Wraith by Angel Lawson

another glance at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were red with tears and I had a smear of gold paint from earlier on my chin. I tugged my sweater over my head, making my hair slip out of the barrette that held it back. Pulling my T-shirt down, I gathered other clothes for a shower to prepare myself for my family for later. I stopped when I heard heavy steps on the stairs. Wiping my face, I ran my fingers though my hair, bracing myself to talk to my mother. My mind raced through cover stories when she knocked.
    “Come in.”
    In a last-ditch effort to avoid eye contact, I flipped open a magazine on the desk top and pretended to read. The old door opened with a creak and I waited for the onslaught of chatter.
    It never came.
    Instead, I heard the feet pause in the doorway and I glanced up. Connor stood there, fists shoved deep into his pockets. He was disheveled, as usual, in a ratty thermal shirt and stocking cap. Imposing and large in my small, angled room, he seemed out of place.
    “What are you doing here?” I managed to get the question out in a calm voice. In reality I was freaking out at the sight of him in my room, especially when I looked like this.
    “You called me.” He arched his eyebrow. “ And hung up on me. I was worried.”
    Heat flared up my cheeks. “Sorry. You didn’t have to come.”
    Connor sighed and closed the door behind him. “Yeah, Jane, I did. What’s going on?”
    After a couple of heavy breaths, I told him. I verbally vomited everything that had happened that afternoon at the shelter, including Evan’s weird behavior beforehand and his discouragement of even going in the first place. Connor stood at the door, never fully walking into the room, and listened intently to every word I said, not even interrupting to ask questions. I cried more than once and could only imagine how horrible I looked. I wasn’t a pretty crier. I was one of those blotchy-faced, red-eyed, ugly criers.
    “Who let you in?” I asked when I finished.
    “Your mom.”
    “She told you to come up here?” I was surprised. I’d never had a boy visit before, and I was stunned she would just send him up to my room.
    “I can be very charming when I put my mind to it.”
    I snorted—I actually snorted. It went along with the tears and the snotty, crying, puffy face. I may as well repulse him all at once.
    He didn’t seem repulsed though. He looked amused and worried and definitely a little awkward standing in the doorway, hunched because of the low, slanted ceiling.
    I stood up. “Here, sit down,” offering him my desk chair because there was no way I could manage looking at him on my bed. He sat, spreading his long legs across the floor, and picked up a pen from the desk. I watched as he worked it though his fingers.
    “What do you think?” he asked.
    I still wasn’t sure. I was more hurt than anything else. “Why is Evan doing this to me?” I hoped I didn’t sound as devastated as I was.
    Connor rested his elbow on the desk, took his cap off and ran his hand over his forehead and eyes. “I think—like I told you before—your ghost needs something.”
    I didn’t like how he wouldn’t call Evan by his name. Even though I’d been the one to call him, I didn’t like how he assumed he knew more than I did. I wrapped my arms around my waist.
    “Do you want to hear about my first ghost?” His voice was quiet, the confidence slipping.
    “Yes.”
    “It was this woman. She was beautiful. She had long, golden hair and the prettiest face.” He stretched his legs out, crossing one over the other. “I thought she was an angel. I really did. She was so beautiful.”
    “How old were you?”
    “I was fourteen.” Again, he kept his eyes from mine and fingered the pen. I tried to picture Connor at fourteen. Ava and Julia both commented on his growth and changed beauty since he returned. I imagined his long legs and arms on less broad shoulders, gawky and awkward.
    “The first time she appeared to me I was in