This is a fan sequel to Vera Brogsol's graphic novel, 'Anya's Ghost'. I'm not exactly sure how many chapters it will be, nor am I sure if there's any shipping yet, but we'll see. This is mostly gonna be cute fluffy stuff in the forms of drabbles, but heavy stuff will happen later, so I'll warn you when.
First period had not even gotten halfway through, and already, Siobhan had ditched class, rapping on the glass of the classroom window, catching the attention of Anya, who luckily had the window seat. The latter was trying to appear attentive to the teacher, who droned through the class, English IV's syllabus. Hiding an amused grin, Anya leaned towards the window to comment quietly, "You're terrible. First day of senior year, you already bailed."
"I know," the other smirked, arms folded, "Getting good practice in for the rest of the year. Besides, first period is a crapnap, I mean, I'd totally love to meet the genius who invented 'Urban Anthropology'," she snorted sarcastically.
"Hey, you're the one who picked it," Anya chuckled softly, "And it's a wonder how you've passed all four years without dropping below a B."
"Groundbreaker of a secret; bullshitting it," Siobhan whispered, ducking slightly when the teacher turned her attention to the window. Not seeing the bailed-out student, the teacher frowned to Anya slightly, "Don't get too distracted by what's outside, Ms. Borzakovskaya, this syllabus is pretty intensive."
"Yes, m'am," Anya mumbled, ears slightly red from getting singled out, and flipped the page, blankly staring at the text; a mile long list of books they'd be reading in the class, analyzing and writing essays on, and within the next term, doing group projects on. Not that that was a bad thing, but reading and studying books was a lot more fun and interesting when there wasn't a grade involved.
In a split second, Siobhan pulled the syllabus from her, highlighter out, listening to the teacher, highlighting the words 'curved grades', grinning, "See? I can listen in on your classes too."
Anya snorted, watching as her friend did her work for her. She knew it was mostly for sake of amusement, not actual attempts to make Anya's class easier. But without anything to do, but pretend to listen, Anya had the time for her mind to wander.
It had been two years since she had fatefully fallen into the well, two years since she came across the bones of Emily Reilly, and two years since she had rescued her family from a ghost that mirrored what could have been Anya's worst traits; insecurity, and jealousy, if not more dangerous.
After these two years, Anya still could not erase the face of Emily Reilly from her memories. The ghost had started as a friend, becoming what could have been one of the most dangerous supernatural beings to deal with. Even after threatening Anya's family and her life, the student still managed to overcome Emily, making her realize the futility of her situation; she was dead, and her life was over. And so, Emily left.
Where to, Anya still wondered. She never really had full belief in the concepts of heaven and hell. Emily's life and choices really didn't seem that heavenly, but somehow, being alone in the bottom of a well for ninety years seemed like hell enough.
Maybe Emily just didn't exist anymore. Maybe her conscience had been wiped from the slate.
Anya just didn't know. All she knew was that the long agitated ghost's bones had been removed from the well before the public safety project started, and were buried somewhere else, unmarked. Emily Reilly received no epitaph.
Anya still remembered her without one.
Sometimes she even saw her in her dreams. Not one on one, but in the background, like an individual strolling through the crowds, or occasionally a spectator of the dream's events. Sometimes she was in good dreams, and sometimes in nightmares, which confirmed Anya's mistrust of the girl.
Though, Anya did sometimes wish; on some days, like after having good dreams where she recognized Emily's face; that they could have been on better terms. Maybe in a different time. Anya sometimes wondered what could have happened if she could have gone back in time to stop Emily from making the choices she made. Maybe she would have turned out nicer. Maybe she would have gotten luckier at finding lovers, or being popular. Maybe they could have been better friends. Anya could only imagine.
Anya sometimes daydreamed about this, though, at this moment, she was thinking over college letters, imagining them pouring in. The only issue was that Anya had no idea what she wanted to even do. Every time she thought of deciding between skills or practicality, her stomach just knotted, and she didn't feel like doing anything anymore.
Life was so much easier before she got periods.
She snapped out of her thoughts when she felt paper jam against her arm, looking to see her syllabus get passed back from the window, highlighter marker all over it, a plethora of colors, like a hippie threw up.
Siobhan had drawn a penis on the third page. With a smiley face on it.
Anya failed to hold back a laugh, and fully expected for the teacher to look at her. Embarrassment was spared, as the teacher was busy talking to the principal, occasionally glancing to the empty desk in the back corner, giving a nod of the head every so often.
Oh, right, Anya remembered. Transfer students usually got to the first class of the first day late to get a tour of the school beforehand. The principal was probably escorting one to this class. Anya remembered when that happened for her when she first moved to America, and how her elementary school principal proudly toured the school with her, only to bring her to class late where she got singled out like a dork.
As the principal headed toward the door, he waved his hand as though to beckon a student from the hall. Anya was about to go back to disinterest of the event, until the student walked in.
Dressed in the school uniform, hair wildly fluffy, and perpetually sour frown clear, stood who appeared to be the spitting image of Emily Reilly.
Anya stared at the girl, eyes wide in shock, mouth slightly agape. She didn't know if she was shocked or horrified.
"And who are you, miss?", the teacher asked the transfer student.
"Emily," the girl spoke, voice quiet and not the warmest, just as Anya remembered and somewhat feared.
"Emily Leary."
Not Reilly. That didn't really make Anya feel any less shocked. It just seemed too peculiar.
As Emily walked to her seat, Anya expected the girl to turn her head rigidly towards her, owlish eyes fixated with a cold gaze.
Emily never even glanced at Anya during the class, not even as the bell rang, and she exited the classroom, leaving the other to stay reeled in unsettled shock, only snapping out of it when Siobhan asked,
"Are you sure you don't smoke anything anymore? You look stoned!"