it personally."
"But I am taking it personally because, well ... it's directed at me!"
"You're just different and new to town and people have taken to you. She can't deal."
"Neither can I," I mumble.
"My dad always says Illegitimi non carborundum."
I lay my head on the steering wheel. "Oh God, not you too! How many languages do I have to take to keep up with you, Taylor, and Celia?"
Becca smiles. A beautiful vibrant one, I notice, with straight teeth. The teeth of a former beauty queen and a current Goth princess. "It means 'Don't let the bastards grind you down.' And in this case, Courtney Langdon would be said bastard."
I nod vigorously.
Becca slides out of the Jeep and reaches for her black satchel. "Hey, you wanna come in for a soda?"
I glance at my watch. "I've got to get the Jeep back to Jason after my errands, but maybe for a sec?"
I follow Becca through the carport and up three stairs into her kitchen. It's a modest design. Clean and white with Formica countertops; I can't tell if they're a modern-day nod to the past or if they're the real thing. A small table sits off in the right corner, next to a window overlooking a backyard grown tall with wildflowers, grass, and weeds. An in-ground swimming pool is covered with a royal blue tarp thatched with leaves that have fallen from the nearby pecan tree.
"Take a load off." She drops her stuff in front of the counter, where the telephone is mounted on the wall. "Let's see what we've got."
I take a seat in one of the ladder-back chairs and suddenly get this overwhelming sense of sadness rushing through me, like white-water rapids. My breathing falters and I want to cry rivers of tears for the loss I'm feeling around me. This chair belonged to someone dear. My heart hurts like someone is pounding me in the chest. Nothing in my life has felt like this. Well, maybe when I lost Grandma Ethel. What can this be?
Becca tosses a silver can my way. "All we've got is Fresca. Is that cool?"
"Yeah, sure," I manage to eke out.
"I gotta pee, BRB."
Laughing, I say, "I thought being classy was going to be your new thing."
"That wore off." Then she disappears through the den and down a hallway to the left.
I don't know much about Rebecca "Becca" Asiaf other than what I've learned from Celia and Taylor. Most of the info doesn't ring true with the DJ Goth girl I see every day at school. According to my friends, Becca was a regular in local beauty pageants—until last year. Now she sticks to herself when she's not around us, or she hangs with the tough kids like Brent Dragisich and his other crotch-rocket-riding buddies. Ghost hunting for her seems more like a pastime than the calling it is for Celia and me.
I pop the top on the Fresca and take a long sip. It's citrusy and cold, but the ache in my heart is still there. There's a lot of place memory or residual energy here. Not necessarily a spirit present, but a residue of someone's soul and how he or she affected others while here. However, I can feel one memory vividly, as if I lived it myself: It's an old woman with a gray bun at the back of her head. She's shelling peas at the table, right where I'm sitting. I stand up and move around the kitchen, still picking up the strong vibe. My left ear starts to ring like I've been underwater too long. I'm drawn to a closed door next to the television—which looks neither cable ready nor HD capable—and am aware of pure energy radiating from behind here. I know it's closed for a reason, yet I reach forward to twist the knob and then venture in to pinpoint the source of my emotions.
The door creaks open into a dark, musty formal living room with heavy gold drapes pulled closed to keep any light out. I fight the urge to sneeze at the dust gathered up; my tongue tickles the roof of my mouth to prevent it. I gasp as I look around the room. It's one trophy case after another, each shelf filled with crowns, banners, scepters, and awards—some that are nearly five feet tall. Also on the shelves are dust-covered pictures showing a much younger Becca wearing beautiful pageant dresses and posing, singing, or twirling a baton. As a child, she was really gorgeous, even