you’re doing is over. Time to meet the others.”
Without another word, she turns on her heel and walks out of the locker room, swinging the door open wide. As she suspected, she heard the sound of feet scrambling to follow after her. Just like a dog. He peppered questions at her as they walked back to the school. Damn, she would still have to go to group, but at least she can skip the rest of the week.
- A hand, a spike, a physical fight
“Okay everyone,. Today we are going to be discussing fears!” Mr. Martin’s voice was cheery as he wrote on the chalkboard, his back turned from the group as a chorus of groans rose up. Charley, the newest spirit to the group, shifted in his seat and raised his hand. Rhonda rolled her eyes from her place across Charley in the semi circle that was angled towards the board.
“He can’t see you Charley. And this isn’t class, just say what you want to say.” She fiddled with the lighter she had stolen from the teacher’s lounge, hardly looking up from her activity as Charley cleared his throat.
“Mr. Martin, what’s the point of this exercise? I feel like we all kinda know our worst fears; we’ve all died.” He fiddled with his jacket as he spoke, not making eye contact with anyone else. Charley had joined the afterlife support group just a few months ago after what he called the ‘Cafeteria Incident,’ and the gossip in the hallways had finally started to die down now that the end of the school year was swiftly approaching. The advent of the internet meant that gossip lingered a bit longer than it used to; people talked about it more inside and outside of school now that they can chat anonymously in the Split River forums. Rhonda had checked it out one night on the computers in the library. The things being said about the kid were pretty rough. Not that she cared.
“The key word there is kinda, Charley!” Mr. Martin spun around, the board showing each of their names in neat script listed out underneath a large title. “Fears. The thing that can keep us trapped in old memories. We all think we know each other’s worst fears, but without opening up and discussing them, we can find ourselves trapped in our own assumptions.”
“And we all know what assuming does.” Rhonda flicked her lighter as she spoke, her head tilted as she saw Mr. Martin deflate slightly. She closes the lighter as Wally huffs out a laugh, hiding it poorly with a forced cough.
“Yes, Rhonda, we do. And that is why this exercise is so important! By getting to know each other’s worst fears, we can open ourselves up to learning more about each other, and possibly unblock something that is keeping us from our journey moving forward, of moving on.”
Rhonda watched as the group began to become more interested as he continued to speak. A sense of dread settled low in her stomach. She did not want to talk about her worst fears, and she didn’t want to hear about anyone else’s either. She’s spent the last thirty years actively avoiding her worst fears, plagued by nightmares and reminders of her past every day since her murder. The last thing she wants to do is sit in a circle of other dead kids and talk about it; that’s way too personal for a group of people she’d never consider her friends if she had lived to survive high school.
Mr. Martin seemed to gain confidence as the group settled down. “Now, what I’d like us to do is to break off into pairs. That way we can start the discussion without the pressure of announcing it to everyone. Spend some time talking about your fears, and we’ll come back together to share and see if we can brainstorm some ways to overcome these fears! Now there’s an odd number of us, so I’ll join in too.” He unfolded a chair and sat next to Janet. Rhonda did a quick scan of the semicircle trying to sort out who she’d be paired with. Marking people off in groups of two as they moved around, her eyes landed on Wally, who was already looking at her eagerly.
“Yes, Rhonda, let’s go!” He stands and drags his chair over to her. She stiffens as he settles in front of her, leaning his hands against his knees as he takes a breath. Of course he would want to pair up with her. “Okay, so, worst fears. That’s a tough one, right?”
Rhonda plays with her lighter, looking at Wally without answering. She is even less enthused for this activity now that they were paired together. She could get away with bare minimum participation with someone like Fern the rollerskater or Alex the mechanic, they weren’t chatty either and had formed an understanding over the years that they had each other's backs in these Socratic sessions that Mr. Martin liked to pull out every once in a while. But with Wally? She had to participate. His kicked puppy attitude was miserable to exist with if she didn’t say anything. Even her mean remarks were better accepted by him than her silence. He leans back in his seat, glancing up at the ceiling of the gym as he ponders his next move. She flicked her lighter on, watching the flame as a way to distract herself from the activity.
After an uncharacteristically long quiet, Wally spoke. “You know, it’s kinda weird, uh,” he seemed hesitant, snapping Rhonda’s attention back to him. He was still looking up at the ceiling, another odd behavior. He loved eye contact. “But since I didn’t really feel my death, I don’t have a whole lotta fear around it, you know? Like, don’t get me wrong, I think my neck snapping is still terrifying, but it almost feels more like something that didn’t happen to me.” His hands were tapping against his knees as he spoke, his throat bobbing. “I still think my greatest fear is isolation. Like, being totally alone.”
Rhonda had completely stilled, the lighter going out in her hands. This is already getting way too personal. She kept her eyes trained on Wally, waiting for him to continue.
“Those, uh, first few days,” Wally’s voice cracked slightly, he paused to clear his throat “after, you know, when I was just in the locker room or the field. And no one could hear me or see me no matter what I did… I think that was the most scared I’d ever been.” He finally looks at her, his gaze raw and open. “I don’t ever want to be that alone again.”
Well, shit, now she had to offer something. Rhonda licked her teeth. Pocketing the lighter, she crossed her arms and sucked in a breath. “I’m not a touchy feely person. I’ve never liked people touching me, but after I was murdered by strangulation, the feeling of someone’s hand on my body makes me want to crawl out of my skin.” She pointedly looked away from Wally, staring off at some distant point at the other end of the gym. It doesn’t stop her from seeing his posture shift, leaning closer to her out of the corner of her eye. “There are some days I can still feel his hands around me, around my throat. And nothing I can do can make them go away.” She pauses again, swallowing thickly. She’s starting to feel it now, the phantom hands. Is the bell ringing, or is that just her ears? She clenches her fists against her side, fisting the fabric of her top to try and ground herself. “It feels like I’m living through my worst fear, that it never stopped.” Her voice trails off at the end, barely a whisper.
“Rhonda,” Wally’s voice sounded far away or underwater. What’s happening to her? She flicked her eyes back to him, but he even looked far away, like they were standing at the opposite ends of a tunnel. “Breathe, okay?” His chest was moving exaggeratedly, and it was then she realized that hers wasn’t moving at all. She took in a deep breath, and the world came into sharp focus. She was suddenly too aware of everything, the other conversations roared into her ears, the fluorescent lights were piercing her vision. She took in another breath, loud and ragged and wrong, and noticed that other people were beginning to watch her. She stood abruptly, the metal folding chair squealing as it got pushed back. Now everyone was looking, their eyes feeling like more pairs of phantom hands.
Wally stood with her, a hand outstretched to steady her as she stumbled backwards. “Don’t touch me, Moose!” The shout was instinctual, hurled out of her body as she continued to move away towards the doors out to the hall. She felt like her whole body was being pulled apart, hands on her neck, shoulders, waist. She thrust her hands in front of her like a shield, eyes moving rapidly to each person watching her.
“Rhonda—” Wally started again, his voice low and eyes panicked. She locked her focus on him as he took another cautious step towards her, and suddenly her fear snapped into anger. She hated Wally for making her open up, for making her so vulnerable. She hated everyone else for staring at her. And she hated herself so still being so goddamn scared of a man who was rotting in a jail cell.
“Get away from me!” She turned on her heel, fleeing out into the hall and away from the gym. She stormed away from the concerned shouts of the other ghost. But even her rampage through the halls of Split River couldn’t keep the few tears from falling. Rhonda let them.
- Every time I open my mouth, I think “wow, what a loud noise”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Rhonda was rifling through the faculty lounge, hunting for the cigarette pack that Mrs. Keller always kept behind the silverware. She was one of the last true chain smoking teachers at Split River and has constantly had a pack hidden away for her emergency smoke out of the lounge window. Ever since the stupid public smoking ban took effect a few weeks ago, all the other teachers who smoked left their lighters and cigs in their cars. And now Rhonda can’t find the pack Mrs. Keller had hidden away; she swore that she had taken a cigarette or two just a few days ago. Stupid fucking public health and their stupid fucking concern for stupid fucking secondhand smoke.
She let out a short scream, slamming the drawer closed a few times before ripping open the cabinet doors above them and throwing ceramic mugs to the floor. Rhonda watched the shards scatter on the floor as the faculty sat down and prepared their lunches over idle chatter. She can’t find the fucking pack. Wally pissed her off with his stupid touchy self and messed with her hat and he got too close to her neck and now she really need a cig to calm down and she can’t find the only fucking pack of cigaretts left in the whole goddamn school.
“Rhonda, you good in here?” Charley’s concerned voice grated on her nerves, combining with the dull chatter of teachers talking about their after work plans. She gripped the counter white knuckled as she took in a breath. If she can keep calm for just a little bit longer, she’ll find where the teacher hid her smokes. She turned to face him, leaning against the doorway into the kitchenette.
“Just peachy, kid, looking for the cigarettes that Mrs. Smokes a lot usually leaves in here.” She gestures to Mrs. Keller, seated at the end of the table with a few other teachers. She pushes past Charley back into the main lounge, determined to find a way to calm herself. Her hands were trembling slightly, her body buzzing with the lingering panic brought on by Wally’s hands getting just close enough to her neck for her to shove him against a wall and storm out of the library. Rhonda walked up to her, yelling into her ear. “Where’d you put it, huh? I know you can’t go a whole eight hours without smoking, you have to have some hidden somewhere you old bat!”
“Pretty sure she’s younger than you are, Rhonda.” Charley had merely pivoted in place, leaning against the other side of the doorframe as he observed Rhonda rifling through the teacher’s purse. Rhonda glared daggers at him before tipping the purse upside down and releasing the contents onto the floor. “Okay, no time for jokes.”
Rhonda’s heart sank as she pawed through the belongings scattered on the floor. Just lipstick, keys, a compact, wallet, and… “No. No, no, fuck, this can’t be happening.” Mrs. Keller had four fresh packs of nicotine gum in her purse, a fifth already half used. She snapped her head up to look over at the teachers, finally tuning into what they were talking about. Coping mechanisms for nicotine cravings. Mrs. Keller thanking the other faculty for helping her kick this habit, saying the public ban is a good thing for her health.
She won’t be getting her smokes. Ever again, unless she stalked every person in the school to see if they had a cigarette on them. Rhonda stood on shaky legs, the trembling in her hands becoming more pronounced as a new wave of panic set in, mingling with the adrenaline and fear lingering in her system. Smoking has been her only coping mechanism for decades now, what the hell is she going to do now that’s been taken away from her? It was all so unfair; her life was taken away from her, she found the one thing to help her deal with that, and now 50 years later that is being taken away from her too.
“You know we don’t actually get addicted to things like nicotine, right?” Charley sounded judgemental as he watched her chuck the empty purse into the wall. “You’ll just have to get a new hobby besides standing against a wall smoking.”
“Don’t you fucking talk to me.” Ronda strode towards him, her finger jabbing at him accusingly. She hated how shaky her voice sounded. “You don’t understand. Why’d you have to follow me in here anyway, huh? Couldn't wait to watch and judge with your stupid one liners? If you’d just keep your nose out of other’s people’s fucking business, we’d all be better off.”
“Woah, Rhonda,” He lifted his hands up in mock surrender. “you are clearly freaking out, this has to be about more than cigarettes.” He looked at her, and Rhonda lowered her finger when she noticed that even in a fist her hand was shaking, avoiding his stare. “What’s going on?”
Rhonda backed off, moving away from him and towards the exit into the halls. He’s getting too close, he’s starting to ask the right questions. And she can’t let him in. Being vulnerable like that has only ever caused her pain. So now he does what she always does. Snap back at the peace offering and flee the scene.
“Leave me alone, Charley, I’m not your little friend. If you want someone to hang out with, go try and get those band kids unlooped like you were supposed to.” She manages to spit out the last harsh words as the warning bell rang, exiting into the halls to avoid taking in his shocked and hurt expression. Her throat was tightening with the tell tale signs of hyperventilation, her vision blurring with tears as she turned down towards a storage room in the art wing.
Rhonda slipped inside, keeping the light offend sliding down against the door. Her hands, having nothing to do, grabbed at her hat, fiddling with the brim as she squeezed her eyes shut. She leaned her head against the door, elongating her neck in the process. Her breathing was wheezy from the strain of taking in too little air too quickly, but she was breathing. The air in the storage room was cool and damp against her skin; there were no hands around her neck. One of her breaths caught in a sob, one that she stifled quickly with a hand over her mouth. But now her hands had nothing to keep her mind occupied. She switched to running her fingernails against her legs, removing her hand over her mouth to create the repeated, soothing motions she had employed as a coping mechanism before she had cigarettes. Her breathing was coming out in gasps as she forced herself to focus on the feeling against her legs, the intentional lift and drop of the repetitive movement. Up, down. She’s in control of the touch. Up, down. She’s the only one who can touch her. Up, down. He’s already dead.
She’s not sure how long she sat in the storage room. After what felt both like eternity and no time at all, Rhonda came back to her senses, the world around her shifting back into focus. Her eyes were heavy and her mouth was dry; her face felt tacky with dried tears and she scrubbed her hand against her cheeks to get rid of the sensation. She stood slowly, feeling stiff as she rose to her feet. Rhonda wiped under her eyes, sighing deeply as she shook off the haziness of her meltdown. She needed to do something to get Charley back in her good graces. What she said wasn’t really fair; he had been devastated that he didn’t get to carry on the tradition of welcoming the new spirits to the group before they started marching in circles. He’s not as annoying as the other spirits she has to exist with and he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of both her anger and cutting words in one afternoon.
Rhonda pushed open the door, her foot catching on something as she stepped out into the hall. It was a jumbo bag of Dum Dum suckers, a sticky note attached. She picked up the package, inspecting the note in what was clearly Charley’s handwriting.
Found these in the Science lab. Figured they might help. Sorry about the cigarettes.
Rhonda reached into the bag and pulled out a blue raspberry sucker, unwrapping the candy and popping it in her mouth. It was nothing like a cigarette, but even the sensation of having something to wrap her lips around eased the tension still remaining in her body. She looked up at the clock in the hall, reading 5:17. Shit, that was a pretty bad one this time. She must have sat zoned out for a while. She sighed again, holding the bag in one hand and removing the sucker with the other, walking towards the library where she knew a game night was happening. She popped the sucker back in her mouth as if she was taking hits off it. Maybe she can offer to share the bag with everyone and it’ll all be fine.
- A toll, a tithe, the passage of time
“Rhonda, I don’t understand why you won’t jump into an opportunity like this?!” Mr. Martin paced in front of the blackboard wheeled into the center of the basketball court. He had asked her to meet him where they hold their group sessions before dropping the bomb that he had found a new dead student in the boiler room. There was no body, just a spirit of a student she had seen in the halls the past few years. Mr. Martin had described her, and she was vaguely familiar to Rhonda, someone who lingered in the English room that used to be the site of her murder. Then he asked her to be the one to introduce her to the rest of the group.
“Is me not wanting to not a good enough reason?” She tapped a wrapped Dum Dum against her thigh, growing bored of the conversation. Mr. Martin had been more forceful the past few times tragedy struck Split River High, relentlessly encouraging her to be the spirit that brought new ones into the support group.
“You did so well with Wally, I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to be the welcome committee.” He clasped his hands in front of himself. “He has been so promising from the moment he joined the group, showing so much growth and making a lot of progress. And that was due to you Rhonda.”
“Please,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Wally would’ve welcomed himself into the group if he could have, he just didn’t realize that he wasn’t confined to just the athletic center.” She watched as he grew more agitated, fiddling with his glasses as his pacing increased. “Why do you want me to do this so badly? Did you spook her off?”
Mr. Martin paused quickly, looking at her with a pained expression. “If you must know, Rhonda, yes I did. I got a feeling, and when I went to the boiler room to investigate I found her there without her body. I tried to introduce myself but she ran off. She looked like she was in a lot of distress. And normally, I’d have Janet help with the more skittish ones, but since she moved on…” he trailed off, the stressed creases in his forehead smoothing briefly.
“What, you thought the next oldest ghost would be your best option?” Rhonda’s voice sharpened. Janet’s passing on was still a sore subject for her. They had known each other the longest out of all the other spirits, spending multiple years as the only students in the support group and leaning on each other as somewhat friends. Janet was one of a very select few who really looked past her sharp words and saw a person under her armor. And she didn’t get a goodbye. Here one moment, gone the next. She was happy for her, don’t get her wrong, but she was still upset that their friendship meant so little to Janet that she didn’t even tell her she was going to move on.
“No, I—” Mr. Martin’s raised voice cut off quickly, his pacing stopped in front of her. He took a steadying breath. “I wanted to ask you, for you to be the one who approached her, because I figured you’d understand how disorienting this all is and would be able to help. To be the person to this student who Janet was for you.”
Unbidden, the memories of the first day of her afterlife came back to her. How frightened she had been standing in the teacher’s lounge, watching the paramedics rush in around her body. How slowly they seemed to move once they realized they couldn’t save her. She watched her body get loaded onto a gurney, a sheet overtop. The cops dragged Mr. Manfredo out of the room. She felt like she couldn’t move, rooted to the spot as she watched everything unfold around her, like she wasn’t there. She could have been standing there for seconds or years, then they showed up. With more kindness and patience than she had been shown her whole life, she was led out of the room, to some quiet corner in the back of the library. She felt like the words were stuck in her throat, like they couldn’t force their way around the pressure she could still feel on her neck. Mr. Martin had run off to grab a glass of water for her. Janet had given her a blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and let her fall apart. By the time Mr. Martin returned, she had fallen back to her dazed state, hardly moving for the rest of the day. They never talked about it, but Rhonda had been immensely grateful for the kindness she had been shown by the other girl. She felt the most guilt about pushing Janet away, far more than what she felt about the other spirits.
“Well, I’m not Janet.” Rhonda shook her head tightly. “I can’t be that person for anyone. And I’m not going to replace her just because I’ve been here longer than anyone else.” She was angry, both at Janet for leaving her and at Mr. Martin for thinking she’d just step into his role. She was not friends with Mr. Martin, what made him think she was? She refused to just replace Janet too, she wasn’t going to just pretend that she was a nice success story, Janet was a person she knew for decades, the closest thing she thought of as a friend in this messed up situation for years until the other members of the small group began to chip away at her defenses. And Mr. Martin wanted to just ignore her, put the memories of her into a tiny box and hide her away.
She turned away from him, walking back towards the doors. “If you want someone to be nice to the new dead girl, send Charley.” She called over her shoulder, “He deserves a redo after the bus crash led us nowhere.”
+1. The now, the then, the thinking of “when”
The wind rustled the leaves above them as Rhonda and Maddie sat in a heavy silence. Telling her story never got easier, she still felt shaky as her eyes swept across the reset baseball field. But Maddie was right; she needed to sort out the relationship she has with her teacher if she wants to solve her murder, or mark him off as a suspect. She knew she was going to ask about Mr. Manfredo, her Mr. Anderson, when she spotted Maddie walking up to her, a confusing mix of determined and hesitant. Rhonda had observed her stay behind in English a few times her junior year, increasing more as the summer break loomed. Rhonda had been slightly concerned, but once the summer hit she had no stakes in the game. Not like she could have prevented anything from happening if she tried. So she distanced herself. And now Maddie is dead, maybe from Mr. Anderson, maybe from the many suspects that Maddie has flipped through in the past few days. Now she wished she really hadn’t stuck her unfinished Dum Dum in the grass beside her.
“How do you stand it?” Maddie broke the silence, twisting her fingers into the grass. “The resets. I tried to tear down a missing poster that someone drew over and I nearly lost my mind.”
Rhonda let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, you get used to it eventually, cherry pop. It sucks, but it is nice for days like today. We get to destroy it all over again.” She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out another sucker, unwrapping it and popping it into her mouth. Artificial strawberry flavor coats her tongue, reminding her of summer days and her mother’s strawberry Jell-o. She closes her eyes, letting the happy memory wash over her in the late summer air, wind rustling the leaves again.
Maddie sighs next to her, causing Rhonda to crack an eye open to look at her. She must be feeling nostalgic after all her angry energy was dispensed torching the grass. With her legs tucked under her, head tilted to the side as she looks over the field, short blond hair falling in waves, Rhoinda couldn’t help but think of her childhood dog Lady. She closes her eyes again and gets lost in the memories. Her parents took her to the cinema downtown to see Lady and the Tramp, and though she had protested that she was getting too old for silly movies, she fell in love with the dogs. She dragged her parents back several times before they finished showing it, and that Chrsitmas she got her own cocker spaniel in a box. She loved her Lady; they went for walks all around Split River, exploring the town and the surrounding woods together as her parents became more distant and lost in their work. Lady would sit diligently at her feet as she read poetry and wrote at her desk for hours at a time, never leaving her side as she drafted her college application to Berkeley. She hadn’t thought of Lady in decades. A bittersweet smile crossed her face as she heard Maddie shift beside her.
“Thank you, for sharing your story with me.” Maddie sounded sincere. Rhonda hummed in acknowledgement around her Dum Dum before taking it out to respond.
“It’s not the easiest story to tell, but this certainly beats sitting in a circle and repeating it with everyone else’s sob stories for the thousandth time.” She could feel Maddie’s eyes trained on her, so she continued with what was on her mind. “For the record, I’m really hoping it was a random serial killer and not Mr. Anderson. What happened to me…” she swallowed, letting the lingering taste of strawberry chase away the darker memories trying to surface. She opened her eyes, wanting Maddie to see the seriousness she felt about her next statement. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
“Do you ever feel weird, hanging out where you died?” Her voice was soft, cutting through the sumer ambiance. Rhonda relaxes as the topic of conversation starts to steer towards more general dead questions. It reminds her of having Wally following her around the first few weeks he was dead, hounding her with questions about the spirit world. She lays on her back fully, tilting her hat to shield her eyes from the sun hiding between clouds. “I feel like the boiler room is easy to avoid, but you’re in the teacher’s lounge all the time. Does it take time for the creepy feeling to go away?”
“Oh, I didn’t die in that teacher’s lounge.” She watched the clouds trail across the sky, seeing Maddie’s head tilt dog-like again. “The teacher’s lounge that’s around right now only exists because of me. They tore down the old one and replaced it with some classrooms. And do you think I ever got a thank you for the upgrade?”
She got no response and tilted her head to look at the girl beside her. Maddie looked lost in thought before shaking her and smiling at Rhonda once she realized she was being watched. “I’ll, uh, leave you alone, to enjoy the rest of the day.” She stood, leaving Rhonda sprawled out on the grass. “Thanks, Ronda, really. This was really helpful.”
“No problem, cherry pop.” She watched as Maddie walked down the slope, back towards the school. She stuck her Dum Dum back in her mouth, letting her mind drift to pleasant memories of her past. Maybe Maddie was right. Maybe they could have been friends in another time. Or maybe they could be friends in this one.