I Heart You, You Haunt Me Read online

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 a
way,

  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,