Dark Matter. Cameron Cruise

up at Mindy’s mom. Stella liked Mindy’s family a lot. They were so…well, normal. They lived in a normal house, painted a normal color. Nothing artsy or weird hung on the walls; there were no papier-mâché leaves sprouting out of the furniture or odd crystals hanging from the light fixtures like at Stella’s house. They ate meatloaf with ketchup on top. Mindy’s dad had his own business fixing boats. Mindy had a cute older brother who played lacrosse. She went to Supper Club and the National Charity League.

      Only now Mindy’s really normal mother was looking at Stella like something was wrong.

      “Do you feel all right, Stella?”

      “Yeah,” Mindy said. “What’s the deal? You’ve been reading that same page, like, forever.”

      Stella knew she had this funny frozen smile on her face. “You know,” she said. “I do feel sort of weird. Just give me a minute, okay?”

      Stella stood, making her way to the bathroom down the hall, the ghost walking right behind her.

      She wondered when it had first happened to her mother, that stray spirit tagging along. She’d never even asked, avoiding the conversation altogether.

      She’d thought it couldn’t happen to her.

      Kids her age didn’t worry about attached spirits. They thought about homework and boys. Stella suddenly giggled, realizing that the only boy in her life was dead.

      Once inside the bathroom, she locked the door and turned to face the kid. At the moment, he didn’t look so weird. There was no mud, or clothes dripping with water, no ghastly white skin. He had dark blond hair cut in a bowl shape around his head and nondescript gray eyes. He was wearing the same clothes as before, a short-sleeved plaid shirt and jean shorts hemmed just below his knees.

      “Okay. I get it. You’re not leaving until I deal with you. I’m not sure how this works,” she said, pacing nervously. She stopped and demanded, “So what do you want?”

      The only thing she knew about the spirit thing was what she’d overheard between her mom and her clients. Men and women would come scratching at the back door, their eyes full of pleading. They wanted to know if Sam was okay or if Lois had forgiven them.

      Stella called them the people-with-holes-in-their-hearts. They came to her mom with the hope that she could patch them up with her paintings. That’s what her mother did—patch up the broken people, give them answers. She’d take a photograph or a memento and she’d paint, using her talent like an Ouija board.

      It wasn’t something her mom advertised. Stella figured she didn’t make much money at it, either. If your father was some bazillionaire, like Morgan, you could afford to ignore the bottom line. By word of mouth, they found her mother, hoping that her paintings could somehow connect them with lost loved ones. Her mother was really good at it, too, communicating with the dead through her art.

      Now Stella wished she’d asked more questions.

      “Can’t you talk?” she asked.

      Ghost boy just stared back at her, completely silent.

      “Well, that’s just stupid,” she said, frustrated. “You’re the one following me! So what am I supposed to do now?”

      Ghost boy stepped forward. He raised his hand so that his palm faced her.

      Stella frowned. Her heart thumped in her chest like it might just pop right out. She licked her lips and raised her hand.

      Slowly, she lined up their fingers and pressed her palm to his.

      Instantly, her legs gave way. Her knees hit the bathroom tile. Ghost boy hovered over, their hands still linked.

      “No. No, please,” she whispered.

      She felt anchored to the floor by a thousand pounds pressing on her chest.

      She was in a cold, wet room, like a basement. She could hear water dripping. A woman and a man were holding her, rocking her in their arms.

      The pain. There was so much pain.

      “Stella!”

      She woke up to find herself on the floor of Mindy’s guest bathroom. The shower was going full blast. So was the water in the sink.