The Ordinary Haunting II

9. The Beach Party - Part 3

I set the half-filled watermelon crown in the sand and rubbed at my stomach. It was tingling. I looked around and saw my friends and siblings sitting either on the platform Grandma Nart had used that afternoon, or down by the water's edge watching their toes turn pink in the cold swathes of the tide. The lower part of my stomach gave a dip and I took a breath, trying to find my balance in the almost-darkness. It had been so long since this had happened that I forgot to bite my tongue.

Little white flashes blinded me for a second after I zapped, and I wavered on the spot until they subsided. My feet felt just the same sand as before, and my ears picked up the low burbling of the ocean still quite close by, so I thought perhaps I had simply overexerted myself digging for seashells and hallucinated being pulled away. But when my vision returned enough to show a very familiar figure turning towards me, brown hair swept every which way despite the light breeze, I knew it was real.

New was standing by the outdoor dining area of a small beach-side ice-cream van. The van itself was not operational, and sat there on a square of randomly deposited gravel permanently throughout the year. From November to March, sometimes even April, teems of locals and tourists flocked the van in search of rainbow Paddle Pops, Barney Bananas, Bubble-O-Bills, pine lime Splices, and Milo Scoop Shakes. In its off-season it still kept its doors open, never completely without a sale, and at night its strings of yellow fairy lights could always be relied upon to guide a lone wanderer or drunk (frequently both) home. A full-on bokeh effect in my bleary eyes, the lights were hanging haphazardly between each of the umbrellas standing over a colourful assortment of two-person tables and wonky-legged chairs, every piece donated by people moving in or out of the town. Mellow lo-fi music spilled out of cheap bluetooth speakers stuck in the pebbles of pot plants.

New scratched his shoulder under the strap of his sling and blinked at me.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said.

He didn't look all that surprised to see me. He had a logical, mathematical brain; he would have known how far 300 metres could get him even before he left the LED campfire. I shook my head to rid it of the last of the disorientation and walked over to him. I checked his hands.

"How many ice-creams have you had, then?"

"None," he replied. I knew he was telling the truth, even without noting that he didn't squeeze his fingers shut or try to hide them behind his back like he'd done earlier that day when I caught him with three-too-many of my mum's lemon butter slices. I decided to see what other truths he might tell.

"Can I help you with something?"

His mouth was already parted a little, his natural stance when he was focused on something (or not focused at all). It parted a little more before he spoke. "Nope."

I held back a grin and trailed around him to peer in at the seemingly deserted ice-cream van. "But you called me here, right?" I could see the distinctive brown and green stripes of my favourite flavour, mint chocolate chip, on a curling poster above the stainless steel drums inside.

"I might have."

I raised my eyebrows as I remained staring away from him, happy with the simple answer.

"Well then?"

"I just got kind of bored. Sorry, you should be spending time with your family."

Alice telling me New and I were boring and too safe ran through my head for a second. Was she right? She was right. I was a full-fledged ghost living out some bad paranormal romance novel with my pale human, and somehow I was boring. New, love him to bits, was boring. Mostly because he wouldn't let me love him to bits. I chewed my top lip and gave a more scrutinising glance around the area.