Deshawn's figure wavered as he latched onto my arm and led me to the changing room, the fire hot on our tails. His grip on me felt more like a gust of wind rather than a real person and perhaps it was stress that was causing him to lose his form. Regardless, I followed the ghost boy as he rushed us through the changing room.  Stubbornly, though, I stopped before we could make a quick escape and instead turned to Deshawn's locker. I ripped it open and threw my hands inside, grabbing at whatever I could. My heart was in my throat as I tried to decide what to save. My fingers shook while skimming through the writing and Deshawn threw what was at my hands down to the floor with a guttural growl.  "We don't have time. Damn you, Reniella," he snapped.  

 I felt connected.  Still, it was lucky I went. Even if it meant almost dying, at least I managed to retrieve the folder that I held so closely to my chest. I wasn't sure what was inside and the curiosity was making my head spin. I wouldn't open it in front of Ross though, it felt too private for that. I was surprised he didn't ask what the folder was for. Maybe he didn't care.  "I-uhh...I'm sorry you had to watch me punch him," Ross began. His voice was quiet and hesitant as if testing the waters with me. When I didn't reply he continued with a slight smirk. "I'm not, however, sorry for punching the kid. Arsehole deserved it."  I ran my fingers through the knotted mess that my hair had become. Glistening from pool water and sticky with sweat, I f

  "People want to tell you things, Reniella, because you have those eyes. Your mother's eyes. Even though they're not the same color as hers, they're just as compelling."    I rolled those eyes that were apparently so similar to hers.   "Now you're just writing poetry."    "See!" He pointed a finger at me. "That's the exact same thing she would say. Your mother was like a siren. Do you know what those are? It's an old myth, sirens were mermaids that lured sailors in with their beauty and melodic voices and then killed them afterward. It's morbid, sure, but exactly the right description. You're like her, Reniella. I'm not saying it to upset you or annoy you, it's just the truth. It's not a bad thing, either. You can get far with a pair of eyes like your

 A fleeting feeling whirled in my stomach. Perhaps he could come back and remember all of this - remember me. Maybe we could defy everything and just be Deshawn and Reniella. Not the ghost boy and the girl who made deals with Death. Just Deshawn Cervantes and Reniella De Vega. And that small thought sparked a hundred other possibilities that would've been perfect if we weren't us and this wasn't what we surround ourselves with.  "Who's Thunder God?" I muttered.  Deshawn jumped to action, snatching a paper and inspecting it. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I never found out. I was hoping we could find out now. Together?" He sounded hopeful and so I pretended to be too - for him.  "So, who is

  "What did you see when I was out?" I asked again.    He opened his eyes. "We're connected by something, I've always known that. I can probably feel it stronger than you because I'm just a soul, nobody can hold me back. I can hear your feelings and that's how I stick to this world. But nothing has ever been as strong as it was when I touched your shoulders just now. Normally I feel the waves of anger, sadness, happiness but at that moment I heard fully-fledged thoughts. They were screaming with bits of conversation. They burned out loud like stars, shouting out so loudly and all at once that I could only decipher bits. Ross's your brother. Your mother cheated. Mr. Rivera's your biological father. That's all I heard but it was so desperate."   I pulled my hand away and this time, he let me. His eyes were wide and wa