Chapter 1
"You have schizophrenia."
That's what my diagnosis was. Well, that's what the doctor said, anyway. That was my label because of all the hallucinations I was having. All my delusions had a reason.
Schizophrenia is a mental disorder. It's where you see things, hear things, and they aren't there. Sometimes you can't put a proper sentence together, and figments of your imagination become reality.
But I don't have schizophrenia.
I can see ghosts.
Well, dead spirits, actually. They're everywhere I go, and some of them know I can see them, but some of them don't. When they find out, they usually want something from me. To pass a message on to a loved one, or to complete a task they had yet to do.
And yeah, saying that does make me sound crazy. But you should know that there's a fine line between being crazy and being able to communicate with the dead. And I know that I'm not crazy, and I'm not schizophrenic. Schizophrenics can't actually touch the things they see, and they can't have real conversations with them. Well, they think they can, but really, they're just speaking to themselves.
So when the doctor told me that this was my diagnosis, I didn't believe him for a second. I knew that this label was just something that was given out so ordinarily – they had never dealt with someone who could talk to spirits. For them, that didn't exist. So why not pop a false nametag on me so that I seemed a bit less crazy then I was?
And everyone did think I was crazy.
To this diagnosis, I lost all my friends, and my whole family is under the impression that I'm borderline psychotic. I've been placed in therapy sessions during school hours, and need to take medication. No one talks to me anymore. Everyone thinks I'm a freak.
Well... almost everyone.
Cole never thought I was crazy. He understands me, even when everyone else doesn't. He treats me like a person. Like a friend. And I don't get much of that, anymore.
But he's dead.
Cole Maxwell died in 1999, when he was eighteen years old. It was a car accident on the way to his friend's house – he wasn't watching the road, and his car flipped into a ditch. He's dead now, but he's still here, and we sort of became friends. Cole was the first ghost I ever saw. He doesn't believe the diagnosis either. He knows that I can see ghosts, and that I can talk to them. He found me because he could tell I had the... 'gift' to communicate with the dead.
But sometimes – even though I sort of have proof – I still think I might be crazy. I'm sure all schizophrenic's think they're not crazy. I'm sure they all think there's a valid reason as to why they're seeing these things. Maybe some of them think they can see ghosts, too. Like I said, there's a very fine line. Sometimes that gives me my doubts.
I think Cole is the only reason I haven't started believing it yet.
"What do you think... red, or yellow?" I asked, holding up the two shirts.
Cole made a face. "I like yellow. It looks nice with your dark hair."
"Are you sure?" I frowned. "I don't want to give people the wrong impression..."
"And you think they might get the wrong impression of you, if you're wearing yellow? How does that even make sense?"
"I don't know, I'm just nervous."
"Well don't be, it's just school." He said. "You've been going for the last thirteen years of your life – you think you'd be used to it by now."
"Yeah, but this is a new school." I said. "The people here don't think I'm crazy, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Then pick yellow," he groaned. "I don't care!"
I smirked, throwing the yellow shirt back into my closet, and putting on the red one. I was planning on wearing the red one to begin with, but it's a hobby to mess with Cole. And I'm very good at it.
"Are you coming with me today?" I asked him, doing a quick once-over in the mirror. I had straightened my long, dark brown hair, so that it fell loose down my back. I had also put on a bit of mascara, and a dark lipstick. I didn't usually look this good – you could easily tell how hard I was trying to make a good impression at this school.
Cole jumped off my bed, not making much of a sound. That was the annoying part about Cole – sometimes, you couldn't tell he was there, because he was so quiet. I've been beginning to sense him now, though, so it's easier for me to be sure.
"I'll come," he decided, stretching his arms out. "But only because there's nothing better to do. Your life seems to be more exciting than most things, anyway."
"Ha-ha," I grumbled, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. "Then come on, I don't want to be late. Sierra is giving me a ride to school today."
Cole's face grew pained when I mentioned Sierra. See, Sierra is my older sister, and it seems as though – subconsciously – she's always getting on Cole's nerves. So, he tries his best to return the favor. He steals her stuff, sits on her lap during meals, wreaks havoc in her bedroom... just about anything to annoy her, even if she doesn't know he's doing it. It's usually funny to watch, although she always ends up putting the blame on me, her mentally insufficient sister . Not that I mind. The prank itself is almost always better then the punishment I get.
"She's not switching schools like you, is she?" he asked, following me as I made my way downstairs, and out the front door.
I shook my head. "Of course not, Sierra is almost jumping for joy at the fact that I won't be attending the same high school as her anymore. There isn't a chance she would switch, too."
"Well, I certainly won't miss her." He replied.
"Me neither," I agreed, walking down the driveway towards Sierra's car. She owns this cute, bright red little Bug, one that I hardly ever get to drive in. She got it last year for her birthday, and goes into this possessive rage every time I even mention using it.
I got into the backseat, making sure to leave the door open longer then necessary so that Cole could get in too. For some reason, he never liked walking through things, though I figured it was because he wanted to act as human as possible. That's a lot of the reason why the dead tend to stick around. Especially Cole, who feels as though his life was cut short. Once he finally sat down, I slammed the door shut and snapped on my seat belt.
"Do you know where the school is?" I asked Sierra quietly. Whenever I was around her, I tried to act as normal as I could, even though I didn't like doing so.
She rolled her eyes, but nodded.
I can't help but remember the times when Sierra treated me like an actual sister. We used to do everything together – we were almost like twins. That was, until last year, when I was told that I'm not normal. Sierra suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. She stopped talking to me all together for a while, too, which broke my heart at the time. I'm seventeen now, and Sierra is eighteen, but she still hates me. We talk only when necessary, or whenever Sierra feels like yelling at me. I'm almost over it now, but that doesn't mean that I don't wish things were back to the way they used to be.
"Get out here," she ordered, stopping by the curb. I was still quite a distance away from the entrance, so I gave her a confused expression as I stepped out of the car.
"I have a few friends that go to this school," she explained, noticing my confusion. "I don't want them knowing that we're related."
And with that, she drove off, leaving me standing in utter disbelief and disappointment. It was so often that Sierra said things like this, but today, it seemed to really hurt. Maybe because this whole switching schools thing was mostly for her, not for me. I really wouldn't have minded another year at my school, even though I was constantly bullied. I only switched because I knew she didn't like having me around. She thought I was crazy, too.
"She didn't mean that, Marley." Cole said, giving me a sympathetic look. We both knew that she did, but neither of us would say that.
"It's okay," I sighed. "Let's just go."
"Sure."
I followed the path down the sidewalk, walking through the front doors of the school, and scanning around for the guidance office. When I finally spotted it, I walked inside; checking to make sure Cole was still at my side. He looked pretty uncomfortable.
I was about to open my mouth and assure him that everything was good, but I quickly stopped myself. I was trying to get a fresh start here, and talking to thin air probably wouldn't do much for a normal reputation. I knew that a few people here had heard about my 'condition' because of their connection with my old school, but most didn't, and I wanted to keep it that way.
I walked up to the front desk, my fingers wrapping around the marble desk top. A thin woman that looked to be in her fifties or sixties sat behind it, and when she noticed me standing there, she spun around in her chair to face me.
"What can I do for you, dear?" she smiled genuinely, crinkles forming around her eyes.
I smiled back. "My name is Marley Anderson; I'm a new student here. Is this where I can get my timetable?"
"Of course!" she said. "The principal did tell me we were getting a new student here. I've got a folder with your name on it."
"Thank you."
The woman handed me the contents of the folder, which included my timetable, a map of the school, and my new locker and combination. I took them with a smile, walking out of the office and into a crowd of people. This school was even more populated then my last, not to mention a lot bigger. The only reason I hadn't attended this one to begin with was because of the distance. I needed to get a drive to this school, where as at my old one, I could walk.
"Your homeroom is English," Cole grinned. "That was my junior year homeroom. It's awesome to have a fun subject to start the day."
"You think English is fun?" I whispered, trying to make my speaking look oblivious. I covered my mouth to make it look like a yawn, even though I knew Cole could hear me.
"I've always liked it," he said, smiling. "It's interesting."
I stared at Cole as a smile tugged on his lips, his eyes sparkling. I always felt so sad when he started recalling his past, back when he was alive. He would be thirty-five now, if he was still breathing. He would have a family, probably, and a stable career. He would have everything that he deserved, but didn't get. But instead he was stuck, eighteen forever. He could never live.
I always wondered why Cole had to die. He had never done anything wrong to deserve it. He was a good person, bound to have a good future.
But whenever I told him that, he claimed that fate has a funny way of working itself out. "Everything in life has a reason," he had told me. "I died for a good reason. I just haven't figured out what it is yet."
I shook off the rest of my thoughts, staring back down at my timetables. First period English, second science, third art, and fourth history. I really wasn't looking forward to science and art – my two worst subjects. Science always confused me, and I never really did have an artistic bone in my body. It would take a bit of extra work to pass those classes.
"You might as well go straight to homeroom," Cole continued, ignoring my pause. "You don't have any books yet so there's no point in visiting your locker first. Try and linger outside for a bit, though. You don't want to get to class too early or you'll be the only one there."
I gave him a thankful look, truly appreciating his advice. Without Cole, sometimes I wondered what I would do. I was admittedly very awkward, and found trouble in any situation. Cole always helped me to figure things out, and get past any barriers in my way. I trusted his judgement more often than I trusted my own.
I began walking towards my English room, which was on the second floor in the east wing. And yes, I did say wing. This school was so large that it was separated into four different wings, and had three floors. My last school was a lot smaller, and I was already getting nervous thinking of how I would find my way around.
"You don't look very confident," Cole said, noting my expression. "I know the situation's lousy, Mar. But you've got to put on a tough attitude. Fresh start, remember?"
"That's easy for you to say, no one can see you." I murmured, pretending to cough again. "And who says 'lousy' anymore? Catch up with our time, old man."
"Don't call me that," he said, rolling his eyes.
I shrugged, pushing my hair back behind my ears. I had a habit of hiding behind my hair at my old school, using it as one of my many techniques to go unnoticed. Granted, most of the time it didn't work, but it still gave me comfort. Except here, I'm not supposed to be the same person anymore. I'm supposed to be confident – and most definitely not crazy. Letting my hair hang loose was a habit I needed to break if I wanted to rid myself of my past.
"I think you're supposed to take this flight of stairs," Cole said, pointing to the left. "And the classroom is right down the hall. I was always kind of directionally challenged though, so I could be wrong."
"I think that's right," I said, following his directions. I took only a few steps before I heard a voice behind me, and a hand touch my shoulder.
That meant that it was definitely not Cole.
"Who are you talking to?"
Oh, shoot.
"Myself," I replied quickly, turning to face a boy around my age. He had shaggy blonde hair, and eyes the darkest color of the ocean. He looked nice enough, although his voice suggested that he'd heard more than I thought. I didn't know how much he had heard, but hopefully he believed my lie.
"I haven't seen you around before," he said. "Are you new here?"
I nodded. "I just started today. Senior."
"Me too," He smiled. "My name's Noah."
"I'm Marley."
"Interesting name." He said, smiling slightly. I noticed that Noah had a crooked smile, one that raised slightly higher on the left side than on the right. It might have looked strange on anyone else, but on him it just looked quirky, and trustworthy.
"Do you need help finding your homeroom?" he asked me. "I was a new student here last year, so I know how hard it can be to find things in this monster of a school."
I felt relief wash over me. "Actually, that would be great, thank you. I can't find a damn thing here; it's like walking through a labyrinth."
Noah laughed again, his smile reaching his eyes. He seemed like an overly happy person. "Come on then. Where's your first class?"
"It's English in room 2045, I think."
"I know where that is," he replied. "Follow me, I'll show you the way."
I did as told, following Noah up the staircase and onto the second floor. He had also pointed out where my third period class was along the way, and I remembered to thank him again. It was sweet of him to do this for me – not many people would have. Normally I knew that people tried not to associate with the new girl, and for Noah to have the guts to do exactly the opposite just plainly amazed me.
"You have second period with me," Noah said, eyeing the schedule that I was still holding. I had visual arts as my second period class, which was one of my least enjoyable. "So I guess I'll be seeing you later today anyways."
"Okay," I murmured. "That sounds good."
I pursed my lips, nervously running a hand through my hair. I always did that when I felt intimidated or awkward, even when I tried not to. It was another bad habit that I needed to break.
"Well, here's your classroom." Noah said, gesturing to the open door in front of us. I hadn't even noted the way we had taken to get here, so I would probably get lost finding it tomorrow. "I'd wait with you for the bell, but my class is in the West Wing so it's pretty far away. I'll see you in second period though?"
"Of course," I smiled. "Thank you."
"No problem," he said. With a quick wave goodbye, Noah had disappeared into the now existing crowd of students. When I had first arrived here the upstairs halls had been almost empty, but now they were flooded, making me all the more anxious. And without Noah to guide me, I was once again on my own.
I walked into the classroom, taking a seat near the middle. Most of the class had already arrived, so I wasn't too early like Cole had predicted. Speaking of Cole, it just occurred to me right then that he was no longer at my side. He must have ventured off during my conversation with Noah, because he was now nowhere to be found.
"Are you the new student?" I heard someone ask. I looked up from the graffiti on my desk to face a woman. "My name is Miss Howard; I'm this period's teacher."
I nodded. "I'm Marley Anderson."
"Perfect. I have a text book set aside for you; I'll let you take it after class. If you need anything just raise your hand, class will be starting in a minute."
"Thanks," I said, tapping my fingers anxiously on the desk. Most people in the class were staring at me, probably wondering who I was and where I came from. They continued staring at me for a few moments before returning to their own conversations, leaving me alone again. Gossip was like this everywhere – one minute, you're all people can talk about. And the next thing you know, most of them have already forgotten your name. I just hoped my fifteen minutes of fame would end fast, and preferably soon.
The class passed by quickly, without any more uncomfortable glances or people attempting to initiate conversation. By the time I had left English and found my way to the Art room for second period, I still hadn't seen Cole again. I wondered where he went. It was in my nature to always worry, and even though I knew it wasn't like Cole could get hurt or anything, I still felt more comfortable when he was by my side.
When I entered my Art classroom and found Cole sitting in the seat next to Noah, a feeling of relief washed over me. I regretted it instantly though, as I noticed Cole was staring at Noah and waving in his face wildly. I had a feeling this was going to be a long class.
"Hey Marley, look, I made friends with the boy!" Cole yelled. "He's not very responsive, though. I'm more talkative, and I'm dead, so that's not a good sign."
I rolled my eyes, biting my lip to fight the urge of laughing along.
There are definitely some real pros and cons of seeing the dead.
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