Blue Ghosts

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ghosts

   I hear voices in my head.

Even in the dead of the day, my room was dark and messy and smelled like cigarette smoke—compliments of my brother and his stupid girlfriend. I wanted to be asleep at nine thirty on a Saturday morning, but I got into trouble when I came to the conclusion that the school's biggest asshole, Dirk Wesley, needed an iron boot to his groin. Of course I didn't have an iron boot, but thick Doc's did the trick just right. Sadly, Saturday Detentions were kept at the local library instead of the school library; our punishment, as the detention slip said, were three hours helping the librarian, Mrs. Crowe to stack and pack shelves, dust the desks and re-organize the cards and pamphlets at the front desk. I got out of bed, took a shower and ordered my brother to empty a bottle of air freshener in my room before leaving at nine forty-five, approximately fifteen minutes late for detention.

Walking the five blocks made me another fifteen minutes away, which totally pissed off Mrs. Crowe. When I walked in, she advanced towards me, away from the group of sleepy looking teenagers; more laborers, poor bastards. So she walked over to me, her full figure jiggling here and there. I braced myself for her lecture on my punctuality, telling myself not to look at that huge blackhead on her nose. The group of teenagers looked over at us, giving me their death stares. Right: I was late, so now I have to stand through ten minutes of her ranting, while I continue to ruin their weekends. I rolled my eyes at one girl, and she turned away with a scowl.

"You'll have to stay another hour," Mrs. Crowe finished.

"What?!" I said, louder than what was permitted in this sacred domain.

"As further punishment, or should I make it two?" She smirked satisfactorily when I nodded a yes. It wasn't admitting defeat; I'd rather die than to spend five hours in this place. Actually, I'd rather die than do anything else. I'd rather die than breathe this filthy air with this girl standing next to me, popping her gum so loud and obnoxiously with an eye-roll now and then; like she has better things to do than to be here, like shopping or crying over a hot boy, or kissing a hot boy, or just! Yeah, I think I'd love the feeling of bleeding out on my bathroom floor than the feeling of my arms lifting these heavy and dusty books while Miss Pretty In Pink complains about touching a Nancy Drew novel.

"She probably got into detention for skipping school for the mall," one guy chuckled quietly. He smiled at me, his brazen blue hair sticking out more than the rest of him.

"And you're here because you're in a phase and no one understands?" I asked. When he pulled his eyebrows together with deep furrows between them, and his eyes (kind of big and cartoonish...) squinted a bit at me, I pointed at my hair. His mouth morphed into a giant O as he came to the realization of what I was talking about.

"Uh, yeah. Kind of." Mrs. Crowe had her beady eyes on us, so I backed off a little. He took the hint when he saw me shuffling through the cart of encyclopedias instead of acknowledging his presence any further. Princess Bubblegum was now throwing her complaints at Mrs. Crowe, whose pursed lips and narrowed eyes made me think she was about to rip the poor girl's head off. I kind of wanted her to.

                                                                    ***

As expected, I stayed behind and watched everyone leave. Miss Strawberry Spoiled-Cake was smiling from ear to ear, constantly swinging her hair over each shoulder as she walked past Mrs. Crowe and I. The Blue haired guy was pulling a hat on when he walked by, and he smiled. Mrs. Crowe seemed to be breathing over my shoulder.