I'd Rather Not Be Dead

by Andrea Brokaw

  The guy who was manning the keg last night laughs it off, saying Finn's probably just hungover and then telling a very exaggerated version of how much everyone's favorite quarterback had to drink last night. No one points out in my hearing that the behavior last night was out of character itself, even though Finn certainly doesn't have a reputation as a drunk. Before now, he's always been disgustingly scandal-free.

  By the time I meet up with him again in physics, it's obvious Finn needs to get away. “Where'd you go yesterday?” I ask, nudging his pen as a hint that he should respond in writing.

  “Exercise room,” he answers, ignoring the pen. He frowns in the direction of the door, where the other me is flirting with Cris as he drops her off. They had some sort of argument last night, but they've been making up for it all morning.

  I put my hand on Finn's arm and squeeze. “Maybe we should go there now.”

  Fully expecting him to argue with me, my mind prepares what I should say next. But he grabs his bag and heads to the door without a word. The teacher notices, but doesn't say anything about it. Finn shoves his way past Cris, shouldering the more slender boy out of the way with a loud thump that makes Cris yell in protest and rub his shoulder.

  “Just be happy for him,” the other me advises with a burgeoning smile. “He's finally acting like a person.”

  Well, he's not acting like the too-perfect god we're used to knowing, that's for sure.

  He blasts into the locker room and I wait outside of it, biting my lip in worry. This isn't about football being over, although there could be an element of related identity crisis in it. This is about me, about the pressure of being expected to do the impossible, save the girl who can't be saved. And about being locked into the prison of being haunted by me for the rest of his life.

  The door opens again. Finn hasn't changed, just taken off his jacket. Hair tussled, eyes wild, the guy in the doorway, wearing ratty cargo pants with paint stains on them and a rumpled Atari t-shirt, has almost nothing in common with the easygoing jock I spent the last two years bickering with. He was right, I never did give that guy a chance. But this one...

  He crosses the hall to me in three long strides, his eyes locked onto mine.

  His hand grabs the back of my skull, pulls me toward him.

  And he kisses me.

  It's a study in contrasts, tender and aggressive, iron hard and soft as velvet, quick and eternal.

  My head spins as he pulls his mouth away, his forehead resting against mine, his hand still in place. He whispers to me, his breath warm on my lips. “The first time I met you, I thought you were the most interesting, most intelligent, most beautiful girl I had ever seen.” He moves his head back, his hand sliding along my cheek and his thumb brushing along my cheekbone. “And I've thought that every time I've seen you since.”

  My heart breaks with the words. They're so sweet, so sincere. And they're spoken by someone who I've always treated like dirt.

  “Finn...” I whisper.

  He moves his hand to my lips. “I know.” He takes a step away. “I just wanted you to know.”

  He keeps walking backward until he hits the other wall and then he leans against it, dragging his hands through the mess of his hair. “I don't know how to stop it, Drew.”

  At first I think he means his feelings about me and my guts clinch at the thought. But when he goes on, I realize he means my death. “Knowing the how and the where isn't enough. I need the when.”

  “What happened to not wanting to break the universe?” I ask, trying to make my voice light. There are so many emotions whirling through me right now I can hardly hear my thoughts.

  Eyes closed, he smiles as a little as he shakes his head. “I still don't think it can be done. But I'm going to go insane if I don't try.”

  “Like you aren't insane already,” I chide in a gentle whisper.

  Without noticing, I seem to have walked right up to him.

  His smile widens at my comment, then freezes when my hand lands on his chest, right over his heart. His pulse speeds up as I move the rest of me closer until my hand is touching both our bodies. Pushing against him, I bring my lips up to his.

  “I don't think I ever really hated you either,” I admit, for my benefit as well as his. Oh, yeah, I thought I hated him. But if you were to search my journal, you'd find I talked more about him than anyone else I know. I bet his name is at least twice as common as Cris's. Hate him? I was obsessed with him.

  Wrapping his hand in my hair, he gives me a very thorough kiss, then pulls back with a little laugh. “People thought I'd lost it before. Wait until they see me making out with air.”

  I smile. “It'd probably seem less crazy than kissing me.”

  His fingers trail down my cheek. “Never thought I hid my desire to do that very well.”

  “Well enough.” I'm not the only one who never saw it. People only see things that seem within the realm of possibility.

  With a gentle sigh, he wraps his arms around me, holds me against him. I close my eyes and rest my head on his shoulder, snuggling into his neck. Despite my afterlife being entirely scent-free, I know exactly how he should smell. When was I ever close enough to learn that? I must have paid him a lot more attention when I was alive than I thought I did.

  “Do you really think Fray can help?” Finn asks me.

  “I have no idea.” I don't even know if I want to be saved anymore. In a lot of ways, or at least in one very significant way, I think I might be better off dead.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finn and I walk down the steps of the school, a strange vibe in the air between us. We keep a distance from each other, almost as if what happened in the hallway just now hadn't happened. The space has been there since Finn ducked back into the exercise room to get his jacket. Maybe it's because I didn't follow him. Or maybe he's just come to his senses.

  From the corner of my eye, I see him looking at me when we turn to walk toward the hunting club. Hands stuffed into jacket pockets, shoulders held tense, he reminds me of a teenage antihero from a vintage film. Put him in black and white, slick his hair back, and he could compete with the best of the fifties greasers. James Dean wished he could look like Finn does right now.

  Neither of us speak on our way to look for Fray, though at least one of us wants to.

  The big-haired bartender beams at Finn when we walk into the club. A few people are scattered around, but none of them do anything other than nod greetings in his direction. Either it doesn't occur to any of them he's cutting school to be here or they simply don't care. Probably the latter. Cooper Finnegan could get away with murder in this town. The million dollar question, of course, is could anyone else?

  I slide into Fray's usual booth next to Finn. When he sat down he slid all the way over, but didn't do anything to indicate if he wanted me beside him or not. Maybe it was because Big-Hair was watching. Or maybe he's scared of me. Of what I'm going to do, anyway. Any second I could start yelling at him, demanding to know why he thought he had any business kissing me and calling him any number of names for the arrogance. Or, worse, I could not do that. I could pretend to be alright with it, string him along until he's saved my life, and then break his heart. Does he really think I'd do that? I study his profile as he smiles at Big-Hair and asks her for a soft drink. How stupid would he have to be to think I'm not going to turn on him? Is it physically possible for anyone to be that trusting?

  “You sure, honey?” the bartender asks. She bends over a little, showing the top of a lacy bra. “If you want something stronger... I won't tell if you won't.”

  Her eyes makes sure he knows the offer isn't limited to beverages.

  “No, thanks,” Finn answers easily, ignoring the blatant innuendo in her expression. “Coke's fine. And some wings?”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” With a lingering smile and a retreat that's just a bit too slow, she goes back to the bar to put the order into the computer there.

  “She better watch out,” I mutte
r. “Or she's just going to think she had ghost problems before.”

  Finn turns his head to look at me. And, slowly, he starts to grin. “Really?”

  “Really,” I confirm with a solid nod.

  Slumping down until he's no longer visible from anywhere but right next to our table, he puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me tight against his side. My arms wrap around his waist and my head leans on his shoulder. There's a perfection in the contact I never would have thought I'd have with anyone, let alone with Cooper Finnegan. I was such an idiot when I was alive.

  I mimic Big-Hair's voice. “You sure you don't want anything else, sweetie?” I snort and grumble, “Sweetie.”

  Finn's breath is warm against my hair as he laughs. “Are you really that jealous she hit on me instead of you?”

  “Of course,” I respond. “And don't say it's because I'm dead because she never did it while I was alive either. And, worse, she never offered me booze.”

  “Sorry. Guess she has no taste.”

  I grunt in concordance. “But we knew that from her hair.”

  Finn rests his cheek on the top of my head. “Thought we knew that from her coming on to me.”

  “That too.” I turn my face upward so he can see my smile. “She'd have to be tasteless, not to mention insane, to want you, wouldn't she?”

  Bending gracefully, he melts me with a slow, languid kiss. His eyes are brilliant flares of green as he pulls away. “Everyone always said you were crazy,” he whispers. “Guess I should have believed them.”

  The bartender's footsteps get close and Finn shifts to look more natural to someone who has no idea I'm here. With a huge smile, Big-Hair puts down a tray, bending too far over to move the stuff on it to the table in front of Finn.

  “That slut undid an extra button,” I gasp. Seriously. She did! “That stupid bargain store bra is about to pop out her shirt!”

  Making choking sounds, Finn tries to cover up a laugh.

  “You okay?” Big-Hair asks, her eyes wide with concern.

  “Fine,” he gets out, grabbing the drink and taking a huge gulp of it.

  “Alright. Let me know if you need anything, sugar.”

  She saunters off while I glare after her. It's sugar now, is it? She's living dangerously.

  He waits until she's out of earshot before slumping downward and giving me an astonished look. “She went to school with my mom!”

  “Ew!” I squeak.

  We stare at each other for a few seconds before we start laughing.

  “Good God,” Finn mutters, leaning back with his drink and taking a wing in hand. “I can never come back here again.”

  “Nope,” I agree, watching with envy as he tears the meat off of its bone. Wings aren't on my list of favorite foods but I'd give a lot to be able to have one now I can't.

  Finn tosses the bone back into the chicken basket and takes a cluster of fries from the other without acknowledging that he never asked her for fries. Dipping them in the ranch dressing, he looks around the booth. “Any signs of your friend?”

  “No.” My head shakes while Finn swallows the fries without seeming to bother with chewing them first. “And you'd see him just as clearly as I would. It's not like I have some special Fray-sense or anything.”

  He flashes me a smile. “Good.”

  My foot kicks against his shin, but I fail at being upset with him. “I don't think we need to be making our lives, or lack thereof, more difficult just because you have insecurity issues.”

  His eyes narrow on my while he sips his drink. Lowering the glass, he states, “Call me insecure all you want, but I'm pretty sure he has a better chance with you than our waitress stands with me.”

  “Hey!” My eyes fling open. “Maybe she figures out you like me better and she shoves me off the cliff in a heated rage!”

  Finn eats another chicken wing without comment.

  I sigh. “Of course, by that logic, it could be any of the female population of this hicksburg.”

  He continues to ignore me in favor of lunch.

  “I was supposed to say Fray doesn't have a shot either, wasn't I?” I catch on.

  “Would've been nice.”

  “Since when was I ever nice to you?”

  “True.” He offers a quick grin before shoving some more fries into his mouth.

  With a start, I realize he's eaten most of his food already. How in the world is that possible? He finishes quickly, waits until someone else has the bartender's attention, and tosses some money on the bar without waiting for change.

  “Where to now?” I ask him, darting out the door at his side.

  “Don't know,” he admits. But he doesn't slow down on his rush away from the club.

  Did Big-Hair spook him that much? That would kind of imply he's never noticed women acting that way everywhere he goes. Or maybe he's always this spooked. Maybe that's why he spends enough time at home for his mom not to realize he could be anywhere he wants to be. My hand grasps for his. Our fingers entwine. Mine squeeze tightly as I make a silent promise to protect him from the Big-Hairs of the world. As much as a ghost can.

  We're on the edge of town before I figure out where he's taking us. He stops almost as soon as the realization hits me. Frowning, he looks ahead, then down at me in question. He didn't mean to come here, isn't sure he wants to go out where we're heading. I'm not sure I do either but maybe there will be clues there. I haven't been there since I woke up that morning... How long ago was that? How long have I been dead? The days blend together, making it feel both like it just happened and like it was an eternity ago.

  With a deep breath, I nod and we start to walk again. It takes a while to get out to the overlook I died at because the tourists are out in droves, forcing Finn to trudge through the overgrowth next to the Parkway.

  “This way,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling as I lead Finn to the edge of the parking lot and the opening of the short path I woke up down.

  Finn tightens his fingers around my hand and nearly manages to look brave.

  Together, we make our way down a narrow tree-lined trail littered with fallen leaves. The path runs by a deep spring gurgling up at the end of the walk into a pool lined with flat brown stones and mud. One side of the pool passes into the mountain while the other flows into a small waterfall in the middle of an artificial wall.

  The site's not at the bottom of a cliff, but the drop on the other side of the rock wall is more than enough feet to kill someone. When I woke up, I was sleeping against it a little way from the water. “Guess this is where I'm pushed from, huh?”

  Finn pulls me against him as I shiver. “That would be my guess.”

  We look around but don't see any signs of what's going to happen here, not even when Finn gets down and pushes at the wall, trying and failing to loosen any of the rocks. The wall isn't going anywhere, so if I do fall from here I'm going to have to go over it.

  Finn gets up and hurls a baseball-sized stone out into space. With the energy he puts into the throw I almost expect it to keep going until it hits a neighboring mountain, but it plummets downward well before getting a fraction that far. Plummets... Just like I will.

  Finn's clenched jaw and tense shoulders damn the universe louder than any curse could.

  Wrapping my arms around his waist, I lean into his back. “It'll be okay.”

  “Obviously not if you're the optimistic one.”

  I laugh and tighten my hold.

  We turn and leave when a van pulls into the parking lot and a gaggle of tourists pour out of it. Falling into step by Finn, I slide my hand into his pocket and our fingers entwine. “I don't know why Rain's friend is giving her clues,” he says. “What does he expect us to do?”

  “He or she could just be bored,” I theorize. “Maybe she thinks it's funny to watch us run around trying to stop something that has to happen.”

  “Is the afterlife really that boring?” he asks.

  I give him a smile. “Not for me.”
/>
  He grunts softly.

  We walk for several minutes before he tells me, “I'm supposed to go to work today.”

  “Okay.” I jump up on a log that's in my way and jot down in my still compiling list of Shadow rules that logs seem to count as trees. They're here, even though I've walked through some fairly hefty fallen branches on this trip. “Maybe we can talk to your granddad.”

  “Challenge is usually getting him to shut up,” Finn says fondly. “Though getting him to say something useful's a different story.”

  His phone rings three times on the walk back to town, after which he turns the thing off without having taken any of the calls. He can't make himself invisible though and almost as soon as we hit civilization he's spotted by a group of his teammates and a couple of their girlfriends.

  “Yo, Finn,” one of them oh-so-eloquently greets. “What happened to you, man?”

  He gives them a bored shrug. “Took a personal day.”

  “With who?” one of the girls asks, giving him a catty grin.

  “Whom,” the other girl corrects.

  “What are you talking about?” the guy who originally called out wants to know.

  The girls roll their eyes. “He was all pissed off at the world last time we saw him, and now look at him. He's skipping along like the world's all lightness and butterflies and kittens. It's got to be a girl.”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” Finn lies. He looks at the guy again. “Your girlfriend's crazy, dude.”

  “You're telling me,” he agrees, earning himself a playful swat from the girl in question.

  “I'd have to be to date a loser like you.”

  “You coming tonight?” another of the guys asks.

  Finn's look of confusion causes the girls trade a knowing look, one of them mouthing, “It's a girl...” and the other one mouthing back, “Yeah, but who?”

  They'll never guess.

  “Asheville, bro,” the first guy tells Finn. “Checking out the mall?”

  The mall? I manage to not to gag, but it's hard.

  “Sorry, guys,” Finn replies swiftly. “Promised my uncle I'd close for him tonight and tomorrow I have to be up at like five. Gotta do some stuff at work before heading out for Promo.”