I knew she took it. Emma, Sadie, and Tess knew she took it. But tattling wasn’t an option because our teacher Mrs. Arden had a very harsh No-Tattling policy. I wanted to confront her at recess, but I figured that was a bad idea, considering a) she was a whole foot taller than me and b) she was a brown belt in karate.
In the end, I spent the whole rest of that school year watching Chloe have the time of her life pushing my beloved color buttons. Red! No, blue! Oh, isn’t this fun?
Yes, Chloe Slutz, of course it’s fun. That is obviously why I bought it.
And now, all these years later, here I was in a grungy pizza parlor in Half Moon Bay, dead since Monday, and holding the very same World’s Greatest Pen.
SO weird.
I stared down at the piece of paper in front of me. Pushed down the green button and began filling out the answers.
NAME: Aubrie Elizabeth Eagan
DATE OF BIRTH: November 1, 1994
DATE OF DEATH:
I paused, glancing up at Crossword Lady, who had gone back to her puzzle. Her face was scrunched up with concentration. I moved on to the next question.
CAUSE OF DEATH:
I stopped again, biting the inside of my lip. After a few seconds, I scribbled down my answer.
Evil boy who deserves to suffer.
Below that, PARENTS, SIBLINGS, PETS, MISCELLANEOUS:
Aw, Hamloaf. I wish you were here so you could bite this lady for making me fill out these dumb forms.
More writing followed as I listed the rest of my family.
PEANUT BUTTER OR JELLY: Peanut butter (extra-crunchy)
COFFEE OR TEA: Chai
Then, on the very last line:
HOPES, DREAMS, FAVORITE ICE CREAM:
And a memory flooded back.
CHAPTER 7
your love is better than ice cream
Jacob Fischer and I met when I was four and he was five, but somehow managed not to have an actual conversation until I was eleven and he was twelve. When we were little, all I really knew about him was that he was Such a Boy. (Monsters and cowboys and farting, oh my.) He was loud and messy and always climbing on stuff in the playgroup Sadie’s mother put together after school. One of those kids you loathe sitting next to at restaurants or on airplanes.
We got older. Never talked much. Not that I ever thought about him or anything. Boys weren’t on my radar, since they were gross alien creatures who my friends and I basically wanted nothing to do with. Anyway, we were too busy riding bikes and doing way cooler stuff like diving (me), gymnastics (Tess), and ballet (Emma and Sadie).
That is, until one September afternoon, years later, when Jacob’s big sister, Maya, rang the doorbell. I was the one who opened it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Hey, Brie!”
Maya Fischer: long, crazy curly hair. Invisalign. Silver hoop earrings. Orange Crocs.
Ooh. I want those.
“Hey, Maya,” I said, licking a watermelon Blow Pop. I was trying to make it last without getting to the bubble gum too quickly.
“Is your mom home?”
“Yup.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Sure. What for?”
“I’m starting a babysitting company. I stopped by to see if your parents ever need a sitter.”
I leaned a little farther out the door. “I like your Crocs.”
“Thanks.”
“Brie?” called my mom from upstairs. “Honey, who is it?”
“It’s Maya Fischer!” I yelled back. “She wants to know if you need anyone to sit on us!” Then I burst into giggles and ran back inside.
Turns out, as fate would have it, Mom and Dad did need someone to watch Jack and me that Friday. Dad had one of his big medical-dinner things in the city, so Mom set it up for Maya to come over for the night.
“Only thing is,” Maya said, “can I bring my little brother? I told my mom I’d watch him too, if that’s okay.”
“Of course!” Mom exclaimed. “We’ll order from Bo-Bo’s.”
I was obviously way more excited about Bo-Bo’s Burgers and watching Finding Nemo for the eighty-seventh time than Maya Fischer and her brother, Jacob, coming over to my house.
Jacob Fischer: No big deal. Just a kid from school. Just a kid from playgroup when we were babies.
Before I knew anything about anything.
Mom and Dad were running late as per Eagan family usual when the doorbell rang again Friday night. I was lying on my bed on the phone with Tess, listening to her latest reasons for being infatuated with Eric Ryan.
“Did you see him in the pool at Bethany’s birthday party? Don’t you think the way he does the backstroke is kind of adorb?”
(What did I say? Total Ariel.)
Downstairs, I heard Mom say hi to them. Heard the door slam as Maya and Jacob walked inside and got the basic house tour. Heard the garage door squeak open and then shut as Mom and Dad sped off to their dinner.
When I eventually wandered downstairs, I found Maya sprawled out on the couch watching MTV, and my four-year-old brother sitting on the carpet playing with his LEGOs. Maya turned around as I walked into the family room.
“Hey, Brie!” Big smile. “You hungry?” She checked her phone. “Bo-Bo’s should be here in like any second.”
“Hi,” I said. “Thanks, yeah, sounds good.” I walked over to Jack and flopped down on the rug next to him. “Hey, Jackson Hole, whatcha doing?”
Jacob was sitting next to my brother, playing LEGOs too.
Picture me: a little chubby, a little frizz-tastic, Soffe shorts, purple-rimmed glasses about three times too big for my face. Picture him: tall (okay, for a twelve-year-old, people), curly brown Jew-fro, a freckle right square on the tip of his nose, snaggletooth.
Just a boy. Just a boy in a skateboard shirt. Just a boy in a skateboard shirt playing LEGOs. He didn’t look at me or even remotely acknowledge my existence. Even though he was in my house. On my living room carpet. Playing with my little brother. Ugh, typical caveboy.
“I’m doin’ a spaceship,” Jack said proudly. He held up a stack of LEGOs that looked more like a stegosaurus than a spaceship.
I laughed. “Ooh, good idea, Jack. Maybe I’ll make a Wendy’s space station, so the astronauts can each order a Frosty when they get to the moon.”
Jacob snorted and made a face. “Ben and Jerry’s would be better.”
I turned to him, wide-eyed.
Excuse me? You dare to snort at my choice of dessert?
“Uh, I’m sorry,” I said, “but Frostys are the best.”
“No way,” said Jacob. His eyes met mine. “Nothing beats Cherry Garcia.”
And just like that, BOOM, there it was.
The evil, twisted, dreaded hold had found its next victim.
If I’d known right then that this was the kid—this toothy, big-haired Skatr Boi wannabe—this was the kid who would grow up to break my heart beyond repair, maybe I would’ve stayed upstairs on the phone with Tess. Maybe I would’ve gone to bed early. Maybe I would’ve begged my parents to take me with them—even though those doctor dinners are pretty much the boringest things ever.
But I didn’t know. Couldn’t know. So instead, I shrugged like I couldn’t care less and said something really genius like “Um, whatever.” I got to work building my Wendy’s space station.
And proceeded to fall totally, madly, crazy in love.
CHAPTER 8
only the good die young
It had been a week. One week since I ceased to be. One week since I’d slipped through the universe and landed in some strange, other dimension of my hometown, stuck in the same outfit and cursed to eat pizza for all eternity.
Not such a bad curse, actually. At Slice you could eat pizza all day every day and never gain a pound. Sadie would be so jealous.
“Are you gonna eat that?”
Whoa, he speaks.
I watched in surprise as Bomber Jacket Dude made his way over to my booth and took a seat. He yaw
ned and scratched his head. Then he reached over and grabbed a slice of my half-eaten veggie pizza. “Can’t let a good thing go to waste.”
“Be my guest,” I said, channeling my inner Disney Princess Belle.
“Ugh, veggie?” He examined a big piece of eggplant. “How boring can you get?”
“Tell it to my parents.” I shrugged. “They raised me vegetarian.”
“For real?” He gave me a pitying look. “Wow. My deepest condolences.”
“Um, thanks,” I said.
“So,” he said between disappointed crunches, “allow me to be the first to welcome you to the good old Great Beyond, little lady.”
Great Beyond?
He stuck out his hand. “I’m Patrick. Resident Lost Soul.”
I shook it.
“And you are?”
“Brie.”
He stared at me like I had a giant pepperoni stuck on my face. “Your name is Brie? Like . . . the cheese?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah. Like I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Thanks,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I do pride myself on originality.”
We sat for a moment in silence and I found myself staring at some of the other kids around the room. Then something occurred to me. Quarterback Dude. Lady Gothga. Bojangles. Nintendo Kid. Patrick.
Even me.
Every single person in the place, with the exception of Crossword Lady, was young.
“You look confused,” he said.
How observant.
I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Who are all these people?”
He shrugged. “You know. Just your average deadbeats.”
“But, like, where are all the old people? Where are all the adults?”
“Um . . .” He scratched his head. “Probably hanging out at a more expensive restaurant?” There was that smirk again.
I gave him a look. “Are you always this charming?”
“Are you always this beautiful?”
“Very funny. But seriously, what’s everybody doing here? What are you doing here?”
He shrugged again. “I’m not, like, the official expert or anything. Some of them”—he pointed to Nintendo Kid—“are seriously out of touch with reality. Then others”—he nodded to Bojangles—“have been hanging around for ages. I just happen to really like pizza. Everybody tends to move at their own pace, do their own thing,” he said. “But believe me.” His eyes darted toward the big windows overlooking the ocean. “There’s plenty of fun to be had out there.” He winked at me and grinned. “On that note, want to have some?”
Oh, SMOOTH.
I raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of fun might you be referring to?”
He put his hands up in defense. “Hey now, lil’ lady, let’s try and keep it PG, okay? I mean for one thing, there are children present. And for another, we’ve only just met. So let’s just keep doing what we’re doing, keep dating other people, and let things develop organically, all right?” He shook his head and whistled. “Gee whiz. It’s like no matter what I do, the ladies can’t resist me.”
I felt myself blush ten thousand shades of red. I couldn’t believe this kid. Was he serious? He couldn’t be.
Could he?
I cleared my throat awkwardly, and tried to think of something to say. “So, um, how long did you say you’ve been hanging around again?” My voice came out super-high-pitched, sort of a cross between a donkey and a ferret.
He laughed. “I didn’t.” Then he grabbed another slice off my tray and wolfed it down in three giant bites.
“Impressive,” I noted. “You should compete professionally.”
“Boy’s gotta eat.”
I pushed the rest of the pie in his direction. “Help yourself. I’ve definitely had enough to last me forever.”
He paused for a moment, eyeing me. “Forever’s a pretty long time. Maybe longer than you think.”
I wasn’t really sure what he meant, so I kept quiet.
“Speaking of life and death . . .” His voice turned thoughtful. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. What’d you die of?”
I felt my chest tighten. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be shy. I won’t bite.” He chomped down extra-hard, grinning. “Well, maybe a little.”
Ugh. Boys are SO gross.
“Look.” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Let’s change the subject, okay?” I glanced over at Crossword Lady, hunched over the same puzzle she’d been working on for days.
“Eight letters,” she muttered to herself. “A stupid person who might also double as a pizza topping. Eggplant? Mushroom?” She began to erase furiously.
“Meatball!” Patrick spun around. “Try meatball!”
Crossword Lady stopped erasing and, after a second of counting letters, blew him a kiss from across the room. “Thank you, darling!”
“Darling?” I whispered skeptically. “Sounds like somebody’s got a crush.”
“What did I tell you?” He struck a pose. “The ladies looooove the jacket.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure they do.”
My mind wandered and for a second I couldn’t help thinking of Mom and Dad. How we all used to do the New York Times crossword puzzle together as a family every Sunday morning over banana waffles. How they always let Jack and me help them with some of the answers. Okay, the easy ones, but still.
Suddenly, I looked up at Patrick. “Do you have a phone I could borrow?”
“Why? Need to call your other boyfriend?”
“Hardy har har,” I said, crossing my arms. “For your information, I want to call a cab.”
Patrick leaned in closer across the table. “Oh? And where do you think you’re going?”
“Home,” I said matter-of-factly. “I’m going home.”
“Wait a second.” He put down his pizza. “You’re for real, aren’t you?”
“She”—I pointed to Crossword Lady—“said it would only take a few days for my paperwork to process, or whatever. But it’s been almost a whole week.” I grabbed my cup and slurped the last bit of Sprite from the straw. “So what’s the deal?” I asked. “Why’s everything take so crazy long around here?”
He leaned back, a look of amusement on his face. “What’s the big rush?”
“We’re wasting time.”
He laughed. “Angel, sorry to break it to you, but you’ve got nothing but time. So you may as well try to relax and enjoy yourself.” He put his arms behind his head and inhaled deeply. “See? What you need is to learn to stop and smell the pizza.”
Oh no you didn’t.
News flash, Bozo. Don’t ever tell a girl to relax. It only makes us madder.
I stared at his jacket, disliking it more and more by the second. “Do you ever take that thing off?”
“Why would I? I look good!”
“You look stupid.”
“Whu-oh, look out. She’s testy today, folks.”
I scowled. “I am not testy.”
“Or wait a second.” He grinned. “I get it. You’re trying to get my clothes off, aren’t you? You totally want to see my sexy bare man chest!” He reached for his jacket zipper.
“Ew!” I threw a piece of crust at him. “Spare me the hairy details.”
“You sure?” He paused. “You really don’t know what you’re missing.”
I shook my head.
“Okay. . . .” But before Patrick zipped all the way back up, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a tiny book. Then he tossed it in my direction, where it landed in front of me with a thud. “You’ve got questions?” he asked. “This has answers.”
I picked it up and took a closer look. Ran my fingers over the black moleskin binding and gold foil letters.
The D&G Handbook
“D and G?” I said. “What, like Dolce and Gabbana?”
He snorted. “Try Dead and Gone, the gu
idebook. Pretty much the only literature you’ll be needing from here on out.”
I opened the cover slowly and flipped pages until I landed at the table of contents.
Chapter 1: You’re Here. Now What?
I’d like to go home now, that’s what.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Patrick said. “But trust me, there’s a lot of handy info in there. Some great ideas on how to stay busy.” He flicked a stray olive and watched it sail onto the floor. “Time’s a tricky business, Cheeto. You’ll have to learn to distract yourself.”
I hesitated.
Cheeto?
Dad and Jack were the only ones allowed to use cheese-themed nicknames. And maybe once in a while, my best friends. But that was definitely it.
“The problem with time is,” he continued before I could tell him off, “sometimes there’s just too much of it.” He pointed to the book. “The D and G really helped me adjust.”
“Adjust?” An uncomfortable feeling began to take shape in the pit of my stomach. “Adjust to what?”
“Just do yourself a favor and study up.” He smiled. “Because believe me, there will be a test.”
Something about his eyes made it hard to tell if he was joking. I mean, he had to be joking.
Didn’t he?
“Absolutely,” I said, hoping he could hear the sarcasm in my voice. “Can’t wait to dig in.” I started to tuck the book inside my right dress pocket, but at the last second, let it drop under the table by my feet. I coughed to cover the sound of it hitting the linoleum.
Whoops. Did I do that?
I wasn’t about to tell Mr. Meatball here that I had absolutely zero intention of reading his stupid book, just like I had zero intention of sticking around here a single minute longer than I had to.
“Wow.” Patrick suddenly looked impressed. “You might be the worst case I’ve seen since New Kids on the Block broke up. Maybe longer.”
“Worst case of what?” I flicked a crumb in his direction. Direct hit.
“It’s sort of cute, actually.”
I felt myself beginning to get Actually Annoyed. “I am not cute.”
“Now that I think about it,” he said with a laugh, “you kind of remind me of someone. Must be your eyes.”
I made a face. “Oh yeah? Who?”
The Catastrophic History of You And Me Page 4
