I wash my face with colorless water. Oh, how I wish it had some color, any at all, so it could finally put some into my lifeless cheeks, or even tint my translucent life.
It has been three months of summertime sadness. And I don't mean my own, because even if I was as sad as the trees in winter time, it wouldn't be enough to touch a single heart in this town, much less the very heart of it.
Everyone mourned Jax Morrison. I did too. And now everything in this house has changed and the empty bedroom across from my own is the only proof he ever existed. And I know this, because I hear the whispers they don't want me to.
My brown hair matches my brown eyes. Both colorless, too. I wonder, how can things which are coated with layers and layers of melanin, be so colorless? Maybe, I should put some effort into it. By it, I mean my life.
I walk to the cold floored kitchen and sit down on one of the empty stools. The one on the left, to be exact, because the right one is reserved for the royal ass that would never sit there again. My mother wears black, but my father is the color black itself. Together, they remind me of a sad, unfinished painting.
We eat in silence, and this kind of silence is the only comfortable thing in the house. Nothing else seems to fit in anymore. I know I never did, but now nothing else does. Not even my parents. I munch on flavorless pancakes. Everything seems to be less, nothing more.
I know their joy of living went by the name of Jackson Ray Morrison. Jack. Jax. Jaxie. I also know that not even three months later do they believe how it all ended, but I don't blame them, no one else does. But I do.
I shove my plate aside. "Can I borrow your car?" I speak to my mother, knowing damn well I don't need to. There is a perfectly good, shining red sports car waiting for me in the dusty garage. But I don't dare asking them for it, like they don't dare offering.
She nods in response. "Have it back by five o'clock, I need to go grocery shopping."
I grab my black bag and throw it over my shoulder. First day of school hasn't even started, and I am already dreading it. I kiss my mother on the cheek and give my father a pat on the back. I had never done that before, but today I felt like I needed to do it, for a reason I knew very well, but didn't feel like accepting.
I get in the black Mini Cooper and throw my bag in the backseat. As I back out of the driveway, I abruptly stop as I almost hit something. Scratch that. Someone.
"If you wanted to kill me you should've kept going, not stopped," I hear before the passenger side door is opened, and Nex's face pops up. I am surprised I can see her face at all, under all the unnecessary makeup.
"Stop throwing yourself behind my car and maybe it won't look like I want to kill you," I roll my eyes, watching as she closes the door and fixes her almost black hair. Her equally dark eyes turn to look straight into mine. I wonder if she knows how deeply into them she's staring.
"And make your life easier?" Her eyebrows hitch up, as if issuing a challenge I was more than interested in being a part of. But not today.
Tearing my gaze from hers, I continued my task of getting to the driveway and finally started paving my way to my personal hellhole, Eastchester High School.
Nex rolls down the window and turns up the speaker volume, the song blasting through the radio obviously magnifying her ability to be extremely annoying. And damn her, she's excellent at that.
"Do you have to do that?" I ask, my gaze on the street before us.
"Do what?" She says absentmindedly, as she hums the tune of the annoying song.
"You know, open the windows and blast music, be that person," I hint, obviously annoyed out of my mind.
"Your brother didn't mind," hiss. You don't have the right to say that shit to me.
"I am not my brother," I say and press the radio button, turning it off. Her arms instantly fold across her chest. Stupid girl.
"Unfortunately," she mumbles, though I hear it loud and clear. I know, I am only his ghost.
The rest of the fifteen minute car ride goes by smoothly, mostly because I'm too annoyed to speak up and she's too proud to give in. I don't know how my brother handled her.
Nex Sapphire was my brother's biggest admirer and our long time neighbor. She was the one who always called shotgun on my brother's car, excluding me to the back. Not that it was her fault, my brother gave it to her without a second thought.
Maybe it was her dark brown hair, or her perfect pearly white teeth. Something in her intrigued my brother, and so he chose her over me. But he often chose other people over me, so I was used to that.
I watch as she now extends her tanned arm out the window. I wonder if she's reaching for something; like I know, I always am. Reaching for the unreachable. Wanting the unobtainable. But Nex Sapphire can take the unobtainable between her bony fingers and crush it. That's not a word in her vocabulary. I think she could bring angels back to life if she wanted to - too bad, my brother was definitely not in Heaven.
I stop at a red light. This seems to startle Nex, as she withdraws her arm and rests her hand on her thigh. I wonder if she wishes it was my brother's hand instead.
I shake my head. Stop thinking about him.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel before taking one last turn, pulling up into the school's parking lot. I don't bother parking neatly, no one does, and so this parking lot resembles a jagged puzzle no one cares to complete.
I hop out of the car and I see Nex hesitating. I scrunch my eyebrows before remembering - he always held the car door open for her. But you're not him, a voice in the back of my mind whispers.
I am not crazy, so I don't listen to voices. I walk all the way to the other side of the car, and with a roll of my eyes, I open the door for her. She gets out of the car, a smile plastered on her lips, her mouth opening as if she was about to say something.
"I get off at three," I interrupt her, knowing she'd need a ride back home.
Her lips turn into a pout. "I get off at four, wait for me?"
I look at her for a second. Her eyes glisten, or maybe it's just the sunlight hitting against them so brightly. Since when is it this sunny in Eastchester?
I shake my head. "I can't, but I'm sure your friends don't mind giving you a ride back," I throw my bag over my shoulder again, and she just shrugs.
"True," she replies, tapping her perfectly manicured red nail against her bottom lip before quipping. "See you around!"
She starts walking towards school, and I shake my head. "No, you won't. And even if you do, you'll ignore me," I whisper to myself, resting my body against the cold metal of the car.
Fetching my headphones from my bag, I put them on, making sure to match sides - at least one thing in Eastchester should be in its place, even if it's only my damned headphones. I turn my iPod on, Chocolate by The 1975 filling my ears with a whole other world I wish I was a part of.
I notice my feet drag beneath me as I reluctantly walk towards the building of terrors. Junior year was but a couple of steps away, and as much as I wish I could turn around and run, I can't. I have to face them. I have to face it. A reality without Jax Morrison.
It's almost indecent what they have done to the inside of this school. Or maybe I should say, to the inside of his school. A huge banner with my brother's radiant skin and deep blue eyes, holding the same basketball he always did, hangs from the ceiling and right to the ground. "In loving memory of Jax Morrison"you can read in big, dully organized, white letters.
In loving memory? That was the understatement of the century. They idolized him. I feel like they will also name one of the library's corridors after him. Maybe, just maybe, they'll find a way to name the school after him.
I almost feel the need to punch the banner. Not because I am envious, I have learned to deal with envy for the past sixteen years, but because I know they will forget. Because they are mechanical, automatic, and feelings of sadness and grief can only last as long as they feed them. And I know, soon Jax Morrison will be a ghost. Just like he is. Just like I know I am.
I try to ignore the intense, deep stares. They scream how much they pity me, yet they don't utter a single word. It's one of my all-time favorite paradoxes; why do people only see ghosts when ghosts don't want to be seen?
5-1-4-6. I roll my locker, putting in the combination. Nothing I do ever goes without reason, and this very code means something that I choose to keep to myself.
I look into my locker. I never felt the need to customize it, so the only thing claiming it as my own is the picture glued to the inside of the door. Which I didn't even put there, in the first place.
The one to blame is the boy whose right arm is wrapped around my shoulders in the same photograph. Kayin Gray. Don't let his last name fool you, for there is more color in this guy than in a parade of rainbows. His left arm is holding the last third of the unthinkable trio, Kat Levison. Her hair was red in the picture, but since then, it's been light blue, hot pink, pale purple, and sea green.
A light sneer escapes my colorless lips. The ghost boy, the rainbow dude and the chameleon girl.
I set down a couple of my books, keeping only the few I would need for the morning. As I close the locker, I hear faint gasps and my ears instantly invite me to look to my left.
Gucci sunglasses adorn her porcelain blond head. Her pink high heels prevent her feet from touching the ground, and I am thankful they do, because I am sure she could crush it with the rage and sadness that had bottled up inside of her. Her pink lips twist down, in a frown that would make the angels cry. Thank God, my brother is no angel.
Lara's hazel eyes scan the banner at the entrance of the school. Everything that makes her a sweetheart, also makes her a fool. A fool for the person who is no longer here, and not because he is off to college, but because he is off to another dimension.
Her manicured hand cups her mouth. Everything about her used to scream that she was the adored queen, and she used to walk these same floors with her own, personal, living doll king.
But what is a queen, without her king?
Nothing.
Which is why Lara Reynell broke down, her knees giving up holding on to the very last shred of hope she thought she had managed to collect. And so the queen fell to the ground, in an uncontrollable mess of sobs, screams and pleads.
Her friends rushed to her side. A nearby staff member yelled to another to go get the counselor. The counselor, however, was already prepared for this, emerging from her office and immediately helping the broken girl up. Everyone stood still, as if time had stopped, and maybe it did for all of them, for they had nothing else to do but to see their symbol of hope crash and burn.
Me?
I just went to class.