I Heart You, You Haunt Me Read online

  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 [email protected].”

  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.