She stopped watching Krystal’s hot pink fingernails tugging at her frayed tights and watched her eyes instead. Violet thought about Antonia Cornett-about her ghost-coming to visit Krystal and telling her that Casey Atkins was missing, that she’d been taken by the collector. Krystal snorted, glancing up from the hole she was picking at. “I mean, think about it, you might talk to dead people, but I go out of my way to find them.” “Well, if you’re crazy then I guess we all are,” Violet said. I’ve got better things to do now than worry about whether people think I’m crazy or not.” Krystal toyed with a small rip in her fuchsia tights, reminding Violet that she was more sensitive than she let on. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” “Let’s just say that one of my invisible ‘friends’ didn’t appreciate Missy flippin’ me crap, and gave me a heads-up about what her future held.” She looked satisfied with herself, a smug smile curving her full lips. “So you and this Missy girl, you stayed in touch?” She would have been mortified if the other kids had known about her secret. Violet couldn’t help laughing, even though she felt bad for the kindergarten version of Krystal. Some girls deserve to end up divorced and alone at twenty-one.” Missy can suck it, if you know what I mean. It wasn’t until Missy Bigsby made fun of me in kindergarten, calling me Crazy Krystal, that I realized I was the only one doing it. I never knew it was weird to have real imaginary friends, to have conversations with people no one else could see. My mom talked to them, and probably her mom too. “They’ve been coming to visit me since I was a baby. “Afraid? Nah.” Krystal’s lips curled downward as she shook her head. “Do they scare you? The ghosts? When they talk to you, are you ever afraid?” Violet sat too, so that she was across the table from the other girl, staring at her wide, dark eyes, envying the way Krystal looked so open, so willing to share her innermost thoughts and feelings. She leaned back on her arms, staring up at Violet. Krystal wandered over to the pile of pillows and dropped down, crossing her legs in front of her. “I guess I wasn’t really ready to go home yet. ” Her voice trailed off, trying to decide. About Rafe.” And then she realized what a lame excuse that was, knowing she could just as easily have called to give Krystal the news. She picked up a jar of patchouli oil with a black rubber stopper and uncorked it, taking a sniff. “I don’t know.” She wandered to a shelf of pretty brown bottles, each with matching labels from a company called Organic Alchemy.

The Last Echo by Kimberly Derting