Excerpt from “The Ghosts That Follow”
“Everybody—this is Leo” James announces, forcing the group to look up at me with inquisitive eyes. “Leo—this is everybody.” He gestures wildly to the lot of them. I struggle to find words, as James encourages me to sit on an empty section of a stone bench.
“Nice to meet you Leo” I look up into the most beautiful hazel eyes I’d ever seen. They are attached to the face of a girl, whose smile is charismatic and warm, if only slightly less so than James’s.
“Leo, this is my sister Savannah” James says suddenly, setting his head playfully on her shoulder. She swats him away with false annoyance. “Yes, I do have the unfortunate pleasure of sharing a bloodline with him.” When she smiles again, I can definitely see the familial resemblance: the wide, bright smile, the dark raven hair, the way she carries herself, with confidence and prestige. I’ve never met any girl so disarmingly beautiful before in my life.
“Leo doesn’t talk much” I hear James explain to the others, and I feel my cheeks go hot with embarrassment. Was this my defining quality, now? Would I attend Bell Harbor Prep and forever be Leo-who-doesn’t-talk-much? I decide that tonight must be the night I break this trend. If not tonight, then the reputation would stick to me, the way being Max Bardwell’s friend became my identity in Draftport.
“I talk, when there’s something to say.” I defend and James leans his head back in delighted surprise. “Well I stand corrected then.” He says lifting his cup at me in mock respect.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Savannah asks politely and I smile at her and nod. “What’s your drink of choice?” she asks as she walks over to a rolling bar, filled to the brim with every kind of alcoholic beverage a person could think of. I had only had two alcoholic beverages in my life, and so the only thing I could think to say is, “Mimosa” and I feel embarrassed once again as everyone around the bonfire chuckles.
“Where did you come from?” a small wiry girl asks me incredulously. “Massachusetts.” Is my blunt response, which earns me another chuckle from the roundtable.
Eventually, a tall bulky guy wearing a letterman’s jacket (because, why not be a cliché) stands up and walks over to where Savannah is about to mix my mimosa. He grabs the bottle of champagne, halting her actions. “This isn’t Sunday brunch.” He says in quite possibly the most condescending tone I’ve ever heard. “He’ll have a Scotch—neat. Won’t you?” the last question is pointed, and suddenly I feel self-conscious so I nod weakly. Savannah shoots an irritated look at Letterman Jacket, before sighing and reaching for a bottle of scotch.
James stands up now. “Leo, do you like Scotch?” he asks, almost as if I am a child. I shrug, trying to be nonchalant, but coming off, certainly, as small instead. “I don’t know.” I respond. “I’ve never had it before.”
“Justin.” James responds pointedly, in the direction of Letterman Jacket “Leo is my guest and if he wants a mimosa. He can have one. Not everyone feels compelled to be as much of a pretentious cliché as you.” Everyone chuckles once again, but I am comforted that they are chuckling at someone other than me. I don’t like feeling like I am being accommodated to, however, so I shake my head vigorously.
“No it’s okay.” I say gesturing encouragingly toward Savannah who had all but given up on making my drink. “I don’t mind. I’d like to try it.” Justin laughs, heartily, throwing his arm around my shoulders jovially. “My kind of man.” He cheers, taking the glass prepared by Savannah and putting it into my hand. I shrug adventurously, and toss the glass back. I immediately wince, because the scotch burns the back of my throat, and I begin to cough obnoxiously. Justin laughs at my reaction
“What do you think?” James asks, taking the glass out of my hand. I meet the twinkle in his eye and smile.
“I think it’s rather shit.”
James nods victoriously and turns to Savannah. “Savannah, darling, make this man a mimosa” she gives him a sarcastic salute, and hands me a champagne flute. I am about to sit down next to Savannah once more, but Letterman Jacket, who's name is actually Justin, slides into my seat, putting his arm possessively across her shoulders. I stand awkwardly for a moment, until the small wiry girl who had spoken before offers me a seat next to her. I take it graciously, and then learn that her name is Rowena.
I learned more names—Zachary Mossweather, whose role seemed to be oafish drunk. Another girl, Beckett, was quick witted and wry, the equal opposite of Rowena who gave off the impression of being a little bit ditsy. Beckett sparred quite often and quite well with Brandon Heath, whom was a bit of an intellectual. I received more chuckles when I thought they might be dating each other. Though, I think they’re the ones who are overlooking the obvious in that sense.
This group of people stood separate, a cut above the nameless masses on the courtyard below. Not once did they ever mingle. Other than James, that is. He was seemingly everywhere, and it seemed as if he knew everyone he came across by name. Occasionally he’d bring a random guy or girl out from the crowd, flirt with them for a few minutes and then send them merrily on their way. He wasn’t dismissive about it. It wasn’t as if he painted himself as better than them—it’s just as if they somehow knew it already. It was as if each of them was happy to just to have their five minutes with James Callahan.
James seemed to me to be an indiscriminate flirt. Gender nonspecific. When I tried to ask him casually in a not-that-there’s-anything-wrong-with-it sort of tone, he shrugged and simply said “I’m bored.”
I spent most of the night hanging on every word Savannah said. She was so demure and intelligent and a secret kind of funny. She wasn’t flashy like her brother or boisterous like Zachary, she was witty, but in a way that everyone around her overlooked. I thought she seemed so simultaneously joyous and sad and I didn’t know how that could be possible.
Over the course of the night, the masses dwindled until all that remained were the kings on the hill. Justin and Savannah broke away first, and I was filled with a sudden sadness as I watched her coyly smile at him as he wrapped his arm around her and walked her away. He seemed so vapidly beneath her and I couldn’t understand how a girl like her could be with a guy like that.
After a while, Zachary became too drunk and made a pass at an annoyed Beckett who insisted that Brandon take him home. “Are you good to drive?” she asks after a beat, and he promises he only had one beer an hour ago. “Someone has to be designated to drive, isn’t that right Zachary?” Zachary merely grunts in response and Brandon shakes his head bemusedly.
“Nice to meet you Leo, I’ll see you around.” He says politely but I offer to help him carry Zach to his car. We half drag a basically unconscious Zach into the back of a Range Rover. “Thanks” he says with a sigh and I ask him if it’s always like this. “With Zach, or in general?”
“Both?” I offer and he ponders the thought for a second. “Yeah, pretty much.” He shrugs. He thanks me again for the help and promises to look out for me at school. With that, he departs. I head back toward the dying party, feeling as if I’ve overstayed my welcome. I pull out my phone to call Maria to come pick me up, but decide it would be rude not to thank James for the invitation. I cannot find James outside anymore; the bonfire has been abandoned by all, so I travel cautiously inside the house. I am stopped by Wallace the butler and ask him if he has seen James.
“I think Mr. Callahan might be…a bit indisposed at the moment” Wallace says with a crisp matter-of-factness that suggests that this is not an unusual trait for James. I debate just leaving, but decide instead to wander back to the now eerily silent vast back courtyard. It reflects the apocalyptic remnants of a party taking place, the scattered trash of cups and neon. I wander further to the edge of the yard, beyond the bonfire pit, where I hear the hushed sound of sobbing.
I see the source of the soft cries, as Savannah, who awkwardly twists from side to side on a wooden swing. I have a debate in my head, but decide I couldn’t just leave her crying on her own.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and inwardly curse myself when she jumps, startled. “S-sorry” I stutter awkwardly, causing her to laugh lightly. “No, it’s okay.” She smiles meekly. I take a seat on the swing next to hers, and look down at my feet, searching for words. For a moment, there is no sound but the occasional sniffle on her part.
“Do you ever just get tired of it?” she asks suddenly, and the question confuses me. “Tired of what?” I ask gently and she just shrugs in response. “Of all of it. Of the dog and pony show, of the expectations, of the petty high school drama?” In truth, I had no clue of these issues she spoke of, but I realized that she had me confused with a normal teenager who has normal problems, and I didn’t really want to take the opportunity to reveal that I’m actually an anti-social weirdo, so I just said “I guess.”
“Do you think I’m shallow?” she asks again after a beat, and it is the kind of question that feels like a trap, so I don’t respond at first. I see in her eyes, however, that she takes my silence as confirmation to the question. “I don’t mean to be. It’s this place. It’s these people. Everything’s only surface deep.” She wipes at the tear tracks that have run through her make up.
“God, look at me” she says with a forced laugh. “I don’t mean to dump all of my crippling insecurities on you”
“It’s ok.” I say quickly, because I don’t want her to fill in the blanks of my silence again. “Really, I don’t mind.” I smile in a way I hope is comforting, and she smiles back, though it is small and through tears. “You’re sweet, Leo” she says, pulling her swing toward me and leaning her head on my shoulder.
“Too sweet for this place.”