Ghost of a Girl

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

In the crowded school hallway, all the students were streaming towards the auditorium, like ants into an anthill.

I, in my usual baggy sweatpants and t-shirt and messy ponytail, leaned against the wall taking it all in. I didn't want to be an ant. Instead, I wanted to be the magnifying glass on a hot summer day.

A boy with longish shaggy hair and slouchy jeans walked up and leaned against the wall next to me. "Hey Daisy."

"Hey," I said without looking at him.

Dylan was a good guy. I wouldn't have called him my best friend or anything. But he was definitely my best casual buddy to hang out with on occasion. He was unpretentious and basically didn't give a shit about much. We had that in common.

"Are you going to the assembly?" he asked.

"Yeah. I guess."

"You'd think the president died or something, the way people are acting."

As if to punctuate his statement, two girls rushed by, clutching at each other, crying. Sobbing actually. Snot ran down over one of the girl's lips. I cringed. I felt bad for her.

"I suppose."

More students streamed by, united in their grief. They held hands and congratulated each other on being thoroughly despondent. The spectacle of it all made me want to vomit all over each and every one of them. Then they could congratulate each other on how thoroughly sickening they were.

Despite all that, I followed them into the auditorium and took a seat up near the exit. The rest of the place was packed. There wasn't one empty seat in the house. And everyone looked positively giddy with what was to come next. It was as if they were attending a free One Direction concert and not a memorial for a dead girl.

There were three extra chairs on the stage next to the principal. Haven's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Mayberry sat in two; the other was occupied by Pastor John. Once the principal quieted everyone, the projection screen rolled down and the lights dimmed. On screen, a video played. The video I had put together, spliced in with scenes of Haven heading up the cheerleading team. Her smile was like a 100 watt light bulb and despite my crossed arms over my chest it shone on my heart anyway. My chest started to tighten, and I bit down on my tongue until I could taste blood in my mouth.

A clip of Haven in charge of a bake sale for charity flashed on screen. She hammed it up for the camera, pretending to smoosh cake into Mr. Craig's face.

In the front row of the auditorium, Mr. Craig sobbed loudly into his hands. One of the other teachers patted him on the back.

Now still photos flashed by of Haven, interspaced with video quotes from Jenna, Paige, Luke and others, saying nice stuff about her. I had to be creative with that part, considering they didn't always talk about Haven. Luke, in fact, talked a lot about himself, which I had found extremely uncomfortable. I had wanted to scream at him that this was not his dashboard confessional.

At the end of the video, Haven was on screen talking into the camera. "I love you all." She blew a kiss.

The frame froze on her smiling face, and twinkling radiant blue eyes. Then it slowly faded out to black.

Haven Delilah Mayberry 1998 -- 2015

Every person in the auditorium was crying. Even Dylan had tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks.

But not me. I was dried eyed and staring straight ahead numbly, slouched down in my seat. I so desperately wanted to disappear. This was ironic since the entirety of my high school years I'd been invisible to almost everyone around me. Well, to those who didn't bother to make an effort to bully me. Like Jenna.