I do end up talking to James again. And yes, to, not with because he doesn't reply, no matter how annoying anyone is. He really ignores us all, no discrimination whatsoever so I don't feel that bad. I don't talk to him because I'm hoping I'll be the only exception but because I'm always bored. When he ignores me, I don't feel it's because he has something against me but because he does that to everyone and I got to do something. Everyone else has friends and they spend time together. The only loners are James and I and I'd rather follow him around than watching what my other classmates do in their spare time.

It's been almost two weeks since he joined us and I think even Roxi and Adeline realised that no matter what they do, he will ignore them both.

Maybe, a tiny part of me likes him because of the way he keeps avoiding them. I think everyone who doesn't fall for the cheap tricks of those two is good quality.

The rumours keep following James as he doesn't say anything and has this mysterious aura around him which only makes it worse. People are getting more creative. I heard somewhere that James is a cover agent from Interpol and as almost no one has heard him speaking, they don't even think he is English. I'm sure James is not older than eighteen but people do think he's some twenty-eight guy pretending to be a teenager going undercover to get some criminals. Very much like 21 Jump Street.

I think the theory of James being a new version of Hannibal Lecter is more amusing, though.

The kid won't approach another human, though, so I'm not sure about those rumours. But he does have a liking for weird creepy things like monsters. He is writing a graphic novel —or I think that's it with those illustrations of his. He works mostly on that when he gets a bit of free time, which is not much as he is doing his best to catch up. 

I talk a lot to him, as usual. It's me mostly ranting and telling him of all the rumours I've heard so far.

"I heard Alice and Chris talking about you," I tell him as he keeps working on his later assignment. The deadline is tomorrow and I think he's stressed. "I mean, they are always talking about you. They are these thriller addicts, you know? Always watching detective shows and stuff. They went crazy over Broadchurch. So don't take it personally, I think they just want to figure you out."

Once again, no response but I'm used to it by now. Talking to James it's like talking to a wall.

"Did you watch Broadchurch? I did with Mum and I swear, spoiler alert! I never imagined that Joe Miller was the murderer. Poor Ellie," I lament, remembering the show and how stressful it was. 

It was the most animated I've seen Mum since Dad left her, engaging completely on something. It's hard to get some sort of reaction from her, it's like she's lost somewhere and all you get from her are some mumbles and nods. I honestly don't know how she manages at work. I guess that being a bank teller doesn't require much charisma or conversation skills and. As long as she does her job she'll be fine.

"Anyhow, they were saying that you're running from a murderer. You were a victim but managed to escape and now are trying to hide from everyone. You don't want to raise suspicious so you keep a low profile in case the psycho gets here and asks for you. If you don't talk to anyone and hide your face then people won't be able to spot you," I tell him, watching out of the window this time instead of seeing his work. "If that's the case, my friend, I think you should've stayed out of college. By enrolling you get in the system and anyone can find you like that... unless you stole someone else's identity! The other victim, perhaps?" I inquire, getting into the drama. "What is your plan, James Black?"

I don't get an answer. Not like I was waiting for one.

"Nah, bet you're just some boring bloke who doesn't like people, that's all."

I focus again on the view outside this library. It's Monday so we have the day off just to catch up on work and all that. Maybe I should've stayed home, with Luna. She's more responsive than James.

"Has anyone told you that you make great company? What a charmer you turned out to be," I mutter glaring at him for three seconds before heaving a tired sigh.

I hear him groaning and I turn to see what bit him. He is closing his laptop and collecting all his sketchbooks and other things. 

"We're leaving? Do you need to use some studio or anything?" I ask standing up with him.

James normally spends all this time in this corner of the library or in the studios when we are in class or for something specific. I've noticed that when there's too many people he gets uncomfortable and ends up leaving, looking for a more secluded and solitary place.

"Did you finish? Are you gonna borrow some cameras? Are we going to do a shooting?" I keep asking, following him as he keeps his long strides. I hate that he has long legs; it makes me have to run to keep up with him. 

We head to the E block and upstairs, I keep following him.

"You know that if you're running away from me, that ain't gonna work. I'll keep following you," I remind him, trying to catch up but now he's climbing two steps at the time. "If you had let me apologise when I tried, we wouldn't be here today. This is my way to punish you for being rude."

Lies. I'm just so bored.

He goes to Printmaking and then talks —briefly— to Nigel, our Printmaking teacher, for some help. As he is busy with his work, I wander around, not bothering him.

I wish I had a friend. A real friend. Someone to spend time with; someone who could reply and ask me questions. I wish it wasn't always me and myself, alone. I don't even know why I bother so much talking to James when I know he won't say anything back. No matter what, it's not like he'll turn around and suddenly be interested in whatever I'm saying. He won't even yell at me to shut up or anything.

I should just leave him alone, right? Why do I even come after him over and over again? He is not interesting. Yeah, mysterious and we literally know nothing about him, but he is not like in those films warning you.

Stay away from me if you know what's better for you.

Yeah, he won't even bother with that. He won't look at you and say he's not good for you.

It seems you can't listen so I guess I have no other option but to stay around. It seems I can't pull away either.

Hmm. Maybe I should start writing novels, cliché novels with some loser main character that has never been in love, or kissed or anything. And the fact that I'm exactly like that is just a mere coincidence. I wouldn't be like this if it were up to me. But there are things I can't control, like boys finding me attractive or anything.

First, I'm too awkward and it seems I have written loser on my forehead, so guys have always just looked down on me. Same with girls. And if I'm pretty I don't know how to make the best out of what I've got. I don't know how to wear makeup —seriously, that is like sorcery and the way they make it look so easy. Once I tried and I ended up like a raccoon— or how to do my hair. I can't even braid it! And it's short and curly and frizzy. I'm seventeen but I surely look younger. I've always been told I have a baby face.

I sigh, tired and resigned. When Mum used to talk to me and pay me attention, she said You're still in your cocoon. But you'll become a butterfly soon, don't get sad for what hasn't happened yet. It will happen. That was actually really comforting back in the day. Today it makes no difference.

I feel blue again, so I decide to focus on James better. When I'm talking to him I don't have time to think of myself or how things have turned out to be lately. Talking to someone —even if that person does not reply— helps me not to go crazy. 

"What are you doing?" I ask approaching him, seeing the design he's working on. "Do you have a thing for wolves?" I inquire next when I notice what he has on the acrylic, which looks like a wolf pack to me, preying on you. "What does that exactly mean? Why did you choose this? Are you gonna connect it to another subject?"

He stops, and so do I, watching him before he heaves a tired and annoyed sigh. I watch him more carefully, assessing him before he goes back to his work.

As Nigel gives other classes in this same studio, James and I can't stay much longer and by the time we are leaving, I still don't know why he's doing what he is doing. Yet I still follow him downstairs.

"Is this connected to what you're drawing?" I inquire,  hobbling down the steps, trying to amuse myself. "Were you perhaps attacked by wolves or saw something like that? It would explain your fixation with them. You know, a way to deal with the trauma is by characterising them. If that's so, then you're doing a lousy job 'cos they look absolutely terrifying to me. Or maybe you're just trying to get the fear out," I keep musing, practically talking to myself and I'm so engrossed that I don't notice him stopping until practically bump into him. "Oi! Don't just stop like that, mate. Not cool. I could've pushed you down stairs."

James turns around, his eyes cold and fierce. His brow is furrowed and I step back, going up one step so we can be at the same height. I swear he is looking at me, right at me and that makes my chest raise and fall notoriously. For a second he reminds me of the predatory look of the wolves and I get scared. But no, that's not possible. I'm just thinking nonsense again, he's not a werewolf or something. Those don't exist, right?

"Leave me alone," he mutters and I freeze. "I'm tired of your nonstop babbling. You're annoying! Leave me alone. I don't want you following me, I don't want you asking me questions or keeping me up to date with the bloody rumours. I don't care! Just leave me the hell alone!"

I gasp. My mouth opening but no sound comes out of it.

He is talking to me; he is really talking to me. His eyes are really seeing me. He is not ignoring me. This is really happening.

"You— you—" I choke on my own words, raising my hand to reach him, but he practically growls at me. "You can see me?" I ask and he frowns.

The rage and annoyance leave his features as confessions steps in. He blinks three times before his eyes widen in horror and he looks everywhere. I can't move, I can't breathe, I can't anything. I'm just watching him, too shocked that he is actually talking to me.

"Oh shit!" he curses and rubs his face with his hands. "Not this again."

"Can you see me? James? Can you hear me?" I ask, my voice growing frantic and desperate. It sounds like I'm about to cry, but I don't think I can do that.

He turns around and resumes. I react when he's turning around on the other set of stairs and run to catch him. "JAMES!" I shout, desperate to get to him but he is ignoring me again. I run even faster until I'm in front of him, my arms wide open, stopping him from going any farther. "Answer me, can you see me?"

He groans and tries to walk past me, but I move and stop him.

Oh God, he can see me.

"How? How can you see me?"

"Paige, please," he begs under his breath. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't! How do you expect me to leave you alone now? Do you understand what this means?"

He looks away and decides that going back is better than facing me, but I run to stop him again.

"You can see me!" I accuse him. "You can hear me."

"No I can't," he snaps but then closes his eyes, frustrated with himself. He's clearly lost his cool, that's why he isn't ignoring me anymore. He did for two weeks.

"You can... How? How is that possible? No one else can. No one else has seen me in so long. I'm dead! Why can you see me?!" I demand, raising my voice so loud I feel the whole building is shaking. He just looks at me with pity in his eyes and I feel like crying.

Someone can see me... someone can hear me. Someone...

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There you have it. Yes, you guessed right, she is a "ghost" but of course, it isn't as simple as that and more questions will arise now, right? Keep guessing (: Update every Saturday! And leave your thoughts on the comments.

Shout out for the previous best commenter: @21GissDankworth

Bel, xx