For another week, Ayanna’s dorm room persisted in smelling like rot. Her mother had texted her more frequently—you ruined my life, I wish I had taught you to love God, I am tired of you thinking you can do whatever you want, Olivia says I should forgive you but you are the reason why everything is like this—and once sent a meme of a cat wearing round black sunglasses that had the text no stress, just vibin. Sleeping felt impossible. The one time she had fallen asleep deeply was at Felix’s apartment while everyone else was watching Boyz n the Hood. She’d wiped the drool off her mouth and listened to them arguing over who was more fire in the movie: Nia Long or Angela Bassett. Regina King, they felt, was someone who was next-door cute (a sparkler on the fire scale) when she was young but so hot it hurt now (somehow stepped in lava on the fire scale). Ayanna felt a million miles away, more concerned with how dry her mouth felt. The ghost kept coming in and knocking her things off the desk. All food tasted like salt.

On the Sunday night before Halloween, Ayanna could not stop thinking: Would anyone really care if she wasn’t around anymore?

She could not think of a single person who would notice if she was gone. Was there anything she truly wanted? She wanted to make the world a better place, but that felt impossible and foolish. Arrogant too. Ayanna felt certain in her ugliness, her selfishness, her smallness. If she was dead, well, maybe, at least, she might be with Olivia. There was no proof everyone got to be a spirit, but there was a chance. Ayanna paced her dorm room, digging her fingernails into her palms.

What would Olivia think if she was waiting for her?

Maybe she would understand. And if she didn’t understand at first, she would convince her over time. Hopefully.

She went on the forums for supernatural encounters and read obsessively. It was the same old shit of voices speaking backward, cold air, malicious presences, Civil War ghosts, slave ghosts, dead-husband ghosts, and beautiful-murdered-lady ghosts. It was exhausting to be so alone. Usually, Ayanna tried to avoid reading these because it made her feel like she was the crazy one. They always began an insidious refrain in Ayanna’s head about the spirits, the way she moved through the world: I am making these up because I am unwell. I am making these up because my brain was irrevocably damaged by going through the door. I am making these up because I am forever traumatized by losing my sister. I am a terrible, sick person and I shouldn’t be alive any longer.