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"You're so weird." Her light voice flowed through the summer air. It was informative.
"What?" He lifted his head and rested on his elbows. She had thrown him off guard. Now she, too, lifted her head off the plush grass. She sat up and cupped a small firefly in her hands. Her palms glowed yellow.
"Why'd you want to come here?" she asked him.
"What, we can't just go to the park for no reason?" he asked, grinning.
"I don't sneak out of my bedroom window for no reason. Really, why?"
"I thought you'd like it," he replied shyly.
"I do," she said, sighing happily. "But I still think you're weird," she added.
For hours, they sat and watched the stars appear. When the sun had finally completely disappeared, she shivered and said, "I'm cold."
He zipped open his hoodie and held out his arms. She snuggled in them and he held her tight. They sat wrapped together for quite some time; until the bright headlights of a car flashed behind them.
"Sh*t!" she muttered. She had been caught. He reluctantly released her.
She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "I love you," before trudging up the hill and leaving him behind.
He watched her being driven away before laying back down with an unsatisfied sigh.
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The shiny telephone was staring him down, it seemed.
Grounded for an entire week. It sucked. When she had told him, she had jokingly cried, "I'll die without you!" And he had just chuckled it off and told her to wait until Saturday morning.
Now it was Friday night, and he wanted to hear her voice so badly. His fingers twitched, anxious to dial.
No, I can't get her in more trouble. Just wait, he told himself.
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Sophie. Sophie. Sophie.
The name echoed through his mind and he could not get it out. It was everywhere he went, it seemed. Even now, in the privacy of his own home, he could swear each ticking of the clock whispered Sophie . . . Sophie . . . Sophie . . .
He heard it in the dripping water in his bathroom, the leaves tinkling in the wind, and that damned squeaky shutter he'd been meaning to fix: Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.
Shut up! his mind screamed. That was four years ago! Shut up!
He sighed and went to the wall that shelved his massive book collection. He let his hand hover over rows of books. Unintentionally, it finally stopped and rested on the only paperback on the wall. It looked absurd, hidden between thick, heavy, dark books.
It was someone's well-loved book. He didn't even have to feel the worn cover or flip through the thin, soft pages to know that. He had bought it for a silly girl who loved ghost stories.
"But you said ghost stories were stupid!" she had said, looking up at him with a surprised expression on her face. Her eyes had been shining with excitement. All he could do was grin stupidly and allow her to wrap him in a giant hug.
Suddenly, his mind took him somewhere else. He thought of the strong summer air mixed with some flowery perfume he couldn't remember the name of. He thought of laying on the roof of his old car and staring at the stars while a calm and feminine voice read from the pages of a book filled with nonsense about spirits and strange things.
The clock struck midnight, breaking his concentration. He shook his head and turned to his bedroom. The floorboards creaked beneath him.
As he lay his head down on his pillow, he thought of how her head, framed by her long, light blonde hair, was resting on her pillow made of black velvet.
She had looked so perfect and pretty. Especially since she was in that dress she loved so much.
I bet the water was cold, even for June. I bet she was scared. I bet she screamed. She was only sixteen, for christssake.
A cool, silent breeze cut through the August heat and drifted in the window. It gave the room a certain chill.
He realized that the memory of her would never die, no matter how hard he tried to forget. A thought crossed his mind and made him smile.
You're not gonna believe this, Sophie, but I think there's a little ghost following me.
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