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iivyconfessional · 12 hours ago

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Wally Clark X Female OC

Okay, I'm still working on a title, but I've decided to post chapter 1 here in hopes of getting feedback before I put a few chapters up on A03. Let me know what you think!

No one knows what to expect when they die, how can you? But dying at school comes with a lot of unexpected surprises, like a support group of other ghosts, some of whom become your friend, some of whom become more.

Author's warning: There are slight deviations from the School Spirits' canon. This is going to be a slow burn, with lots of angst and some in-depth discussions about mental health struggles and how isolating they can be throughout the fic. Anyway, here's chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

I swipe a hand at my glasses, at the water beading on the lenses and the fog disrupting my vision. My ears are ringing, and I almost hear what sounds like sirens from outside. I look up from the floor and see people moving in slow motion. My classmates all look in various stages of shock and horror, some mouths open in screams I can’t hear, some tears welling in eyes, some girls running away like they’re being chased out; our gym teacher pushes her way through them, parting them like the sea, shouting words that don’t reach me but cause them to move farther apart, more girls leaving the room. Coming through the parted crowd next are paramedics with a stretcher, and closely behind them is Principal Williams, her phone pressed close to her ear, her face the perfect picture of stress and misery, so unlike her usual cheerfulness; her kind eyes are stone cold and glassy.

As the ringing in my ears starts to subside, I push to my feet, pushing my glasses back up my nose, and look behind me to… me. And the blood on the floor and wall. The limp body, my limp body, being so delicately moved onto the cot that the EMTs rolled in. Principal Williams, her phone now back in her pocket, and Coach Chelsie are directing the remaining girls out of the locker room, but they’re all still looking at the shower stall as they shuffle out. Some girls run when directed toward the door, others have to be guided as their eyes refuse to peel away from the scene behind me. Maggie, who’s in the jazz band with me, turns to puke in the trash can outside the coach’s office.

I look back at the shower in time to see my body roll past me. The giant gash on the back of my head is now covered in a once-white towel, and a white sheet has been placed over my mostly bare torso and legs. My hair is still dry in some places but mostly hangs in wet matts over my shoulders and off the side of the cot bed. Subconsciously, I reach up, finding no gaping wounds, and my hair is in its usual state of slightly frizzy waves falling to my mid-back. I try to grab the rail of the stretcher to stop it as it wheels by, reaching out with shaky fingers, but it slips right past me, completely undisturbed by my grasp. I shout at the paramedics as they zip the body bag closed, trying on failing breath to stop them, but no one turns my way. No one is even looking at me. Like I don’t exist. Like I’m not right here.

I start to follow after the stretcher, my legs shaking underneath me, headed toward the exit of the girls' locker room, when I see her. A girl with short dark curls is staring right at me. Not past me to the shower, not staring blankly in my general direction. No, her dark eyes are trained purposefully on me as if she can see me like no one else seems able to.

“It’s no use following them. You won't get far, Cherry Pop.”

Did she just talk to me? Can she see me? Her dry tone and the way she calls me ‘Cherry Pop’ snaps something inside me, like waking me from a dream when I didn’t know I was sleeping.

“Who, who a-are you?” I hadn’t realized my teeth were chattering until I spoke.

The girl extends her hand to me, “I’m Rhonda.”

I don’t take her outstretched hand, looking from her to the black bag that holds my body, now leaving the locker room doors. “Am I…Did I, did I die?” The question sounds so dumb as I say it, but I can’t find any other explanation for what is happening.

“Seems like it, seeing as you spilled your brain on that shower floor. Do you have any clothes in your locker, or are you an aspiring nudist?” She says that first statement so casually that I almost miss her question that followed.

It’s then that I look down at myself. I’m wearing nothing but my black lace bra and matching black panties. I’d just gotten my schedule changed and forgotten that I had gym class today, otherwise I’d be in much more practical running underwear. I look back at Rhonda as a violent blush creeps up my neck and cheeks, and nod, wrapping my arms around my torso, “I can put clothes on? I don’t have to spend eternity mostly naked?”

She chuckles, shaking her head, “Luckily for all of us, you can put clothes on. Where’s your locker?”

I point to the open one directly across from the shower of horrors when her words fully register, “Wait, what do you mean ‘all of us’? There are others?” I look around, but there are only the cops who came after the paramedics left, taking pictures of the bloodied shower floor.

“Welcome to the Split River Afterlife, Cherry Pop. Let's get you dressed before Charlie’s impatient ass busts in here. You got a name?”

I nod again, “Belle.”

As she grabs my clothes and starts to walk back to me, I notice that my clothes are still sitting in the open locker. I glance back at the heap in Rhonda’s arms, and sure enough, those are my clothes.

“Here. Get changed, and then we can go meet everyone. Mr. Martin sent me to meet you first, and it’s a good thing, too, since you died almost naked. What a nightmare.” Rhonda hands my clothes to me, but my gaze is still on the clothes in my locker.

Rhonda must notice because she says, “We can touch things in the living world, but we can never change them. Your clothes will remain there, but you can also have them here.”

I push my glasses back up my nose and start to shrug on my old Nirvana tee and jean shorts. “I can’t believe I died naked. How fucking embarassing.” I mumble as I bend to grab my shoes and socks from under the bench. Sitting to slip them on my feet, my glasses fall again, the large white frames barely hanging at the tip of my nose, and I realize something horrible.

I bolt upright and gasp, “Oh no no no no no nooooo” I bury my head in my hands as I hear Rhonda approach my side.

“It takes some time to adjust to being dead, but that's what group is for. Mr. Martin will help you work through all the emotions of it. Trust me, I’ve been working on it for a long time.” Rhonda hesitantly rests her hand on my shoulder, obviously not used to comforting people, or ghosts, rather.

“No, not that! I’m dead, what the fuck ever, I know I can’t change that,” I throw my hands up, standing to pace in front of the bench as the last of the police officers file out past me, only one shoe on, my other foot in just a sock. “I left my contacts at home! I missed my alarms and was running late, so I just threw on my glasses and was going to run home at lunch to switch them out! Now I’m going to be stuck with these stupid things falling down my nose my whole afterlife!”

“Everything okay in here?” I hear a male voice from the cracked door. Rhonda chuckles under her breath as my head snaps toward the sound. An average height guy is standing in the doorway, his curly highlighted hair and soft smile instantly soothe the shock into reserve.

“Sorry for my outburst. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.” I call to him and I sit back down to finish putting my other shoe on.

“This is Charley, the impatient ass I mentioned earlier.” Rhonda stands and comes to my side as I finish lacing my Chucks and stand with her. “Come on, Cherry Pop, let's go meet everyone.”

We walk toward Charley, still standing in the doorway. As we reach him, he sticks out his hand, “I’m Charley. And for the record, your glasses rant is completely valid.” His smile is beaming, and it’s then that I see his glasses, and I smile too. I push my frames back to the place on my nose they seem to have a restraining order against, and take his hand.

Scanning him up and down, then Rhonda, I notice the obvious differences in their clothes. Rhonda has on pinstriped tailored pants and a hat that looks straight from my favorite thrift store. Charley, on the other hand, has on jeans and a denim jacket that scream vintage.

“How long have you guys been here?” I ask, looking between them.

“Rhonda was the third one here; she died in the 60s. I came a while later in the 90s. We can get to all the formal introductions and cause of death stuff later. Mr. Martin is curious to meet you, and I think Wally’s head will explode if we don’t go out there soon.” Charley says, turning toward the door before he stops, turns back to me with a wince on his face, “no offense to your recent head injury or anything.”

I stare at him. And then a laugh bubbles up from my chest. A full manic laugh, the kind that overtakes my whole body, causing me to throw my head back slightly to let it all out. “Oh god, you’re funny, Charley. I think we’re going to be friends.” I tell him when I’ve finished laughing.

Charley laughs with me, pulling the door all the way open and motioning for me and Rhonda to walk through. Rhonda goes first, and I follow, grabbing Charley’s arm and hauling him after me. I’m not sure why, but Charley seems like the kind to be fine with a friendly touch.

As we walk down the locker room hallway, I take the quiet moment to let everything I’ve just learned sink in. I have always been one to take things at face value. My mom called me a “Relentless Optimist” because no matter what, I have always been able to find the bright side of any situation. I think that’s why I’m not a blubbering mess right now. Most people, I would assume, wouldn’t move on from seeing their own dead body and learning they’re a ghost so quickly. Of course, I am shocked. And I’m sure that sadness will settle into me with time. But right now, I have met two ghosts who seem nice enough, even though Rhonda is a little snarky. I can’t change the fact that I died; nothing and no one can bring me back. So I might as well make friends with the people I’ll be stuck with for the decades to come.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when we enter the main gym. I can hear quiet chatter coming from a group of people huddled by the stage on the far wall.

“Oh, hello! You must be our newcomer. I’m Mr. Martin, the teacher here at The Split River Afterlife. What is your name?” Mr. Martin, who is a lot younger than I had imagined, stands with his hand outstretched. I notice his thick black glasses frames and chuckle a little to myself as I shake his hand.

“Belle,” I say, and realize he looks taken aback by my quiet laughter, so I quickly add, “I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m sorry.”

Everyone is looking at me even more than before, but when I make eye contact with Charley, I mouth glasses and he smiles at me, lowering his gaze from the teacher’s worried expression.

To my left, I see a very tall, very attractive man step forward.

“Hi! I’m Wally, class of ‘84, resident jock,” he winks and flexes his biceps, flashing me the brightest smile I think I’ve ever seen, before he drops his arms, extending his hand to me.

Seriously, what is it with these people and handshakes? I feel like I’m at some silent auction for big-time investors or something.

I can’t take my eyes off this pretty boy, the sleeves of his sweatshirt cut off to expose well-defined, tan arms. I reach out and take his hand, he claps his other hand over the back of mine, and shakes my arm so enthusiastically, I think he might dislocate my shoulder.

“Careful, Wally. She’s not a chew toy, you don’t need to rip her arm off,” Charley says, patting Wally on the shoulder.

Wally’s eyes widen like he just realized he has my hand in a vice grip before he lets go of me and takes a long step backward. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m Janet, pleased to meet you,” the other girl in the group steps forward with her head bowed and curtsies. From the way she’s dressed, I can tell she died a long time ago or while dressed up for a period piece in history class. I smile at her and curtsy back, pretending to hold the layers of an imaginary skirt. I hear Rhonda chuckle at my movement and turn just enough to smirk at her.

When I straighten, I notice a few others standing by the stage or sitting in the chairs arranged in a circle close by. None of them steps forward to introduce themselves, so I give them a small wave and turn my attention back to Mr. Martin, who is looking at me expectantly.

“Well, Belle, you seem to be taking your death incredibly well. Why don’t we go talk some and I can answer any questions you may have about the afterlife.” Mr. Martin says, gesturing towards the circle of chairs. I nod and begin walking toward them along with the rest of the group.

Mr. Martin takes a seat, and I sit in the chair next to him. Charlie finds the seat next to me, and Rhonda sits on his other side. Janet sits in the last empty chair between the two quiet ones who didn’t introduce themselves, and Wally pulls an extra chair into the space directly across from me.

“So, would you like to tell us about yourself or your death? If not, we can tell you more about us and how we died, if that would make you more comfortable. It’s whatever you want, Belle. This group is designed to help you cope with your death and adjust to the afterlife, and ideally, to help you cross over eventually.” Mr. Martin says, his expression calm and friendly.

“I guess there’s not much to tell,” I say to Mr. Martin, then look around the circle, “ I died naked, which isn’t something anyone wants. I don’t usually wear my glasses during the day, and they mess with my depth perception, so when I turned on the shower, I missed the step out, slipped on the tile, and cracked my head open; now I’m here.” I say with a shrug. If I’m going to be around these people forever, I might as well start with open honesty.

I see a few people wince, Charley trying to hide a smirk, and Mr. Martin nods before he says, “You seem very content with your death. Is there any particular reason you’re so unaffected?” I think he’s weirded out by my casual indifference, but he doesn’t show it in his expression. He just waits for me to speak, calmly analyzing.

“Relentless optimism,” I tell him, a smile and a sigh, “I can’t change what happened, and there are a ton of worse ways to die and places to be stuck afterward. I mean, yeah it sucks that i’ll probably be stuck in my high school for all of eternity,” I see rhonda nod, confirming that there's no chance I’m leaving the school grounds, “but you guys seem like a decent bunch to be stuck with so I might as well accept that now and see this as a fresh beginning.”

Mr. Martin nods again, seemingly trying to wrap his head around how one can be this cheerful while their corpse is still warm. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Charley speaks first.

“Belle, you do know it’s okay to take some time to grieve your life. We’ve all been there, and none of us will judge if you want to be a Debby Downer for a bit. Please, don't feel like you need to save face for our sakes.” Charley sets his hand gently on my knee and gives me a little squeeze, his warm smile a comforting beacon.

“Thank you, Charley. But really, I’m okay. Like, yeah, I’m going to miss my mom and dad, and Ray. But it's pointless to let that grief take root and eat me alive. Dad always says that the antidote to sadness isn’t happiness, it's acceptance.” I squeeze his hand back, but as I look around, everyone is looking at me like I have two heads. “What? Do I have a hole in my head?” I ask, trying to use humor to break the tension I unknowingly caused.

“No, Belle, that is just a very profound way to look at your situation. Your father seems like a very wise man.” Mr. Martin says, still looking at me like a bug under a microscope.

“Yeah, it took me years to accept my death and look at it without feeling the grief for my old life. The fact that you've only been dead an hour and have already gotten there kind of pisses me off” Rhonda says in that dry tone I’ve started to realize is her baseline tone for everything.

Then Wally leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, his deep brown eyes boring right into me when he says, “Belle, I think you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

Something about the way he said my name makes a blush crawl up the sides of my neck, and I break my eyes away from him before he can see.

Looking back at Mr. Martin, I say, “My dad is a psychologist. He used to specialize in grief counseling, but now he is a professor in Chicago at the college where he and my mom met. I’ve spent my whole life being psychoanalyzed, so I’ve gotten good at acknowledging what I'm feeling and why.”

More nodding from Mr. Martin tells me he’s unsure of what to say to that, so I turn to Charley. He seems like the most open of the group, so I ask him first, “When did you die? And how, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He smiles softly before shrugging, “1994. I tried to drown my heartbreak in a plate of cafeteria french fries. They were cooked in peanut oil that day and I left my Epipen at home. Bad day, bad timing.” he chuckles softly to himself before adding “the universe is cruel, making the gay kid allergic to nuts.”

I smile at him and take my turn to squeeze his knee for comfort. “At least you got a last meal. I died on an empty stomach with a muffin waiting in my bag.” I laugh, and so does he.

“I broke my neck on the 5-yard line in front of the whole school. Took a hard tackle and boom, lights out,” Wally says, leaning back in his seat.

That’s when I realized I’d seen him before. His picture is in a glass case in one of the hallways with all the sports trophies. Looking at him, I ask, “Wally as in Wally Clark? The same Wally Clark the football stadium is named after?”

His eyes light up in amusement as he stands and takes a deep bow, “The one and only,” he chuckles, and sits back down.

Mr. Martin is the next to speak, “Janet and I died in 1958 when a science experiment burned down the chemistry lab. Luckily, the rest of the students got out, but that made Janet and I the first ones here,” he says, gesturing to Janet, who quietly hums in agreement.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear that,” I say more to Janet than to Mr. Martin.

“That’s alright,” Janet offers me a soft smile, “I died doing something I loved. I was never going to college anyway, so I didn’t miss out on much.”

Something about the way she mentions college makes me want to hug her. She smiles softly, but there is a sadness behind it.

“I was strangled by my guidance counselor, Mr. Manfredo. He was pissed at me for getting accepted into Berkley.” Rhonda says, looking down at her nails to avoid eye contact.

“Oh god, Rhonda. That's awful. Did they catch him?” I ask her, horrified at what she went through. As an empathetic person, other people’s hurt can get to me more than my own sometimes.

“Well, yeah. He died in prison a while ago, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here.” I can tell Rhonda is still hurt by the actions of a man she trusted, so I choose not to push and change the subject instead.

“So is this everyone?” I ask Mr. Martin, subtly glancing at the two silent members on either side of Janet.

“No, there are a few others. Some of them will join from time to time, others aren’t ready to talk, and group isn’t mandatory.” Mr. Martin clarifies.

“And there are the band kids stuck looping in the yard. They all showed up the winter of ‘05 after a storm iced the roads and their bus crashed.” Wally says, a bit too cheerfully to be talking about a mass casualty bus wreck.

“Looping? What does that mean?” I ask, wondering if anyone will clarify.

“They just march around playing the same old band songs. They don’t talk, and either can’t hear us or choose to ignore our existence, so don't take it personally if you try to chat and they don't respond,” Charley says, like he can tell I don’t know a stranger and would be offended if they ignored me.

“Oh. Well, note taken, don't talk to the band on the lawn.” I nod to him and mime checking something off a fake list in my lap.

Mr. Martin claps his hands together, and I look to him as he addresses the group, “Well, I think that’s enough introductions for the day. Belle, if you have any questions, I’m always available to talk. Group is here at the same time, every day. Feel free to join us whenever you'd like, and in the meantime, I’d like for you to consider writing your eulogy. It can be very helpful to your grieving process.”

I nod and smile. Everyone else begins to stand, and I follow suit.

“Hey, Charley, wait up!” I call as I jog to the double doors at the side of the gym. “I’m not sure what to do now that I’m here forever. Do you, um, care if I hang out with you today?”

Charley smiles, looping his arm through mine, “Sure, Belle! I was just headed to the library. Do you like to read?”

“Charley, I think you and I are going to be great friends. Do you like dirty romance books?” Charley’s eyes meet mine, and we share matching smiles as we leave the gym and walk down the hall to the library, arm in arm like we've been pals for years.

#wally clark #school spirits #ao3 #fanfic #Wally clark x OC

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