Ghost

--Tristan Jacobs.

You see, Tristan Jacobs was...well, it would be kind to say that he wasn't a people-person. I hadn't even known his name until a month ago, when Mrs. Anderson stuck us both on the same project in English. He was not the kind of guy I would have picked for a partner: his long brown hair half-shrouded a perpetually grim expression, he wore a chain for a belt, and I never did see him in anything other than faded heavy-metal t-shirts. He was about a foot taller than anyone I knew and probably skinnier too, except for the fact that he never took off his bulky denim jacket, so who could tell?

He was equally unhappy with the enforced joint assignment, I could tell. After the initial round of awkward introductions and some half-hearted jokes about Mrs. Anderson's fright-wig haircut, we both hunched over our copies of "A Separate Peace" and were painfully silent until the end of the period. Then, to our mutual dismay, we were informed that this was intended to be an extra-curricular assignment. We had to meet after school. On our own time.

Not a prospect which either of us treasured, obviously.

The awkwardness lasted right up until dinner that night. I was a little nervous as to what my mother would think of him -- I had friends, sure, but we usually hung out over at their houses. That, and of course none of them looked like heavy-metal-freak Jacobs.

To my amazement, the sullenness with which he enshrouded himself vanished the moment Mom called us in for hamburgers. He was charming, polite...hell, he even offered to do the dishes afterward. Mom refused, of course, and shooed us back upstairs.

It was the silent treatment for me again after that, but I took a second long look at the guy. Sure, he looked like the stereotypical "scumbag rocker" at first glance, but his hair -- though long -- was washed and carefully trimmed. His clothes were neat, and he seemed smart enough when he spoke up with an answer or an idea for the termpaper to which we were shackled.

Maybe he wasn't a jerk after all. Maybe he was just shy.

I resolved to try to get to know him after that. Call me crazy, because when I was younger I'd been pretty hard on kids like him who didn't "fit in," but it suddenly struck me that hey, it's our senior year and this guy doesn't seem to have any friends. None at all. Now that I thought about it, I HAD seen him before: in the back of the class, reading a book in the library at lunch, lost in a pair of headphones during passing period. He didn't play any sports; he didn't belong to any clubs; he got decent grades but didn't participate in any outside activities, special assignments, or field trips. Tristan Jacobs was like a ghost, simply drifting through high school.