I heart you, You haunt me

Also by Lisa Schroeder

Far From You

Chasing Brooklyn

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2008 by Lisa Schroeder
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Mike Rosamilia The text of this book was set in MetaBook Roman.
Manufactured in the United States of America First Simon Pulse edition January 2008
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Control Number 2007929118
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-5520-7
ISBN-10:1-4169-5520-8
eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-0734-3

For Scott-

I heart you

Acknowledgments

MY HEART OVERFLOWS WITH GRATITUDE FOR SO MANY PEOPLE!

Sara Crowe—thank you for your belief in this book from the beginning, and for saying different is good. You’re the best!

Michael del Rosario—what can I say except you are some kind of wonderful, and I so appreciate your enthusiasm.

Jayme Carter, Tanya Seale, and Meg O’Hair—thank you for your willingness to read Ava and Jackson’s story, and for your ideas, your suggestions, and most of all, your encouragement.

Lisa—thanks for creating my music to write by. You rock!

Mrs. Smith, my favorite English teacher—I’m forever grateful for all that I learned from you.

Margie and Dolores—thanks for being my biggest cheerleaders!

To my mom, my dad, my brother, and the Schroeders—your love and support mean the world to me.

Last but definitely not least, Scott, Sam, and Grant—I thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me do that which I love to do, and loving me every step of the way. It wouldn’t mean anything if I didn’t have you.

A Way of Black

I’ve never

been to a funeral

until today.

I see

dazzling arrangements of

red, yellow, and purple flowers

with long, green stems.

I see

a stained-glass window with

a white dove,

a yellow sun,

a blue sky.

I see

a gold cross,

standing tall,

shiny,

brilliant.

And I see

black.

Black dresses.

Black pants.

Black shoes.

Black bibles.

Black is my favorite color.

Jackson asked me about it one time.

“Ava, why don’t you like pink?

Or yellow?

Or blue?”

“I love black,” I said.

“It suits me.”

“I suit you,” he said.

And then he kissed me.

I’m not so sure

I love black

anymore.

Colorless

And then,

beyond the flowers,

beneath the stained-glass window,

beside the cross,

I see

the white casket.

I see

red, burning love

disappear

forever.

Broken Promises

My mom reaches over

and pulls my hand

from my mouth

where I chew on

the little flap of skin

along the side of my thumb

since I have no more nails

left to chew on.

An ugly habit.

One I promised Jackson

I would break.

I wonder,

do you have to keep a promise

to a dead person?

Mom holds my hand

in hers as the

music starts to play.

Jackson’s

smiling face

appears on the screen

as we hear Eric Clapton’s

haunting song

Tears in Heaven.

It’s not long

before tears in heaven

make their way

to my eyes,

so I close them

for a second.

From out of nowhere,

I’m in his car, by his side.

Music playing.

Windows rolled down.

I kick off my shoes,

put my bare feet on the dashboard

and put my hand in his.

“Never leave me, okay?” I say to him.

“Okay,” he tells me.

He squeezes my hand,

like that seals the deal.

My gaze

returns to the

beautiful boy

on the screen

while

my thumb

returns

to my mouth.

He broke his promise.

I can break mine.

I Will Always Remember

The minister speaks.

“It is hard when a young life is tragically cut short.

“But we must celebrate the life that was Jackson’s.

“Look around at the friends and the family

who loved Jackson Montgomery.

“You will keep the memory of him alive.”

There is one memory

that floods my brain

every five minutes.

It reminds me

over

and over

and over again,

I’m the reason

my boyfriend

is gone.

Memories might keep him alive.

But they might

kill

me.

No Words

After the service,

people get in line

to tell the family,

“I’m sorry,”

“He was so young,”

and

“Let me know if I can do anything.”

I’m one of the

first people

in line

because

I want to get it over with.

His mom is there

and I try to say

“I’m sorry”

like I’m supposed to,

but the words

won’t come

from my brain

to my mouth

like they’re supposed to.

She looks at me

and I feel her eyes

piercing my heart,

making it hurt

even more.

She probably blames me

like I blame myself.

I can’t blame her

for that.

She tries to smile.

She asks politely,

with no feeling,

because she has to say

something,

“Are you okay, Ava?”

I nod,

but inside

my heart is screaming

and kicking

and stomping,

throwing a tantrum

like a two-year-old

because

I am definitely

not okay.

She hugs me.

A quick hug.

A fake hug.

An I’m-only-hugging-you-because-I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do hug.

Next,

I hug

the people

Jackson loved

most

in the whole,

wide

world.

His sister,

then his brother.

I tell myself

to be strong.

I should be strong

for them.

But I’m not.

I sob

into Daniel’s

black jacket.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers.

“You’re going to get through this.”

Just like his brother,

thinking about me,

not himself.

After that,

I stand alone

and wait for my mom

so we can

leave.

There is no line of people coming up to me

to say “I’m sorry”

or “He was so young”

or “Let me know if I can do anything.”

It feels like everyone

is looking at me.

What are they thinking?

Do I even want to know?

And then,

like an unexpected rain shower

on a day that’s so dry

you can’t breathe,

there is Cali

squeezing me tight

and Jessa

holding my hand

and Zoe

rubbing my back.

In that moment,

I realize

a circle of love

is ten times better

than a procession

of sorrys.

The Boy

Another procession.

This time,

a line of cars

driving

to the cemetery.

Mom calls Dad

on her cell.

He’s on a business trip in Paris.

He offered to come home.

I told him it’d be okay.

I have Mom, and besides,

what could he do?

I hear Mom say,

“Beautiful service ...”

“She’s hanging in there....”

“Wish you could be here....”

“Wanna talk to Ava?”

I shake my head

and wave my hand

to tell her no.

There’s nothing to say

that she hasn’t said already.

“I guess she’s tired right now....”

I make myself

drift back

to a happier time.

Jackson came to our school

in the fall

from a different school

in a different town.

He was the boy

with the shaved head

and the little goatee.

He looked old

for a junior.

The four of us,

Cali, Jessa, Zoe, and me,

talked about him

at lunch,

eating tacos,

Cali’s favorite food.

“Maybe he had cancer,” Jessa said,

“and lost his hair.”

“That’s terrible,” Cali said.

“Maybe he thinks bald is sexy,” Zoe said.

“On him,” I said, “it is.”

He Spiced Up My Life

When you meet someone

so different from yourself,

in a good way,

you don’t even have to kiss

to have fireworks go off.

It’s like fireworks

in your heart

all the time.

I always wondered,

do opposites really attract?

Now I know for sure

they do.

I’d grown up

going to the library as often

as most people go

to the grocery store.

Jackson didn’t need to read

about exciting people and places.

He went out

and found them,

or created excitement himself

if there wasn’t any

to be found.

The things I like are

pretty simple.

Burning CDs around themes,

like Songs to Get Your Groove On and

Tunes to Fix a Broken Heart;

watching movies;

baking cookies;

and swimming.

It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette,

and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta.

Alone, we were good.

Together, we were fantastic.

The Final Good—bye

Ashes

to

ashes.

Dust

to

dust.

I think

this is where

I’m supposed to say

good-bye.

Is that what

everyone’s thinking?

Good-bye, Jackson?

Rest in peace?

That’s not what I’m thinking.

I’m thinking,

I hate good-byes.

“Let us pray,” the minister says.

Dear God,

What can I do?

He didn’t deserve this.

Can’t we bring him back?

Isn’t there anything that will bring him back?

Please?

Amen

I look around.

If tears

could bring him back,

there’d be enough

to bring him back

a hundred times.

It’s Not Fair

Mom takes my hand

and leads me back

to the car.

All I can think about

is how my boyfriend

will soon be

underground.

He’ll be lying there

alone

in the dirt.

Mom asks me

if I want to go to the Montgomery house,

where people will gather

to eat

and talk

and remember.

“I can’t believe people feel like eating.

And talking.

Those are the last things I want to do.”

“Life goes on, honey,” Mom says.

As we pull away,

my eyes stay glued

to the casket.

It’s proof

that sometimes

life

does

not

go

on.

As Two Names No More

Ava + Jackson = true LOVE 4ever

I Jackson

J loves A

A loves J

Scribbles I made

on my French notebook.

I study the words

on the purple notebook

like I used to study

Jackson’s face

when he wasn’t looking.

When we got home,

Mom suggested

I write down my feelings.

Basically, keep a journal.

But I can’t stop staring

at those scribbles

and thinking about how

they used to be true.

But not anymore.

Now it’s just Ava.

No more Jackson.

No more true LOVE 4ever.

I turn the

tear-splattered cover.

I put the pen to the page.

All I can write is

Jackson

Jackson

Jackson

Jump In

I started swimming

about the time

I traded my bottle

for a sippy cup.

Mom took me to

a Baby and Me class

at the pool.

She said I was so natural

in the water,

she wondered

if she’d actually given birth

to a mermaid.

By high school

I was swimming competitively

on the swim team.

Jackson came

and watched me swim

many times.

That’s where it started.

“I dare you to jump off the high dive,” he said

one day after practice.

“You know I’m afraid of heights!”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m daring you.”

I couldn’t

disappoint

my boyfriend.

I climbed the ladder,

making sure I didn’t look down.

I inched my way

to the edge of the board,

then I crossed my fingers,

closed my eyes,

said a prayer,

and

jumped.

My stomach flew

to my throat

as the air

rushed

around me

and through me

until

I hit that water hard.

“I did it!” I yelled

as I climbed out of the pool.

He brought me a towel and simply said,

“That’s my girl.”

Nothing to Do Now

This summer,

I could have made money

at my second home.

I could have sat by the pool

in my suit,

pretending to watch the kids,

to guard lives,

while I thought about

him.

But accidents happen that way.

And my life doesn’t need any more

accidents.

So today I quit my job.

Mom asks me, “What are you going to do all summer?”

I just shrug.

Lashing Out

Nick,

my ex-boyfriend,

my boyfriend

pre-Jackson,

calls me.

“Ava?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.

Are you okay?”

“Nick, that’s a freaking ridiculous question.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nope. Not a thing.

Good-bye, Nick.”

Click.

Crap, why did I do that?

He was just trying to be nice.

I’m such a jerk.

Is being a jerk

one of the five

stages of grief?

Wishful Thinking

I’m sitting

on the porch swing,

thinking of how

Jackson and I

used to

sit and swing

together.

The stars are duller

than an old pocketknife.

They used to sparkle

like five-carat diamonds.

I wonder,

is heaven

up in the stars?

Beyond the stars?

Can Jackson see them

like I see them?

Is he wishing

like I’m wishing?

“Star light, star bright,” he said the first time

we sat here together.

“Make my wish come true tonight,” I said.

“That’s not how it goes.”

“Why drag it out?” I asked.

He laughed. “So, what’s your wish?”

“That time would stop,

so we could stay like this forever.”

“Tough wish,” he said.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Let’s see.

I’m hungry.

How about a cheeseburger?”

“How romantic,” I told him.

“Change your wish to a chocolate shake and we’re set.”

We went to In-N-Out Burger after that.

He got his wish.

I didn’t get mine.

I Need Mr. Sandman

Sleep doesn’t come.

Night after night

I thrash around

like a fish

caught in a net

trying to escape.

And I cry

for what I’ve done

and who I’ve lost.

Four days after the funeral,

Mom shows me the phone messages

she’s taken for me.

I didn’t want to talk

to anyone.

Jackson’s brother, Daniel, called.

Jessa and Zoe called.

Nick called,

again.

I ball them up

and throw them away.

“You’re tired,” Mom says.

She calls the doctor.

He prescribes Ambien.

“That’s good,” Mom says.

“Sleep will help.”

Will anything really help?

When I wake up,

I remember.

It hurts

to remember.

Mom brings me a sandwich

and some juice.

I get up to pee

and sneak another pill.

“I need to sleep a little more,” I tell Mom.

She doesn’t argue.

Because sleep helps.

Company’s Coming

The phone rings.

It rings and rings.

I finally drag

my butt out of bed

and answer it.

“Ava?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to do something?” Cali asks.

“Maybe go to the pool?”

“Not really.”

“Wanna do something else?”

“Not really.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“Can I come over?”

“I guess.”

“You need anything?”

But before I can answer, she says, “Never mind.

Stupid question.”

Stupid.

But sweet.

Mirror, Mirror

I’m putting on makeup.

I’ll be like a clown

and no one will see

the real face

behind the mask.

I don’t want Cali to see

the sad me,

the depressed me,

the shamed me.

As I stand in the bathroom,

carefully lining my eyelids

bronze,

I feel a splash

of cool air.

I shiver.

I feel something.

Something behind me.

Something familiar.

Hauntingly familiar.

I glance behind me,

but I don’t see

anything.

Or anyone.

And then,

when I look in the mirror

again,

I see,

for a split second,

not just me,

but someone else.

Jackson.

Food for Thought

Cali’s knocking,

so I turn and run.

As I run down the stairs,

I’m thinking there must be such a thing

as too much sleep.

That wasn’t really him.

It couldn’t have been him.

Could it?

When I open the door,

she gives me her

best girlfriend hug

and I realize

how much I have missed

my Cali.

We go to the kitchen,

plop down at the table.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

She looks at her watch.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

I get up

and open the pantry door.

I don’t even know

if it’s time for breakfast

or lunch

or dinner.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“11:00.”

I stand there, staring at the boxes

of crackers

and cereal,

trying to focus

on food

and not

on what I just saw

in the mirror.

The cool air

surrounds me again.

I get goose bumps.

I feel him, standing there,

next to me,

like he’s hungry too,

looking for something to eat.

“Did you feel that?” I ask.

“What?” she says.

“Nothing.”

She’ll think I’m crazy.

Maybe she’d be right.

And then,

there’s the slightest hint of

something brushing

my cheek.

Not a touch,

less than a touch.

A whisper.

No, a feeling.

Just a feeling.

Or maybe,

just my imagination.

I shiver again.

Am I going crazy?

“I think you need to get out,” Cali says.

“Let’s go to the mall.

For some yummy food court food,

and a little shopping, if you want.”

I shrug. “I guess.”

This is good.

I’m a normal girl

going to the mall.

Not crazy.

Not a girl

who’s beginning to think

she’s being haunted

by her dead

boyfriend.

Okay or Not Okay?

Cali has a green VW bug.

Cute.

Fun.

Perfect.

Like Cali.

I was going to work

so I could buy a car

when I turn sixteen

on August 15th.

Oh well.

All the things that

used to be so important

aren’t important

anymore.

“We haven’t been to the mall together in a long time,” Cali says.

“Yeah.

The last time I was there, Jackson bought me-”

I stop.

I look out the window.

There’s an old man

with an old woman,

sitting on a bench,

waiting for the bus.

He’s looking at a newspaper.

She’s looking at him.

She says something.

He looks at her.

He smiles.

She smiles.

The scene is so simple,

so lovely,

so perfect.

“It’s okay to talk about him,” Cali says.

“I know.”

“What did he buy you?”

I don’t want to say.

But she asked.

“That black-and-pink bikini.

To wear to the School’s Out party.”

She nods.

She remembers.

If she had known

it would bring up

that tragic day,

she wouldn’t have asked.

She shakes her head.

Turns the radio up.

I guess sometimes

it’s not okay

to talk about

him.

Cali

As she fiddles with the radio,

Cali’s blue-and-purple bracelet

twists and slides

on her arm.

The summer

between fifth and sixth grades,

we rode our bikes

to the pool

almost every day.

Then we came home

and made necklaces and bracelets

out of beads.

We loved

sitting

and talking

and making

beautiful jewelry

together.

We sold our creations

to kids in the neighborhood.

My dad called us little entrepreneurs.

I called us best friends.

“You still wear the bracelet I made for you,” I say,

thinking how it’s so amazing

she’s kept it

all this time.

“I love it.

Where’s the one I made for you?”

“I lost it.”

“I’ll make you another one,” she says.

“We can buy some beads at the mall.”

That’s Cali.

The one who will do

anything for me.

Thank God for Cali.

Wondering

I shop,

but I don’t buy.

I eat,

but I don’t taste.

Cali talks,

but I don’t listen.

My mind’s drifting,

thinking about him.

Wondering if I’ll feel that cool air,

feel that brush against my cheek,

feel Jackson again,

when I go home.

It couldn’t have been him.

I’m being ridiculous.

Still,

it’s not long before

I want to go home

and find out

for sure.

The Way My Life Changed

I lean my head back

on the car seat

as we drive home.

With my eyes closed,

I search for a memory

that will make me

smile.

And then,

I remember the night

my life changed

forever.

The silver bleachers

filled with kids

in black and red,

cheering the football team

to victory.

It was a warm September night.

The best kind of Friday night.

My favorite kind of high school night.

He was two rows up.

Behind me.

Watching me.

Or so he told me later.

Cali, Jessa, and Zoe

went to get us food.

I stayed

to save our seats.

And that’s when

he made his move.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Jackson.”

“I know.

Everyone knows who you are.”

His cheeks turned

the color of watermelon.

His eyes greener

than the rind.

He was so cute,

from the top of his sexy bald head

to the tips of his PacSun shoes.

The way he looked at me

made me quiver

and quake.

It was a good thing

I was sitting down.

My legs wouldn’t have

held me up.

Who Are You?

“Do you know who I am?” I asked.

“No. But I’d like to.”

“Ava Bender.”

“Ava,”

he said.

“I like that name.

Ava.”

I loved the way

he said my name.

He talked about the game,

and about his old school.

He talked about how moving sucked,

and about being the new kid,

which sucked even more.

I talked about living in the same house

my whole life

with a mom who works a lot

and a dad who travels a lot.

“Tell me something about Ava no one else knows,” he said.

“No one?”

I had to think hard

on that one.

“I really hate being alone,” I finally said.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here.”

That made me smile.

“Now it’s your turn,” I told him.

“I want to go out with you.”

That made me smile

even more.

I couldn’t say anything

because my friends came back.

Jackson didn’t move.

They squeezed in

on the other side of me.

I introduced them.

They looked at me

like I’d just won

the lottery.

But it was way better

than that.

The Other Side

The green bug

backs away.

I wave

and smile

like everything’s fine,

while inside

I’m freaking out

because I don’t know

if he’s waiting for me

on the other side

of that door.

Awake

I move from one room

to the next.

Downstairs.

Upstairs.

I whisper his name.

“Jackson?

How do I find you?”

I go to the bathroom

and stare into the mirror.

I look more awake

than I’ve been

in weeks.

Like a kid

who wakes up really early

on Christmas day

and can’t wait

to see what’s under

the tree.

I stand in front of the mirror

for minutes.

Maybe hours.

“Ava, I’m home,” Mom calls from downstairs.

“Are you awake?”

Suddenly,

the air temperature drops,

and this time

there’s no confusion.

Jackson’s face

flashes

next to mine.

I’d say

awake

is an

understatement.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Mom makes spaghetti.

She makes it

because I love it.

And because she’s happy

I’m awake.

“Feeling better?” she asks.

“Yeah.

Cali took me to the mall.”

“Good.

I was starting to worry.”

“Mom, it’s Thursday, right?”

“Yes.”

“Dad comes home tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she says. “Should we go to the beach this weekend?”

No.

NO!

I don’t want to go anywhere.

If Jackson’s here,

I have to stay here.

“Can we just stay home?

Watch some movies?”

She smiles.

“That sounds nice.”

“Thanks for the spaghetti.

It was good.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

It’s nick Again

Nick calls Thursday night,

to express

his concern for me

one more time.

I tell him I’m okay,

and there’s nothing he can do

because I just buried my boyfriend

and of course I’m really not

that

okay.

“I just want you to know I’m here for you, Ava.

If you need me.”

It’s weird.

Does he want a second chance?

Does he want to be the rebound guy?

Or maybe

he is loving

every minute

of my grief

and unhappiness.

Maybe he’s thinking

I had it coming.

And maybe,

just maybe,

I did.

What Did It Mean?

Dare:

a challenge

to do something dangerous

or foolhardy.

I dare you.

Three

stupid

words.

I dared him to order octopus at a restaurant and to eat it all.

He dared me to write a love letter, sign it Secret Admirer, and

sneak it to a teacher.

I dared him to pretend he was blind in the crystal section of

the department store.

This game,

or whatever it was,

became our little

thing.

Jackson,

the rock climber,

the white-water rafter,

the extreme skier guy,

loved the feel of adrenaline

ROARING

through his veins.

For me,

it was scary,

and exhilarating,

all at the same time.

But I could have lived

without it.

All I needed

was Jackson.

I wish all he’d needed

was me.

A Strange Sensation

I can hear my heart

beat

beat

beating

in the darkness

as I try

to go to sleep.

The clock says 12:08.

Mom is asleep by now.

I get up

and go down the stairs

to make hot cocoa.

Will he be there,

waiting for me?

My heart is

beat

beat

beating

faster,

even though

there’s no sign of him.

When the hot cocoa is done,

I put marshmallows in.

I stir slowly,

watching them melt

into each other.

I think of Jackson.

His touch,

his kisses,

and the way he looked at me,

with eyes like a green ocean.

I take a sip,

and the cocoa’s so hot

it burns my tongue.

Hot.

Cold.

Hot.

Cold.

I shiver.

“Jackson?”

Smells Like Sandalwood

I spin

around

and around

and around

like a top on a wooden floor.

“Where are you?

Show me you’re here.

Please?”

I stop.

I stand still.

I wait.

There is just enough light

from the full moon

shining through the

kitchen window.

The white, frilly curtains

move slightly.

Shifting.

Fluttering.

And then I smell

the smell that was all

Jackson,

because he kept that head

and beautiful face

so well shaven.

Sandalwood

shaving

cream.

Music Says It All

I sit down

at the kitchen table

and I whisper,

like he is sitting

right across from me.

“Jackson, I know it’s you.

I’m not scared.

Maybe I should be, but I’m not.

Whatever you need to do to talk to me,

in your own way, is okay.

I’m not scared.

“Can I see you?

I want to see you.”

Nothing happens.

I ask him, “Don’t ghosts or spirits or whatever

sometimes show themselves?”

And then

the CD player

on the kitchen counter

starts to play.

3 Doors Down.

Here By Me.

Skinless

The music’s loud.

It makes me

jump

right out of my skin.

I run over

and turn it down.

As I do,

I see the slightest reflection

of Jackson

on the stainless steel fridge.

“Oh, God.

It’s really you.

Jackson.

You’re here.”

I feel him

move closer to me.

The smell of him

fills me up.

It makes the hairs

on my arms

stand up straight.

“Can I touch you?” I whisper.

No answer.

I guess,

in order to

touch,

there has to be skin,

which a ghost

doesn’t have.

I Can Hear You

There’s

a murmur

inside my brain,

so quiet,

I have to close my eyes tight

and really concentrate

to hear it.

Ava,

I’m here.

I can’t talk this way often.

It’s hard to get my thoughts

through to you.

Just know

I love you,

and I’m not going to leave you.

Dancing in the Moonlight

I whisper back.

“I understand.

You don’t have to talk.

You don’t have to do anything.

Just you being here

is enough.

I’m so glad you’re here, Jackson.”

I have more I want to say.

But not now.

Now is the time

to just be together.

“Dance with me,” I whisper.

I get up, and sway to the music.

My eyes are closed.

I imagine him there,

with me in the moonlight,

hugging me,

caressing me,

loving me.

And I know

with all of my

Jackson-loving heart

that’s exactly

what he’s doing.

But then

the music turns off

and the room

warms up.

He’s gone.

Trust Me

A few seconds later,

Mom appears.

She flicks on the light

and I squint my eyes

at the brightness.

“Ava?

Are you okay?

I thought I heard music.

Were you playing music?”

“Sorry, Mom.

I came down to have cocoa.

I turned the CD player on.

Sorry it woke you up.”

She reaches out

and hugs me.

“Why are you shaking?” she asks.

“Did I scare you?”

There’s no way I can tell her.

“I guess a little.

But I’m okay.

Ready for bed.”

She keeps her arm

around me

and we go upstairs

together.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks

when we get to my room.

I smile.

“Better than ever.”

The Next Morning

What if it was

just

a

dream?

Lovely Lemons

I wait all day,

wandering the house,

but there is no sign

of him.

If he said he isn’t going to leave me,

why does it seem like

he’s left me?

Maybe being a ghost is

more complicated

than I understand.

I make fresh lemonade,

squeezing the lemons

Mom brought home

yesterday.

Lemons are one of

my favorite things.

Luscious

and juicy,

they remind me

of Jackson’s

kisses.

I remember the time

we went out for dessert.

He had chocolate cake.

I had a lemon tart.

“You have lemon,” Jackson said,

“in the corner of your mouth.

Let me get it for you.”

And just like that

he leaned in

and kissed me,

his tongue gently licking

the lemon

away.

That’s how it was with us.

Comfortable.

Easy.

So. Incredibly. Wonderful.

I add sugar,

water,

and ice cubes

to the juice

in the pitcher.

When I take a drink,

it tastes

sweet and sour

like it should be.

My heart feels

sweet and sour too.

Is that how it should be?

And then,

when the coolness

sweeps over me,

giving me goose bumps,

and I know he has returned,

everything is oh, so

sweet.

A Gift

Dad comes home.

“Angel,” he says, hugging me.

He breaks away

to tell me

what I already knew.

“I’m sorry.

What a rotten time for me to be gone.”

I know he’s been worried about me.

He’s called almost every day.

“I’m okay, Dad.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He reaches down,

unzips his suitcase,

and pulls out a bag.

“I brought you some perfume.

They say Paris makes the best, you know.”

I take it out of the bag.

A shiny, gold sun

caps the bottle.

I unscrew the sun

and take a whiff.

“I figured you could use a little sunshine about now,” he tells me.

I hug him again.

“Thanks, Dad.

I’m glad you’re home.”

Life with a Ghost

Jackson seems

to be afraid

to come around

if my parents

are with me.

I guess if they knew

about him,

it would be really strange.

Dad sticks

close to me.

We talk a lot

and share ice cream

after dinner.

Finally,

I retreat

to my room.

There’s a note

on my mirror

written

in toffee lipstick.

Ava

is

beautiful.

Ava

is

good.

Ava

is

mine.

I put the lipstick

on my lips

and give the mirror

a big, fat

kiss.

Not a Pity Party

Saturday morning,

Zoe calls.

“I’m having a pool party tonight,” she says.

“Will you come?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ava, I miss you.

Please come.”

I tell her I’ll call her back.

I need to think about it.

“Who was that?” Mom asks.

“Zoe.

She’s having a pool party tonight.”

“Sounds like fun. You should go.”

“But—”

I don’t finish my sentence.

I can’t say,

But I’d rather stay home and hang out with Jackson.

Because he’s here,

and maybe we’ll make hot cocoa together

or something.

Hard to Say Yes

“But what, honey?” Mom asks.

She’s pouring herself

a glass of lemonade.

“Can I have some of that?” I ask.

I watch the yellow liquid

splash into the glass,

so free and sure of itself.

Zoe calls again.

“You have to come.

Nick’s brother’s band is going to play.

It’ll be so great.

S’il vous plaît?”

Mom begs me with her eyes.

Zoe begs me with her words.

“Okay.”

Zoe

Cali and I

met Zoe and Jessa

in French class,

freshman year.

We were

grouped together,

and our assignment

was to make

a French dessert

to share with the class.

We went to Zoe’s house

because her dad

is a chef

and he wanted to help us.

Except we were

so giggly

and so here

and there

and everywhere

in the kitchen,

he left us alone

to make our

soufflé au chocolat.

The first one

was a flop

because we burnt

the chocolate.

But Zoe said,

“Like Napoleon,

we will not give up!”

The second time,

we were focused

and worked together,

like soldiers in an army,

battling the double boiler

with all our might.

Our soufflé au chocolat

turned out

magnifique.

I love a lot of things

about Zoe,

but I especially love

how she doesn’t give up.

Zoe is

très magnifique.

Am I Suited for This?

I pull out the bikini.

The one Jackson bought me.

The one I wore that day.

I can’t wear it.

I won’t wear it.

Never

ever

again.

I should throw it away.

But Jackson gave it to me.

It’s the last thing he gave me.

So I’ll keep it.

But I won’t wear it.

I pull out last year’s suit

that’s faded

from the sun

and the chlorine

and not nearly as cute

as the black-and-pink one

from Jackson.

Who cares.

It’s not like I’m trying

to look hot

for a guy

or anything.

I’m just going because—

Wait a minute.

Why am I going?

Beauty Everywhere

I sit in the corner

watching

the swimmers

the dancers

the smoochers

the gabbers

the drinkers

the smokers.

“Come in, Ava,” Cali yells from the pool.

“We need you!” Zoe cries.

I raise my drink in the air.

But I don’t move.

I stay right

where I feel

I belong.

The sun starts to set

and tangerine orange

turns to

cotton candy pink

and I wish

my man

Jackson was here

to give me some

cranberry red love.

“Ava,” I hear

in a deep voice

I recognize.

It’s Nick.

Imagine that.

The boy

who won’t leave me

alone.

“Hey,” I say.

“You look lonely over here by yourself.”

I point

to the orange-and-pink sky.

“Isn’t that the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“Yeah. It is.”

You Can’t Go Back

“So what’s the deal, Nick?

You stalking me?”

He laughs. “No. Just worried about you.

That’s all.”

“Well, please don’t worry about me.

I’m fine.”

I think of Jackson

at home,

where I might see him

again tonight.

I smile.

Wait.

Does Jackson follow me?

Does he know what’s happening here?

Will he be pissed I’m talking to Nick?

No.

I’d feel him if he were here.

Wouldn’t I?

“It’s good to see you,” Nick says.

“I’ve missed you.

I look back and wonder

how I could have been so crazy

to let you go.”

“Let me go?

You cheated on me, Nick.

I cut you loose.”

“So if I got up the nerve to ask you out again,

and promised to be good,

would you even consider saying yes?”

I stand up

and hand him the empty glass.

“Not in a million sunsets, Nick.”

Cold Shoulder

When I get home,

it’s late.

And the house is

freaking

freezing.

It feels like

I live

in an igloo.

I grab a blanket from the closet

and wrap it around my shoulders.

I head to the kitchen.

Every

single

cupboard

door

is open.

“Jackson,” I whisper.

“I’m home.”

The CD player turns on.

My stomach does

a somersault.

I listen,

trying to

place it.

Got it.

Don’t Leave Me

by Green Day.

Freaky Saturday

“Are you mad at me for going?”

No response.

Although I don’t know

what kind of response

I expected

exactly.

“Jackson, I can’t stay home all the time.

“Besides, Mom and Dad would get suspicious

if I never went anywhere.

“I don’t want them to know about you and me.

“They’d think I’m crazy.”

All the cupboard doors

slam shut

at the

exact

same time.

Now my stomach

does a

backhand flip.

Messing with Me

“I’m going to bed,

Jackson.

I’m tired.

Good night.”

I walk up the stairs.

I feel him

following me.

I tremble

as I feel cold air,

or is it breath,

on the back

of my neck.

I open the door to my room

and gasp.

My panties

and bras

and socks

and nighties

have been flung

all over

my room.

That’s My Boy

I stand there for a minute

and then

I close the door

and smile.

My smile turns into

giggles.

I belly flop

onto my bed,

splashing panties

everywhere.

This is so Jackson.

He gets mad.

He throws a little tantrum.

We laugh about it.

I remember

the time

I decided to go

to the day spa

with my girlfriends

instead of hanging

with him.

He waited outside the spa

until we walked up.

He pulled me aside,

all pissed off,

and told me

I totally ruined his day.

He said, “I had something special planned.”

“Special?” I asked,

wondering what exactly that meant.

He shrugged

and pulled two

basketball tickets

out of his pocket.

I burst out laughing and

punched him in the arm.

“Basketball is not special!”

He couldn’t help it.

He started laughing too.

Then he pulled me

into his arms

and whispered

in my ear,

“I just love you so much.

I want to be with you always.”

It’s like I can hear him

repeating those words now.

I go to work

putting all the stuff back

where it belongs.

The room starts to warm up,

which makes

the ice in the igloo

start to

m

e

l

t

and I whisper into

the silence of the night,

“I want to be with you always too.”

Like a warm summer breeze

in my head,

I hear his words.

This is so hard for me, Ava.

I want it to be like it was before.

I’ll try to be more understanding.

Please forgive me?

Like he even

has to ask.

The Sea of Love

When exhaustion

finally hits me,

I fall into bed.

It’s not long

before I’m in that

strange place

between asleep

and awake,

where you might

fall off a cliff

or find a stranger

chasing you.

But tonight,

waiting for me

behind the magical

curtain of dreams,

there’s Jackson,

as clear as the

sparkling silver tips

of the sea

that surround the boat

we’re rocking in.

We face each other,

the full moon

so iridescent,

it reminds me of

the glow-in-the-dark planets

I used to have

on my ceiling.

We stand there

in peaceful darkness,

not talking,

not touching,

but feeling

volts of electricity

charging through our veins.

When he finally

reaches out

to touch me,

the energy

is so intense,

I jump.

He pulls me to him

and kisses me,

his lips

so soft,

so delicious,

so real,

I can’t help

but reach up

and touch them

with my fingers.

And once I feel his skin

beneath my fingers,

I want more.

It’s like he’s a map

and I’m trying to find

my way home.

While we kiss,

my hands travel

across his chest,

down his arms,

to his hands,

where our

fingers

intertwine.

We raise

our hands

in the air

above us,

victorious in love,

only to let go

and push ourselves

together

even closer.

When we

release our lips,

we both

g a s p

for air.

Then,

he cradles my body

as he ever-so-gently

lays my

q

u

i

v

e

r

i

i

g

body

down.

Our eyes locked,

my finger

traces his jaw.

Before I can say

I love you,

I’m swimming

in the

warm sea

of his

kisses

once again.

Question of the Way

Can a girl

lose her

virginity

to a

ghost?

Christmas in Paris

It’s Sunday morning

and Dad takes me out

for breakfast.

I get pancakes with strawberries

and whipped cream.

Dad orders pigs in a blanket.

We both have coffee

with sugar.

Lots and lots of sugar.

Dad talks about Paris

and how he’d love to take me

and Mom there

someday.

He says I’d love the Eiffel Tower,

the Arc de Triomphe,

the Louvre,

the cafés, the shopping.

“Let’s go at Christmastime,” he says.

I think of my three best friends.

They would love to go to Paris.

Why not me?

Maybe it’s because

Paris is really

far away

and we would have to

stay away from home

for a really

long time.

You Lift Me Up

On the way home

Dad drives past the place

where the city’s festival

is held every spring.

Jackson took me

to the carnival.

We rock-and-rolled

on the roller coaster

and French-kissed

on the merry-go-round

and laughed hysterically

on the hammerhead.

We ate corn dogs

and curly fries

and raspberry scones.

“I want one of those!” I said,

pointing to the big stuffed teddy bears

hanging above the

MILK CAN SOFTBALL TOSS.

Jackson stuck his chest out

and said, “No problem!”

Twenty dollars later

I was stuck with

a teeny-tiny

yellow

stuffed

snake.

“How appropriate,” Jackson told me.

“These guys are so slimy.

’Step right up!

We’ll take all your money,

and even better,

make you look like a loser

in front of your girlfriend!’”

I laughed

and told him

I loved my

teeny-tiny snake

and who needs

a big, old teddy bear

anyway,

when I have a perfectly

good boyfriend

to cuddle with.

With his last dollar,

he turned to the man

selling balloons

and bought me

a red one.

“A balloon and a snake?

This is my lucky day!”

But as he reached out

to hand me the balloon,

I didn’t quite have a grip

on the string.

As we watched          and away,

the balloon         up

float        up

up

Jackson whispered into my ear,

“Ava,

you are my helium.”

He was always good

at making the best of things.

Daddy’s Little Girl

The tears roll down my face,

without notice,

without effort,

but with feeling.

I thought I was done crying.

I mean, Jackson’s come back to me.

And yet, there won’t be

any more days

like that day

at the carnival.

Jackson may be back,

but those days

are gone

forever.

Dad looks over at me.

And then he turns away.

He doesn’t say

anything.

What’s he thinking?

That this is all for the best,

because when you’re fifteen,

you shouldn’t be so serious,

like he and Mom told me a few months ago?

Mom and Dad liked Jackson.

I know they did.

He stayed for dinner sometimes

and he made them laugh,

telling stories about his brother and sister

and the pranks they played on one another.

But my parents worried.

“You’re so young ...”

“You’re spending too much time together....”

“How serious is it...”

I look at Dad.

He looks at me

again.

Then his hand reaches up

and wipes the tears away,

without notice,

without effort,

but with feeling.

“I remember when you were little,” he says,

“you’d fall down and scrape your knee.

And you’d come running over to me, crying and crying.”

“Then you’d kiss it,” I tell him,

“and make it better.”

I remember too.

It was so easy then.

“I know you loved him a lot.

And I wish I could make this better.”

So that’s

what he was

thinking.

“I love you, Dad.”

I Do What I Have to Do

The real estate business

slows down in the summer.

Mom is home

more and more.

Jackson’s there

less and less.

So I endure the long days

to enjoy the sweet

but silent

nights

where he often visits

in my dreams.

I tried to talk once,

to tell him

how sorry I feel.

But he covered my lips

with his

and that was that.

At least in my dreams

I have his soothing touch.

Even in the silence,

my heart overflows

with the love

that is all

Jackson’s.

I wake later

and later

and later

each day.

I search the cupboards

and drawers

for the pills

Mom gave me

so I might

sleep all the time

like I did before.

But I can’t find them.

Don’t Be Blue

“Come with me,” Mom says.

“To the library.

Books and summertime

go together.”

“No.

I don’t feel well.”

“Are you okay?” Mom asks.

“You’ve been sleeping a lot.

Maybe we should take you to the doctor.”

“I’m fine, Mom.

Just have a cold or something.”

So, she leaves without me.

The CD player turns on

You’re The One, by Sugarcult.

A blue bouncy ball

rolls across the floor.

I pick it up.

There’s scribbled writing,

hard to read.

I figure out it says:

Don’t be blue.

I love you!

Let the Sunshine In

The doorbell rings.

Surprise!

I’m in my ratty robe

with pictures of sunglasses

splattered on the fabric.

I peek out and see

Cali, Zoe, and Jessa.

When I open the door,

Jessa says,

“Dude, you look like shit.”

That’s Jessa.

Always telling it like it is.

They don’t wait for me

to invite them in.

They each give me a hug,

then plop themselves

on the couch.

“So.

What’s new?” I ask.

“I got a puppy,” Cali says.

“A cockapoo. I named him Gumball.”

“Gumball?” I ask.

“He’s so cute,” Zoe says.

“But even bigger news is Cali met someone,” Jessa blurts out.

“You did?” I ask.

“He was a senior last year,” Cali says.

“But it’s still early in the game.

I have to work on him some more.

Get him to ask me out.”

As she talks,

I notice how gorgeous

they all look

in their tank tops

and shorts,

their tan legs

and painted toes.

They look

how California girls

should look

in the summer.

I glance down

at myself.

I’ve got sunglasses

on my robe.

And that’s about it

for me.

Jessa

I’ve always been the quiet girl.

I’m the good girl

who does

what she’s told

(most of the time).

Jessa is the loud girl.

She’s the bad girl

who makes you

want to be bad too,

because it looks

so good

on her,

with her pierced nose

and her wild hair.

She’s the youngest

in a family

with six kids.

I think she had to be loud

and bad

so she wouldn’t

be forgotten.

Jessa loves the movies.

We went to the movies together a lot,

while Cali and Zoe

played volleyball.

The first time we went,

Jessa said,

“Let’s stay and see another one.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to do that.”

“Why not?” she said.

“No one will know.”

Then she pulled me into

another theater

to watch

another movie.

And then we went to her house,

where she showed me

the book of drawings she keeps.

Fairies,

elves,

dragons,

and wizards.

She is such a talented artist.

“When I turn eighteen,” she told me,

“I’m going to get a bunch of these

as tatoos.”

Yeah,

I don’t think Jessa

needs to worry

anymore

about being

forgotten.

Jessa is definitely

unforgettable.

In the very best way,

of course.

The Truth Hurts

“Wanna shower? Go somewhere?” Zoe asks.

“We could cruise around in my new car,” Jessa says.

“You got a new car?” I ask.

“What’d you get?”

“Well, it’s used, but new to me.

It’s a Mazda Protégé.”

Wow.

Guess things are happening

out there

in the big, blue world.

“Come on,” Cali says.

“Let’s split this joint.”

“Nah.

I’m not really up for anything today.”

Jessa stands up.

“Ava, this isn’t healthy.

It’s beautiful out. Come on.

You’re not the dead one, you know.”

“Jessa!” Zoe yells.

“Oh, God,” Cali says.

“Nice, Jessa.”

“Sorry,” Jessa says.

“I’m so sorry.

Forgive me?”

“You guys just don’t have a clue what I’m going through,” I say

as I pick at a loose thread on my robe.

“So tell us,” Jessa says.

“We’re here. Help us understand.”

I stand up.

“I have stuff to do,” I tell them,

which is a total lie

and they know it.

“Thanks for stopping by.”

I walk to the door, open it, and wait.

“Bye, Ava.”

“Bye, Hon.”

“I’m sorry, A.”

“Yeah,” I tell them, in almost a whisper.

“It’s okay.

See ya later.”

I go to the front window

and watch their beautiful, tan bodies

get into Jessa’s cute car.

They wave

and then the car

zips out of the driveway

and down the street

in a flash of silver.

The room gets cold.

Jackson is there.

“How come you can’t go out, Jackson?

Do you want me here with you all the time?

I feel like you do.

Will you get mad at me if I go with my friends?

I mean, I have a life, Jackson.

Or, I should anyway.

Do you get that?”

No answer.

“Why can’t ghosts TALK!?” I scream.

The Closest Thing to Talking

I sit on the couch

and cry

because everything is so

confusing

and mixed up.

Suddenly,

the music stops.

Oh, no.

No, please,

don’t go!

I shouldn’t have

screamed

like that.

This isn’t his fault.

Does he hate me now?

I stand up

and call his name.

“Jackson?

JACKSON!?”

“Please come back,” I shriek,

crying and pacing.

“Please don’t leave me

by myself!”

When I feel the cold air

flutter around me

like a butterfly’s wings,

I know he’s back,

and I collapse on the

couch in relief.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Jackson.

I didn’t mean it.”

There’s a whisper

inside my head

so soft,

I almost don’t hear the first words.

There are ghost rules, Ava.

I’m not allowed to answer your questions.

I don’t want to keep you from your friends.

I’m sorry I got mad before.

More than anything,

I want you to be happy.

I love you, Ava.

Be happy.

Road Trip

A few days before

the Fourth of July holiday,

they don’t ask me,

they just do it.

Mom and Dad

whisk me away

to the place of

sand and sea,

with the never-ending sound

of waves

thrashing,

lashing,

crashing.

I love that sound.

I love the beach.

I’ve packed my windbreaker,

my sun visor,

my flip-flops

and tank tops.

What I couldn’t pack

was my ghost of a boyfriend,

Jackson.

We’re about to leave

when I say,

“Wait! I forgot something!”

I grab my key

from my purse,

run inside the house

and up the stairs.

“I’ll miss you, Jackson,” I say

to the still, quiet air

around me

as I walk toward

the bookcase in my room.

“I’ll be back soon.

I promise.”

I return to the car

with a stuffed

yellow snake

stuck in the pocket

of my hoody.

Let’s Dance

I walk barefoot next to my mom.

The seagulls dance

across the sand

as the waves crash

on the shore.

The seagull waltz.

I dance around my mother’s

topic of conversation.

“You don’t talk about him.

Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

“Yes.”

“Ava, I’ll just say it.

I’m worried about you.

It seemed like you were doing fine.

But lately, I don’t know.”

“I am fine, Mom.”

She grabs my hand.

Squeezes it.

“I think it might be good for you to talk to someone.”

“A shrink?”

“A grief counselor.”

I stop walking

and let my eyes rest

on the blueness of the ocean,

thinking of Jackson,

wondering if he’s sipping my lemonade

or drinking my cocoa

or frolicking around

in my panty drawer.

“Isn’t it just so amazing, Mom?”

I put my arm around her

and put my head

on her shoulder.

“Sometimes, I think I smell him,” she whispers.

I don’t say anything.

The mother-daughter waltz.

Ghostly Tales

It’s hard

to fall asleep

in a room

that isn’t mine.

In the kite room

of the beach house,

kites are on every wall.

Blue ones,

red ones,

yellow ones,

and even one

shaped like a bird.

I quietly get up

and move over

to the computer.

I turn it on.

I Google “ghosts.”

I click and read

click and read

click and read.

A website claiming to be

“The Number One Resource on Ghosts”

says that if a person dies with “unresolved issues”

or “emotional baggage,”

he can’t move on

to “the higher plane.”

Does Jackson have unresolved issues?

Or emotional baggage?

Do I want to know if he does?

I find a message board

on another site

where people share their experiences

and ask questions.

It seems like each ghost is different.

Some only appear once a year.

Some only appear in dreams.

Some only haunt houses.

Some only show up in mirrors.

Jackson seems to be

a do-anything

kind of ghost.

That makes sense

because he was pretty much

a do-anything

kind of guy.

Lost

The walls are thin.

My parents are talking.

Talking about me.

I tiptoe back to my bed.

Dad says, “The three girls and Nick

have been checking in with her, right?”

“Yes. But she still just sits at home most of the time.”

“She needs to talk to someone.”

“How do we get her to see she does?” Mom asks

“She doesn’t have to see it.

She just has to do it.

We have to make her do it.”

Oh. My. God.

My parents.

My friends.

They all

must think

I’m mental.

And Nick,

was he hitting on me

only because

he felt sorry for me?

I turn over

and cry into my pillow.

Jackson,

why aren’t you here?

I need you!

If I sleep,

will you visit me?

Can you find me?

Please.

Find me.

Flying Alone

The kites

lift me up

and take me away

to a place where I sleep.

I sleep without dreams.

Without Jackson.

Finally,

I rest.

Good Morning

Sunday morning

I wake up early

for the first time

in a long time,

feeling refreshed.

I head to the beach, where

I want to run barefoot

on the sand,

feel the sea breeze

on my skin,

hear the ocean sounds

in my head.

Maybe it will help

me forget

all the mixed-up stuff

going on

in my life.

But I’m not the only one

who is up early.

A black Lab

runs over to me.

I bend down to pet him.

He drops a stick

at my feet.

“Sorry.

He loves to play fetch,”

says the tan guy

with short, blonde hair.

I laugh and say, “Okay.”

Then I throw the stick into the ocean

and watch the dog

chase the stick

with everything

he’s got.

Like if he loses that stick,

his life will never be the same.

The waves cover him

for a second,

but he bobs to the top

with the stick in his mouth.

And soon he is at my feet,

ready to play again.

“Good boy,” I tell him.

His owner moves closer to me and says,

“His name is Bo.”

“Good Bo.” We laugh.

“And I’m Lyric.”

“Lyric?

That’s a cool name.

Do you sing?”

He breaks out

into an opera-style

rendition of

You Are My Sunshine.

I laugh and applaud.

He takes a bow.

“Wow.

So you’re not shy,” I tell him.

“Not shy at all,” he says

as he sits

on a piece of driftwood

and pulls on my arm

so I’m sitting

right next to him.

Silly Nothingness

We people-watch

and talk

and laugh

about silly things,

like the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders

(he likes football)

and how he thinks that’s the easiest job in the world

and how I think, no way can that be even close to easy!

I wonder if he knows

I’m not capable

of anything more

than this.

I wonder

if he would care?

In the Moment

I am

talking,

and laughing,

and listening,

and talking some more.

Lyric is totally flirting with me,

which feels so weird

but flattering,

I guess.

He tells me a story

about a crazy friend of his

who’s trying to beat

the pogo stick

world record,

and the way he talks about

bounce bounce

bouncing

on that pogo stick

makes me laugh

hysterically.

And for the first time

in a long,

long

time,

I feel

ALIVE!

So Long, Farewell

Then I remember.

I remember him.

The one I will love forever

and the one who loves me so much

he can’t leave me behind.

“I have to go,” I say.

“Can I get your number?” he asks.

“I can’t.

It’s complicated.”

I turn and walk away.

I don’t want to say good-bye.

So I won’t say anything.

Bo barks.

He says it for all of us.

“Drop me an e-mail,” he calls out.

“It’s Lyric@remstat.com.”

I know he wants me to turn around

to say “okay”

or give a thumbs-up.

Something.

Anything.

I should turn and say,

I have a boyfriend.

I belong with him.

But the words refuse to come.

“I’ll see you in my dreams, Ava,” he calls to me.

I stop.

I get goose bumps.

I turn to make sure it’s really Lyric,

and not

Jackson.

He waves,

and I wonder who I’ll see

in my dreams

tonight.

Independence Day

I watch

the festivities

from the window.

Kids running,

waving sparklers.

Dads lighting

firecrackers.

Moms pulling kids back,

saying, “Don’t stand too close.”

The sky

fills with

red,

white,

and blue.

Into the darkness comes

light,

joy,

and freedom.

Tomorrow I go home

to Jackson.

I consider

what freedom

really means.

And I realize

maybe I’m not so free

after all.

It Doesn’t Make Sense

As the car moves

toward home,

my thoughts

don’t seem

to want to go there

just yet.

I didn’t

want

to leave

the place of

salty air

and kite rooms

and lyrical boys.

Not only

did I survive

the days

which I didn’t think

I could,

they refreshed me,

revitalized me,

reminded me

of what I’ve been

missing.

What does that mean

exactly?

My thoughts

don’t seem

to want to go there

just yet

either.

Back Home

It’s late

when we get home.

I feel my pulse

quicken

as I think

about Jackson,

hoping he won’t be too upset.

The house is quiet.

Dark.

Normal.

Mom and Dad go to bed.

I make a PB&J sandwich.

I wait for movement

or music

or mind messages.

But there’s nothing.

I eat,

then go to my room.

My room is quiet.

Dark.

Normal.

I go to the bathroom, where

I stand at the mirror

long after I’m done

brushing and washing.

Finally, I go to bed,

wondering if he’ll find me

in my dreams,

and sort of praying

he won’t.

Light the Way

I wake up

in the middle of the night

to candles

lit up

in the darkness.

“Jackson,” I whisper,

“that’s sweet,

but you can’t do things like that.

What if my mom or dad walks in?”

A gust of wind

blows across the room

and in an instant

the room

turns

black.

Sorry.

“No, Jackson.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry this is so hard.”

And I wonder when I’ll finally

stop having things

to feel sorry about.

What’s Going On?

No one called

while we were away.

No one calls

after we return.

I spend time

watching TV,

playing solitaire

on the computer,

and reading magazines.

Jackson hangs around

some of the time.

But I still wish

someone

would

pick up the

phone

and

talk

to

me.

To Go or Not to Go

Days go by

and I finally

call Cali.

Why have I been

such a bad friend?

What happened to the good friend

who’d pick a bouquet of daisies for Cali

or make peanut butter cookies for Jessa

or burn a CD of songs for Zoe?

I miss flowers

and cookies

and music.

I want to feel

like a friend again.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Uh, I’m getting ready to head out,” she says.

“Gotta hot date?”

“Sort of.”

“Really?

With who?”

“A bunch of people are going to-”

She stops.

I wait.

She doesn’t finish.

“Oh no,” I say.

“Not there.”

“Ava, it’s time.

It’s not an evil place, you know.

Kids are hanging out there as a tribute to him.

It’s like you can feel his spirit there.

Really.

There’s even been talk of changing the name.

You know, to Jackson’s Hideaway.”

“But Cali, he died there.

How can people have fun at the place where he died?”

“I’m going,” she says.

“You could come too.

It might be good for you, actually.”

“Cali, I called because I need to talk to you.

Please?

Can we go have a mocha?

And I’ll think about going.

I will.”

Well,

Cali never could

turn down a mocha.

No Secrets

We sip on our mochas

at Starbucks,

where we’ve

spent hours upon hours

talking

and giggling

like girls do.

My heart tells me

it’s time to spill my guts.

After all,

I used to tell her

everything.

I told her about the time

I snuck out one night

to meet Jackson

down the corner

so we could make out

on the back porch

of the vacant house.

I even told her about the time

I kissed Nick

at midnight

on New Year’s Eve

when I was still going with Jackson

but he was out of town

and I was lonely.

And now I tell her about how

Jackson is in my house

and how he turns the CD player on

and how he appears in mirrors

and how he sends me messages

in his own little ways

and visits me in my dreams.

“Are you saying he’s a ghost?” she asks.

“Basically. Yeah.”

And then she gives me

the look.

That look

that says,

“Girlfriend,

you have totally

gone off the

d

e

e

p

e

n

d.”

Stop It!

She rolls up

the corner of her napkin.

She fiddles with the

packets of sugar.

She looks around,

like she wants to escape,

but doesn’t know how.

“I’m not crazy,” I say.

“He’s gone, A.

I know you miss him.

But you’ve got to move on.”

“Maybe you should come and see for yourself.”

“So, you see him?” she asks.

“No. Well, yes, in my dreams I do.

But in the house, he’s just there.

I feel him.

I smell him.

He lets me know he’s there. In little ways.

Even Mom says she’s smelled him.

Sandalwood shaving cream, you know.”

“So your mom thinks he’s a ghost, too?” she asks.

“No. She just mentioned that she thought she smelled him.

An observation.

But don’t you see, it’s because he is there.”

She shakes her head,

stands up,

and grabs her purse.

“You want to go with me or should I take you home?”

I don’t know

what I want to do.

It scares me to think about

going there again.

I look at Cali.

That look is still

on her face.

I’m not crazy!

Maybe

there’s only one way

to prove it.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

Absolutely Perfect

We named it

Heaven’s Hideaway.

Who knew

that name

would take

on a whole new

meaning.

Hidden back

behind the

towering green trees

is a place

right out of

a fairy tale

with a cascading waterfall

and a large, deep pool of water

surrounded by

rocks

and grass

and ferns

and plants

and flowers.

I told Jackson,

“This must be

what heaven looks like.”

And so, it had a name.

I’m the One

Jackson and Daniel

discovered it one day

on a hike.

He couldn’t wait

to show me

the special place.

We packed a lunch

and it wasn’t long before

I found myself

having the most

perfect picnic

ever.

I loved the place

so much.

I’m the one

who came up with the idea.

I’m the one

who said it’d be the perfect place

for the School’s Out party.

I’m the one

who’s wished

a million times over

I never

ever

did.

What a Surprise

Cali and I arrive,

and the party’s

going strong.

Someone’s set a

boom box

on a rock,

and the heavy thumps drown out

the peacefulness

of the place.

The peacefulness

that Jackson and I found

the first time we came here

together.

I want to focus

on that time,

not the other time, the last time,

but it’s too hard

to keep the memories

from cascading

into my brain.

I shouldn’t have come.

It’s too soon.

Way

too

soon.

“Cali—”

But I don’t get a chance to finish.

A chance to tell her

I shouldn’t be here.

“Oh, there he is,” Cali says,

grabbing my arm.

Squeezing it.

He?

Who’s he???

And then she’s off

to greet him.

I watch

and wait,

to see who

he

is.

Lyric!?

A Rush of Emotions

Cali wraps her arms

around Lyric’s neck and

hugs him.

They do not kiss.

So, that means

a) they haven’t known each other long

or

b) they’re just friends

or

c) she likes him, but he doesn’t necessarily like her.

She pulls on his arm

and they walk toward me.

“Ava, do you know Lyric?

He was a senior last year.

Running back on the football team.

Number 11.”

Lyric? At our school?

How come I never noticed him before?

Ummm, yeah,

probably because

he was a senior

and way out of my league

and I had a boyfriend

who made me

deliriously

happy.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He smiles that beach boy smile of his,

and right then I discover

a person has the ability

to feel

a hundred different emotions

all at the same time.

Feeling Woozy

I look at Lyric

and hope he knows

he shouldn’t say

anything

about me and him.

“I need to sit down,” I tell Cali.

“Catch my breath.”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine.

Just a lot, you know, to take in.”

“You’re white as a ghost,” Lyric says.

How appropriate.

“Want me to sit with you?” she asks.

“No. Go! Have fun.

I’ll come find you guys in a minute.”

They head for the crowd

while I head away from it.

I don’t want to talk to anyone.

And I’m pretty sure

no one really

wants to talk to me.

What do you say

to the girl

who was the dead boy’s

girlfriend?

What do you say

to the girl

who is looking at the place

where it happened?

What do you say

to the girl

who dared her boyfriend

to jump

that deadly day?

All. My. Fault.

I traveled to Hawaii

with my parents

when I was twelve.

We went to this place

where people dove

off the cliffs

into the

cool

blue

waters

below.

For some

totally random reason,

on that partying

day in May,

I thought of those

adrenaline junkies

who were so much

like Jackson.

Then I said those

three

stupid

words

and Jackson’s eyes

moved toward the sky,

like a vulture eying his prey,

as he considered

the greatest

challenge

yet.

He climbed up high.

Way high.

He spread out his arms,

like Jesus on the cross,

and shouted,

“This is going to be so great!”

Suddenly

I knew.

I knew it was a

bad

idea.

I screamed, “STOP!”

just a
second
too
late.

When Two Became One

We waited

for him to

pop up

laughing,

SHOUTING,

b r e a t h i n g.

We didn’t hear

his head

hit the rock.

We didn’t hear

his cries

of pain.

We didn’t hear

his last breath.

Deadly

silence

floated

on the water

like an empty raft.

Rescue instincts

kicked in and

I rushed to the water,

hit it hard,

and began to

stroke

stroke

stroke

like my life depended on it,

because my life SO depended on it.

As I swam,

brain-photos

appeared.

Whirling,

swirling,

twirling

images

of football games,

of starry nights,

of carnival rides.

I wasn’t the

only one

in the water.

A mob

of people

took hold of him

and then I

was

whirling,

swirling,

twirling

in the sea of red

left behind.

The water,

my friend forever,

enveloped me,

whispering,

Stay here.

Let me take care of you.

Rest in my comforting arms.

It knew.

But other arms

grabbed me

and pulled me

from heaven

into hell.

I lay on the ground,

frozen from fear.

Trees towered above me,

shaking their wooden fingers at me.

Screams

of hysteria

flew through the air,

slamming into

each other.

“Call 911... He’s not breathing ... Oh my God, oh my God ...

Do something ...”

Three big words

drowned them all out.

I killed Jackson.

I Need Dorothy’s Shoes

The memories

literally

make

me sick.

As I hug the tree

and lose my mocha,

all I can think about

is how I want to go home.

I need to go home.

Only problem is,

I left my cell at home,

so I can’t call my mom

to come and get me.

I gather myself

and my thoughts

and look for Cali.

I find her in the middle

of a group of kids

grooving it,

shaking it,

moving it.

“Cali,” I shout, “I need your phone.”

“How come?”

“Just because.”

“It’s in my purse.

Over there,” she says

as she waves her hand

in a big, generic swoop

in no particular direction.

I turn around

and run

right into Nick,

who’s holding hands

with a pretty little thing.

“Hey, Ava!

So great to see you!”

He gives me a quick hug,

then turns to the girl.

“This is Krystal.”

“Hi there,” I blurt out.

“Nick, can I use your phone?”

“Sorry, it’s in my car.”

“Crap.”

My head is spinning,

my stomach is churning,

my heart is aching,

and I don’t know

what to do.

And then, Lyric’s there,

pulling me away.

Away from

the music,

the laughing,

the noisy noise,

and into the quiet

of the forest.

“I have a phone you can use,” he tells me.

“Who do you want to call?”

“My mom.

I need a ride.

I shouldn’t have come.”

And before I even know what’s happening,

I’m in his sweet red jeep,

heading home.

Tears of What?

You’d think

riding in a jeep,

feeling the wind across my face,

and listening to Black Eyed Peas jam it out

with a cute guy by my side

would make me

happy.

No.

It makes me cry.

Or maybe I’m crying

for other reasons.

It’s hard to tell

when there are a hundred emotions,

all mixed up together.

He reaches over

and holds my hand

and something about that

calms me down

and the tears

stop flowing.

When we get to town,

he pulls into

the parking lot

of Taco Del Mar.

“I thought maybe we’d get a bite to eat

before I take you home.

I want to make sure you’re okay.”

I nod. “Sure.”

And so we go inside.

He orders.

I sit.

When he sits down

across from me,

he says, “I’m sorry I didn’t put it together

at the beach that you were that Ava.”

“Sorry?”

“I just mean, you’re going through a lot.

And I should have been, you know,

more sensitive, or whatever.”

“Are you always so nice?” I ask.

He smiles.

And when I get goose bumps

all over my body

because of that smile

and I think about what

a terrible girlfriend I am to Jackson,

I start to cry

all over again.

My Nose Rejoices

It’s hard to cry

in a restaurant

with napkins

as tissues

and people staring.

But Lyric

comes over to sit beside me,

puts his arm around me,

and lets me bury my face

into his soft

baby blue t-shirt

that smells like

soap

and deodorant and

real,

live

boy.

A Real, Live Boy Friend

When I finally pull away,

he looks down at me and says,

“You were pretty brave to go back there.

Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head.

“I think we need to change the subject or something.

Unless you like your shirt really damp.”

He laughs. “Okay.

We’ll talk about something else.

Let me get you something to drink.”

He comes back

with the order and some drinks,

and sits across from me again.

No more touching

the real

live

boy.

“So, I’m curious about Cali,” I say.

“Where did you two meet?”

“The bookstore.

Where I work.

Just a couple of weeks ago, actually.”

“Are you going out?”

“Nah.

I don’t really know her.

There’s this other girl I like.

But she won’t give me her number.

So, I guess we’ll just be friends.”

It makes me smile.

He smiles back,

and it feels like

we’ve been friends

forever.

A friend is good.

A girl can never

have too many friends.

So Long, Again

He drives me home.

We say good-bye.

Nothing else really.

I don’t have to tell him.

He seems to understand

it’s just too soon.

It is.

And what I know

is this:

I have

Jackson.

But is Jackson

who I really

want?

Thinking Too Hard

I shouldn’t even be thinking that question,

but it keeps popping up.

It’s there

like a dull headache

that won’t go away.

I sit on the couch

and turn the TV on

and think about

my dilemma.

I still love him.

I will always love him.

But him is the Jackson I knew.

The walking,

talking,

breathing

Jackson.

I’m just not sure

I can wholly

and completely

with everything I am

be satisfied

loving

a ghost.

And then I feel the coldness.

“Jackson,” I whisper.

“You’re here.”

Can he hear my thoughts?

Does he know?

An image of Lyric

darts in.

I shake my head.

It doesn’t help.

What is wrong with me????

Forever in Debt

The thing is,

I owe it to Jackson

to be here

for him.

I owe him that much.

If it weren’t for me,

he wouldn’t even be a ghost.

Whatever he wants,

I have to give him.

It sounds so easy.

It should

be

easy!

But repaying a debt

means giving up things.

Making sacrifices.

If I sacrifice my heart

for Jackson,

will I be dead

too?

Normal Is Nice

Jackson sits with me.

He plays with the TV

from time to time,

making the channels turn.

At first it makes me smile.

Then it gets on my nerves.

Big time.

Because he can’t talk

like a normal guy.

He can’t hold hands

like a normal guy.

He can’t kiss

like a normal guy.

Unless it’s in my dreams,

and then we do those last two things.

But dreaming about them

isn’t the same

as actually

doing them

and experiencing them.

All he can really do

are the strange ghostly things

that let me know

he’s here.

Don’t worry, Jackson.

I know you’re here.

Believe me.

I know.

He flicks the gas fireplace on

even though it’s like ninety degrees outside.

“Jackson,” I yell,

“stop being so weird.”

And then

it hits me like

a fast,

open-palmed,

stinging

SMACK

in the face.

Having a ghost

for a boyfriend

is

weird.

I Want to Know How

The phone rings

as Mom walks in the door

carrying pizza

for dinner.

“Are you okay?” asks Nick

when I pick up the phone.

For some reason,

it makes me laugh.

“Is that the only sentence you know?”

He doesn’t laugh.

“It just seemed like you were upset.

When I saw you earlier.”

“Yeah. I was.

But I’m okay.

Thanks, Nick.

I guess you’re not so bad after all.

And Krystal’s really cute.”

“She’s great.

You’d like her.”

He pauses for a second.

“You know, I didn’t want to let you go,” he says.

“I liked you a lot, and I’m sorry I hurt you.

I held on, hoping things might change.

Then New Year’s Eve gave me more hope.

I held on, longer than I should have.”

“So now you’ve let go?”

“Well, I still care about you.

But yeah, I think I finally have.”

“Was it hard?” I ask.

“Letting go?”

“Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn’t real.”

I gulp. “Can I ask how you did it?”

“I just decided, Ava.

That’s all.

I just decided.”

No Rest for the Weary

This time,

I stay awake.

I avoid sleep

like my life

depends on it.

And maybe,

life,

true life,

does depend on it.

If Jackson comes into a room,

I leave

and go

someplace else.

He follows me

more than he ever has before.

Maybe he senses

the uncertainty

that has crept

into my heart.

As always,

he leaves me alone

when Mom or Dad

are there.

At night,

I curl up

in the corner of their bedroom

and listen to

Dad’s faint snoring noises

and Mom’s soft breathing sounds

and wish

I could sleep

peacefully

like that.

But I’ve got to stay awake.

I’ve got to keep distance

between Jackson

and me.

Thanks, Mom

On Sunday,

I curl up

with Mom

on the couch

and we watch

Steel Magnolias

on TNT.

When I was younger,

I always

spent Sundays

with Mom.

She’d paint my toenails.

Braid my hair.

Rub my back.

Nothing extreme.

But so completely satisfying.

“This gets sad,” she says.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“You look tired.”

You’d look tired too

if you hadn’t slept a minute

in two whole days.

I lay down

with my head in her lap

and she strokes my hair.

“I wish I could make it better,” she whispers.

And as I drift to sleep, I think,

You are, Mom.

You are.

A Million Apologies

He is there,

in my dream,

but I don’t let him

touch me.

Not this time.

This time,

he has to let me say it.

“Jackson, do you know how sorry I am?

Do you know if I could change places with you, I would?”

He comes closer.

I step back.

“You have to listen to me,” I tell him.

“You have to understand.

It’s my fault,

and I’m so sorry.

So terribly sorry!

sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry

“Jackson, please forgive me.

Please!”

“It’s okay, Ava.

Ava?

AVA!?!?”

A Real—Life Nightmare

Mom is shaking me

and yelling my name

to wake me up.

“Ava, are you all right?

You were thrashing around and crying out

like someone was hurting you.”

“Mom, it hurts so much.

All of it.

I just want it to go away.”

I want to tell her so bad.

I want to tell her everything.

Except she won’t believe me.

Just like Cali didn’t believe me.

And if Mom and Dad

don’t believe me,

they’ll think I’m Crazy Girl

and send me away.

I sit up

and burst into tears

while I dissolve

into her arms.

“Shhhhhh,” she says

over

and over

again.

And then I know

there is something

I have to tell her.

I pull myself away and

look at her.

“It was my fault, Mom.

I dared him. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking.

Don’t you see?

He did it for me.”

Hard to Believe

I want to believe her

when she tells me

it wasn’t my fault

and that I have to stop

blaming myself.

She says, “It wasn’t you, Ava.

He made the choice.

Do you understand?

You did not push him off that ledge.”

I want to believe her

with every bone in my body.

But that is pretty much impossible

when every bone in my body

feels

so

incredibly

guilty.

One Boy and Two Girls

Cali calls Sunday night.

“Jessa said you left the party with Lyric.”

“Yeah, he took me home.

I wasn’t feeling too well.

I shouldn’t have went with you.”

“That was nice of him to do that,” she says,

and I wonder if I hear

a hint of jealousy in her voice.

She goes on.

“I keep hoping he’ll call me.

You know, to ask me out.

Did he say anything about me?”

“Just that you met at the bookstore.

Where he works.”

“I think I’ll go by tomorrow and see him.”

She pauses. “Wanna go with me?”

I want to say yes.

But not because of her.

Because of him.

And there’s something

horribly

wrong in that.

“I really like him,” she says.

“I know,” I say.

“You should go and see him by yourself.”

Because I really like him too.

Friends

After we hang up,

I turn the computer on.

I have an e-mail from Nick.

Says it was good to talk to me

and we should do it more often.

Says I’ve got to meet Krystal.

We should get together.

Says he is glad we are friends.

I have an e-mail from Jessa.

Says she’s sorry

she didn’t get to talk to me

at the party.

Says it was good to see me

out in the world.

Says she loves me

with lots of xo’s.

I write her a note that tells her

we’ll get together soon

and I miss her.

Then I start a new message.

TO: Lyric@remstat.com

my phone number is: 222-1567

ttyl

ava

And then, before I have any time

to change my mind,

I hit

SEND.

Mother Knows Best

I stay awake

again

Sunday night.

Monday morning, Dad leaves early.

He’s heading to Montreal

for the week.

Mom has work to do

and I think about asking her

to stay home with me.

But then she’d

really

worry.

She reaches out

and cups the back of my head

in her hand

in a way that says

I love you.

“Will you do something fun today?

Call one of the girls.

Go to the mall. Or the pool.

Something?”

“Maybe.”

Her eyes search mine.

What is she looking for?

The old Ava?

The happy Ava?

The Ava who didn’t carry guilt around

like a big boulder on her shoulders?

“Sweetheart,” she says,

almost in a whisper,

“I’m making an appointment for you.

To talk to someone.

I know you don’t want to.

But I think you need to.”

I can tell,

by her face,

her voice,

her touch,

she’s made up her mind.

So I nod

and secretly wonder

what else I might need to do

that I don’t really want

to do.

Get Me Out of Here

Then I’m back to today

and what I should do

with the day

that looms ahead of me

like a long,

lonely road.

“I wish I could drive,” I tell Mom.

“It’s not long till your sweet sixteen,” she says.

“I’m not so sure it will be very sweet.”

She kisses my cheek and says,

“It will be because you are.”

And then she leaves.

Once again

I’m left

with just my thoughts

and the ghost

who haunts me

because

he loves me.

I need to do

something.

If I stay here,

I’m not sure

I can stay awake

any longer.

The cool air comes.

I shiver.

The music turns on.

My Last Breath

by Evanescence.

I don’t want to

hear these words.

It’s a sad song.

Does he want me to feel sad?

If I feel sad,

does he think that will

make my heart

want him more?

He is closer to me now.

So close.

I think I feel

his breath

on my cheek.

And then the phone rings.

It startles me.

I run to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Ava?”

It’s the lyrical voice

of the real, live boy.

“Were you sleeping?”

“No. I’m awake.”

I don’t tell him

I’m avoiding sleep

to avoid

my ghost of a boyfriend.

“I don’t have to work today.

Wanna go have lunch? See a movie?”

But there’s Cali.

And there’s Jackson.

And there’s—

me.

“Pick me up this afternoon?

Around one?”

Who Are You?

The music gets loud.

And louder still.

He might be mad.

Does he know

it was a boy

on the phone?

Or is he just tired

of me ignoring him?

I feel him near me

as I go into the bathroom.

I shut the door

and lock it behind me,

but it doesn’t

keep him out.

“Jackson,

can I have a little privacy?

Please?”

He doesn’t leave.

I feel him there,

so close.

If he were alive,

our skin

would be touching,

chest to chest,

legs entwined,

arms wrapped

around each other.

But he’s not alive.

As much as I might wish

and as much as he might wish,

he’s

not

alive.

This time I yell.

“Jackson, leave me alone!”

The water in the sink

turns on

full blast.

I go to turn it off,

and as I do,

I glance in the mirror

and his face

appears,

just for a second.

It’s not the face

of the beautiful,

joyful,

loving

boy

I used to know.

It is a dark,

sullen,

painfully sad face

that scares me so bad

I want to turn and

run and

never ever

come back.

I Have to Say It

And so I run.

I run from the bathroom

and back to the kitchen.

The hauntingly familiar music

of Evanescence still plays.

I go to the CD player

and change the song

to track 4.

My Immortal.

It speaks of a girl

being tied to a life she doesn’t want

and how she’s haunted in her dreams.

I let the music fill the room,

and then I yell with everything inside of me,

“Jackson, you have to go.

This isn’t working.

Don’t you see?

This isn’t what love is supposed to be like.”

I crumble

into a chair

in the kitchen.

I love

you

and

I’m sorry,

he barely whispers

in my mind.

The fatigue,

the sadness,

the fear,

the guilt

all come to the surface,

and then I’m crying,

shaking,

pulling at my hair,

shrieking in a voice

that doesn’t sound like mine.

“YOU

HAVE

TO GO!

“I CAN’T

LIVE

LIKE

THIS!”

It Hurts to Breathe

I think I’m starting

to hyperventilate.

I run and grab a bag

out of the drawer.

In

Out

In

Out

I breathe slowly

and try to

calm down

so I can finish

what I need to say.

I hurt everywhere.

I ache with the pain

I feel

because I have to

do this.

“I’m sorry, Jackson.

I will always love you.

I will always remember what we had.

“But you have to move on.

You don’t belong here.

“I wish I could change everything and erase that day.

But I can’t.

“You have to go.

Please, Jackson.

Please go.”

On One Condition

Okay.

I will go.

But only if

you will give me

your guilt

to take

with me.

But How?

So that

is his unresolved

issue.

He doesn’t want

to leave me behind,

carrying around

a blanket of blame.

I put my head

in my hands

and weep

for the loss of

Jackson.

My soul

cries

like it has

never

cried before.

He is

so

good.

His love

for me is

so true.

I remember

the notes

he left me.

Ava is good...

Be happy...

Don’t be blue...

It wasn’t

about him.

It was

about

me

and wanting me

to live

the rest of my life

with joy,

instead of

grief

and pain.

He doesn’t blame me.

But I blame myself.

How do I rid my heart

of that guilt

and let

go?

Maybe

Nick

had the answer.

Maybe

I just

decide.

May be

right now,

in this moment,

I decide

that it’s sad

and tragic

and painful,

but feeling bad

and blaming myself

won’t

bring

him back.

And maybe

there is one more thing

I can do.

Letting Go

I sit down at the computer.

I open Word and start typing.

The words come freely,

easily, as if

my hands

have been waiting for the opportunity

to speak.

Dear Mom and Dad:

You know those nights, when you look up, and it’s so clear

you feel like you can see every single star in the universe?

And there’s always one star that shines the brightest. The star

we focus on when we say, “Star light, star bright...”

Jackson was that star in my world. He made my world brighter.

I miss him so much.

When I look out at the stars now, I wish with everything I have

that Jackson was still here. Every day, I’ve wished.

But today, I’m wondering something. What is Jackson’s wish for me?

I think his wish for me is this:

Joy, not sorrow.

Laughter, not tears.

Life, not death.

Love, not blame.

I want to make his wishes come true.

Thank you for being the best parents a girl could ever have.

Love,

Ava

I could leave it on the counter,

but something tells me

to make it official.

So I seal it in an envelope,

address it,

and find a stamp in the desk.

And then I walk outside

into the warm and inviting sunshine

and mail my letter.

I See You

I turn to head inside

and I see him.

I stop.

My feet won’t move.

He is floating behind

the window.

He looks different

than before.

More at peace.

Not so sad.

More like

the Jackson

I used to know.

That’s my girl.

Live a good life, Ava.

And then,

he disappears

and I’m left looking at

my own reflection

in the glass.

I look

more at peace.

Not so sad.

More like

the me

I used to know.

Good—bye Forever

When I come back inside,

the music has stopped.

The house

is peacefully

quiet.

I sit down

and the tears fall

softly this time.

I don’t have to go looking,

searching the house,

standing by mirrors,

waiting.

My heart knows.

He’s gone.

He loved me enough

to let me go.

Now I have to do

my part.

No guilt.

No regrets.

No shame.

I must

start living

again.

Good-bye, Jackson.

I will LOVE you 4ever.

Wake—up Call

I think I cry

myself to sleep.

I wake up

to the sound of the doorbell

ringing

over

and over

again.

I barely make it to the door.

It feels like I’ve taken

twenty pills

and can’t wake up.

As I open the door,

I remember.

Lyric.

“You were sleeping,” he says.

I smile. “Yeah.”

I invite him in,

rubbing my eyes,

thinking how terrible

I must look.

“So, you still want to go?” he asks.

“Can you wait right here?

I’ll be back.”

He smiles and nods.

And then I run upstairs

to the bathroom

because my breath

has got to be

atrocious.

Matchmaker

I brush my teeth,

brush my hair,

brush a little blush on my cheeks,

and call it good.

It doesn’t really matter.

I know that.

But it gives me the confidence

to do

what I realize

I have to do.

I go back down

and he has the remote in his hand,

flipping through

the channels.

I sit down.

He turns it off.

I smile.

He smiles.

“I’m guessing, by the look on your face,

you’ve changed your mind,” he says.

This is one

insightful

dude.

“Lyric, you are such a great guy.

And you know, you and Cali would make a fantastic couple.

She loves tacos and dogs and football, just like you.

I want you to call her. Get to know her.”

“But—,” he starts.

“No.

Please.

Don’t.

“My heart has lots of stuff it has to work through.

Throwing you into the mix, it just wouldn’t be fair.

For me or for you.”

He reaches over

and hugs me.

“Still friends, right?” I ask.

He smiles. “Yeah. Still friends.”

I walk him outside,

and as he gets in his jeep,

I don’t tell him

good-bye.

I yell out,

“Call Cali!”

I’m Definitely a Dog Person

Guilt reminds me

of a stray

cat.

You chase it away

and yet,

it comes back

when you least

expect it.

If you let yourself

feel pity for it and

feed the thing,

it parks its ugly,

puny,

lonely-for-attention

butt

on your doormat

and

won’t

go

away.

Mom and Dad

watch me

write notes

to myself

and stick them

around the house.

Joy, Not Sorrow

Laughter, Not Tears

Life, Not Death

They smile at me.

They got the letter.

They understand.

Scat,

kitty cat,

scat.

I don’t need you

sitting around here

like that.

The Perfect Gift

On my birthday,

my girlfriends

take me out

to a Mexican restaurant,

where we sip on virgin margaritas

while the waiters put a sombrero

on my head

and sing to me.

It’s definitely

a sweet birthday

and I’m so blown away

by my friends

being there

and loving me

through everything.

Maybe Mom did ask them

to check in on me.

But maybe they would have anyway.

Maybe they weren’t sure

what to say to me

or how to help me.

They tried,

and I love them

for that.

As I look at my gifts,

the bracelet Cali made for me,

the new books Zoe bought for me,

the framed drawing Jessa made for me,

I feel thankful

for the best gift of all.

It’s the one wrapped around my heart

with a big, pink bow—

the never-ending gift

of friendship.

Another Good Friend

I return,

accompanied only by

my new driver’s license,

for a visit

before summer

takes its final bow

and autumn

hits the stage.

The water glistens

as the rays

of the late afternoon sun

shine down

upon it.

It’s more inviting

than a down comforter bed

on a cold, winter night.

I’ve stayed away

from my old friend

far too long.

I didn’t visit at Zoe’s party.

I didn’t visit at the beach.

I didn’t visit the last time I was here.

I’ve missed you, friend.

I don’t blame you.

I never did.

May be I was scared.

May be it needed to mean something.

May be it just didn’t feel right.

I tear off my tank top and shorts,

but before I jump in,

I look up.

I swear he is there,

his arms outstretched,

the waterfall beneath him,

cascading into the

cool

blue

water

below.

Go on, Ava. It’s going to be great!

It’s not a dare.

Not this time.

But it’s almost like I’m on that high dive again,

scared of what comes next,

yet knowing at the same time

it will all be

okay.

The water’s cold,

but I can feel

Jackson’s smile

shining down on me,

as bright and warm

as the summer sunshine,

when he sees me wearing

the black-and-pink

bikini.

Ava

“Tell me about yourself,” Dr. Andrews asked me,

during our first session.

I thought Dr. Andrews

would be a lady

with ugly glasses

and hair in a bun

and a clipboard

where she scribbled things

like

LUNATIC

CRAZY GIRL

GUILTY AS HELL.

Instead

she is pretty,

with curly red hair,

and there isn’t any

clipboard.

When I visit her,

I sit in a comfy brown chair

and we talk.

I’ve realized therapy

is incredibly

therapeutic.

When she asked me

to talk about myself,

I wasn’t sure what to say.

“You mean things I like?”

“I’d love to know what’s special about Ava.”

I thought,

I could tell her how I’ve always loved to swim,

how I love music, movies, and shopping,

how I loved having a boyfriend

who clicked with me

from the very first second,

and how my friends

mean everything to me.

Then I thought,

too bad I’m not as much fun as Cali

or as determined as Zoe

or as brave and confident as Jessa.

They’re each so special.

“I don’t know,” I told her.

“There’s nothing special, really.”

“Was it special being Jackson’s girlfriend?” she asked.

“Very.”

She leaned forward in her chair,

like a flower in a vase,

reaching for a glimpse

of the sun.

“There are other things special about Ava Bender.

You just need to discover those things again.

Will you make a list?

And then you can share them with me when you’re ready.”

Now, as I drive along

the curvy roads

heading home from

Jackson’s Hideaway,

I remember the list

I have so far.

I am warm-hearted.

I am affectionate.

I am reliable.

I am generous.

I am smart.

I am strong.

Today,

I add another one.

I am hopeful.

And don’t miss the companion novel to
I Heart You, You Haunt Me:
Chasing Brooklyn

Mon., Jan. 2nd—Brooklyn

Gabe was one of those guys

who was full of life.

Always talking.

Always laughing.

Always wanting to be the center of attention.

Big guy

with a bigger smile

and the biggest heart.

After Lucca died,

it changed Gabe.

Of course it would.

He went from front and center

to just fading into the background.

We hung out for a while

after it happened.

Didn’t talk much.

Mostly we sat in his room,

me writing letters,

him strumming on his guitar.

Still, we promised

we’d help each other through it.

But then, something changed.

I don’t know what.

Was it him? Was it me?

He joined a different band.

Stopped coming around.

I just lost track.

We lost track.

I try to remember

the last time I saw Gabe

and I can’t.

He didn’t just fade

into the background.

He pretty much

disappeared.

#278

Dear Lucca,

Can you believe this? I can’t.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

Remember that one time the three of us went to see Kings

of Leon? Gabe sang every song. He knew every single song.

I seriously feel sick Gonna go lie down.

Love always,

Brooklyn

Mon., Jan. 2nd—Nico

Gabe and my brother

had been friends

since fourth grade.

They’d grown apart in high school

when Gabe chose music

and Lucca chose art.

Still, they had that connection,

the kind that stays strong

despite the differences.

No matter how long it’d been

since they’d seen each other,

they’d pick up right where they left off.

Gabe made Lucca laugh like no other.

Gabe with his wild hair that stuck every which way,

his pierced lip

and the black leather jacket

he wore everywhere.

He was a character.

A character who should still be here.

Damn it all to hell.

He should still be here.

Tues., Jan. 10th—Brooklyn

I fall asleep hoping to dream

of Lucca.

Instead I’m standing in the hallway at school.

In the dark,

Alone.

I turn around

and around,

wondering where everyone is.

I want to turn on the lights,

but where do you find the lights

for a school hallway?

There’s the faint sound of footsteps.

Someone is far away.

But coming closer.

I listen.

They get louder.

I open my mouth.

I try to speak.

Nothing comes out.

I walk forward,

my arms in front of me,

trying to see my way.

There’s a faint light ahead.

I think it’s the light to the office.

If! can just make it there,

it’ll be okay.

The steps are coming faster.

My pace increases.

Just get to the office.

Nothing can hurt you there.

They’ll help you.

The light gets brighter.

I start to run.

Faster and faster

I run,

the beating of my heart

almost as loud

as the pounding of my steps.

I reach the door and look behind me,

I see someone.

Someone’s coming.

Right behind me.

I turn the doorknob.

Locked tight.

My fist pounds on the window.

I pound and pound

and open my mouth to scream.

Then, he’s there.

In front of me.

Gray skin with eyes

black as the darkest night,

and lips blood red.

He lunges for me

and I scream his name.

“Gabe!”

When I wake up

with my sheets soaked

and sticking to me like bandages,

I can’t stop shaking.

Even though I know it was a dream,

something about it

was so much more

than a dream.

A lot more.

Wed., Jan. 11th—Nico

Something happened last night

and I am freaking out.

It was almost morning. I was asleep.

I heard a noise.

A scraping noise.

I sat straight up and noticed the window was open, just slightly.

The room was freezing.

I ran to the window and closed it.

I was about to turn on the light, when I felt something.

Like someone was tight there.

I lunged for the baseball bat under my bed and started swinging.

I made my way to the light and turned it on.

No one was there.

Nothing was there.

And yet, it was like someone or something was there.

And then I heard a whisper.

Not even a whisper,

Something else.

A silent message in my brain.

Make sure Brooklyn is okay.

The curtains fluttered.

A slight shadow emerged on the wall.

And then, he was gone.

The room warmed up.

My goose bumps disappeared.

And I ran out of my room.

Here’s a peek at Lisa Schroeder’s next novel

Far from you

day four

We’re alone
with only
the cold
and dark
to keep us
company.

I know them
so well now,
they’re like
old friends.

Familiar.

Old friends
who have stayed
too long
and need to go.

I wish
the angel
would have stayed.

I For a second,
I felt warmth.
I felt safe.
I felt love
as she whispered
my name,
“Alice,”
and floated
toward me
before she
disappeared.

Was I dreaming?
Hoping?
Hallucinating?

So hungry.
So tired.

Cold.

I look out the window,
and although it’s dark,
the moon
illuminates the scene
as if a faraway
floodlight
is hung
from the sky.

So much whiteness.
Everywhere.

Come back,
angel.

Let us fly
away
from
here.

Please.
Come back.

Softly Snowing

Memories
fall
like
snowflakes
upon
my dreams.

Me and Mom,
a piece of art,
a promise,
a hug.

Me and Dad,
a thousand tears,
a bouquet,
a loss.

Me and Blaze,
an autumn day,
a walk,
a kiss.

Me and Claire,
a flowing skirt,
a song,
a fight.

The snowflakes
toss and tumble,
each different
and yet
the same.

The snowflakes
of my life.

About the Author

ALTHOUGH LISA SCHROEDER HAS BEEN A FAN OFVERSE NOVELS for a long time, she’d never written one until she had a dream about Ava and Jackson. She was literally haunted by their story until she finally wrote it down.

Lisa, a native Oregonian, lives in a yellow house surrounded by lots of lovely flowers and plants (thanks to her husband, who has an entire green hand). She is mom to two fabulous sons and is the official dog walker in the family. Since the age of eight, Lisa has been writing books, and to prove it, she has one about a lion that her grandma stuck in a drawer and saved. If you peek into Lisa’s house in the wee hours of the morning, you’ll usually find her typing away at the keyboard with a cup of tea by her side. You can visit her at www.lisaschroederbooks.com.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

A Way of Black

Colorless

Broken Promises

I Will Always Remember

No Words

The Boy

He Spiced Up My Life

The Final Good—bye

It’s Not Fair

As Two Names No More

Jump In

Nothing to Do Now

Lashing Out

Wishful Thinking

I Need Mr. Sandman

Company’s Coming

Mirror, Mirror

Food for Thought

Okay or Not Okay?

Cali

Wondering

The Way My Life Changed

Who Are You?

The Other Side

Awake

Home Is Where the Heart Is

It’s nick Again

What Did It Mean?

A Strange Sensation

Smells Like Sandelwood

Music Says It All

Skinless

I Can Hear You

Dancing in the Moonlight

Trust Me

The Next Morning

Lovely Lemons

A Gift

Life with a Ghost

Not a Pity Party

Hard to Say Yes

Zoe

Am I Suited for This?

Beauty Everywhere

You Can’t Go Back

Cold Shoulder

Freaky Saturday

Messing with Me

That’s My Boy

The Sea of Love

Question of the Way

Christmas in Paris

You Lift Me Up

Daddy’s Little Girl

I Do What I Have to Do

Don’t Be Blue

Let the Sunshine In

Jessa

The Truth Hurts

The Closest Thing to Talking

Road Trip

Let’s Dance

Ghostly Tales

Lost

Flying Alone

Good Morning

Silly Nothingness

In the Moment

So Long, Farewell

Independence Day

It Doesn’t Make Sense

Back Home

Light the Way

What’s Going On?

To Go or Not to Go

No Secrets

Stop It!

Absolutely Perfect

I’m the One

What a Surprise

A Rush of Emotions

Feeling Woozy

All. My. Fault.

When Two Became One

I Need Dorothy’s Shoes

Tears of What?

My Nose Rejoices

A Real, Live Boy Friend

So Long, Again

Thinking Too Hard

Forever in Debt

Normal Is Nice

I Want to Know How

No Rest for the Weary

Thanks, Mom

A Million Apologies

A Real—Life Nightmare

Hard to Believe

One Boy and Two Girls

Friends

Mother Knows Best

Get Me Out of Here

Who Are You?

I Have to Say It

It Hurts to Breathe

On One Condition

But How?

Letting Go

I See You

Good—bye Forever

Wake—up Call

Matchmaker

I’m Definitely a Dog Person

The Perfect Gift

Another Good Friend

Ava

Chasing Brooklyn

Gabe was one of those guys

Gabe and my brother

I fall asleep hoping to dream

Something happened last night

Far from You

Day Four

Softly Snowing

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