Dead Girl in Love

by Linda Joy Singleton

  If kids at school saw Alyce’s room, they’d be positive she was on drugs or mental. They already avoided her because of how she dressed and her “don’t give a damn” attitude. But I knew the real Alyce. I’d watched her art develop from sidewalk drawings to experimental photography, and understood that her emotions ran so deep that ordinary art couldn’t satisfy her. I ached with frustration when others only saw her outer layer and put her down for being different.

  But I’m here for you always, I thought to Alyce, hoping she might hear or remember later.

  Back to searching for info. I opened drawers, checked shelves and boxes in the closet, crawled under the bed. I found some wrappers from butterscotch candy (her fave) and a crumpled science test (grade: C-).

  But no purple notebook.

  I understood why Alyce had to hide her important things, although it outraged me that her mother searched her room when she was at school. So Alyce would leave boring stuff out and hide the important stuff. To fool her mother, she’d framed a large photo of her father and hung it on the wall by a large picture window. The word “hate” was not vile enough for Mrs. Perfetti’s feelings for her ex-husband, so she would never touch his picture—which made it the perfect cover for hiding a hole in the wall.

  As I reached for the framed photo, I caught a flash of movement through the window. Was someone out there?

  Startled, I stared at the gap in the burgundy red curtains but saw nothing. Rubbing my forehead, I wondered if the migraine medication was messing with my mind. Then something moved outside again. Pressing my face against the cool glass, I peered out and saw only the gnarled oak branches and darkness mingled with my own (well, Alyce’s) reflection.

  Nothing was lurking out there; must be the wind or my confused imagination, I told myself. Smiling a little at how easily I’d been scared, I started to turn away … then stopped.

  Yes! Down in the front yard! Something or someone …

  My hands shook as I reached for a wall switch and snapped off the light. With the room dark, I could look outside but no one could see me. Not that I really thought anyone was lurking out there. That would just be paranoid. I’d probably seen a large dog run through the yard.

  The damp window pane felt cold against my cheek as I peered down into the dark front yard. There was still no porch light on, and the nearest street light was a house away, giving only enough light to shine a faint golden ray across the yard and driveway. It was hard to see anything except shadowy bushes and trees.

  Then a shadow moved.

  The silhouette of a man crouched down below my window. As he lifted his head, his face was illuminated. I drew back in shock.

  I knew that face—although it wasn’t his own.

  His real name was Gabe Deverau.

  A Dark Lifer.

  GEM Rule: Retreat and Report.

  But as soon as I saw Gabe, he vanished in a blink of my imagination—leaving nothing outside except inky darkness. And I wondered if I was hallucinating. Grammy said being in a different body confused things; maybe I was having some kind of post-traumatic reaction after my experience with Gabe. When I’d first discovered he was a Dark Lifer, I was terrified. But I softened toward him after he confided how he’d been betrayed by his fiancée, his heart broken so deeply it carried through many long decades after his death, his bitterness binding him to Earth. He’d done bad stuff and I should despise him … yet I couldn’t. He was tortured, charming, poetic, tragic, and intriguing.

  My eyes blurred as I stared, waiting to see him again but seeing nothing.

  Finally I turned from the window, conflicted by my duty to report Gabe and an irrational desire to protect him. As if a Dark Lifer needed my protection! His survival skills had already protected him for over a century.

  Unsure what to do, I reached into Monkey Bag for my GEM.

  The book flipped to an empty page. Black ink bubbled, swirling into letters and words that invited me to ask a question.

  “Will you give me a straight answer this time?”

  Answers depend on perception.

  “How about a simple yes or no?”

  Truth is never simple.

  I sighed, then waited till the black ink faded and the page was clear again.

  “Was someone outside?” I asked the tiny book.

  Yes.

  I was almost more shocked to get a straight answer from GEM than by the actual answer. Still, I swallowed hard before asking the next question.

  “Was it … was it Gabe?”

  Refer to Rule #5.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

  Report all suspicions.

  “But I’m not sure what I saw.”

  More black ink scrawled across the page, repeating the Nine Divine Rules:

  #1. Follow through on your Host Body’s obligations and plans.

  #2. Under no circumstances should you ever reveal your true identity.

  #3. Consult this manual with pertinent questions.

  #4. Resist temptation; guide your Host to positive choices.

  #5. If you become aware of Dark Lifers, retreat and report.

  #6. Do not commit acts against your Host’s moral code.

  #7. Respect your Host Body; no tattoos, hair dye, or piercings.

  #8. Your time in a Host Body cannot exceed a full moon cycle.

  #9. Guard your Host Body well. If your Body dies, so will you.

  The fifth rule was in bold, as if the GEM insisted I make an official report. But I’d feel silly if the DDT (Dark Disposal Team) popped in for a false alarm. The flash of a face wasn’t any more substantial than smoke, and without proof, I refused to call an alarm.

  As I reached this decision, the words on the GEM vanished and offered a new blank page. I ignored the topic of Dark Lifers and asked about Alyce’s purple notebook.

  Dark squiggly lines curved and shaded until there was a picture of a school locker, a big dent on the bottom corner and the number 281.

  “That’s Alyce’s school locker,” I said.

  Yes.

  “She left the notebook there?”

  Yes.

  “Thanks,” I said not sure whether to be pleased or discouraged.

  Getting into Alyce’s locker would be easy because I knew the combination, but it would not be so easy to get into the school over spring break. Security had been tightened a few years ago after repeated vandalism. Given the locked gates, high fences, surveillance cameras, and security guards, it was impossible to enter Halsey High.

  Frustrated, I stared at the GEM even after the words vanished. So I couldn’t get the purple notebook—but I might not even need it. What if I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion? Maybe Alyce’s crisis had nothing to do with her trip to Green Briar. Temp Lifers only replaced people having emotional crises. The key to helping Alyce was figuring out why she’d needed a time-out from life.

  So I asked the GEM, “What is Alyce’s crisis?”

  An answer spiraled across the page in red flowery ink:

  I stared until the word faded to pink, then vanished. But it lingered in my head, pushing away thoughts of a stolen file and graveyards. I thought back to my last conversation with Alyce. She was having a meltdown, depressed and frantic as she begged me to come see her. “I need to talk,” was all she’d say for explanation. I told her I was hundreds of miles away and asked her what was wrong, but she said she’d only explain in person. Her tone had challenged me to prove my friendship, to drop everything and come right away. And I’d failed her.

  At first I wasn’t too worried because it was normal for her to periodically shut everyone out, saying she was taking a “mentalscape” (her combination of the words “mental” and “escape.”) Although sometimes I sensed a sadness in her that was beyond my reach … like last Father’s Day, when I invited her to come along with my family to a movie and she made a snarky comment about sappy movies making her barf. Or when the freshman boy I’d welcomed with a Halsey Hospitality basket asked me
to the Valentine’s Dance, and no one asked her. The guy was too young for me even if I’d been interested, so I’d skipped the dance and invited Alyce to sleep over at my house. We’d had a great time, but I’d noticed whenever the topic of the dance came up, Alyce changed the subject.

  During our last phone conversation, she’d been unusually stressed and sounded like she was crying—something she never did—as if her heart were breaking. If she had a boyfriend, this would make sense, but there wasn’t any guy, unless she had a secret crush that I didn’t—

  A burst of music interrupted my thoughts.

  Alyce’s phone.

  Glancing at the caller ID, I almost burst into song myself.

  “Eli!” I cried as I cradled the phone to my ear.

  “Amber? Is it really you?”

  “Yes. But I know I sound like Alyce.”

  “You already told me … well, your grandmother did.” He sounded tired as he explained that he’d called “Amber” first and thought I’d answered, but the more he talked to me, the more he realized something was wrong. When he’d accused Grammy of being a Temp Lifer imposter, she’d been surprised enough to admit the truth.

  “Ooh, Grammy is a rule breaker,” I said, smiling as I leaned back against black-laced pillows on Alyce’s bed. “I broke rules when I told you about my last TL assignment and didn’t want to do it again. Grammy did it for me this time, bless her.”

  Eli laughed—a sound so nice and wonderful.

  “So what’s it like being Alyce?” he asked.

  “Weird.”

  “Weird freaky or weird interesting?”

  “Both. She’s taller than me and her hair is so long that I sit on it if I don’t remember to push it back. And living with Mrs. Perfetti is even weirder.” I told him about having to cook dinner, which made him laugh again.

  “At least no one died of food poisoning,” he joked.

  “Your confidence in me is underwhelming.”

  “I’m just being honest—a trait I appreciate more than ever now that I’m living in the land of the fake and the famous.”

  “Already tired of being a big Hollywood star?”

  “I’m not a star.” His chuckle sounded tired. “This isn’t American Idol. It’s only shown on a cable channel that most people have never watched.”

  “But you’re doing really well and might win. How cool is that?”

  “It’s okay.” He said this casually, but underneath I could tell he was proud. “But if you need me, I’ll ditch it all and come home right now.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, warmed by his offer. “You stay there and have fun singing. If you win, I can be your entertainment agent.”

  “You’d be great at it, but I’m not superstar material. This isn’t the career I imagined,” he admitted. “I’m more the guy who works in accounting or engineering, not the one standing on a stage with girls screaming my name like I was a rock star. Can you believe this little girl no older than ten pulled off my shoe?”

  I laughed. “I hope your sock was clean.”

  “You could try being a little sympathetic.”

  “I could, but it wouldn’t be as fun.”

  “This isn’t all fun, you know. My schedule is insane with almost no time for sleeping. It’s hard, too, being here without any friends or family.”

  “Isn’t your sister still there?”

  “Sharayah offered to stay but I knew she’d have more fun spending the rest of spring break with her friends, so I told her to go.”

  Just the other day I’d been Sharayah. My brain buzzed with questions about what had happened to her after I left her body—but those could wait.

  “My competitors are great and we get along fine,” Eli added. “Still, it’s not the same as when you were here. I miss you, Amber.”

  “I feel the same way. It’s hard being in the wrong body without the people I care about.”

  “I know what you mean. The loneliest place is when I’m in a crowd of strangers and I’d rather just be with you.”

  I warmed deliciously from head to polished black toe nails. “I’d rather be with you, too. I don’t know why I volunteered to be a Temp Lifer.”

  “Because you care about people. You really helped my sister and you’ll help Alyce, too.”

  “I want to, but I don’t know what’s going on with Alyce. She’s been doing some odd stuff.”

  “Considering she drapes herself in black and photographs gravestones, being odd is her normal. And I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he added quickly, as if worried I’d misunderstand. “I respect anyone who does their own thing and doesn’t care what anyone thinks.”

  “But maybe she does care,” I pointed out. “I keep thinking how upset she was the last time we talked. I hate myself for brushing her off.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You had things going on, too, but now you’re helping out. Alyce couldn’t have a better friend. I should go.” Eli yawned. “They have me in a room with three other guys and they’ll be back soon. We have a photo shoot on the beach at six a.m. I have to pose like I’m surfing even though I’ve never surfed. It’s going to be another crazy day.”

  “The perils of fame,” I said teasingly. “When will you be home?”

  “If I get eliminated in the next round, I’ll be at school on Monday.”

  I pressed my lips tight so I wouldn’t confess how I secretly hoped he’d be eliminated. I shouldn’t be so selfish. “I hope you win,” I told him.

  “I’m not sure what I want. Winning would be cool, but it would mean missing school and going on a road tour.”

  “You’ll get more of an education living life than studying about it.” But I may die from missing you too much, I thought.

  “I’d rather be with you.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  “And it’s more than … well, Amber, I—”

  “You what?” I asked breathlessly.

  “That I … Amber, I think maybe … well … I love you.”

  He spoke with such sincerity that tears blurred my eyes. I said those words back, and suddenly we were both talking excitedly, sharing thoughts and feelings and dreams. After a while, with the reluctance of a million aching hearts, I let him go.

  Back to his Hollywood world of fame and fans.

  To ward off self-pity, I kept replaying his “I love you” in my head. We’d only been together a few weeks and had never even kissed (at least not when I was in my real body), but I wanted to be with him so much. I could imagine his face and feel his touch. No denying it any longer—what I felt for Eli was like a giant blanket holding me warm and tight.

  Love, love, love! His words had wings that flew me to a place happier than anywhere I’d ever been. I wanted to soak in his memory, lather myself in the hopes for our future, and sink into dreams for all the amazing things we’d do together. Once I returned to my real body, going out in public would be great, but staying in would be even better. We’d be a real couple, holding hands at school and sharing lunch and whispering sappy things just because we could. We’d talk, touch, and share until we were practically the same person.

  This wonderful, fabulous, beyond-heaven emotion was too amazing to keep to myself. Love was the whole meaning of everything—the reason to breathe, a universal fabric uniting humanity, a solution to all the problems in the world. I only wished everyone I knew could feel this way, too.

  Of course! I thought with a snap of my fingers. That was it!

  The GEM said Alyce’s crisis was “love.” Maybe she was worried that I’d be too busy with Eli and she’d be left out. That wouldn’t happen, of course, but Alyce had kept her feelings to herself without giving me a chance to reassure her. She didn’t have many friends—maybe some casual “hey, how you doing?” friends in her classes, but only two real friends: Dustin and me.

  What Alyce needed was a special someone all her own.

  A boyfriend.

  I could hardly sleep that night thinking up ways to
introduce Alyce to L-O-V-E.

  No hooking her up with a random guy. He’d have to be someone really amazing, who accepted her unique style and wasn’t easily intimidated by difficult mothers. He also needed to get along with Eli and me, too, so we could go on double dates.

  Finding The Perfect Guy for Alyce would not be easy.

  But I was up for the challenge, tossing and turning with whirling thoughts. I thought about the advice of a self-help book I had called Perfecting the Art of Perfection. The book advised accepting your imperfections; you’re only limited by your own expectations, so aim for the best. Still, none of my books offered practical methods for matchmaking, and I wondered if I should stop by a bookstore to search for one. Finally, at 5:20 a.m., I gave in to restlessness and got up.

  Remembering how annoyed I’d been when Grammy wore the wrong kind of clothes for my body, I was true to Alyce’s creative spirit and slipped on a black ankle-length jacket over a dark-brown shirt, mid-length skirt, and knee-high, lace-up boots. As I turned toward the window to pick up Monkey Bag, my gaze drifted down to the front yard—to the driveway.

  Something was wrong … and then it hit me.

  Stupid, stupid! Why hadn’t I noticed last night that there was only one car in the Perfetti driveway? And it wasn’t Alyce’s piece-of-crap dented station wagon.

  Alyce bought her junker car after winning a local photography contest. She thrived on complaining that the car drank gas and made noises that sounded like farts, the tires were almost tread bare, and the crack in the side window looked like a smiling skeleton. Alyce really loved her car.

  So where was it?

  Unfortunately, I could guess the answer. Damn and double damn.