I stopped in my steps and listened. There it was again. That sound, or should I say no sound at all. It was so quiet, yet I knew someone else was there. The alley I now walked towards my house in the dark winter evening on my way home from art class after school was usually empty except for the occasional car or spray painted garage. But, there was always some kind of sound like a metal garbage can blowing over in the wind or a squirrel chattering overhead in a random tree. But, this was total and udder silence; yet I felt the presence of another person.

I walked slowly and kicked a stray can just to make some noise. Hoisting my overloaded backpack onto my back, I squinted in the darkness on that moonless night. I usually had a flashlight just in case, but I had left it at school that day after using it for a science project. That was just like me to leave something somewhere where I couldn't get it or lose it just when I needed it.

I froze and let out a scream that was muffled by the hand over my mouth. “Do not move,” a quiet richly accent said into my ear. “I am going to let you go,” it said, “But, you run, and you won't live to be sorry.”

The hand released it's grip. Slowly I turned. There, about of two feet in front of me, I could make out a silhouette in the darkness. Then, suddenly a light flickered on on someone's garage as the evening grew darker. Right in front of me was a girl the same hight as me. Her ice blue eyes stared straight into mine. Long straight black hair fell over her shoulders and in her pail face. You can not go that way. You must turn and cut through a yard or use a different rout, Grace.”

“How do you know my name?” I said a little too loudly backing away a little.”

The girl pressed two black painted finger nails to her lips. I could see that she wore all black except for one simple gold ring on her right pointer finger. To my question, she answered, “I hear it crying in the wind.” The girl quickly flickered her eyes over her shoulder as if checking to see if anyone else was there.

I frowned at her, a little creeped out. For starts, there was, in fact, no wind at all.

“I mean it” the girl said in a harsh voice. “You must not take your usual way, or you will regret it in your death. Now, go! Get out before I say more!”

Looking in horror at the mysterious girl, I turned and tore away, cutting through my neighbor's yard to my street. I ran on to my house, climbed the ivy to my second story window, and crawled through it. I threw my backpack on me little bed in the little room and flipped on the light. I could hear Mom's old fashioned record player downstairs playing some kind of fast beat piano music. I heard the vacuum go on and off and my Mom moving around below.

“Is that you, Grace?” She hollered up the stairs at me.

“Hi, Mom,” I answered. “It's me, and tons of homework, as usual.

“Well, get to work,” She answered.

I looked around my room as I pulled out a pile of heavy ugly text books. “Stupid things!” I muttered, “I could carry more art supplies if it we rent for you ugly cruel things.”

I resolved in dropping them on the old hard wood floor with a thud. I wasn't ready just yet to rot my brain over them. Instead, I flopped on my bed and thought about my weird encounter in the alley. Now, in my warm little cozy house with my Mom moving around downstairs and music going, it seemed almost as if it didn't happen. But, fact was, it had.


In a little old white house with bushes bordering it in a lower classed neighborhood on the northeast side of Aurora, Illinois, there lived me and my mom. It always was just me and my mom and it always was just that little house. My dad had never married my dad and had left after he found out my mom was pregnant with his child. I knew he was dead now, but that was all I knew.

As for that, everything was quiet and peaceful. There was the occasional gang, but nothing really big ever happened. I went to a Catholic private middle school called Holy Angels. In 8th grade, I was probably the dumbest and the one with the most least popular friends. But, I was happy and I loved the school as well as hated it, considering I had to re-peat 6th grade.

All that next day at school after the encounter in the alley, I couldn't get the mysterious girl off my mind. I trailed off in math which was a big no-no and knew I would have no idea how to do the homework. In history, Mrs. Waegner, the older history teacher who was on her 44th year teaching there, banged in my desk and said, “Did you not hear me? Get your head out of your hands and get out your notebook. We are not slobs.”

When I left history class, I accidentally didn't push in my chair after getting up to switch classes. Mrs. Waegner dragged me back into the room and asked, “Are you born in the barn or what? We are civilized human beings here.”

All that night, Fia was the mane topic in my brain. It was like she stuck there like a magnet. Mom made ravioli for dinner, though, and my mind was engulfed by it as I enjoyably shoveled in two plate fulls. I was never the type to turn down a good meal.

Several days went by, and the girl from the alley started to wear off my mind. In school Monday, it was the first day of the third quarter. I, as usual, sat on the counter along the wall before the bell rang and chatted with my homeroom teacher, Ms. Nardone. She was awesome and loved to goof around and tell stories and jokes and have a good time. I looked across the room at the giant eraser, scissor, calculator, and pencil set that sat on top of her computer desk. A girl that I didn't recognize was reading the fair= just, not same poster. I suddenly got that feeling in me that I had had in th alley that one night. I watched her with wide fixed eyes. She turned and I caught my breath.

Was this girl my shadow or something? It was her. It was the girl I had encountered in the alley, in my classroom. I saw her ice eyes, cold even in the light, looking into me, not through me, like she was doing to everyone else who looked her way.

The bell rang and everyone stood at their desks to recite the pledge of elegance and to say the morning prayers. As the announcements were being said over the loudspeaker, I could feel her eyes on me, never leaving me.

When everyone was seated again, Ms. Nardone told us that there was a new kid in our class. Then she asked her to tell us a little about herself.

“My name is Fia. I just moved from Scotland a few weeks ago, so America is still very new to me.”

I listened intently to her low voice, almost like a guy's, but obviously still a girl's. All the time she kept flickering her eyes towards me. I thought about how mom had told me once I had some Scottish in me from my dad.

“I have...no siblings. I am an artist and despise science and math and I love to read and write. I live with my mom an my dad is dead.”

That was it. That was all she said. But, something about what she said. My mind kept on going to where she paused to mention that she had no siblings. And, it was somehow strange that she had a dead dad also. I wondered if she had ever known him.

Fia was in all of my classes and said nothing through everything, but took a lot of notes and took time to stare everyone down, ending and staying on me. I was sure she recognized me. But, why was she so interested in what I looked like, or what I did?

Making no friends, she sat alone in a corner of the parking lot with a sketch book in her hands and a single simple blue Bic pen. She looked across the parking lot at me and back at her picture she was drawing. I had a fleeting thought that she might be drawing me for some reason, but I had no proof. If anyone walked by, she hid her sketch pad in her uniform skirt.

Close to the end of recess, as I kicked the mud in the grass on the little hill along the parking lot and talked about the new pictures I had posted on Facebook with my two friends Florida and Lucy, Fia suddenly stood up, closing and tucking the sketch pad under her arm. Walking over by the street, she stood quietly and watched a bunch of 5th graders playing 4square. She raised up her hands, and as if on cue, the ball from the 4square game bouncing across the parking lot towards her, antecedently getting bumped to hard out of the squares. One of the girls came running to get the ball.
smiled at her and tossed the ball back. Then, going back to her place,
Fia opened to the last page in her sketchpad and made some kind of a little mark.

I pointed out to Florida and Lucy how the new girl kept on looking at me. They thought maybe she just wanted to be friends, but I couldn't tell them about our encounter in the alley, and about how I noticed her odd behavior and each way she moved, which made everything different.

But, I did ask her anyway if she wanted to hang out with Florida, Lucy and I. She just looked right at me with a straight face while we were in lunch. And she said, “I have come to this school for one soul reason. And, it is not to make friends.”

I gave up after that. But, her eyes; the way they looked at me that way. The way I surprisingly was not uncomfortable when she watched my every move. I found myself getting more interested in knowing things about her, like where did she live? Did she have any friends before she moved to the US? Just little things like that.

I did try to ask again anyways. She just said, “Do you have short term memory loss or something?” and walked away when I did.

In math one day, Mrs, MicKarney had to switch around the seating again because of some kids that were acting up. I found myself seated right next to Fia. She looked straight forward now that she was so close to me. I got that strange feeling again that I felt when I was close in her presence. And, then, towards the end of class, she said quietly looking right at me, “Watch. Mrs. MicKarney's overhead is going to give out.”
And, as if on cue ,at that moment, there was a pop, and Mrs. Mic Karney's overhead light burned out.


Fia had been at Holy Angels for two weeks now. Everyone was used to her strange ways by then. She ate lunch sitting on the counters in the corner of the Ms. Heintz's science room. She brought a plain peanut butter and jelly sandwich at lunch and drank her white milk she had ordered, and kept her sketchbook and blue Bic pen in her lap. Or close to her face as she inspected little details I could imagine were on the page.

People started calling Fia ghost girl and I could here rude roomers and nasty words about her. Some even called her shadow girl. They noticed how she always looked at me all the time, and started calling her that, as if she really was my shadow.

One Thursday night as I walked home through my alley, I found Fia sitting with her knees up and smoking a cigarette. It was full moon out and the light from it shown off of her pail face. I was about six yards away, but even from there, I could tell that she knew I was there, but chose to ignore me. And, I could see it, plain as day in her eyes, reaching down to my heart and tearing a piece of it apart that I never knew was there before; I could see tears falling down her cheeks. She flicked the ashes off of the end of her cigarette and her gold ring flickered in the moonlight. I could tell even from a distance that it was real gold. I wondered how she had gotten it, or if it had been a special gift from her mom or some one. But, to me, it looked as if Fia had as little as she could to do with her mom.

I quickly left and went home, leaving Fia to cry inside her private little empire she had built in her mind.

I was at recess that Friday playing four square with Florida, Lucy and another 8th grade girl name Gloria. Fia was in her usual corner, only she watched me intently as I used my little tricks I had learned at summer camp to hit the ball just right to fool the other person.

I noticed as as Fia got up slowly, a few minuets later, her eyes fixed on me. Her sketch pad was missing. It was the only time I had seen her without it in school since the first day in the morning when it was probably in her backpack.

She stood there. I hit the ball too hard and it bounced away into the street passed Gloria's hands. I ran to get it. But, I didn't see the truck coming. It loomed up on me so fast, blaring it's horn in my ear. Realizing what was going on, I screamed and braced for the impact. But, to my surprise, suddenly , instead, another force hit me from behind. I flew through the air and landed face first in the mud on the other side of the street. I heard the impact. The screeching of brakes. The hollers. The cries. The screams. The sirens.

My head swam. A voice screamed inside my head, “What just happened?!”

I pulled myself to my feet. Ms. Nardone was there helping me to my feet. I saw the look of shock and horror on her face. “Don't look!” She said urgently to me in my ear. C'mon. Let's go inside.”

I couldn't look. But, I had to. I had to see. I had to know. And I did look. And I saw it: Fia's broken body lay in the street, blood puring from her. Fia was dead. She had saved my life. But, why?

I felt my heart ripping out of my chest. I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure I threw-up all over the lobby floor. Everything had happened way too fast.

I don't know what happened. Everything was a blur. I fumbled around in my desk to grab a few books to bring home, even though I knew studying would be helpless that weekend. But, I was looking for something. I didn't know what or where, but I knew I had to get it. I had to see. I felt my hand grasp it. Wrapping my hands around it, I carried it home, passing my usual way. My mom had come to get me, but I had run out the doors and they had let me go.

But, I saw it. That very spot where I had seen Fia the night before. I sunk to the ground in that very place and clutched the note book in my hands. I cried. Big blustering sobs. It was as if I had lost a sister.

I forced myself to stop crying and concentrate. Slowly I opened Fia's sketchbook. On the first page, there was written a letter in Bic blue pen. Only, it looked like little kid hand writing, with many spelling mistakes. It was dated for seven years before. Fia had only been eight when she had written it.


Dear Grace:

I know you. I am related to you. You are my sister. Your Dad is my Dad. I did know him, but he died two years ago in a gang fight. I can remember him. He was so nice. I love him so much. He told me about you, but made me promise never to tell my mom. They loved each other very much, but dad got into bad stuff too much. I wish you would know how wonderful he really was. I know we are not really twins. We have different moms. We are only a few weeks apart. I think that is so cool.

Love, your twin sister, Fia


I stared at the page. My mouth hung open. “My sister,” I mouthed. That is why she watched me so much. Then, no wonder. I really did loose a sister. We are the same blood.

In my shock, I turned the pages slowly. I came across sketches that were blotted out and crossed out. Then, to my surprise, I came across another letter.

It was dated for two days before.


Dear Grace:

Don't ever be me. Don't ever become me. I know you cannot. You were not cursed like me. Some people can see the future. But some people can see it like clear water; like a memory in their minds. That is me. I can see everything that is going to happen, like a clear picture. I know every little detail. It hurts. It grows stronger as I grow older. It will never go away. My mom has no idea that we go to the same school. But, I know. I have seen it since I was a baby. I know that incident with the ball and the truck is going to happen my entire life. Do not despair. I want to die. What will happen in two days is what has kept me from killing myself my entire life. I know I cannot let you die. I want to die. I long to. Living like this has driven me to madness. I have never had a friend in my life. I cannot. I am not stable. I have to fake everything and hide me. How could anyone go on seeing every cruel and horrible tragedy in their minds and not be able to stop them all? How can someone go on living seeing all the sin that will happen in the world and being able to do barely anything about it? That time you saw me catch the ball for that little 5th grader and toss it back; that girl would have been hit by that SUV that passed by a few seconds later if I did not see it coming. When I made you take a different way home that night when we first met; if you hadn't listened to me, you would have been mugged by a group of thugs. Tell my mother. Tell everyone who I really am. Show everyone this sketchpad and tell them how I will finally be happy.

You must understand. I am going to be so happy in the hands of God. Finally I may rest. Finally I may breath clean air and be able to laugh and smile and do the things I never could here. Finally I will be free.


Love, your twin sister, Fia


Each page afterwards. Each page was unbearable to look at. Death and hurt was drawn all over them. Each result of a tragedy that would have happened if Fia had not been there. I finally closed it when I had seen every one and looked up at the stars. “Rest in peace, Fia,” I said as tears spilled down my cheeks. “You are free.”


I lay in my bed, clutching Fia's sketchpad in my arms a few days later. Mom knocked on my door and came in. She looked at me laying there. “Why didn't you tell me?” I asked for the millionth time, “Why didn't you tell me I had a future seeing sister?”

“Grace,” she said sitting down on my bed. And, for the millionth time, she said, “I had no idea aether. I never heard about her. Her mom must have gotten pregnant after your father left us. She is a hero. She saved your life. She gave her life to you because she could see the future. Fia wants you to live.”

“She wanted to die, Mom.” I blurted out.

“I know. I know, she did. I just do,” Mom said quietly. Her big dark eyes were filled with pain. “But, look. Fia's Mom wants you to have this,” she said suddenly.

Mom carefully brought out a small black box and handed it to me. I opened it and gasped. It was Fia's simple gold ring. Carefully picking it up, I could tell it was solid, no fake. Mom just got up and left the room.

Under that ring was a little slip of paper. In Fia's fine handwriting, it read, “When I was a little, I had to have a heart transplant. The little boy who gave me his heart had this ring that he always kept in his pocket because it was to big for his finger. His parents gave it to me after he died of cancer at only three. They told me he found it in a sand box at a park. I give it to you.”

5 Months Later

I sat in the back of mom's car wearing that green graduation gown for graduation from Holy Angels. We were on our way to the graduation Mass.

I looked at the simple gold band on my finger and thought how it would be diffident if Fia were there. But, I knew how she was happy. She had to be where she was. I thought of her gravestone; of where in marble was engraved, “A Hero”. I thought of where her soul was. Resting in God's arms. Finally free. I would never forget the one who gave her life to me; the shadow girl.

I thought back to the night of the 8th grade banquet on the last day of school. I had stood in the podium and tolled everyone about Fia, just like she had wanted. I had that whole room packed with 350 people dead silent. They were probably thinking of the horrible sight they had all seen at once in the street that day at recess. But, they had to understand that she was finally happy. Then, one by one, everyone started to smile; some even cried. I had them. They were understanding.

And, to my sudden surprise, they had suddenly all stood up and cheered and applauded for her. Because, even if she was so different on the outside, and lived in a raging hell in her head, she had lived for two soul purposes; to save her sister's life, and to one day be truly happy.

At the graduation Mass, the priest gave a little part of his sermon to her. And, afterwards, as we all went outside and threw our hats into the air, that's when I saw it. An image in the sky. I saw Fia's face for a fleeting moment. And, she was smiling. Really smiling. There was no mistake. I know for sure now; it is whole and true inside of me; she is with God.