BIG QUESTION:
Can I get my father’s ghost to stay?
“Once you have your question, what else do you need?” Ms. Abad asks.
Dani’s hand shoots up. “A hypothesis?”
“Yes! And to form your hypothesis, you must gather observations and data. What have you noticed that can inform your attempt in answering your big question?”
Under theObservationscolumn, I start listing what’s been happening with Pa.
He has trouble entering places he hasn’t been before.
No one else sees or hears him.
His feet never touch the ground.
His skin is devoid of any color.
Ms. Abad sends us to research in the library, which is unfortunately also in the senior high building. Instead of panicking more about why Pa can’t come in, I decide to be productive. I take Ms. Abad’s assignment to heart and start researching like I’ve never researched before. But no matter how deep my dive through the internet goes, not one article or paper can tell me anything about what to do when your dead father shows up in your home. This includes me sorting through hundreds of blogs that recommend therapy and preach things likeYour dead loved one will always be a part of you.
All of it is as useless as meditation.
I go through books and binders of scientific papers shelved at the high school library. Saint Agnes really needs to restock their resources on spirits and ghosts. The most relevant information I find is about some doctor who tried reviving dead cells in pigs.
By the time the bell rings, I’ve already run out of options. I’ve gotten so desperate that I’ve resorted to the Bible. They make such a big deal about Jesus’s resurrection, but not one chapter, verse, or proverb explicitly states the logistics of how it happened. Considering how thick the book is, you’d think they’d have room for an instruction manual.
I’m skimming the New Testament when Kayla joins me in the library. She does a low whistle when she takes a seat at my table. “Wow, you look like shit.”
She immediately apologizes after the (I’ll admit) very accurate observation. Getting little sleep over the weekend plus reuniting with your dead dad’s ghost really accentuates one’s eye bags.
“Sorry, I went to orientation for Honesty Club and they require new members to be extra honest.”
That momentarily distracts me from the Bible. “We have an Honesty Club?”
Kayla shows me the button pinned to her uniform that says:I serve hones-tea.“I talked to Dani about which clubs needed more members and she said I’d be perfect for Honesty Club!”
I have a theory that all of Dani’s student council campaigning through the years has infected Kayla’s mind. Every time Dani gives her a compliment, Kayla’s face lights up like the sky has split open.
Right on cue, I see Ms. Class President doing her rounds and greeting everyone around the library. I’ve been in the same class with Dani since kindergarten, and her life’s mission has always been becoming student council president. We were asked to perform our favorite song during our third-grade Christmas party and Dani recited the Saint Agnes student handbook.
By the time we were freshmen, she volunteered to head the school tours for incoming high schoolers, brainwashing her future voters as soon as possible.
When our principal announced that the whole high school would be voting for which senior gets awarded the Gold Leadership Award at graduation, Dani immediately kickstarted yet another campaign.
Dani’s wearing her shiny student council president smile as she moves from table to table. “Don’t you think it’s impressive that Dani works this hard?” Kayla swoons again.
“She’s just doing all that so she gets the leadership award.”
Kayla shoots me a look and I point at her button with my pen. “Sorry, just servinghones-tea.”
Dani inches closer to our table and I bow my head down inmy arms in case she spots us. Every time Dani corners me, she goes on and on about ways I can “participate” more.
“Kayla! Nika!”
Ugh. Too late.
“Miss President,” I deadpan with a slight bow.
