Most of the time I tried not to see into people’s past. The ghosts around them were easy to ignore. I guess you could say I had grown a callous that encased me in a world of silent brooding. I did not have many friends, because anyone who became close to me got freaked out when I was able to tell them something about their past or family or something personal that a normal person shouldn’t know.

I was not trying to pay attention to the intermingling of the ghosts, but they became insistent. I was being shown the same girl; at her locker, sitting on a bench in the hall, eating a sandwich, and boarding a bus. Never before had the past insisted I get involved in someone’s future.

She’d probably wrinkle her nose at me, shout something obscene and run away the moment I approached her. What would I say?

Driven to follow her during a passing period, she dropped her books. I rolled my eyes. The ghosts were clever.

“Here.” I handed her her History book, oddly enough.
“Thanks,” she gave a weak smile.