LEO'S POV

We stood in the courtyard of an old compound, like a monastery. Red brick walls were overgrown with vines. Big magnolia trees had cracked the pavement. The sun beat down, and the humidity was about two hundred percent, even stickier than in Houston. Somewhere nearby, I smelled fish frying. Overhead, the cloud cover was low and gray, striped like a tiger's pelt.

The courtyard was about the size of a basketball court. An old deflated football sat in one corner at the base of a Virgin Mary statue.

Along the sides of the buildings, windows were open. I could see flickers of movement inside, but it was eerily quiet. I saw no sign of air conditioning, which meant it must have been a thousand degrees in there.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"My old school," Hazel said next to me. "St. Agnes Academy for Colored Children and Indians."

"What kind of name—"

I turned toward Hazel and yelped. She was a ghost—just a vaporous silhouette in the steamy air. I looked down and realized my own body had turned to mist too.

Everyone around us seemed solid and real, but we were spirits. After having been possessed by an eidolon three days ago, I didn't appreciate the feeling.

Whoa. That was only three days ago. It had felt like ages.

Before I could ask any further questions, a bell rang inside: not a modern electronic sound, but the old fashioned buzz of a hammer on metal.

"This is a memory," Hazel said, "so no one will see us. Look, here we come."

"We?"

From every door, dozens of children spilled into the courtyard, yelling and jostling each other. They were mostly African-American, with a sprinkling of Hispanic-looking kids, as young as kindergartners and as old as high schoolers. I could tell this was in the past because all the girls wore dresses and buckled leather shoes. The boys wore white collared shirts and pants held up by suspenders—I was pretty familiar with those myself, actually. Many wore caps like horse jockeys wear. Some kids carried lunches. Many didn't. Their clothes were clean, but worn and faded. Some had holes in the knees of their trousers, or shoes with the heels coming apart.

A few of the girls began playing jump rope with an old piece of clothesline. The older guys tossed a ratty basketball back and forth. Kids with lunches sat together and ate and chatted.

No one paid Ghost Hazel or me any attention.

Then Hazel—Hazel from the past—stepped into the courtyard.

I recognized her with no problem, though she looked about two years younger than now. Her hair was pinned back in a bun. Her gold eyes darted around the courtyard uneasily. She wore a dark dress, unlike the other girls in their white cotton or pastel flowery prints, so she stood out like a mourner at a wedding.

She gripped a canvas lunch bag and moved along the wall, as if trying hard not to be noticed.

It didn't work.

A boy called out, "Witch girl!" He lumbered toward her, backing her into a corner. The boy could have been fourteen or nineteen. IT was hard to tell because he was so big and tall, easily the largest guy on the playground. I figured he'd been held back a few times. He wore a dirty shirt the color of grease rags, threadbare wool trousers, and no shoes at all. Maybe the teachers were too terrified to insist that this kid wear shoes, or maybe he just didn't have any.

"That's Rufus," said Ghost Hazel with distaste.

"Seriously? No way his name is Rufus," I replied.

"Come on," said Ghost Hazel. She drifted toward the confrontation, and I did my best to follow. I wasn't used to drifting, but I'd ridden a Segway once and it was kind of like that. I just sorta leaned in the direction I wanted to go and glided along.

The big kid Rufus had flat features, as if he spent most of his time face planting on the sidewalk. His hair was cut just as flat on top, so miniature airplanes could've used it for a landing strip.

Rufus thrust out his hand. "Lunch."

Hazel from the past didn't protest. She handed over her canvas bag like this was an everyday occurrence.

A few older girls drifted over to watch the fun. One giggled at Rufus. "You don't want to eat that," she warned. "It's probably poison."

"You're right," Rufus said. "Did your witch mom make this, Levesque?"

"She's not a witch," Hazel muttered.

Rufus dropped the bag and stepped on it, smashing the contents under his bare heel.

"Aw what the hell," I said under my breath. "He didn't even eat it."

"I want a diamond!" Rufus blared. "I hear your momma can make those outta thin air. Gimme a diamond!"

"I don't have any diamonds," Hazel said miserably. "Go away."

Rufus balled his fists. I'd been enough rough schools and foster homes to sense when things were about to turn ugly. I wanted to step in and help Hazel, but I was just a ghost. And besides, all this happened decades ago.

Then another kid stumbled outside into the sunlight.

I sucked in a breath.

He looked exactly like me.

"You see?" asked Ghost Hazel.

Fake Leo was the same height as me—meaning he was short. He had the same nervous energy—tapping his fingers against his trousers, brushing at his white cotton shirt, adjusting his jockey cap on his just-like-mine curly brown hair. Fake Leo had the same devilish smile that greeted me whenever I looked in a mirror—an expression that made teachers immediately shout, "Don't even think about it!" and plop me in the front row.

Apparently, Fake Leo had just been scolded by a teacher. He was holding a dunce cap—an honest-to-goodness cardboard cone that said DUNCE. I thought those were just something you only saw in cartoons.

I could understand why Fake Leo wasn't wearing it. Bad enough to look like a jockey. With that cone on his head, he would've looked like a gnome.

Some kids backed up when Fake Leo burst onto the scene. Others nudged each other and ran toward him like they were expecting a show.

Meanwhile, Flathead Rufus was still trying to punk Hazel out of a diamond, oblivious to Fake Leo's arrival.

"Come on, girl." Rufus loomed over Hazel with his fists clenched. "Give it!"

Hazel pressed herself against the wall. Suddenly the ground at her feet went snap, like a twig breaking. A perfect diamond the size of a pistachio glittered between her feet.

"Ha!" Rufus barked when he saw it. He started to lean down, but Hazel yelped, "No, please!" as if she was genuinely concerned for the big goon.

That's when Fake Leo strolled over.

Here it comes. Fake Leo is gonna bust out some sweet Coach Hedge-style jujitsu and save the day.

Instead, Fake Leo put the top of the dunce cap to his mouth like a megaphone and yelled, "CUT!"

He said it with such authority all the other kids momentarily froze. Even Rufus straightened and backed away in confusion.

One of the little boys snickered under his breath: "Hammy Sammy."

Sammy. . .

I shivered.

Who the heck was this kid?