Lullaby for the Rain Girl by Christopher Conlon

put it over her head. It was a clear plastic hood.
    I chuckled. “Are you kidding me?”
    “Some people just aren’t observant,” she chided, folding it and replacing it in her pocket.
    “How did you read my novel so fast?”
    “I’m a fast reader,” she shrugged. “I came early to school and sat in the library reading it.”
    “But you didn’t check it out?”
    “I owe them some fines.”
    “But—but what about the rain? I never see you except when it’s raining. Never.”
    “Really? Look out the window, Ben.”
    I did. The rain had stopped. Patches of blue sky showed through the gray.
    “Now can I ask you a question?” she said.
    I looked away from the sky, at her. Everything was explained. And yet, I knew, nothing was.
    “Go ahead.”
    She stood close, looking down at me. “Why did you say you thought my name was Rachel?”
    I felt the black wing slice through my mind. “I just—thought it might be.”
    “Why?”
    “Rachel was—somebody I used to know.”
    She said gently, “The one who left you for somebody else? Or the one who killed herself?”
    “The—um, the one who killed herself.”
    “You thought I was her ghost?”
    “Something like that. I don’t know.”
    She shook her head. “I’m nobody’s ghost, Ben. Do you mind that I’m calling you Ben?”
    “No, but—but that other name—in the e-mail…”
    “I just made it up, that’s all. Benja-me-me. Sounded funny.”
    “Don’t—honey, don’t use that name, okay?”
    “You don’t like it? Don’t tell me you think it’s ‘disrespectful.’ You’re cooler than that.”
    “No, it’s not that. Just—just don’t call me that name, okay? Please?”
    She studied me for a long moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
    “What do you want here? Why have you come?”
    “Well, jeez, I dunno,” she said, turning away. “Why not? Just to hang out.”
    “That’s all? Really?”
    “Sure.”
    “What about what you wrote in the e-mail?”
    She smiled. “I was just messing with your head. Don’t take everything so seriously . ” She wandered near the door.
    “But…I have—questions…”
    “Ben,” she said, turning to face me again, “you shouldn’t ask too many questions.”
    “Why not?”
    “See, that’s another question.”
    I chuckled. After a moment I started gathering my things. “I have to go,” I said, standing. “It’s late.”
    “Mind if I walk with you?”
    “No, not at all.”

“Of course since I’m a ghost, I guess nobody will see me.” She laughed. So did I.
    She stepped out of the room first and skipped down the hall. I turned to switch off the light and looked once more at the drawings she had made on the board. A girl with short, unkempt hair. Ocean waves. And then the last one she’d done—a building, tall, with a kind of tower at the top and a clock drawn over it. The clock was frozen at what looked to be some minutes past four. The black wing slid through me, then vanished again.
    # # #
    The late afternoon was cool but surprisingly pleasant, patches of blue opening up everywhere in the sky and bright sunbeams pouring down onto the streets. She was ahead of me as we came out. I watched her hair bounce as she hopped down the steps, surprised again at her claim to be sixteen; anyone would have taken her for twelve. I was studying her so absorbedly that I didn’t notice Vincent coming up the stairs at me.
    “Ben.”
    My eyes found his bird-of-prey face. “Oh—hello, Vincent.”
    “We need to talk, Ben.”
    “Can’t it wait?” I said. “I’m running just now.”
    “No, it can’t. Ben, you can’t keep ducking out on this.” His hand touched my arm.
    We stopped at the bottom step. I watched her as she moved down the street. I wanted to call out to her, Wait, wait, but then she looked back and realized I wasn’t with her. She stopped and stood some distance away, watching us.
    “Vincent, take your hand off me.”
    He scowled, but he moved his hand away. “Ben, what is