Page 4 of Orlando

I can do this.There are so many students here the chances of running into him are slim, right?

With my shoulders straight, I make my way to the guidance office to pick up my class schedule. My breath hitches when I push through the door. I duck my head as I sit in one of the chairs, letting my hair fall over my face. His voice sends shivers right through my body. I don’t look up though. Not when I hear his footsteps and not when I feel him glaring at me. I keep my head down until I hear the chime of the door, indicating he’s gone through it.

I let out a breath of air and stand up on shaky legs before finally approaching the counter.

I have to do this. I can do this,I repeat to myself.

Chapter Two

Your ghost haunts me day and night.

The words to one of my hit songs run through my head as awareness tingles down my spine. Grabbing the class transfer form from the receptionist, I turn around. That’s when I spot her. Except it’s not her. It never is.

I pause and wait, willing this girl to lift her head, to look at me so I can see for sure. When she doesn’t move, I shake off thefeeling and walk out of the office, telling myself it’s impossible for it to be her.

Your touch torched my skin. Oh, the scars you left behind.

Humming the tune, I lean against the wall opposite the door. I know it’s not her, but something has me needing to be sure.

My heart is racing. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about her. Seen her face in a million strangers. Like the song says, she’s literally haunting me. I hate her for it too. For making me this obsessed with her.

I looked for her. Found her too. I even flew out to Chicago to chase her down. When I saw her, though, something stopped me from approaching her. Probably pride. She didn’t want me, so why the fuck should I want her?

So I left. I moved on. I poured my heart out in songs and told myself that I made her up in my head. Whatever I thought we were becoming was one-sided. And she wasn’t worth my time or effort.

I continue to watch the door, waiting for the girl to step out. What if it is her? What would I do? Do I want it to be her?

When the door finally opens, my heart stops. The damn thing skips two whole beats. Her eyes widen, looking right at me, and her face goes pale. I smirk.

Good. I hope she’s fucking uncomfortable.

Neither one of us moves. No words are passed between us. And then the shrill sound of the bell seems to break her out of her trance, and she spins on her feet and hightails it down the hall, getting lost in the crowd.

Aleeka Bateman. My ghost.

I tug my phone out of my pocket and text Dante.

Me:

Meet me at the bleachers.

Dante:

I have class.

Me:

Skip it.

Then I make my way outside. I need fresh air. I need to think. What the fuck am I going to do with her now? She’s supposed to stay a fucking ghost. She wasn’t meant to come back. And I sure as fuck am not meant to feel the way I do when I look at her. I wanted to reach out. Touch her porcelain skin. I didn’t. I have some sense of self-preservation.

“What’s going on?” Dante asks, rounding the corner and walking up the few steps to where I’m sitting.

“She’s back,” I say.

“Who?”

“Aleeka.”

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