Catching Up, Falling Behind

"I told you where to meet me, didn't I?"

As Melina said those familiar words, she had yet to turn towards me, that soft profile of hers obscuring the left side of her face. A flattened but angular nose was the boundary between flesh and a faint floral wallpaper—of course, my mom had such dated sensibilities—while gentle eyelashes painted strokes of black upon the muted colors. The iris of a bright brown eye shifted to gaze at me, the light of the room illuminating it from behind so that it was almost transparent; however, no other part of her body was see-through, and I was thankful in the sense that I didn't have to see her skeleton or organs bared before me.

As I stared at her like she was an artist painting my portrait while she returned my gaze, she played with the puffy sleeves of her dress. Her mouth then moved.

Yet I could not hear a word she uttered, too wrapped up in my head and emotions to digest the world around me.

***

"Didn't I tell you to meet me in the classroom, Ari?"

That was the first time she ever spoke to me in private as we sat on opposite sides of a picnic table, the crisp autumn air chilling our ankles.

I nervously twiddled my fingers—ah, the shy freshman I was back then—and couldn't move my eyes up to look at her.

A person who was so ethereal was difficult to speak to. Why else did people treat celebrities like deities?

With my idol in front of me, I wanted to know everything about her. My desire was to become her biggest fan—her one-woman paparazzi—because I knew I wouldn't have the courage to confess. If I couldn't do that, then I would do everything in my power to make her happy and safe around me. I could at least guarantee that.

To have thought this encounter all started because I failed an English test a week prior!

The Tuesday before, when Mrs. Okoro handed back our assignment on common idioms, I had the sudden realization that I was uncultured in language.

"What the fuck is 'show how the sausage gets made' supposed to mean? It almost sounds vulgar, and I said it on the paper!"

Cherry had replied by telling me that it was supposed to be about exposing the ugly truth of something—while obviously making fun of me for being so blunt on the free-response questions that I didn't receive a single pity point for my answers—and then Zixin started discussing a whole theory about pink slime and human DNA in food.

He had lost me there, but Cherry swung her arm around Melina when she returned to the room with a pleated skirt on after having gone to the restroom.

"Melina! Perfect timing! You need service hours, right?"

With a bashful nod, the pretty girl shrugged off the arm of her fellow writing club member.

Melina then said with a smile, "Yes, I need ten hours of work to keep my spot in the school's volunteer organization this semester."

"Oh, do I have the solution for you, Melina!" Cherry then winked.

And that was exactly how I ended up in front of my crush, too infatuated and shy to say a word to her.

That intelligent demeanor of hers as she fumbled with her papers and let out a diminutive sigh… It was alluring and attractive, but it made me think she was the type who didn't know a lick about how to interact with others—"book smart" and not "people smart".

It was fine, I said to myself while distracted as I finally met her sweet eyes over the rim of her notebook, because I was more than willing to teach her in return, slowly finding myself falling for her in the abyss from which I could not return.

If only I wasn't stuck here learning idiotic idioms for my make-up test in three days!

***

Hm?

I was startled out of my recollections when something vaguely cold grazed my face, and upon my first assumption, I supposed it was the fan coming back alive within the range of my senses.

However, I almost jumped back in shock when I realized—no, it wasn't just the wind—there was something really grasping my skin!

That something? It was none other than Melina's hand caressing my cheek so tenderly that it was hard to believe she was merely a spirit.

The chilled palm was still warmer than I expected, though it gave me goosebumps of either the excited or sensory type as she brushed her thumb over the soft skin. It was an anomaly, and I wondered if I was dreaming or simply filling in the blanks when it came to the teasing pads of her fingers and the lifelike heat which emanated from them.

It was then I also noticed how warm tears streaked my cheeks, rolling down the back of her hand.

This connection… The fact she was back in some sense… The sheer triumph over the death of the soul was overwhelming to me, and it was as if some missing part of mine began restoring itself as I shuddered from every possible feeling that could evoke such a reaction: terror, stimulation, cold, and shock.

But why was she acting so strangely? Had she hit her head on the bottom of a river as she flowed to the afterlife? Were her memories altered in some way by a mastermind of time?

I could not fathom why she was like this!

We were amicable and comfortable around each other while she was alive, but never had she expressed any implicit or explicit interest in me during that time.

Well, that held true unless I was completely oblivious, but I was so desperate for her that that couldn't have been the problem! I was not some fool who ignored the signs; I was an opportunist ready to snatch up any chance I got regardless of its ramifications.

But there had never been one.

Until now.

Sniffling, my cheeks went red as the memories reconciled with the present and slammed into me like a truck.

"You haven't been listening to me, have you?" Melina asked, giggling slightly.

Since when did she take this sort of interest in me? In my head, I was smiling alongside her, running with her through the flowery fields and vibrant campuses and beyond.

In actuality, while paralyzed, I bit my lip and said, "N-No. I'm sorry. I'm just so glad to see you're back."

With an earnest yet subtle expression of kindness glazed on me, I added, "It's been a while, hasn't it? It's weird to feel you touching me when I didn't think I'd even see you."

"Well," she responded while laughing, "I haven't felt someone's skin in quite a while, so I was rather tempted. It's much warmer than mine… supple in a way."

There was a certain creepiness imbued in her statement that I overlooked as she pulled her hand away.

"And don't worry about it," she continued. "Didn't think I'd end up here either. I thought I'd be stuck in a void or thrown inside a writing club member's house, yet fate has funny ways of turning you into a puppet, doesn't it?"

Gone from her speech were the pet names she used before, but the same sort of affection leached through her tone.

Her old self came back in spurts, yet I supposed something about being a ghost altered her attitude—as small as the changes might have been. The butterfly effect. One box ticked that hadn't been before turned her into someone different entirely. Somehow, I was even more enticed by this bubbly person she had become, or perhaps the euphoria brought about by her presence intoxicated me.

"It does," I said. "Fate also seems to like scaring me with abstract art on my walls."

"The eye of the hurricane," she replied vaguely, and my brain struggled to piece together why she found that to be an appropriate metaphor.

I agreed absentmindedly.

"I mean that it tortures you before becoming better. You're buffering, sweetie."

Retreating from her, I thought before that I escaped hearing (or reading) such saccharine names from her, convincing myself that I fabricated those words as a fantasy of mine. This coddling… Maybe it was the truth in front of me, but I knew a lot of girls spoke sweetly like that without harboring feelings.

Ah… My lesbian self was too tired after the sun descended to differentiate between friendliness and affection.

"Thanks for explaining. You know how we met, anyway." I pointed at my head. "This thing can't tell you what's sarcastic and what's sincere."

With a chuckle, she said, "I know. Can't say anything bad to you when you got me the most service hours out of the whole organization in my first year."

"It was only by one session! Celia was tailing you the whole time!"

"She was." Melina shook her head. "I think that girl's destined to run a global fund or something when she gets older."

"She already started a nonprofit."

"Did she? Well, good for her." There was a certain dryness to Melina's voice as she spoke.

Celia and Melina had been rivals for what felt like an eternity, but it was probably only since freshman year. They didn't hate each other, yet they certainly wouldn't tell the other if her shoe was untied and would likely laugh when she fell on her ass. At least it was mutual.

As if she avoided the current topic, Melina said, "I think you know why I wanted to talk to you, yes?"

Her voice was sly—almost like it had a lilt—and had it not been her, I would have assumed she had nefarious intentions for me.

"The novel," I replied simply. "It's your baby. What else could it be?"

Bait. That was good.

"I don't know." As she sat on the bed, the edges of her dress exposed much of her thighs while she added, "What were you thinking about before?"

Glancing down at the swathes of skin, I mentally slapped myself as a reminder to not think about that and redirected my eyes to her face.

"As coincidental as it is, I was thinking about when you started tutoring me."

"Is that so? Treat this the same, then."

Tilting her head with the cutest smile, it was hard to resist her charms.

Like she was the teacher now, she glanced over the edge of—

Hey! Those were my glasses!

She inquired, "What have you got so far? What have you figured out?"

As if she noticed I was slightly appalled, she folded the frame up and placed it back on the pine nightstand, clicking the metal against the hard surface.

I leaned on the wall and straightened out my shirt in preparation to tell her about my thoughts and guesses regarding her work. Pretty much everything I mentioned to her was parroted from Cherry and Zixin with a few changes in the wording.

Plagiarism? Not my goal!

I described the characters as intricately as possible, down to the shape of their faces and favorite colors. I conveyed their hidden motivations and deepest, darkest desires to her.

Nico? As affectionate as he was, he let people run over him as they liked, becoming a punching bag of a person in the process.

Molly? She was ready to take advantage of him in his vulnerable state to win over his love.

How terrible she was… And I was no different… But there was no unfairness when it came to love—only winning and losing the cruel game of hearts!

At last, I took a breath to conclude what was essentially a rant.

"...And that's all I've got. I'm stuck there."

With a giggle as her first response to my somehow calm rambling, she said, "You're getting closer to the point than I would have thought. I think the issue is that you're not getting the setting of these characters. You can tell me all the basic things about them, but you don't seem to understand how their surroundings affect them beyond the most superficial traits. This makes sense, right?"

A lightbulb flickered in my head while she snapped her fingers, placing them under her chin. Why did she always know the correct thing to say? Was she a magician of linguistics? A master of the art of language?

"It makes perfect sense, Melina!" I was certain my chocolate eyes shone like the morning sun as I spoke to her. "Do you have any advice?"

"Research is your best friend after a thesaurus, Ari."

"Library?" I smiled at her, thinking how nice it was to hear my name roll off her tongue.

"Just online—if you'd like," she answered clinically.

That was perfect!

I almost ran to hug her from across the room but stopped myself, aware I would probably be coming on too strong (as if she hadn't already). With a thumbs-up, I booted up her laptop to get to work right away.

To the e-books I went with a renewed sense of vigor due to Melina's advice and presence itself! It was like she was the puzzle piece missing from the stalled project, and I was going to cling to every word of hers to complete her mission—even if it would be the end of me alongside her!

(Like two ghosts frolicking in a graveyard…)

Suspiciously, her eyes clung to my back; a selfish part of me wanted to capture all that undivided attention for myself and drag her project on for as long as I could milk it, but the stupid puppy I was, I promptly began my investigation.

In the mirror, I noticed the dark way in which she smiled but passed it off as a product of fatigue.

(Did spirits even feel tired? Surely, they were exhausted by the trials of life, yes?)

And this little world with her? If it continued spinning like this in such a way that she was bound to this place, then it was perfect for me!