"Holy shit, Tara's dead!"

"Ugh, again?"

Twenty senior students gathered in a circle, peering down at the unconscious girl lying on the cold black and white tiled floor. That girl was me, Tessa Byrne-Reyes, not Tara as my lab partner Levi, who was in the midst of a vicious text feud with his ex Gavin, shouted when I slumped out of my chair. Ten years of attending classes together and people got my name right less than five percent of the time.

I was having a sort of out of body experience. Passing out in the middle of a lesson was a common occurrence for me, sometimes twice in a week. My physical self laid on the floor, goggled at like an animal at the zoo, and my spirit lingered in the space between the living and the dead, sitting on my desk with a front-row seat to the my braindead classmates. A majority of them were the type to be killed off first in a horror movie.

Whispers of what caused me to faint in the middle of our AP Biology exam swept through the crowd, ranging from the sensible ( "Check her bag for an EpiPen," suggested Will Nelson, the resident 'nerd' of the senior class who had an entire library's worth of knowledge and one of my best friends) to the ridiculous ("She's faking to get out of the test," said Claire Hilton, captain of the cheerleading squad and self-proclaimed Queen Bee), the ditzy redhead snapping her gum while poking my unconscious self's side with the heel of her expensive boot.

Hilton's rude remark earned her a harsh glare from Elena Atwood, a Disney princess brought to life with her dark curls and heart-shaped face. Despite having the makings of a mean girl, with her status as the most popular girl at Belmont High and her family's immense wealth, she was the complete opposite: a sweet, selfless soul with a love for animals and sappy romantic comedies. She treated everyone equally, even those considered the lowest of the low in the school's social order like me, the girl whose claim to fame was fainting in classrooms.

"Dr. Baxter, should I call for an ambulance?" asked Will, concerned.

A handsome man in his late thirties pushed through the circle of students. Looking more like a model in a magazine than an actual teacher, he was what teenagers dreamt about when imagining themselves in a lurid fantasy. Students could deny it but it was well-known that many intentionally got themselves in trouble for a chance to be alone with Dr. Baxter for detention.

I never understood the appeal, considering him a pretentious snob. From the day he arrived in my freshman year, he flaunted his PhD by insisting that students call him Dr. Baxter but it was obvious, to anyone with half a brain (so just me and Will), that his own students were better qualified to teach the class. His lessons amounted to watching movies and online videos instead of learning actual science and his multiple choice tests could be aced by a ten year old with ease.

My prevailing theory was that he obtained his degree by paying an obscene amount of money to a 1-800 number. Inept as he was, it was rumored that the reason he was not fired was because Hilton's mother, an older version of her daughter and the principal, was swayed by his roguish charm.

Dr. Baxter smacked my unconscious self's cheek. "Laura, can you hear me?"

"Swing and a miss, as usual," I said, crossing my legs. "Yes, I'm awake and smacking me doesn't work. We've been through this how many times, doctor? Can you switch to Plan B and call my mother?"

"It's Tessa, sir," corrected Will.

I appreciated that in a stressful situation, he stood up for me. "Thanks, Will. Fifty bucks says they spell it wrong on my diploma."

"I'm going to get the nurse," said Dr. Baxter, heading towards the door. "Keep an eye on her until I return and no funny business."

"You know, Dr. B, I took CPR classes last summer. I could try that," I heard.

"Oh, please no," I begged, burying my face in my hands. "Anyone but him. I'll let Hilton puncture my ribs with her boot. For once, someone see through this pathetic scam."

Peeking through my fingers, my eyes flickered to a tall boy next to an exasperated Elena. His well-coiffed chestnut brown hair was contrasted by his distressed leather jacket and combat boots. Dr. Baxter consented with a curt nod and left the classroom.

"She doesn't need CPR. She's still breathing, Fin," remarked a skeptical Will.

The attractive boy scoffed. "I know better than you, dweeb. It was part of my lifeguard training."

"Training? You mean the summer of you picking up girls in bikinis, Belmont," I countered, as the dumb jock knelt beside me.

Fin Belmont was the golden boy of Belmont High. His family's fortune, triple that of all the other families combined, stemmed from his ancestors being the founders of the town, subsequently anointed Belmont Falls, and they plastered their name on nearly every building, from the school to the public library.

Bolstered by an ego the size of Jupiter, Fin was the star player on several sports teams and when he was not on the field, he engaged in his favorite hobby: flirting with pretty girls within his line of sight. It required zero effort from him, girls often swarming him in the halls or cheering him on for the basic feat of kicking a soccer ball. To them, he was the rich bad boy, the 'rebel' waiting to be tamed by the perfect girl. He had a habit of doing forbidden things, whether it was sneaking a beer at his eleventh birthday party, driving his father's sports car on the day of middle school graduation, or toying with a lighter in his pocket during classes.

The typical womanizer, a different girl on his arm from week to week, his longest relationship had been with Elena, lasting their freshman year into the summer. After their breakup, he resumed his flings, no girl able to hold his attention like her. He often skipped classes, confident that the school would not expel him unless they wanted to lose his family's funding. From an early age, I learned the unofficial town motto: Don't mess with a Belmont.

When I first fainted in class, at the age of seven, the class went into a panic, believing that I was dead. With each new incident, the fear wore off and it turned into their source of entertainment. I had gotten used to the jokes at my expense, kids making snide comments as they walked by me, and in eighth grade, Hilton began posting videos on her social media, to broadcast it to the world. As I got older, the boys, driven by lust, took advantage, unaware that I felt their wandering hands on my skin.

I grimaced as Belmont placed his lips on mine, though I was thankful that he was not my first kiss.

He was not performing anything remotely close to CPR, no one noticing his improper technique or his hand sliding under my Wonder Woman hoodie. I tensed at his cold touch against my ribcage. His fingers crept closer to the bottom edge of my bra and to make matters worse, I could hear the quiet sniggers from his friends. I gagged at the taste of cigarettes and whiskey on my tongue. If I was not trapped in this limbo, unable to make physical contact, I would have whacked him with my textbook.

"Ugh, Fin, you'll get her loser germs," said Hilton, disgusted.

When he stopped, pretending that his expert CPR had failed, I sighed with relief. "Hey, I tried. A kiss from me should wake up any girl."

Elena and I rolled our eyes. "Jenna's unconscious and you're making stupid jokes?" asked Amity Sousa, a less stuck-up minion of Hilton's.

"It's Tessa!" I shouted in frustration.

"This always happens," said Belmont, dismissively. He lifted his hands from my body. "What are you getting worked up about, Amy?"

Amity was not amused by his apathy. "Because all it takes is once for it to be something serious. She might not wake up."

"Like that would be a tragedy," muttered Hilton.

Dr. Baxter returned with Nurse Simpson, a kind-faced, middle-aged woman who spent several minutes pressing two fingers into my wrist.

"Wow. Thank goodness for that nursing degree or you'd never figure that out" I said, listening to her assurances of a steady pulse.

I followed them into the hallway as Dr. Baxter carried my limp body to the nurse's office. He laid me down on a cot, gripping my waist a few seconds longer than necessary.

"Her mother's on her way," said Nurse Simpson, sticking a cold compress on my forehead.

Dr. Baxter sighed as I sat on the edge of the cot. "This is the fifth time this month. Don't they take her to a doctor? There must be something wrong with her."

"Genius deduction, sir. You should be a detective," I replied, sarcastically.

Nurse Simpson merely shrugged her shoulders. "Her mother says that the doctors haven't found a cause. Was she acting strange before she collapsed?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "The students were taking a test and then she was on the floor. She's a bit thin. Maybe she hasn't been eating."

Their conversation was interrupted by my mother rushing into the room. Her ebony hair was in a messy bun and her hands were stained with dried paint, indicating that she was in the middle of a session.

Panting heavily, she clutched her side. "There was traffic at the studio. How is she, Alice?"

"She hasn't woken up yet," noted the gentle nurse. "Besides that, nothing to worry about but I was hoping—"

"I rushed to get Nurse Simpson as soon as I could, Celia. Your daughter's safety is my top priority," said Dr. Baxter, his eyes blatantly straying lower than her face.

"Is it possible for a spirit to vomit?" I asked, repulsed.

My mother feigned a smile. "Thank you, Dr. Baxter. I know it must not be easy to deal with Tessa's...incidents."

"It's no trouble and please, call me Brendon," he implored.

Nurse Simpson received a call about freshman students puking in the second floor chemistry lab after breaking a flask. I had no doubt that she wanted to avoid the awkward tension in the room. Unfortunately for me, I was forced to endure my teacher's pathetic attempts at flirting with my married mother. He conveniently forgot that my father was still around, not the deadbeat that he pictured in his mind.

"I heard your husband left town again," he said, not bothering to contain his joy. "His work must keep him busy."

My mother crossed over to the cot, taking off the compress. "Well, he loves it and far be it from me to keep him away from a dig site."

He crossed his arms, showing off the biceps strained by his tight dress shirt. "I bet it gets lonely in that house by yourself."

"No. Between Tessa and Ryan, I don't get a moment's rest," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.

"You spend so much time taking care of others. It makes me wonder who takes care of you." There it was, the flip from sympathy to shameless flirt. "I saw your piece at the gallery this weekend. It was your best yet."

"Thank you," she said, appeasing him. "My husband thought so too."

"Do you offer lessons?" he asked, as I wished that I could jab the pointy end of a lollipop stick from Nurse Simpson's jar into his throat.

She was not swayed by his charm. "Yes, I teach at the recreation center on Saturdays."

"I'm no da Vinci but I'm not completely hopeless. The classes at the gallery are a little too expensive," he said, feigning interest. "Perhaps I could take lessons with you instead, Celia. That's a beautiful name. You're Colombian, aren't you?"

I scrunched my nose. "Mom, can you give this moron a black eye?"

My mother turned towards him, maintaining her dazzling smile. It was evident by the fire burning in her dark eyes that she was irritated by his advances.

Behind her, she poured drops of brownish-yellow liquid into my mouth. "Puerto Rican actually and you'd stick out among the children."

"A private lesson," he proposed, closing the gap between them.

As the herbal extract flowed down my throat, I returned to my physical body. My viewpoint shifted from the nauseating flirtations of my biology teacher to the bumpy white ceiling of the nurse's office. I sat up, feeling woozy.

"Mom?" I asked, putting on my clueless act.

My mother embraced me, cradling the back of my head. "You fainted, palomita. Brendon, could I have a minute alone with my daughter?"

"Of course. La—Tessa, class is almost over by now so the exam will be rescheduled for tomorrow," he told me. "Principal Hilton won't be opposed to you going home."

Once he disappeared from the hallway, my mother lifted up my hoodie. She checked for signs of an injury, thankful that, unlike when I fainted in gym three weeks ago, there were no stab wounds.

"I'm guessing it was a drug overdose." I climbed off the cot, my legs shaky from the sudden transition. "Could've been worse. Gun shot through my stomach in seventh grade? That took forever to explain to the nurse. I can't skip this part?"

She cupped my cheek. "It's who we are, little dove."

"I'm not complaining," I said, unwrapping a cherry lollipop. "But constantly passing out in front of people is annoying."

"Don't fret," she assured me, writing my name on Nurse Simpson's sign out sheet. "It's a temporary burden. Your grandmother and I went through it too. It's never easy. Those boys didn't get handsy, did they?"

"Fin Belmont," I mumbled.

She gasped, her hand over her heart. "A Belmont? Que afortunado. Did he taste like money and diamonds?"

"You're hilarious," I said, with a playful glare. "I'm scarred for life."

"Why don't you get your things and I'll take you home?" she asked, checking the clock. "We'll beat your brother before he's off the bus and eating the whole cookie jar. I'll be in the car."

Leaving the nurse's office, I headed to my locker. I hoped that everyone else would be in the cafeteria for lunch but with my terrible luck, they decided to enjoy the sunny weather and eat out in the courtyard. Stories about me traveled through the halls of Belmont High.

In a way, my blackouts did make me popular around school. I was known as 'that fainting girl'. Kids would gawk as if I was a horse on its last legs. Opening my locker, I grabbed my books and placed them in my checkered backpack.

"Ignore these idiots," advised Elena, leaning on the locker next to mine. "By the end of lunch, they'll have new gossip."

I reached for my Calculus textbook. "I don't care."

"Ooh, look at me," she teased. "I'm Miss Cool."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "I'm used to it. Like my mom said, it won't be my problem forever but I'd rather cope with that pain than you know what."

"Maybe you won't have to do it because he's not around," she said, her daily shot of optimism.

"They can make an exception for someone as adorable as you. Bat those big doe eyes at them...show a little cleavage..."

"The council isn't a bunch of horny teenage boys. I've got a better chance at becoming Claire's best friend," I joked.

BANG

The senior football players were huddled around their lockers, laughing amongst themselves. Belmont threw a basketball at a freshman boy's locker, purposely hitting the space a few inches above him. My nails dug into my backpack when Chace Parker, Belmont's crude number two, bragged about what occurred in AP Biology.

"Fin can cross it off his bucket list. He got to second base with a sickie." The freshman boy ducked, the basketball brushing the top of his hair. "You could've gotten more points if you managed to unhook her bra."

Elena gripped my wrist. "Screw Chace. He's an ass."

"I'm fine," I said, acting like they were invisible.

For a split second, as Belmont caught the basketball, he made eye contact with me. It felt as though my entire body was frozen. Panicking on the inside, I focused on cramming my books into my backpack.

"You're awake." Belmont rested his head against the locker to my right. "Be honest. Did you do it to get out of the test? I wouldn't blame you. Tests are lame."

Why did I have to look in his direction? "No."

"Well, you should thank me, Cara." He flashed that stupid crooked smile, the one that made the girls weak in the knees. "My CPR did the trick."

"It's Tessa," I muttered.

"What?" he asked, absentmindedly staring at a passing junior girl, specifically her short skirt.

"Throw his basketball so he'll go away," said Elena, annoyed.

"Forget it," I replied, keeping my eyes on an old photo of me and Elena on the playground.

"I uh wanted to give you this."

Belmont handed me a check for five hundred dollars. I glanced up at him, unsure why he was giving me money. My confusion veered into anger as he mentioned that it was for my operation.

"It's small change for my family," he said, twirling the basketball on his finger. "I figured it would help you out. Claire said you're a make a wish kid."

"I'm not," I hissed, gritting my teeth.

"Oh." His reply was simple, not the least apologetic. "Well, it will get you on the list or however that stuff works at hospitals. You do pass out a lot, Cara. That can't be normal. You should get that fixed."

Diana, give me strength. "There's nothing wrong with me and I'm not some broken toy." Ripping up the check, I threw the scraps at his face. "Leave me alone and tell your jock buddies that if you keep playing that game with me, I'll tell Principal Hilton."

"You could feel that?" he asked, surprised. His lips curved into a smirk. "If you want, I can move my hands lower when it's my turn again. You should know what that's like before you go to college. Not that I'm assuming...but you don't leave your house."

I slammed my locker shut. "Drop dead."

My mother was in her minivan, the doors decorated with childish hand-prints and drawings, and immediately sensed my foul mood. Joining me in the backseat, Elena told her about my conversation with Belmont.

I tended to tune out the whispers but being given an actual check for an 'operation' infuriated me. "He thought I was like those kids in the commercials who get trips to Disney World before they die," I grumbled, starting my Calculus homework.

"He's a clueless boy," my mother said, knowing that these incidents added to the stresses of high school. "He has no idea how gifted you are, Tessa. Those children can't begin to comprehend our abilities. Don't let the rumors upset you. I dealt with the same when I was your age."

She parked in the driveway of a two story house, moments after a yellow school bus departed the street. Upon entering the house, I was tackled by a tiny blur. A young boy squeezed my waist, cookie crumbs around his mouth.

I smiled, ruffling his mop of dark hair. "Did you miss me, osito?"

"Lots. Mommy said you got sick at school." My mother was hiding the cookie jar on a high shelf. "Did it hurt?"

"No," I said, my brother Ryan already lifting my spirits. "It was like falling asleep."

"Is Ellie with you?" he asked, jumping into the open doorway.

Elena tapped his shoulder. "You're it, Ry Ry."

Ryan chased her around the house, waving his hands wildly in front of him. Stifling a laugh, I followed my mother into the kitchen to cook dinner. As I diced the tomatoes, she sifted through the spice cabinet.

"This is your father's doing," she murmured. "I put these spices in alphabetical order and then he messes it up when he's making his midnight snacks. He enjoys throwing me into this chaos."

"It's probably behind the box of baking soda. He likes to hide the spices he doesn't like," I said, tasting the sofrito.

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder if he's a child stuck in an adult's body." She popped up from the cabinet at the sound of broken glass. "Tessa? What's wrong?"

The shattered bowl and diced tomatoes scattered across the floor. I did not even notice the pieces of glass stuck in my own hand, too distracted by the puzzled and shivering girl near the refrigerator.

Likely a college student, she dressed in a preppy style similar to Elena's, with a peter pan collared blouse, white belted cardigan, white and blue plaid skirt, knee high socks, and ballet flats. Her pin straight blonde hair, adorned with a blue headband, was wet and straggly and her eyeliner was smudged, running halfway down her cheeks.

"Tessa, is that her?" asked my mother, watching the girl hug her cardigan close to her frail body.

"They put her in the shower to try to wake her up," I whispered, remembering what I saw in my mind before I lost consciousness. "Casey?"

The girl snapped her head towards me. "H—how do you know my name? How did...I was...I was going to the bathroom."

"To take your caffeine pills so you could keep studying for your physics test," I confirmed. "You thought it wouldn't hurt if you took a few extra...but a few became half the bottle. It wasn't your fault. You were worried that you'd get a B on the test and for you, a B is like failing."

"T—that doesn't explain how I ended up here." She glanced around the small kitchen. "This isn't a hospital. If I passed out..."

"You did," I said, dreading the impending conversation. "Your roommates found you and called an ambulance. They tried to wake you up in the shower but you weren't breathing. The doctor called the time when you arrived at the hospital."

Her eyes widened. "A—Am I...t—then how are you...but you can see me. I can't be..."

If fainting on a regular basis was the worst part of my abilities, then the 'special' talk with people like Casey was a close second. After years of giving the rehearsed speech, it was not any easier, especially when the death was unexpected or the person was too young to understand the situation.

I looked at my mother, hoping that she would take the burden from me at least once but she gave me a silent nod, one that meant This is your duty.

"I'm the only one that can see you," I admitted, choosing my words carefully. "Well, my mom can too but I'm the one that has to talk to you."

"About what?" she asked, confused.

"Your choices. I can't force you to do anything that you don't want, Casey. You can choose to pass on and let fate decide where you go. You seem like a nice person so it'll be somewhere peaceful," I said, adopting a casual tone to make it sound less frightening. "Your second choice is to...stay behind. Most kids your age choose that because they're not ready to leave. If you decide to stay, it comes with a price. You can still see the people you care about and interact with things in this world but you'll be invisible and once you make that choice, you can't ever pass on. You'd be stuck between the two worlds."

She stared at me, bewildered. "I—I have to choose now?"

"No but the longer you wait, then it'll be harder to leave here, no matter what you decide," I said, to soften the blow of such a tough decision.

Casey paced around the kitchen. With each passing minute, she was slowly descending into madness, afraid that either choice could be a mistake. She worried about how her overdose would reflect on her family's pristine reputation.

After what must have felt like an eternity to her, she faced me. "I think I know what I want. I want to...what did you call it? Pass on?"

"You're sure?" I asked, needing her to be certain.

She bit her bottom lip. "Not a hundred percent but if I stay, I might never see my family if they choose differently. You're not alone when you pass on, right?"

"No. You won't be alone," I said, positively. "I promise that it's quick."

I extended my hands under hers. The raven-shaped birthmark on my wrist turned solid black and seconds later, a faint golden glow radiated from her body. Her trembling hands dissolved into mine.

Piece by piece, she disappeared, becoming one with me. For a moment, as her face faded away, I thought that I saw a dark shadow clinging to her back. Flashes of Casey's life, from her birth to the minutes before her overdose, streamed through my mind.

I vaguely heard my mother say to chop up more tomatoes. "Though I don't doubt your brother wouldn't object to eating them off the floor, I don't want him getting sick. I'll clean up this mess."

"How do you do it?" I asked, rooted to the floor.

Grabbing a broom and dust pan, she swept up the broken glass. "Do what, sweetheart?"

"Act like a dead girl wasn't in our kitchen." Casey was gone but her presence remained in my skin. I've been doing this since I was seven and I st—it doesn't faze you."

"People die every day, Tessa," she said, casually. "You know that...you feel it. It's our duty to guide them when their life is at an end. When you're my age, it'll feel normal to you."

I picked a shard of glass from my hand and searched for a band-aid from the cabinet under the sink. "I don't think I'll ever feel normal, Mami."

Dicing another batch of tomatoes, I was plagued by the memories of Casey's past and her death ritual. I had helped hundreds of people pass on but no one carried a shadow with them. Passing it off as a figment of my imagination, I continued making dinner then worked on my pile of homework, including a six page history essay, three questions for Calculus (though each question had five parts), and a review of my biology notes.

Elena separated my hair into sections. "Why are you studying for Baxter's test? A monkey could ace it."

"I want to keep myself busy," I replied, scribbling in the margins.

"Because of overdose girl?" she asked, braiding my hair.

"Casey." The names of the deceased were permanently etched in my brain. "She didn't mean to...or maybe she did. She was under a lot of pressure from her parents. They wanted her to be perfect. I can see why she would do it."

"Have you thought of..." she started, her voice low.

"Yeah." My honest answer made her uneasy. "It'd be nice to escape and not have to constantly faint and be mocked by everyone who thinks I'm some loser or a girl on her deathbed."

She frowned. "I don't think you're a loser. You're—"

Her words were drowned out by a sharp pain in my temple. I winced, grasping my blanket, and attempted to block out the pain but it worsened as my vision was obscured by random images. My eyes shut, I felt my hand moving at a rapid pace across my notebook and when the pain ceased, I looked at the rough sketch. Beneath my notes was a drawing of a wooden bridge at the titular Belmont Falls.

The most famous attraction in town, tourists flocked to the site to see the water that glistened as if mixed with diamonds and crystals. For the teenagers in Belmont Falls, it doubled as a popular hangout for parties, hook ups, and the occasional dare to jump off the bridge. In the drawing, a beer bottle and varsity jacket floated in the lake, surrounded by a pool of blood.

"Whose jacket is that?" asked Elena, her hand on mine as she observed the drawing.

I took a sip from my water bottle. "The vision wasn't clear. It was at night and a body fell from the railing..."

"Probably a drunken jock," she suggested. "Typical Friday at the Falls. You'll know at school tomorrow."

"It doesn't always work that way," I said, tracing my finger over the blood-stained jacket. "Either it'll come to me when I see them or I find out after it's already happened."

Elena seemed to be in deep thought. "Fin is having a party this weekend there. It could be that night. Should we tell your mom?"

"No." Closing my notebook, I stuffed it in my backpack. "She'll just tell me to be prepared. If it does happen at the party, at least I won't have to worry about fainting in the middle of Biology again."

I heard a knock on my door. "Tessa, it's one in the morning. Time for bed."

Too tired to argue with my mother, I clicked off the lamp and laid my head on the pillow. Elena snuggled up beside me. I drifted off to sleep, dreaming about my vision of the Falls and the peculiar shadow.