Ghosted Read online

  Marley frowns as she puzzles over these facts. “How would we take a class trip to iceberg-infested waters? I don’t think the PTA has the budget to send us to Antarctica or Patagonia. Or, I wonder, where else can you see icebergs? Should we look it up?”

  “No, I don’t want to look stuff up. That’s not the point of this.”

  “But you were talking about icebergs,” says Marley, oh-so-innocent.

  “This isn’t about icebergs,” E@11 says. “It’s about the island. So use your imagination.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.” Marley crosses her legs and closes her eyes and tries to concentrate. Soon, though, she opens them again and asks, “Um, how long are we on the island?”

  “Does it matter?” asks E@11 impatiently.

  “Well of course it does. If it’s a short time, no big deal. But if it’s more like a few days, well, I want someone I can talk to so I don’t get bored, someone who could keep me warm if I’m cold. Oh, I know!” Marley snaps her fingers, excited, and then she says, “Eli Delphy.”

  “Eli Delphy?” E@11 asks, shocked because Marley has named the geekiest guy in school.

  She nods. “Yes. He’s an Eagle Scout and goes camping all the time, so he must have excellent wilderness survival skills. And you know what he told me once? He knows how to make a fire out of two sticks. And he wears glasses, so in a pinch I’ll bet he could use them to harness the power of the sun.”

  “Huh?” E@11 is so confused. It’s truly mind-boggling.

  Marley tries to explain. “You know—he could train a lens on a bunch of dry leaves. Make a nice warm fire. Unless his glasses fell during the crash into the iceberg, or slipped off his face while he was swimming to shore.”

  “What are you talking about?” E@11 asks.

  “You are right. I’m overthinking this. Let’s go with Eli keeping his glasses. And hey, are there marshmallows on the boat? Can they wash up onshore, as well? They float on hot chocolate so they’d probably float in the ocean, right? In fact, that would be even better because if the water was iceberg infested then it must be cold, so the marshmallows wouldn’t melt. I wonder if they’d freeze, though. Do you know? Hey, want to put marshmallows in the freezer and see what happens?”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I meant and I do not want to do food experiments right now—that’s for little kids.”

  “No it’s not,” Marley says, frowning.

  “Well, we’re in the middle of something else and you didn’t answer the question the right way. You weren’t supposed to tell me who you think would be the most practical. You’re supposed to tell me who you like.”

  “Oh sorry, you didn’t say that. I like a lot of people,” Marley tells me.

  E@11 rolls her eyes. It’s something she’s been doing with more frequency, whenever she spends time with Marley, come to think of it. E@11 has been wondering, is her best friend really this innocent? It’s hard to tell.

  Things are off. E@11 is changing. And she wants her best friend to change right along with her. Otherwise it’s lonely. She doesn’t want to leave Marley behind. And she doesn’t want to get left behind herself.

  “I mean who do you have a crush on? Like, what boy?”

  “Oh,” Marley says, nodding. “I get it now. Sorry.”

  “Well…” E@11 isn’t going to let this go.

  “I don’t know if I want to be on an island with someone I have a crush on. It could get awkward.”

  “What do you mean? Why would it get awkward? Wouldn’t it be awesome to be with the person you’re crushing on, just the two of you with no distractions?”

  “Nope,” says Marley, shaking her head decisively. “Think about it. For one thing, I assume I wouldn’t have my toothbrush on this island.”

  “Um, I didn’t really think about that but you are right—a toothbrush would not wash up onshore and there’s definitely no pharmacy or whatever on the deserted island.”

  “Okay, so that means this is a person I would have to talk to with morning breath all the time. And he’d have morning breath, too. It’s one thing to like someone at school. Someone who is freshly showered and has combed his hair in the morning and washed his face, and like I said, brushed his teeth, but to like someone enough that you want to hang out with them stripped of that? I’m going to have to think about it.”

  “Ugh!” E@11 groans and smacks her palm to her forehead. “I give up,” she says.

  Marley giggles. “What? Do you expect me to act totally boy crazy and ridiculous? Like, OMG I have the biggest crush on Luke Watson? I love his British accent, and how he parts his hair in the middle and wears argyle socks, like, every single day.”

  “Really?” E@11 asks, perking up. “I had no idea.”

  “I’m kidding,” says Marley. “I know you want me to be all boy crazy like you and Maddie and Harper and Lily, but it’s not going to happen. It’s not who I am.”

  This is amazing. She’s so self-assured. Knows exactly who she is. At the age of eleven, everything was in flux for me. I was still figuring out who I was and who I wanted to be. That was the difference. That’s what was so confounding about Marley. Marley knew exactly who she was and was brave enough to be that person. It was yet another thing that made me so jealous of her.

  Still, we had so much history. And she was so good. And so fun.

  Suddenly Marley gives E@11 a sly grin and says, “Unless I’m pretending…”

  She jumps up and heads for her laptop, where she puts on “Crazy for You,” the old Madonna song. Then she starts dancing, all silly and ridiculous. Her whole body wiggles like she’s a piece of cooked spaghetti. Next, she struts across the room, hips sashaying, like she’s on a catwalk. “I, Marley Winters, on this night in December, do hereby acknowledge that I have a huge crush on Toby Benson.”

  E@11 laughs and says, “Come on, don’t make this into a joke.”

  “I’m not. I’m totally serious. I do,” Marley replies. This news is outlandish. Toby Benson is a total geek who plays the cello and chews with his mouth open. He tried to start a chess club at our school but no one wanted to join. He is a loser with a capital L.

  Marley raises her finger to E@11’s lips. “I haven’t told anyone. Please keep it a secret, okay?”

  “Are you making fun of me?” asks E@11.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Marley says coyly.

  She’s having fun, dancing like she’s never danced before. Her face is contorting into crazy expressions.

  “Wait, this is too good. I need to get this on video,” E@11 says as she pulls out her phone.

  Marley puts her hands in front of her face. “I never said you could record this!”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” E@11 says. For the moment, it feels like old times. She and Marley just being silly together, acting goofy and making each other giggle. “And no one else will ever see it. It’s just for us. Let’s make the most ridiculous videos we can. You go first and then I’ll do the same.”

  “I don’t know…” Marley bites her bottom lip, unsure.

  “We’ll delete them after we watch,” E@11 promises.

  She means it, sincerely. I know she does. E@11 loves Marley. Sure, she gets annoyed with her sometimes, feels slightly misunderstood, wishes they had more in common these days and worries that they are drifting apart. But she wouldn’t ever do Marley any harm. Not intentionally, that is. The whole thing was a mistake.

  If I knew back then what was going to happen, well, I never would’ve pulled out my phone.

  From the fish tank, I gulp with guilt. Wishing I could put a stop to this but knowing I’m powerless—it’s a horrible feeling.

  “Fine!” Marley says.

  She rolls her eyes and then continues strutting around her room. She grabs a red plastic hairbrush and sings into it as if it is a microphone.

  “I love you, Toby!” Marley yells. “I think about you all the time. I’m, like, a total stalker. I followed you to class. I am only in the French Club because of you. I made my dad
teach me how to make croissants and I don’t even like croissants. Or berets. I should be taking Spanish. But no, you take French, so I take French. At night, when I go to sleep, I don’t count sheep. I count Tobys jumping over hurdles. One Toby. Two Tobys. Three Tobys. Four.”

  Arms splayed like some clumsy bird, Marley leaps across her bedroom as she gushes on and on and on. It is a ridiculous spectacle. And she’s not even done yet. “I am going crazy for Toby. And guess what? I also kind of like Jett. Jett, with his shoulder-length hair and big brown eyes and the blue ski cap he wears almost every single day. He’s adorable. And then there’s Beckett. He posted this video of himself snowboarding and I’ve watched it, like, a hundred times. I’m obsessed. With all of them, I mean. I am basically boy crazy.”

  She shakes her hips and wiggles her head around on her neck. She is doing the boy-crazy dance—something she invented on the spot. It cannot be more ridiculous and entertaining. And it is so not Marley. Somehow this makes it even more funny. It’s like she’s breaking out of her skin, going wild and crazy.

  E@11 laughs so hard that she is trembling. She can barely hold her phone straight for the shot.

  The song ends but Marley is nowhere near done with her performance. She starts singing her own tune. Making up crazy lyrics.

  She’s in her own world, does not even seem to notice that E@11 is still filming this and egging her on. “Go Marley, go Marley, go Marley, go Marley,” E@11 chants to the beat of her song. But Marley has more to say. She looks directly at the camera and goes, “I have never kissed a boy, but sometimes at night I practice by kissing my old American Girl doll. I cut the hair off so she looks like a boy. Okay. I’m done. No, not really.”

  Marley lets out a belch. “I burp all the time. I feel so silly. It’s great to confess.”

  E@11 says, “More, more, more.”

  Marley shakes her head and wipes some sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. “Cut!” she says. “That’s everything I’ve got.”

  E@11 finally turns off the camera. Marley collapses to the ground like a windup toy that’s finally out of juice.

  “That was spectacular!” E@11 says. “I’m so impressed.”

  “It was fun,” Marley says between pants of breath. “Let’s see how I did.” She comes around so she can see the phone. E@11 and Marley play the video back and crack up because it’s so ridiculous.

  They watch it a second and then a third time and then Marley goes, “Okay, it’s your turn now.”

  E@11 shakes her head. “Oh, I don’t think I can top that.”

  “Well, you’ve got to at least try,” Marley insists.

  Except, before E@11 has a chance to perform, Marley’s dad Joe knocks and then opens the door. “Honey, your guitar teacher is here. Ellie is going to have to go.”

  “But, Dad, we’re in the middle of something,” Marley argues.

  Joe shakes his head. “He gets paid by the hour, sweetheart. I’m not going to let him stand around. Let’s go.”

  “Fine,” she says with a melodramatic sigh as she grabs her guitar from the stand next to her desk. Turning to me she says, “You are up next time.”

  “Definitely. I’ll practice my moves at home,” E@11 says, standing up and sliding her phone into her back pocket.

  E@11 lets herself out and I’m right behind her, and no longer two inches tall or in a bikini. This time I don’t even ask—I’m used to all the crazy transitions and I know my job.

  I follow E@11 home in silence.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I hear my mom say as soon as we walk through the front door. “You girls have fun this afternoon?”

  “Sure,” E@11 says.

  “You didn’t happen to do your homework over there, did you?” Mom asks.

  “No, I’ll go do it now,” E@11 says with a groan as she continues to her room.

  She unzips her backpack and pulls out her planner, sees she has a few pages in math and then two chapters to read for history. She starts the math but soon grows bored. She checks her phone. No calls. No texts. She tries calling her dad, but the phone goes straight to voice mail. She doesn’t leave a message but texts, Call me, knowing that he won’t.

  E@11 hasn’t seen her dad in a few months and this annoys her, but she doesn’t want to think about it so she goes back to the video and watches Marley again. It’s so funny, she is laughing out loud. It’s cheering her up. And she needs cheering up. This is the time of night when, years ago, E@11’s dad would come home and the three of them would eat dinner together. She misses those days.

  Just then there’s a knock on the door and her mom says, “Sweetheart, I’m making some bread. Would you like to help?”

  “No thanks,” E@11 replies.

  She doesn’t want to be around her mom when she’s upset. Her mom will ask her what’s wrong and she doesn’t want to talk about it. What’s wrong is that she’s jealous of her best friend, who knows exactly who she is, and doesn’t care what other people think. This makes E@11 feel even more inferior than usual. What’s wrong is she misses her dad and she’s mad that he’s ignoring her calls. She could put on a cheerful face but her mom would see through it. Her mom notices everything. E@11 doesn’t want to upset her. Doesn’t want to grow more upset herself by sharing her feelings.

  Better to be alone in her room. Steely and strong, looking at videos. Texting her friends. Let her mom make the bread. It wasn’t E@11’s idea. The whole starting-from-the-same-starter is her mom’s tradition from a drastically different time. Carrying on with it almost feels false, because they don’t have a big happy family and it’s dumb to pretend like they do, like nothing has changed. Everything has changed and no one asked E@11 what she wanted. The way life turned out, she and her mom alone, none of it was her doing. She shouldn’t be forced to make bread. Also, ugh! She doesn’t want to think about any of that, so she looks at her phone again.

  She decides to send Marley’s funny video to Maddie. Then, when Maddie doesn’t respond right away, she sends it to Harper and Lily.

  Lily texts back almost immediately: OMG—crazy Marley!

  I know, E@11 texts back.

  “How’s that homework coming?” her mom asks, poking her head into the room.

  “I’m halfway done,” E@11 says without looking up from her screen.

  “Glad to hear it,” her mom says. “Want me to take your phone so you don’t have the distraction?”

  “No, that’s okay.” E@11 makes a show of turning off her phone and tucking it into the drawer of her bedside table. Then she cracks open her books. Later on, after she finishes, it’s time for dinner: delicious roasted chicken and salad and bread that she doesn’t want to enjoy but has to admit is wonderful.

  She forgets all about Marley’s silly video, until the next day.

  * * *

  “I only sent it to three people!” I shout.

  “But you promised to delete it,” the Girl in Black says. “That was the deal.”

  “It’s not my fault it got forwarded,” I insist.

  “Do you really believe that?” the Girl in Black asks me.

  And I can’t argue with her. I feel too guilty. I don’t need to see what happened next because it’s something I’ll never forget. That video spread like wildfire. By the time Monday rolled around, it seemed as if the entire school had seen it.

  chapter eight

  Next thing I know, I’m in the girls’ bathroom watching Harper, Maddie, Lily, and E@11.

  Lily is eating M&M’s, sneaking them out of her pocket. Harper applies mascara. Maddie touches up her lipstick. E@11 looks at herself in the mirror. And of course, like the rest of school, all they can talk about is the video.

  “OMG, if that was me I would die from the humiliation,” says Harper.

  Maddie guffaws. “That dance she did? Do you think she was kidding? Or is that seriously how she moves?”

  “The girl has no rhythm,” Lily says, as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “You can’t even
say Marley and rhythm in the same sentence. It’s a total disconnect,” Harper says.

  E@11 bites her bottom lip and looks away. She knows she should defend her friend, but she’s scared. She never meant for the video to get out like that. Only sent it to a few friends. At the same time, she knows this is all her fault. But she doesn’t want to accept it. She’s hoping it’ll go away if she ignores it.

  “My God, that whole Toby thing? I can’t believe it. If that were me, I would literally melt out of humiliation—I’m talking serious puddle on the floor,” Maddie says. “I’d never show my face in school again.”

  It’s too much. They have gone too far. It was just a silly game. No one was supposed to see, let alone take it so seriously. E@11 wishes they would just stop talking about it, but she can’t tell them that. She can’t stand up to her new friends. She’s too afraid of losing them. She doesn’t know them that well, after all. Her position is too new. Everything feels so precarious, like it could disappear in an instant with one false move.

  But she has to say something, so she narrows her eyes at Maddie. “Well, if you’re a literal puddle you wouldn’t have a face, dummy,” E@11 says.

  The rest of the girls giggle.

  There. She’s upset Maddie, made her feel dumb, but hasn’t made fun of Marley in the process. It’s a win-win. She’s doing her best!

  Then a toilet flushes. Everyone goes quiet. Somebody else is in the room and she must have heard everything. But who could it be?

  E@11 and her posse look at one another with wide eyes.

  The lock slides and the door opens with a creak.

  E@11 fears the worst. But what are the odds? It could be anyone in that bathroom stall. The chances of it being Marley are minuscule. Except … Except it is Marley. Of course it is.

  She steps out of the bathroom stall. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are red and glassy. She stares straight ahead and walks stiffly to the sinks. E@11 jumps out of the way of Marley as if she’s got some highly contagious, flesh-eating disease.

  Marley washes her hands and leaves without looking at any of the girls. It is the longest forty-five seconds of E@11’s life thus far. E@11 feels like a piece of dirt, but she struggles to appear neutral, cold, steely, and strong.