The Ghost Girl

Hina didn't sleep. Or maybe she did, but it was a thin, anxious sleep, full of dreams of school hallways that stretched on infinitely and lockers that refused to open. When the alarm rang at six in the morning, she felt the same exhaustion she used to feel on chemotherapy days.

The ring was cold on her finger, hidden under the sleeve of her uniform. It felt like just a useless piece of metal.

Breakfast was the usual silence. Her parents wished her "good luck" in the same tone they used to say "I hope the test results are good." They were trying to act normal, but the effort was so obvious it made everything worse.

"Have fun, dear," her mother said, forcing a smile.

Hina just nodded.

The walk to school was like walking on glass. Nakamura wasn't a big city; everyone knew who the "Yamada girl" who had gotten sick was. She felt the stares from the housewives sweeping their sidewalks and the old men reading newspapers in the park. She gripped her backpack strap, Haruto's notebook tapping lightly against her back.

When the gates of Nakamura Junior High came into view, her stomach tied itself in a complete knot.

It was exactly as she remembered, but everything looked... smaller. And louder. The first-year students looked like children, while the students in her own class looked like adults. They had grown. Their faces were thinner, their voices deeper.

And her? She was still Hina, the sick girl.

She entered the courtyard, keeping her head down, and went straight to her locker. 21B. The combination still worked. She put away her shoes, feeling the weight of hundreds of stares.

"No way..."

"Is that really her? I thought she'd moved away..."

"Wow, her hair..."

Hina shut the locker hard, making a metallic clang that echoed in the hallway. The whispering stopped for a second.

She turned and came face-to-face with Ren Ishida.

He was taller than she remembered, his hair dyed a fashionable light brown, and he wore his uniform with a relaxed arrogance. He was surrounded by his usual group, basketball team members and girls who laughed at everything he said.

His eyes met Hina's. His smile wavered for a second, replaced by that look she hated: pity.

But then, one of his friends elbowed him and said, "Hey, Ren, look. It's the Ghost Girl."

Ren's arrogant smile returned. He crossed his arms. "Ah, Yamada. Decided to grace us with your presence? I thought ghosts only came out at night."

The group laughed.

Hina felt the ring on her finger grow hot. A real, angry heat that shot up her hand. She clenched her fist. She remembered the notebook. Test: Bad Luck. Result: Success. She could do it. She could touch him. An "accident" in the hallway.

She took a step forward.

"Ren, leave her alone."

The voice was soft, almost a whisper. Hina turned.

Mei Watanabe was standing there, clutching her books to her chest. Mei, her childhood best friend. She looked terrified, but she was glaring at Ren.

Ren snorted, but his smile faltered. "What's it to you, Watanabe? Gonna defend your science project?"

"She's my friend," Mei said stubbornly.

Ren rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He looked at Hina one last time. "Welcome back, Ghost."

He walked away, his group following like ducklings. The heat in Hina's finger subsided, leaving a cold tingle. She almost did it. In front of everyone.

"Are you okay?" Mei asked, her voice trembling now.

"I'm fine," Hina lied. She looked at her old friend. Mei was different. She wore contact lenses instead of her thick-rimmed glasses, and her hair was longer. But the worried look was the same. "Thanks, Mei."

"They're idiots," Mei said, shrugging. "You're in class 2-C, right? Me too. Let's go."

Hina followed Mei, feeling a little less like a ghost and a little more like a person. At least she had one person.

The classroom was a blur. The teacher, Suzuki-sensei, was new and didn't know her, which was a relief. She just introduced her as "a new transfer student, Yamada Hina," which was technically true, and told her to sit.

The empty seat was in the back. Next to Kaito.

Hina's heart skipped a beat. Kaito looked exactly the same. Skinny, shoulders slumped, and already drawing in a worn-out sketchbook, even before class started. He looked up when she sat down, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Hina-chan?" he whispered.

"Hi, Kaito," she whispered back.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but Suzuki-sensei started the history lesson, and Kaito immediately hunched back over his notebook.

Hina tried to concentrate. But all she could do was stare at Kaito. The wish from last night. The rule of touch.

Conductor A: Direct Touch. 3 seconds minimum.

He was right there. His uniform sleeve was inches from her hand. She could "accidentally" bump into him. She could drop a pencil and touch him while picking it up.

What do I wish? she thought. That Suzuki-sensei sees his notebook?

It was a good plan. History class was dull. The teacher was walking around the room.

Hina took a deep breath. Now.

She stretched out her hand, pretending to yawn, and let her finger—the finger with the ring—touch the back of Kaito's hand, which was resting on the desk.

He froze.

Kaito turned his head slowly, looking at her hand in total panic.

I wish for Suzuki-sensei to see his drawings and recognize his talent.

Hina pulled her hand back, her face burning. "S-sorry," she mumbled.

Kaito said nothing. He just shrank down even further, pulling the notebook into his lap, out of sight. He looked terrified.

Hina felt like crying. She had scared him. She was an idiot.

Suzuki-sensei continued her lecture on the Meiji period, never coming near the back row.

The ring stayed cold. The wish had failed.

Hina sank into her chair. The ring didn't work. Or maybe she just didn't know how to use it. Haruto must have had something she didn't. Anger. Power.

The rest of the morning was torture.

At lunchtime, the cafeteria looked like a battlefield. Hina got her food and just stood there, not knowing where to go.

"Hina! Over here!"

Mei was waving from a table near the window. Hina felt such a wave of relief that she almost tripped. She hurried over.

"I thought you'd be eating with Ren's group," Hina said, sitting down.

Mei made a face. "I... kind of hang out with them. But Ren is being an idiot today. And honestly, they only talk about basketball. It's boring." She lowered her voice. "How are you? For real?"

"Weird," Hina admitted. "Like I'm a year behind on everything."

"You'll get used to it," Mei said gently. "Look, Kaito's over there."

Hina looked. Kaito was sitting alone in a corner, as always, eating fast and drawing in his notebook.

"He hasn't changed at all," Hina whispered.

"I know. He's amazing." Mei sighed. "My dad is friends with his dad. Did you know Kaito wants to go to that art high school in Tokyo? But he's afraid to show his portfolio to anyone. His dad thinks it's a waste of time and wants him to work at the family shop."

Hina's heart ached for him. "That's horrible."

"It is. He needs a miracle," Mei said.

The words echoed in Hina's head. A miracle. She had a failed miracle on her finger.

"Why didn't my wish work?" Hina muttered to herself.

"What?" Mei asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

That afternoon, Hina barely paid attention in class. She was obsessed. The touch hadn't worked. That left Conductor B.

Conductor B (Object): "Charge" an item for 24 hours.

She needed an object. Something Kaito would accept. What had Haruto given his coworker? A keychain.

Hina had an idea. Kaito was always drawing.

On the way home, she split off from Mei and went to the small stationery shop near the station. She scanned the shelves. She didn't have much money, but she found it. A small leather pencil case. It was simple, brown, but good quality.

She bought it.

As soon as she left the store, she took it out of the bag. The sun was setting. She put the pencil case in her uniform pocket and closed her hand around it, the ring pressing against the leather.

24 hours, she thought. She could feel Haruto's notebook in her backpack. Conductor B.

She focused her wish, pouring all her frustration and hope into it. I wish for Kaito to have the courage to show his art. I wish for the right people to see how incredible he is.

The ring grew warm.

It wasn't the angry heat from when she saw Ren. It was a soft, gentle warmth, almost a hum, that traveled from her finger into the pencil case. She held it tightly the entire way home.

That night, she slept with the pencil case under her pillow.

Tomorrow, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep, the gentle warmth still pulsing in her hand.

Tomorrow would be different.