It’s clear after tonight that Thatcher isn’t going to help me to connect that way. And now someone else’s words echo back to me: “When you get bored of his restrictions, come find me.”
Nine
WHEN THATCHER LEAVES ME in my prism and orders me to “rest,” I try to figure out how I can find Reena.
I could go back to Middleton Place, but I have no idea how to return to Earth, so I close my eyes and call out to Reena in my mind. Carson was big on telepathy, meaning she was always trying to get me to guess what number she was thinking of. It worked, like, twice, and she was convinced we were cosmically in sync. I laughed it off—especially since I guessed the number wrong ninety percent of the time.
The thing is, since I died, nothing seems impossible. Who knows? Maybe I can summon Reena. It’s worth a shot.
I spend ten minutes sitting cross-legged on my bed with my fingers in little “okay symbols” like I’ve seen people do in yoga class. I half expect Reena to pop into my room out of thin air.
But . . . nothing.
Finally losing interest, I flop backward and stare at the ceiling. I want to call up a memory, let my mind go to Nick, but Thatcher intrudes. Solus means so much to him, and yet it’s denied to him—all because someone wouldn’t let him go. But is that really a failure on his part? I think it could be something positive. . . . Someone loved him so much that they didn’t want to give him up. Don’t we all want that kind of lasting commitment?
Still, it hurts Thatcher to be trapped here.
And I wonder about the love he lost after he died. Was it someone he was guiding? Did he fall for her, then have to watch her move on to Solus while he stayed behind? Is that why he keeps his distance? To make sure he never goes through that anguish again?
A rap on my door stops my careening thoughts.
Ghosts knock?
“Callie?”
It’s a girl’s voice, muted by the barrier between us. I open the door, and there is Reena, her dark hair swirling around her face like she’s in a shampoo commercial for extra shine. Her eyes still have a fire in them, though they look less wild and more like a soft shade of brown now that I see them up close.
“Reena.” My melancholy is replaced with the excitement of maybe having summoned her. “Did I, um . . . call you here?” I ask, sounding stupid even to myself.
She laughs. “No. That’s not a power we have. I came to find you. I wanted to talk.”
“Oh, okay.” I’m disappointed to discover that I don’t have magical psychic powers. So far, death isn’t impressing me with the benefits it provides.
“Why? Were you looking for me?” she asks.
I feel like an absolute idiot. “Sort of. I mean, I was hoping I’d see you again.”
“Good,” she says. “Listen, I’m sorry if I came off as rude before. Leo’s one of my best friends, and he and Thatcher don’t get along that well, so I’m a peacekeeper.”
I grin at her. “You must be busy with that.”
“I don’t mind. Keeps me out of trouble, most of the time.”
I like her loyalty, and I feel a connection to her—sometimes only a girl can understand another girl. Right now, I really need someone who understands me.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask, my curiosity about Reena overriding Thatcher’s edict that I not invite anyone in. After all, he was here. It can’t be that bad to share your space. “I’m supposed to be ‘resting,’ but I don’t think I know how to do that yet.”
“Sure.” Reena bounds into the room. And even though she’s probably, like, five feet, two inches, she fills the space with her presence, just like Carson does. Did. Does. How am I supposed to think of my best friend now?
“Resting is overrated,” says Reena, looking around the room. She seems to light up slowly, like when you push the Brightness button on your computer screen. She smiles at me, and the word megawatt comes to mind. Throwing her arms up and her head back, she spins around. “Great energy! Your prism is so much like real life.”
“It’s my old room. I mean, almost.”
“Wow.” Reena points to the cluster of framed photos on the desk. “You have so many pictures.”
“Carson and Nick,” I say, watching her gaze land on a shot of the three of us at the state fair last year. “My best friend and my boyfriend. I guess whatever subconscious or soul thing conjures this room thought I needed them.”
“Tell me about her,” says Reena, pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she points at a photo of Carson.
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
“Everything. She’s your best friend?”
“Since forever.” I’m grateful that someone wants to listen to me. I close my eyes so I can hear Carson. “She laughs all the time.” I can’t help but smile at the memory. “Sometimes in short little bursts that she tries to catch with her hand, like if we’re in class or church or somewhere she can’t let it out, and sometimes in big, long hoots where she has to gasp for air. But she never fake-laughs—it’s always this genuine joy that just comes out of her, almost like she can’t control it.”
I open my eyes to find Reena studying me intently, as though I intrigue her. “She sounds awesome,” she says. “What else do you remember?”
“Well . . . Carson’s nice to everybody—even people who are completely annoying—because she really does believe in that old saying about catching more flies with honey. We’re different that way; she just has this positive energy.
“And speaking of energy, she’s really in tune with ghosts and paranormal stuff. She’s had a Ouija board since we were eight years old, and she’s even tried to get me to do séances and stuff like that.”
“Fascinating,” says Reena, and she doesn’t sound sarcastic—she’s really interested. “Your memories are so detailed, so sharp.”
“I know,” I say. “Thatcher says most ghosts forget things when they get here.”
“Not me,” says Reena. “I remember everything, too, just like you. I was a cheerleader, if you can believe that.”
I grin at her. “Yeah, you struck me as the cheerleader type.”
“Do not stereotype. We were good!” She flops down onto my bed. “Our squad was really athletic—we did lots of tumbling and all that stuff.”
“Cool,” I say, glad to be hearing about a life instead of a death.
“I was top of the pyramid,” says Reena, holding her arms out straight and making cheerleader fists. “And I only fell once!”
I look at her curiously, wondering . . .
“Oh, no!” she says. “That’s not how I died.” She gives me that megawatt smile again, and I laugh.
“Phew,” I say, although I’m not sure why I’m relieved. She did die, after all.
She pops up from the bed and circles around the room again. “This is really cool. Usually it’s just family around these parts, if there’s anything personal at all. There has to be a lot of love for a friend to make it into someone’s prism.”
“Carson and Nick are my family.” I realize that I probably should have said “were,” but I just can’t. “Them and my dad.”
“So they’re the ones you have to haunt,” she says, sitting on the window seat and letting her feet dangle over the edge.
“Yeah, I haven’t really gotten to do much besides watch them yet, but Thatcher says just being with them is part of it?”
My voice goes up into a question because I wonder how Reena feels about this—if she really thinks that haunting shouldn’t involve actually proving that we’re there.