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( 001 ━ GIVE UP THE GHOST )

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"SO, WHO WOULD LIKE TO GO FIRST?"

Mr. Everett Martin was a calm, collected man. He spoke quietly, he rarely yelled, and he always maintained his composure, even his situation wasn't ideal. He was the only adult in a room full of hormonal, undead teenagers, and likely would be for the rest of eternity. Any person in his position might totally lose it after nearly 70 years of doing the same thing over and over again, and yet, somehow, Mr. Martin kept his cool. He may have been a chemistry teacher in his past, but now? Now, his afterlife was dedicated to being a counselor for dead kids. What could be more noble?

Grace wasn't all that impressed. Sure, she thought Mr. Martin was a nice guy and she trusted that he had their best interest at heart, but talking, well, that wasn't her specialty. There were only so many topics that ghosts could talk about before the boredom set in, and they had crossed that threshold a decade and some ago. Probably even longer, considering that most of the people here had died way before she was even born. Somehow, that didn't seem to deter Mr. Martin.

After a long and awkward pause, Mr. Martin cleared his throat and tried again. "Would anyone like to share? Anyone?"

Many of the teenagers glanced away or shifted uncomfortably in their seats, hoping to avoid being called on first. Or, that's what Grace thought was happening. She didn't know because she had her eyes closed. After about 20 minutes of listening to Mr. Martin drone on about chemical compounds and reaction rates, she had found a way to carefully ease her way out of the conversation—just as she normally did. It was safe to say that this wasn't the first time. Grace had planned it out perfectly: during the first ten minutes she would drop a few yawns and rub her eyes tiredly, then, as the meeting progressed, she would begin to "nod off", only to be asleep by the time Mr. Martin got around to individual volunteers. And it worked every time. She couldn't pinpoint the reason, but no one ever seemed to wake her up. Perhaps they felt bad about disturbing her sleep or it just make them uncomfortable to do so; all in all, it worked out well because no one bothered her.

That was, until one day, where something strange happened. On that day, Mr. Martin had a change of plans.

"Grace, why don't you share today?"

Grace froze, internally. On the outside, she still looked very much asleep: arms folded and her head tucked against her chest, but it was perhaps her breath that gave her away. It had been slow and steady, but hitched at the sound of her name, almost imperceptibly. But that's all it would take. Damn it. Normally at this time, she would be pondering all of life's greatest mysteries: things like 'Why is the sky blue?' (she knew the answer to that one), or 'Why does Wally insist on wearing his gym shorts over his sweatpants?', or even better yet, 'Where does Rhonda keep getting her suckers from?'. However, Grace hadn't been dozing long enough to convince even herself that she was actually sleeping.

As much as she wanted to keep up the charade, a nudge to her side forced her eyes open, and she sat up in her chair. She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand and looked around the room, only to find the entire room was looking back at her.

"What?" She asked, feigning confusion.

The boy who sat next to her, Charley, smiled kindly, but the look in his eyes told Grace he saw right through her bullshit. "Mr. Martin asked you a question."

The teacher nodded in agreement with Charley's statement. "I asked if you'd be willing to share first," he said. Grace acted as though this was her first time hearing.

"Oh. About what?"

"Anything that interests you. Maybe start with how your week is going?" Mr. Martin replied, adjusting his glasses. They reflected in the fluorescent gymnasiums lights, making him look like a cartoon villain.

Grace didn't know whether to scoff or laugh at his suggestion. A week spent asleep in the nurse's office wasn't exactly something she'd call interesting. "Mr. Martin, this is the first time I've been up in a week. I'm not sure I have much to talk about."

"Yes, I know. But even so, you haven't—what's the word you all use? Zipped? Tap out—?"

A hand shot into the air. Wally, the group's designated jock, sat two chairs to her right, waving his arm back and forth, straining, as he practically came out of his chair in the hope Mr. Martin would call on him. And he did.

"Yes, Wally?"

"Zapped out!" He blurted, nearly jumping out of his seat with the effort. When Mr. Martin nodded, he quietly fist-pumped the air, and then, with everyone's eyes now on him, he sat down and mustered up a nonchalant expression. "She, uh, she hasn't zapped out, Mr. Martin."

"Yes, zapped out. Thank you, Wally."

Wally leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself, but Grace merely rolled her eyes. "We're still calling it that?" She asked, unimpressed. "I thought we agreed not to?"

"It's not like you ever came up with a better suggestion," Wally pointed out, looking like he was doing his best to hide a growing smirk.

She hated that he was right. "Shut it, Clark. Like, seriously."

Wally's grin widened a fraction, clearly enjoying whatever irritation he was causing. Grace frowned. She wished she had something to throw at him. She was considering taking off her shoe when Mr. Martin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Wally, Grace, please." He wore a stern expression as he glanced between the pair of teenagers and somehow, as if by some miracle, they both stopped talking. Mr. Martin turned to Grace, who was sitting with her arms folded over her chest and her body angled away from Wally. "As I was saying, you have not 'zapped out' in a while. Almost a week and a half—that's the longest you've stayed in one place in two months. Perhaps that is the positive you bring to group today?"

For some reason, Grace found that offensive. She didn't see anything favorable about her position and she was more than happy to voice that opinion. "What about that is positive?" She asked with a scowl. "It's just bound to happen again sooner or later."

"It may feel that way, but we could also try to see it as progress," Mr. Martin explained.

He appeared to be floundering, at least in her eyes, and Grace decided to have some pity. He was trying, she could tell, even if he wasn't quite getting it right. Besides, she was tired of the way everyone was staring at her: the looks of concern and the eye rolls, like they thought she was losing it or that she was making an argument for the sake of getting attention. Neither were true...as far as she knew.

Grace's expression softened slightly and she heaved an exasperated sigh. "Fine. It's progress." She agreed, albeit reluctantly. She settled back in her chair, moody and tired from the conversation. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Grace—"

"If I can't nap here, then I'm just going to leave," She interrupted, fixing him in with a hard stare. "Your choice, Mr. M."

Mr. Martin returned her stare and for a moment, he appeared as if he might argue, but then he relented, forcing a tight-lipped smile that was definitely not happy. "Fine. Yes. Thank you for sharing, Grace."

Grace nodded wordlessly, pulled her hood over her face, and slouched down her chair, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Everyone in the circle was silent, just as long as it took Mr. Martin to recover and ask someone else to share, but the damage was done. She had yet again made herself look difficult.

A couple chairs down, Wally leaned closer to her. "Nice one," he commented, much to her disapproval. His voice had dropped to a whisper and glanced between her and the group periodically.

For the sake of being honest, Grace didn't hate Wally. He was nice enough, or as nice as an undead 80s jock could be. With the exception of him constantly cracking jokes at the worst possible moments, he was generally pretty charming and full of energy, always determined to lighten the mood, even if it annoyed the hell out of her sometimes. It was like he refused to let anyone get too bogged down by the grim reality of their situation—no matter how inappropriate the timing. And while Grace had to admit that his carefree attitude was sometimes a welcome distraction, it was hard to forget that they were stuck in this weird, endless limbo. Even worse, he acted like he didn't mind. That was probably the thing she disliked most about him. He was dead and yet still had a way of acting like everything was just fine, while the rest of them had to keep pretending they didn't feel the weight of it all. Grace, on the other hand, didn't see the benefit in that.

She mumbled something that could have been a sarcastic reply, but she wasn't sure it was worth saying out loud. Wally went quiet, listening to Charley talk about his week, and she thought that was the end of it. She closed her eyes, and tried to block out the sounds around her. The soft hum of the group talking, the occasional rustle of chairs, and the muffled thud of someone's foot tapping the ground—everything felt distant as her mind began to drift. For a moment, she was grateful for the quiet, but then Wally's voice pierced through again, a little too close for comfort. Even without looking at him, she could tell he moved so he was now sitting in the chair beside her.

"Hey, Grace," he whispered, nudging her with his elbow.

Grace didn't even bother to respond. She pulled her hood lower over her face and slunk down farther in her seat, signifying that she was done with this conversation, even if it had barely begun. Surely, he would take the hint.

"Grace. Hey, Grace."

Or perhaps not.

When she didn't reply, his knee bumped hers, once, twice, until she jerked her leg away. "Leave me alone, Wally, I'm sleeping," she grumbled. She cracked her eyes open just in time to see him lean into her field of view.

"Are you? You don't look like it," he asked, his voice laced with playful skepticism. He smiled knowingly, as though he had just figured something out.

Grace's eyes narrowed, unsure of his look. "What?"

"Nothing," Wally replied, though rather unconvincingly. He leaned back in his seat with a shrug of his shoulders, leaving Grace to stare at him questioningly.

"Yeah...sure," she muttered. She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, turning her head slightly away from him. Across the circle, Mr. Martin was still conversing, but Grace caught him stealing glimpses every so often across the circle at the pair of them. It wasn't like they were exactly being quiet. She looked away from the group and as she readjusted herself in her chair, she threw a glance in Wally's direction again. He didn't look like he planned on leaving any time soon. Grace sighed, resigned to her fate. 

"You're sitting in Janet's spot," she commented quietly. It had been bothering her since he'd sat down.

Wally looked down at his seat and he nodded. His eyes softened, almost imperceptibly, as if by some understanding. "Yeah," he replied. "But I don't think she'd mind if I use it. Do you?"

Grace thought for a moment, her eyes flickering between the chair and Wally's face. Then, she shook her head. "No. I don't think so...I don't know if Janet even cared for that kind of stuff, to be honest," she replied with a shrug of her shoulder. Wally paused again before speaking. It looked as if he couldn't find the right words to say.

"It's okay if you miss her," Wally said, his voice dropping low again. "She was your spirit guide."

Grace's skin prickled uncomfortably under his gaze. She could feel herself growing warm, but with anger rather than embarrassment. "I'm fine," she replied, wishing the gym floor would just swallow her up there and then.

"I miss her too," Wally continued, his tone earnest. "But we should be happy for her."

"I said, I'm fine, Wally. And I am happy for her. So happy, in fact," She forced a fake smile through gritted teeth. "So, can we please stop talking about it?"

There was a sharpness to her voice that seemed to finally catch the boy's attention. She was relieved when he nodded, looking down at his hands in silence.

For another long moment, the tension between them hung in the air, thick and unspoken. Grace yanked at the drawstrings of her hoodie, pulling them tight to shield her face. The fabric tugged at her chin as she tried to to conceal herself, her eyes narrowing in frustration beneath the shadow of the hoodie. She tugged once more, as if hoping it would hide her emotions from everyone around her, though it did the opposite. Some of the other ghosts were passing her prying looks; Charley looked concerned, Rhonda was annoyed, and Mr. Martin appeared sympathetic, in that manner that Grace could only register as patronizing.  She sat there, arms crossed, pouting like she was a child, and Wally had the audacity to begin to laugh softly, to himself.

"You really know how to make things awkward, huh?" he said, trying to hide the slight smirk that was growing on his face.

That's enough. Grace shot Wally a scathing look and stood up from her seat so quickly and with so much force that her leg connected with the plastic chair she was sitting on and it fell backwards with a loud thud. The sound quickly drew the attention of everyone sitting in the room, but Grace didn't look back to see. She was already marching towards the door, her footsteps echoing in the uncomfortable silence she left behind.

"Grace!" Mr. Martin called after her. "Where are you going?"

Grace didn't stop walking but she paused long enough in the doorway to throw a short reply over her shoulder. "Anywhere but here!"

And without stopping to say anything more, she flung open the gymnasium doors and stormed out into the hallway, leaving Wally, Mr. Martin, and the rest of the Split River High ghosts to stare after her. Once the door had slammed shut behind her, she took off blindly down the hall.

In all honesty, Grace didn't know where she was going. She just wanted to be somewhere else. Preferably out of this stupid school, but that wasn't an option; every time she tried, she'd end up back at the pool side, trying not to gag on the smell of chlorine. She avoided that place altogether, as much as she avoided all boundaries of the school. So, she spent most of her time where she felt most comfortable: meaning any place she could sleep in peace. The nurse's office was the most obvious choice due to the cot and dimmed lights that were inside, but there was always the possibility of a feverish, puke-y teen trying to find their way in when she herself was trying to nap. Two other places she frequented often were the library and teacher's lounge as they both had comfortable furniture, however, there was still a good chance she would get sat on. She was invisible, after all. She had taken to nesting in a number of other odd places, but her favorite hiding spot was the theater sound booth.

Located above the auditorium, across from the stage, it was one of the only places in the school that wasn't used frequently, with the exception of the school's plays, dance comps, and a handful of assemblies. Grace found the most peace and quiet here as it was one of the only places that she could get away from both the living and the dead. Up there, she wasn't bothered—not by Mr. Martin, or Wally, or anything other ghost for that matter—she could just be alone. 

The sound booth was like her room. She had made a "bed" for herself up among the sound equipment (a collection of cushions from the staff lounge), she adorned the walls with posters and drawings, and she even housed a collection of books that she had borrowed from the school's library. Of course, she had to redecorate often because everything would "reset", or go back to the way it was in the living world. But Grace didn't mind very much. If anything, it gave her something else to do and think about other than her own eternal life.

When Grace finally reached the sound booth, she was happy to see that her bed hadn't reset yet, and upon that discovery, she promptly threw herself down onto the mess of cushions. Grace let out a long, exasperated sigh as she sank into the familiarity of her makeshift bed. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it wasn't better than nothing. The tension from her earlier outburst slowly starting to ebb away. Grace closed her eyes, willing herself to forget about the awkwardness of the gymnasium, the burning anger she'd left behind, and the constant, gnawing feeling of dread lodged in her stomach.

For a moment, maybe longer, everything was silent. The kind of silence that made her feel like she was the only one left in the world—no chatter from the living students, no ghost teachers' lectures, no insults from undead football players. Just peace.

It didn't last long.

She must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes, it was dimmer in the sound booth than it had been when she had closed them. It was hard to tell the passage of time when she napped, as few minutes could easily turn into a few hours, and a few hours could turn into a few days (and so on), but something in her gut told her she hadn't been sleeping for very long. She was awoken by the sound of a door opening and footsteps leading up the stairs to the sound booth. Grace wasn't sure who she expected to see when she sat up, as the only ghosts she knew to come to this area of the school were herself and Mina, a girl who had died in the auditorium in the late 80s, and she only ever came up to yell at a nonexistent sound crew for messing up her light cues. So, when Charley walked through the door, Grace was surprised.

"What are you doing up here?" She asked. She tried not to sound annoyed.

Charley shrugged and motions for her to scoot over so he could sit down next to her. "I don't know. Thought maybe you could use some company," he replied, settling down with his knees pulled to his chest.

Grace regarded him suspiciously. This felt a lot like Mr. Martin's doing, but she wasn't certain. Charley was always so...nice, that it was hard to tell if he was being put up to something or if was just being his genuine self. She mimicked his posture, tucking her legs into herself and wrapping her arms around them.

"Maybe I don't want company," she said to him, resting her chin against her knees.

"Okay. Tell me to leave, then," he replied, grinning. There was brief pause where Grace considered it, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Charley smiled, knowing he'd won. "That's what I thought."

Grace rolled her eyes, though the gesture had lost most of it's edge. "Yeah, well, don't get too comfortable. You're cutting in on like, prime napping time."

"Isn't all time 'prime napping time' for you though?"

Grace prodded him in the ribs with her elbow. "Shut up," she muttered, despite the smile she was trying her best to hide.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, with Grace snagging one of her many books—something about the ways of the universe—and Charley watching her read it out of the corner of her eye. It was a little odd. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for his company, because she was, but she did find it strange that he would intentionally seek her out. The pair of them were friends, sure, though not exactly the closest of friends. Grace still couldn't help but feel that wasn't a decision he'd come to on his own.

"So, how'd you know I'd be up here?" She asked, scuffing the heel of her foot against the ground.

Charley shrugged again, his eyes still skimming pages of planets and stars over her shoulder. "At the risk of sounding like a stalker, I've seen you come up here before. Figured this was your hiding spot."

"Wow. You do sound like a stalker."

It was Charley's turn to blush and smile shyly. "Don't make it weird," he responded, nudging her the way she had to him. "I'm just naturally observant."

"Mhm. Yeah, sure," Grace replied with a chuckle. She continued flipping through the pages, ignoring the way that Charley's eyes were burning a hole in the side of her head. She wondered if she ignored him long enough if he would just give up and leave it alone. However, she forgot that Charley was nothing if not persistent.

"So...do you want to talk about it?"

And there it was.

Grace didn't bother looking at him, even as the question arose. "Talk about what?"

Charley's eyebrows raised and for once he looked somewhat irritated. Surely, he didn't believe it would be that easy, right? "Oh, you know, just you blowing up on Wally, storming out of group...y'know, the norm," he pressed.

"Oh, that thing," she said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, as if the idea had just struck her. "Yeah, no, I don't want to talk about it."

Charley rolled his eyes and without saying anything else, he reached over and took the book out of Grace's hands. She made a noise, trying to protest, but he tossed the book over his shoulder, and it skidded out of of her reach. She was quite offended, both at the action of him snatching book and throwing it, because it was a book after all, but, as it so happened, it was impossible to inflict any kind of permanent damage on anything in the ghost world. The textbook would be fine, even if her ego wasn't.

"That was literally so uncalled for," she said, her lips curving down into a frown.

"Yeah, well, your attitude is uncalled for," Charley replied. "I'm just trying to help. We all are."

Grace knew he was referring to Mr. Martin. Possibly Wally too, or frankly any ghost who was brave enough to get within five feet of her nowadays, but it didn't matter. "Did you ever wonder that maybe I don't want your help?" Grace replied stiffly. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Charley turned so he was looking her straight in the face, eyebrows furrowed and his expression softening, like he was still trying to make sense of what she was saying. "Then how do you expect to move on?

Grace couldn't help but laugh. She wasn't sure how he continued to be so optimistic after all these years, and she found it to be both refreshing and saddening. She almost pitied him. "You sound just like Mr. Martin," she said with a sigh.

"I'm serious, Grace. Janet did it—why couldn't you?"

"Because, Charley, Janet got lucky. She was a fluke, an outlier. She got a chance. And it took her almost 70 years," Grace looked at him, clearly unimpressed, and frankly, frustrated. She could feel the anger beginning to boil over like a steaming kettle. "Are you willing to wait that long, too? I know I'm not, and you know why? Because I know it will never happen. Because nothing ever changes in this goddamn school!"

At almost that exact moment, the lights dimmed and flickered erratically. A feeling that Grace couldn't put into words crept up her spine and settled there beneath her skin like ice deep in her bones. A chill swept through the room and her skin crawled, the hair rising on the back of her neck and along her arms. As unsettling as the feeling was, there was also something familiar about it. It was like deja vu; she had encountered it before, in some sense, and now it had come back. It was an incredibly odd feeling. The only way she could describe it was as though she had known about this moment, this sensation, long before it had come to pass. Charley must have felt it too because he stiffened and sat up rather suddenly, staring up at the lights with wide eyes and a knowing expression. The pair shared a look and Grace didn't have to say anything to understand. She just knew.

Someone had just died.

Charley's voice broke the silence, low and certain, a contrast to his normal demeanor."Grace, I think you may have just gotten your wish."