Ghost Writer Chapter One

Sarah LeFebvre 1

CHAPTER ONE

I never expected death to ruin my high school graduation. Cheap, sweat-producing gowns? Prepared for that. Tripping across the stage? Totally on my radar. Embarrassing cheers from friends and family? Guaranteed. These mundane expectations filled my brain as I stood with the other students of my graduating class whose A surnames forced them to man the front line. Polyester robes rustled as my rising heartbeat thumped in my ears. Giddiness warred with trepidation, and as usual, the former won. My skin prickled beneath the gazes of hundreds of friends and family members gathered in the auditorium, although the rational side of me knew only a fraction could separate me from the sea of green polyester. But if my face careened towards the makeshift stage in the process of crossing it, more than a fraction would notice. The movement of the line forced me forward a step. I tapped each of my fingers against my thumb, one after the other, as a nervous grin took over my expression. This is it. No more seven-hour school days, no more standardized testing, and no more socializing with teenagers I had little to nothing in common with. The downside would be separating from the one person I did connect with. But I had a well-constructed mental dam to halt any and all thoughts of impending adulthood and what it entailed beyond freedom from high school. The moment a troubling thought entered—such

Sarah LeFebvre 2 as Sierra moves away in three months—I activated the dam and trapped the thought within my reservoir of other troubling thoughts that would not ruin graduation. Sierra, my best friend, sat a few rows back with the C surnames. A small frown drew down her mouth, which I at first attributed to lingering annoyance about her fading green hair clashing with the darker green graduation gown. But no, something else claimed her attention. And to my consternation, that something was not me. I stepped forward with a scoff as the prickling sensation on my skin grew more from agitation than anticipation. Three people separated me from the stage. Only three people before my moment to shine arrived, and rather than watch me, she had the audacity to glue her face to her phone? She could at least wait until the M’s. I summoned my best beseeching look to aim at her, but in that moment, her eyes widened and she slapped a hand across her mouth. My brows drew together at the sight. What are you— Sierra looked up, and her gaze landed on me. The attention I so desired a moment before now chilled me. She dropped her hand and straightened her posture as her mouth tightened into a flat line. The adjustment failed to hide the horror in her eyes, and my rapid heartbeat increased. What? I mouthed at her. She waved her hand and shook her head. No. Sierra! I mouthed back. She flicked her hand forward. Graduate! “Uh, you might want to move.”

Sarah LeFebvre 3 The voice came from the boy behind me who, according to his tone, cared little about the moment at hand let alone its lifechanging consequences. I, however, flinched at the reminder of the graduation occurring, and swiveled back toward the stage. Nothing but open space separated me from it, unless one counted the teacher staring so hard at me, she must think it possible to move me through sheer willpower alone. Shit. I rushed past the teacher and reached the top of the stairs just as a female voice spoke my name through the venue’s speakers: “Chieko Adachi.” My smile returned, more flustered this time, as general applause rose from the student and family audience. The louder cheers from my family in the stands tickled my ears as I shook hands with the principal and took my empty diploma folder. The joy and revelry I expected to feel fizzled out beneath the memory of Sierra’s horrified expression, and the questions it sparked. “Over here,” another teacher said, gesturing me towards the proper path. “For the photo.” I nearly tripped over a taped-down wire as another round of applause filled the room, this one much louder. My moment ended as quickly as a wave crashing over me in the ocean: the rise of the cheers, the deafening roar of my heart, and then nothing. The next wave aimed towards someone else. “Over here, please,” the teacher said again, more exasperated now despite the smile on his face. I scurried forward and flashed my own strained smile for the camera even as the teacher took my diploma folder from my hands, flipped it right-side up, and handed it back. My mind occupied itself with too many questions to focus on properly controlling my body.

Sarah LeFebvre 4 Why did she look that way? Why won’t she tell me? Is a horribly embarrassing photo of me currently making the rounds on social media? Did my future college burn down? Did Game of Thrones get cancelled? No. That would be preposterous. I dropped back into my seat with a huff, but both my knees bounced with agitation. How could I sit through hundreds of students without knowing what horrified my best friend? Without knowing how that horror connected to me? My fingers itched to dig my phone from my pocket, but that would require circumnavigating the gown, a task made more difficult by my conspicuous location near the end of the front row. My foot tapped away the time against the floor until the B’s finished and the C’s began. I waited as the line of students beside the stage inched alongside my row. As soon as Sierra entered my peripheral vision, I leaned around the boy between us and hissed, “Sierra!” She peeked at me and shook her head. “I will tell you later.” Her self-control astounded me more in that moment than any before. “You know I can’t sit through this entire graduation.” I leaned further forward, ignoring the annoyed grunt of the guy on my right. I never expected to see these people again, so it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things if they left the ceremony thinking I’m a lunatic. Sierra turned back to give me a stern look: brow winkled, mouth tight, gaze judging. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.” I scoffed. “You think that makes me feel better?” Sierra rolled her eyes and shifted her attention back to the stage and away from me. I slumped back in my chair, arms crossed. I would have to wait. How hard could it be? So, so hard, apparently.

Sarah LeFebvre 5 The minutes passed in excruciating length. Sierra’s walk across the stage served as my only reprieve from the nagging questions inside my head. Unfortunately, both our locations at the front of the alphabet meant I had to sit through twenty-three more letters and the end of the ceremony before my torture would end. By the time the V’s crossed the stage, I had had enough. I hiked up the edge of my green gown and dug my phone from the pocket of my capris pants. Time was of the essence. I hastily entered the code and swiped until I found the Twitter app, Sierra’s most-used social media. “Chieko, please put your phone away,” Ms. Moore whispered from the opposite end of the row. The rule abider within me cringed, but I pushed through as my Twitter feed loaded. Anything significant would surely pop up at the top of my feed, and if not, then whatever Sierra saw couldn’t possibly be so bad. Right? My phone stopped its attempt to connect to Wi-Fi and switched to data instead, loading the feed. My heart stopped. My everything stopped. “Chieko, I won’t say it again.” My phone dropped into my lap, but the words on the screen burned in my mind. Carolina Saldana is dead.