My first course was Geology. After I took my seat, Miguel appeared beside me—sitting cross-legged on the floor—and rested his cheek on my knee. His sudden closeness startled me, but I stayed still. This was my required science class, and science—along with history—had always been my worst subject. I'd enrolled in Geology thinking it'd be the easiest of the options, but even so, I had to study like crazy just to scrape by with a B.
"Almandine," Miguel murmured suddenly. I blinked. He was answering the teacher's question—correctly, too. A few moments later, the professor wrote the word on the board, and I glanced up to see the full explanation: An iron-rich form of garnet, commonly formed through regional metamorphism, found in schists and gneisses... I barely had time to copy it down when Miguel added:
"Quartz."
Sure enough, that was the next mineral the professor began discussing.
I quickly scribbled in my notebook, glancing at Miguel. "Your teacher really loves rocks," he said with a smirk.
"Well… this is Geology class," I replied. Then, realizing how weird it might look if I was talking to myself, I lowered my head and whispered, "You must like them too, to know so much."
"I took Geology in middle school," he replied like it was the most normal thing in the world. I don't remember learning anything that in-depth in middle school. I felt a bit embarrassed—he was clearly smarter than me, at least when it came to rocks.
After class, Miguel followed me down the hall to my next one—Acting. We had a play coming up, so we were already in heavy rehearsals under the watchful eye of Mr. Marcs. Acting was where I felt comfortable. Unlike science, here I could be confident. Still, Miguel sat in the empty auditorium, watching, and his presence made my nerves spike. He struck me as the type who'd critique every little thing—and I'm terrible with criticism.
"Louder, Lemiette," my teacher barked. "You have to project. I can hear you, but she"—he gestured toward the imaginary audience—"she can't."
I adjusted, raising my voice and sinking deeper into character. Acting always gave me a kind of high, a way to vanish into someone else's skin for a while.
After class, Miguel manifested beside me again. I braced myself for snark or harsh commentary—but instead, he surprised me with a question.
"Are you trying to follow in your mother's footsteps?"
I hesitated. Maybe some context is needed: My mom is Liluette. Yes, that Liluette—famous actress, drop-dead gorgeous. My father's a director. You can probably guess how they met.
"…No," I replied. "The fact that I like acting too might just be coincidence. Or… genetics."
Miguel turned away, uninterested, but I kept talking anyway.
"Actually, I'd prefer to be nothing like my mom."
He turned back to me, confusion sharp in his voice. "Why?"
"She… hurt my father. Badly. She has some… bad habits. She's fickle, irrational, gets lonely too easily, and loyalty doesn't seem to mean much to her. I never want to do that to someone." I paused, then added with a laugh, "But I've pretty much decided I'll stay alone forever anyway, so I guess I don't have to worry about breaking anyone's heart."
Miguel tilted his head, studying me. "Because of me?"
"…No. A lot of things, actually." I said it softly. He made a thoughtful sound, then started walking ahead of me.
I rushed to catch up—but just before I reached him, he faded into thin air.
I stopped, blinking at the empty hallway.
…He left. And I felt… something. Disappointed? Lonely? I thought I'd gotten used to solitude, but I guess I miss him already. That's… troubling.
I was oddly relieved when he reappeared at the lunch table. I sat down next to him, and without hesitation, he reached over and grabbed a fry from my tray.
"You… eat?" I stared at him in disbelief. I wasn't even mad—just stunned.
He shrugged. "I can. But it's for pleasure, not survival."
I scanned the room. No one seemed to notice floating fries vanishing midair. No weird looks. No whispering. No one even glanced at me.
…Guess I really am invisible.
"Your goal is to be an actress, right?" Miguel asked, stealing another fry. "Have you auditioned for any movies? Commercials?"
I looked down, ashamed. Instead of answering, I changed the subject.
"Did you see the girl today?"
He groaned dramatically. "You're the one who's supposed to find her, not me."
His tone made me bristle. But I owed him too much to snap at him, so I took a breath and rephrased: "Then… have I seen her?"
He grinned mischievously. "Not today. But you've seen her before."
I pouted. "You have a sadistic streak, you know that?... By the way, what happens to the food you eat?" I asked as he helped himself to another handful of fries.
"It's incinerated inside me. Vanishes into nothing."
I gasped, horrified, and yanked my tray away. "Then it's a waste! You said you don't need to eat anyway."
"But I like it," he whined, phasing through the table and sitting beside me again.
I stuffed a few fries into my mouth protectively.
"In death… there aren't many things left from this world I can enjoy," he said quietly.
I stopped chewing. His voice was so soft. So hollow. If he was trying to make me feel guilty… it worked.
"…Alright," I murmured. "You can have the fries. But the cheesesteak sub is mine."
"Thanks, Lemon," he whispered, sitting just a little too close. His breath was cold, sending a shiver down my spine.
It must be because he's dead. That's all. Just... a temperature difference.
He ate with quiet joy, though his eyes held something heavy behind the smile.
I watched him, and thought about the future I'd already given up on. I'd abandoned any dreams of acting. I didn't plan to be around much longer after graduation. I'd finish school—make sure my parents' money wasn't wasted—and then… disappear.
But now, with Miguel here, things felt complicated. Maybe I'd be alive a little longer.
At least… until we find the girl he loved.