Meet Me in the Graveyard

Chapter 3: A Battle of Wits

Colby stood in the PG lobby for what could have been three minutes or three hours, staring in the direction she’d gone.  Students and parents passed through him, as oblivious to him as he was of them.

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She looked at him.  The grumpy girl with the nice legs.  She saw him.  She spoke to him.  

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Didn’t she?

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He flew to the stairs and down to the lower floor.  He didn’t even bother using the doors to scan the rooms; he soared through walls and furniture and people, his eyes alert for long black hair.  When the first floor was a bust, he hurried up to the top.

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He exited the stairwell, turned to his left, and released a sharp breath.

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She was standing in the corner room beside another girl, looking out the window, her silky ponytail hanging down to her waist.

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He edged along the wall and stopped outside her door.  It felt bizarre to be so aware of his movements now, having to hide from her sight.  He leaned as close as he could to hear inside without revealing himself.

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“Personal space.  I get it.  Have you met anyone else?”

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That voice wasn’t his Grumpy Girl.  

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“Just some jerk downstairs who was blocking the entryway while I was moving in.”

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There she was.  Colby grinned.

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“A guy?  What’s his name?  What did he look like?”

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“I didn’t get his name.  He looked like an asshole.”

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The other girl laughed.  “What does that mean?” 

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“You know, tall, cocky, kind of shaggy, dirty blond hair that probably always looks good without any effort.”

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“So he was hot?”

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Grumpy Girl scoffed.  “Yeah, and he knew it.”

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Colby’s eyebrows popped.  He could work with that.

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The girls chatted a few minutes more, but when the second girl invited Grumpy Girl to hang out, she refused.   With a legitimate response, but there was hesitation in her voice, tension that didn’t fit the simple request.

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Interesting.

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The second girl popped out of the door and walked straight through Colby into the room next door.  He flattened himself against the wall.  Grumpy Girl could appear at any moment.  He needed to talk to her, and finding him lurking outside her room like a serial killer wouldn’t help.  But what he was considering was crazy.  Completely insane.  Moll would be furious.

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But Moll wasn’t there.

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He fixed a casual smile on his face and slipped his hands in his pockets.  Were they trembling?  Could his hands tremble?

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It took every ounce of energy and focus he had to feign leaning casually against her door frame.  “There you are!” 

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Grumpy Girl was laying on her bed, but bolted upright at his greeting.  Her stormy eyes widened like a spooked baby deer, but he didn't miss them quickly drifting over him.

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“What do you want?”  There was not a hint of hesitation or nerves in her tone now; she was still pissed.

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“I want to apologize.  I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

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“We didn’t do anything.  You blocked my way and refused to move.”  She pointed at him filling her doorway.  “Which, I might add, you’re doing again.”

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Colby glanced around the door frame.  “Well, I would come in, but you haven’t invited me.  So hovering in the door is really my only option.”

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“Or you could go away.”

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Colby laughed, noting how her angry eyes softened for the slightest instant before hardening again.  “I’d rather make peace.”  He pressed his right palm to his heart.  “I offer my sincerest apologies for my rudeness downstairs.  But you can’t blame a guy for being dumbstruck at the sight of a gorgeous new girl.”

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Her cheeks flushed red much faster and more severely than his teasing line should warrant.

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Interesting.

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Holding his eyes on hers, he set one foot about two inches inside her door.  When she didn’t protest, he stepped in two more inches.

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Her brow crinkled.  “What are you doing?” 

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“Waiting to see if you’re going to throw something at me.”  He took another two inches.  

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The corners of her mouth twitched.  “You look ridiculous.”

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“This doesn’t even make the list of ridiculous things I’ve done.”  Another two inches.  “Is this ok?”

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“I suppose it’s preferable to a fire hazard.”

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He chuckled and walked to the middle of the little room.  Did she really see him clearly?  Not fuzzy or faded or glowing, like ghosts in the movies?  How was that possible?  

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“I like your room.” He eyed her chair, but stayed standing. He didn’t trust himself to look natural on any of the furniture, and so far she was acting like she saw him completely normally.  He’d like to keep that up as long as possible.

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He offered her a softer, safer smile.  “I’m Colby.”

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“Emmy.”  Her tone was as stony as her expression.

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“Emmy.”  He tried it out.  It suited her.  “Is that short for something?”

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“Yes.”

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“You gonna tell me what?”

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“No.”

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He beamed, and the tip of his tongue peeked between his teeth.  Shit, he liked this girl.

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He turned to the large bin on her desk. “Ah, here it is.  The monster that came between us.  What do you have in there?  Bowling balls?”

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“No.”  She stepped over and lifted the lid.  The bin was stacked with notebooks of various sizes, sticky notes, several dozen boxes of pens and pencils, a thesaurus, and a laptop and power cords.

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He smiled again.  “You’re a writer.”

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Her stormy eyes flickered with warmth and her lips twitched almost to a smile, brightening her luminous face.  Something in the area where Colby’s stomach used to be jumped.

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“How did you know?” she asked.

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“I recognize the signs.”  He hesitated out of habit, but telling her wouldn’t matter.  “I used to write.  But I— stopped a few years ago.”

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“Really?”  She looked half intrigued, half skeptical.  “What did you write?”

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He crossed his arms at his chest, uncomfortable for the first time since he stepped into the room.  “Poetry.”

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Emmy’s expression flattened.  “You wrote poetry?”

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“Ouch!”  He kept his tone light to cover his embarrassment.  “What?  You think I’m lying?” 

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She shrugged.  “I think you’re a cocky jock trying to impress a gorgeous girl.”  She rolled her eyes when she repeated his words, mocking him and herself.

Interesting.

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“Well, I’m definitely that.  But I’m also a writer.  A pretty good one too.  At least, I was.”

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She crossed her arms, mimicking his posture.  “Prove it.  Show me a poem.”

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He snorted.  “I don’t carry them around with me.  They’re in a notebook at my house.”

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“How inconvenient.”  She started unpacking her writing bin, setting the materials on her desk.  She didn’t look at him, but he followed her every movement.  

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“No legacy is so rich as honesty.”

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Her eyes snapped to his, once again wide with shock.

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He smirked, jerked his chin to the Shakespeare poster over her bed.  “That’s from All’s Well.  Am I right?”

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She flipped her ponytail off her shoulder, rested her right arm on the bin, and put her left hand on her hip, facing him like the physical embodiment of sass.  

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“The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.”  She pursed her lips, looking spectacularly satisfied.

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“Merchant of Venice.  A classic.”  He lifted his chin, and she stretched her neck to meet his challenge.  “Talking isn't doing,” he said, glad she’d picked a quote from a play he knew well enough to quote back. “It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.”  

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Her lips once hinted at another smile that didn’t surface.  “The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly.” 

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“Oooo, you’re playing hardball.” Colby popped his shoulder in an easy shrug.  “As You Like It.” He glanced at the ceiling, feigning indecision, then smirked at her.  “She jests at scars that never felt the wound.”

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Emmy scoffed.  “I thought you were trying to impress me, Romeo.  Young men’s love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.”

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He paused, letting his gaze roam over her face.  Her silky black hair, her glowing pearly gold skin.  He settled on her eyes, full and round and dark blue blazing at him beneath long, thick lashes.  Everything about her was vibrant and bold, right down to her attitude, though that more closely resembled a careening Mack truck.  But he didn’t see anything to suggest she held a connection to spirits.

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Who was this girl?  

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His mouth settled in a soft smile.  “I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?”

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Color rose in her cheeks and her arrogant expression faltered.  

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Colby tilted his head toward her.  “That’s from Much Ado About Nothing.”

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“I know.”  She sighed through her nose and turned away, as if tired of him wasting her time.  “Fine.  Maybe you know something about poetry.”  She met his eyes again, her expression gentler.  “Why did you stop writing?”

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Colby hesitated, then shrugged.  “You know, just… life got in the way.”

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She nodded, as if his cryptic answer made perfect sense.  They stood quiet for several moments, giving him time to study her. He desperately wanted to try to touch her hand; would she be able to feel him too?  But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t risk it. Because if it didn’t work, then she’d know what he was, and he wanted to pretend for a while longer that he was just a boy flirting with a girl.

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Colby stepped away from her toward her door.  “I suppose I should get out while I’m ahead.  I’d hate to exit pursued by a bear.”

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She tossed her head and laughed, the full, round sound filling the tiny room.  Her entire face lit up, her vibrant eyes crinkled and shining with real delight.

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Colby stopped.  She was no longer cute, but stunning, and he couldn’t afford to walk through a wall because he couldn't take his eyes off of her.  His entire spirit felt frozen, but he forced a confident smirk to his face.  “So, she does know how to smile!”

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She giggled and rolled her eyes at him.  “You managed one amusing joke in ten minutes, so don’t get used to it.”

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“Guess I’ll need to up my efforts, because I’d like to get used to it.”

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Emmy stopped giggling, and a blush rose in her cheeks again.  Colby braced himself for a snappy response that didn't come.

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Interesting.

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He flashed her a grin and turned toward the door.  “I’ll see you around, Emmy-that-means-something-else.”

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“Maybe tonight?”  

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Her voice held a hint of anticipation that made him pause.  Did she want to see him again?  As much as he wanted to see her?

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Colby had plenty of experience with girls.  At least, he used to; not much action for the dead.  But none of his past romantic endeavors thrilled him as much as the hint of a smile on Emmy’s face, the apprehension and hope in her stunning eyes.  Could ghosts get goosebumps?  Because his entire being felt like it was prickling.

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Emmy toyed with the end of her ponytail, looping dark strands around her fingers.  “Remember?  We have Opening Convocation at the state house after dinner.”

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He winced.  Of course, she assumed he was a first-year too.  He was so caught up in her that he forgot the part he was playing.  “Right, Convocation.  Maybe I’ll see you there.”

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Her soft smile finally surfaced.  He allowed himself a long moment to savor it before turning to leave. 

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He needed to talk to Moll.