End

The mall.

That’s where she wanted to go.

The mall, of all places.

I asked her why, but she only shrugged and stared straight ahead.

I wondered if she knew something I didn’t.

I decided that I didn’t care.

I was tired.

Cemeteries didn’t provide the best nappies.

We were at the epicenter, the large atrium from which all the halls branched off of. Benches encircled the middle of the room, all facing the jungle-themed play center where tired mothers could let their bored children burn off steam. The entire room was decorated like a jungle, in the most inconspicuous way. The cones that hung from the ceiling were beige and café brown, and they were supposed to resemble tree branches. The floor was a bland green. A shopper had to look extremely close to even notice the theme.

I had a moment or two to shake my head at the terrible interior decorating...before I saw them.

There they were, walking across the room. The rich bitches that Carrie used to hang out with. They had been her friends, first. Then, when I came along, they’d grudgingly moved their pretty asses aside to make room for me at their lunch table.

“Oh,” I said, aloud. Finally, I got it.

“What’s ‘oh?’” Carrie asked, frowning.

I only shrugged and plopped down on a bench. Of course we’d find them here. They practically lived here. After all, where else could they spend so much of their parents’ money in one place? And if Carrie wanted to waste her time, I wasn’t going to stop her. “It’s not like you can talk to them. You’re a flipping ghost, Carrie.”

She shook her head, not taking her eyes off of them as they slowly made their way toward us. “I know. I just….wanted to see them.”

I stared at her. “You know…” I started, speaking down to the floor so passing shoppers couldn’t see that I was talking to myself.

“What?”

The bench I was sitting on was made out of wood slats spaced far enough apart that I could fit my hands between them. I slipped my fingers in and wrapped my hands around one, squeezing tightly, like a stress ball. “They did cry…In school…That’s how I found out about the accident. They cried for an entire week. They were at the funeral. But at school the other day…when your death was no longer big news…they went on as if nothing had changed.”

Carrie’s face turned sour. “I know you hate them, Tori. I’m not going to just take your word for it.”

I figured as much.

We both watched as that gaggle of honking geese waddled past, juggling bags and bags of high-priced clothes and junk, gossiping amongst themselves. One of them saw me, nudged another, and they both flipped their perfectly straight, platinum-blonde hair, adjusted their purses, and stuck their noses into the air.

Gag.

There was a new girl with them that I’d never seen before and, judging by the faintly stunned look on Carrie’s face, she had never seen her before, either.

They all started laughing at something one of them said. They laughed until we couldn’t see them through the crowd anymore.

There was absolutely no hint of grief among the lot of them. Obviously.

“Does that provide enough proof, Carrie?” I answered coolly, wanting to get back at her for not listening to me.

I hadn’t expected her frightened expression. “I-is this what most of the school is like?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could get any sound out, she nodded. “I should have expected as much,” she whispered. “I mean…I’m just one student. I’m not that important.”

I couldn’t lie to her. “Not to any of them, no. But to us, to those you care about. You’re the entire world.”

She stared at me, her eyes wide.

I didn’t know that a ghost could cry.

Ghost tears are silver. And they’re not transparent at all.