Q. What are the steps involved?
A. Do not show fear. In fact, try not to show any emotion at all. The spirits feed off strong human emotions and get energy from them. Tell the spirit to follow the light. The light is good. They should not be afraid of the light.
Q. What if I have a negative spirit?
A. Do not attempt to engage a negative spirit. We are the only ones who can help you with this. Our consultation price range begins at ten thousand —
I shut down the computer with a groan. That whole society might be a scam, and I certainly didn’t have money to pay them. I stretched out across my bed, physically and mentally exhausted.
I was going to feel quite stupid doing this, but I had to try. The instructions were simple enough. I kept my voice firm and unemotional.
“Please leave this place,” I said, hopefully loud enough that Kayla would hear me, but not so loud that it would wake Marie. “You have passed on and it’s time to follow the light.”
My neck blushed, even though no one was there to witness my embarrassment. I felt silly, but I continued, “You are able to move beyond your earthly troubles. You will be happier if you do. Do not be scared of the light. It is a source of love and forgiveness.”
I lay in silence, all my senses attuned, waiting for any response. The house made its usual creaks and groans, each one sending a shudder through me. But after a while my eyelids closed involuntarily. I was suddenly overwhelmingly tired. All I could do now was hope that my little speech worked. And that Kayla was a positive entity. Because if she wasn’t, all that was for nothing. And then I’d have to think about why she was sticking around.
What did she want?
And what would she do if she didn’t get it?
So I was in the teachers’ lounge, attempting to slip a mild laxative into the coffeemaker, when I heard footsteps and had to hide in a closet. And lo and behold, guess who two old hags were talking about? Yours truly. I only caught a snippet of conversation. They came in to grab something quickly and left. But here’s what I heard.
“Kayla Sloane is aggressively ambitious and competitive, even socially.”
Socially aggressive? Whatever.
And then the other Depends-wearing blue-hair clucked in agreement and added, “She’s the worst bully in the school.”
Really. A bully? Please. Bullies are stupid, powerless oafs who torture kids to make themselves feel better about being so dumb. Not me. I can be hard on others, but those are the rights handed to you when you’re at the top.
It’s funny. If 14, 12, or 16 all of a sudden stopped asking how high when I told them to jump, I’d actually have some respect for them for once. But I’d also be pissed and probably ruin them.
And, yeah, I’m spoiled by my parents and, yeah, I’m used to getting what I want. But I work hard for it, too. Sure, some things are handed to me. But others take time and effort. The difference between me and losers is that I don’t quit. That’s why I usually end up getting my way.
But why am I mean? Simple.
Because I can be.
The next morning, my jewelry box was open and I could have sworn it was closed when I went to bed. But I didn’t want to read too much into it. I slid my garnet pendant out and closed the lid. I even put a book on top of the box, though I didn’t know what I expected to accomplish with that.
I rubbed my finger over the deep red stone, a deliberate choice for today since garnet was known to increase your energy when you were tired. One look in the mirror at the bags under my eyes told me it didn’t have an instantaneous effect. I used the makeup tricks Faye had taught me to cover up both the bags and my fading bruise.
In school, my eyes constantly scanned for Donovan, hoping to catch a passing glance in the hallway. Even though I knew he’d only be shuffling along, his head down, gliding through the halls of school like a ghost himself.
I cruised up to my locker midway through the day to exchange my morning books with those I’d need for my afternoon classes. Only a few more hours and it would be the weekend. I elbowed the locker closed and looked up to see Kane Woodward standing there, smiling, his hands in the pockets of his Woodbridge Lacrosse windbreaker.
“How’s it going, new girl?”
Faye’s warning shot through my head. He’ll be all over you … but only because you’re fresh meat.
“The name’s Jade,” I said flatly.
He frowned, not expecting my unenthusiastic response. Most girls probably giggled and twirled their hair when he called them a nickname.
“I know your name,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “We talked in the library, remember?”
I met his eyes. He didn’t look predatory. In fact, he looked … earnest. Maybe I shouldn’t just take Faye’s words at face value, maybe I should judge for myself.
“Of course I remember,” I said, giving him a smile now. “I was just teasing.”
Confidence flowed back into his posture. “So how is Woodbridge treating you so far?”
I tucked my books in the crook of my arm. “Pretty good. The people are nice. The teachers are tough, but fair.”
“And the guys?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“They’re … interesting.”
Kane beamed, but he didn’t know that the moment I said that, my mind wasn’t there with him anymore. It had flitted to an image in my head. Of a boy standing by a window, thinking about the girl he’d loved and lost.
I forced my mind back to the boy talking to me here and now. I was about to start walking out with him, but Kane reached across and rested his hand on my locker, drawing himself closer to me. A random girl walking by actually gasped. From the wide-eyed stares I was getting, I should have been swooning. Close to fainting. And maybe I would have been if Faye hadn’t talked to me about Kane. But I wasn’t. It seemed too cliché. Like a well-practiced, slick move.
He leaned over a bit, making up for our height difference, and started talking in a low voice. Something about a party. But all I heard were Faye’s words again.
If he decides you’re next, he’ll pursue you hard, get what he wants, then drop you.
My eyes slid across his arm and focused on his hand. He must have realized I was uncomfortable, because he stopped talking and pulled his arm back down to his side. I took a tentative step backward, reclaiming my personal space.
A barely stifled laugh rang out from behind us. I turned and spied Donovan across the hall. He clearly found my snubbing of Kane amusing. Kane followed my line of sight and his eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, Donovan would be a rotting corpse right now. Apparently those two weren’t friends.
Kane returned his attention to me. “What’s the matter?”
Half of me thought I was crazy. Any girl in her right mind would enjoy this moment. Stand here and bathe in his attention. But what if what Faye said was true? What if this was some game he played, girl after girl after girl?
“I’m not your fresh meat,” I said in a small voice, and hurried past him.
Uncertainty nagged at me on the way home. Had I been too hard on Kane? Was he being skeevy like Faye had predicted or was he only being nice? I didn’t have enough personal experience to judge without a doubt. Yeah, the “arm on the locker” thing was a little overconfident but all I’d heard him say was something about a party. And now, here I was, heading home to a weekend empty of any plans.
I let out a long sigh as I stopped at a red light. I always prided myself on not caring about cliques or surface impressions. I liked to get to know people and decide whether or not I liked them by what was inside. Faye could be right about Kane, but I should see for myself, not rush to judgment again. If I could have kicked myself without driving off the road, I would have.
I’d never been so excited for an empty house as when I pulled into the driveway. Marie and I had barely said two words to each other at breakfast. I’d had my max of awkward for the day, thank you very much. I kicked my shoes off, grabbed an apple from the kitchen, and headed u
p to my room.
My backpack slid off my shoulder as I tossed the apple up in the air and caught it. I tossed it up again, higher this time, but my attention went elsewhere and it landed on the floor with a dull thud.
My jewelry box was open again.
When I’d found it open this morning, I wasn’t 100 percent sure I’d closed it the night before. But this time I was positive. I’d even put a book on top of it, and that book now lay on the floor under my desk chair.
This was a message.
The shaking started in my fingers, then spread until my entire body was shuddering. First from fear, then anger. I lashed out and slammed the lid of the box down. Then I twirled around, fists clenched, and yelled at the empty air.
“Why are you still here? It’s time for you to go. Move on!”
My chest heaved and I struggled to breathe. It was like the air in the room had suddenly thickened.
“Leave my brother alone,” I said through gritted teeth. “I know you’re excited that he can see you, but you’re scaring him. Just let him be and go away.”
The tiny blond hairs on my arms stood at attention. But I didn’t have goose bumps. It was like static electricity. The light in my ceiling flickered on and off. I rushed over to the switch, put my hand on it, and yelped as a blue shock lit up my fingers.
Rage built up inside me, quick like a flame. “Just get out, okay? Your time is over. This is not your house anymore! This is not your life!”
I ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and leaned over the sink. I fought off the urge to cry and splashed cold water on my face until my breathing calmed. I was doing everything those websites said I shouldn’t. Getting emotional. Letting her get to me. She could feed off my energy. I had to remain calm.
I took twenty deep, slow breaths until I felt back in control. Then I opened the door and strode back into my room.
And stopped short.
My blood froze in my veins.
The room was wrecked. My made bed was rumpled up. Clothes were pulled down from their hangers. My jewelry box was upended and gems were strewn across the floor. A cold wave of fear washed over me, threatening to drown me in the panic. If Kayla wanted to send a message, this was loud and clear:
I’m mad, and I’m not leaving.
So I turned and ran from my own house.
I had to come back home eventually, had to try and sleep in my room. But I didn’t know what to do. My options had dwindled. I’d tried telling Marie about the house and that had blown up in my face. I’d taken it upon myself to get rid of the problem, and failed. Defeated and depressed, I had a new plan: to stay out of the house as much as possible, try not to think about it, and hope it went away on its own. Brilliant, I know.
But that was how I found myself in the school parking lot Sunday for the open house.
Harried parents with their lost-looking freshmen children headed toward the main entrance, where they would meet the administration, tour the classrooms, and other stuff Dad and Marie wouldn’t be interested in doing. I headed straight for the open double doors of the gym.
My eyes widened. This was more like a college fair than a “please join our club” thing. Balloons hovered above and spirit posters adorned the walls. A large booth in the center sold Woodbridge tees and sweatshirts. All the clubs’ tables lined the walls, each one staffed with one or two people. As I started to slowly walk past a few, I noticed many had fliers and even plates of cookies and swag.
My ambling stride had apparently looked like interest to one booth and a peppy girl called out, “Interested in the ecology club?”
“Um, no thanks,” I mumbled and quickened my step. It wasn’t like I wasn’t interested in the ecology club. I like the environment fine. I was just so overwhelmed with all the choices and knew that I’d end up signing away all my free time to the first one that drew me in.
I skimmed over the signs on each table, trying to see which club was right for me. I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body. My voice was a danger to glass-paned windows and I didn’t play an instrument. I was way too nonconfrontational for debate team. I sucked at art. So many of the clubs seemed geared toward kids who knew what they wanted to do with their lives. Journalism club, science, math, technology, robotics. I had no idea what kind of career I wanted.
The noise level in the gym seemed to amplify as I brought a shaky hand to my forehead. Coming here was supposed to be a respite from scary feelings, but I suddenly felt so overwhelmed I wanted to turn around and leave.
“Sour Patch Kid?”
I turned and found Donovan seated behind a table, holding up a bowl of candy. I nodded eagerly and plucked a yellow one out. The sour punch interrupted my panicked thoughts and by the time I was done chewing, I already felt better. Sugar was like medicine to me.
“You looked pretty freaked out there for a second,” Donovan said, giving his head a shake to get the hair out of his eyes.
Normally, I’d smile and come up with some empty platitude to make the uncomfortable moment pass, but for some reason the truth leaked out of me. “Sometimes I think I’m the only one here who doesn’t have her whole life mapped out.”
Donovan nodded knowingly. “Don’t worry. Even the most put-together kids here have moments of panic.”
I nodded, feeling somewhat better. “How am I supposed to know what I want to do with the rest of my life? I’m seventeen.”
He shrugged. “Who says you have to know now?”
I raised my hands up and motioned to the chaos around us as my answer.
“That’s what this is for,” Donovan said. “Play around with anything you’re even slightly interested in. Do a little here and a little there and eventually something will click.”
I hadn’t even stopped to think of it that way. That people weren’t committing to anything, they were only trying stuff out. “Is that what you do?” I asked.
“Sure. Art’s not my only thing. I also love graphic design, gaming. I might end up in software design. I’m dabbling in it all right now.”
“So which one is this?” I gazed down at the sign-up sheet and found myself surprised. “Book club?”
He grinned. “Like I told you. Try it all.”
“So what book are you guys reading?”
“We’ll vote on one at our first meeting. And if you don’t like the book we’re reading that month, skip the month. Participate as much or as little as you want.”
That didn’t sound so bad. In fact, it sounded kind of fun. I bent over and scribbled my name and e-mail on the sheet. My pendant swung forward, getting in the way, so I tucked it under my shirt.
“What’s that gemstone called?” Donovan asked, pointing.
I straightened. “Technically, this one’s not a gem. It’s fossilized resin.” Stop being a dork, stop being a dork. “But, anyway, it’s called amber.”
“Amber.” Donovan repeated. “It’s cool because it’s the same color as your eyes.”
Heat flooded my neck. He knows the color of my eyes. Not only that, but comparing the amber to them was just so unbelievably cool. I tried to remain calm so the embarrassing blotches wouldn’t come. I realized my mouth was open but words weren’t coming out. Donovan began to look slightly uncomfortable.
“Um, yeah,” I blurted out, then immediately wanted to bash my face into the table. Really, Jade? Out of all possible responses, I go with the lamest one. Why not, “Thanks and yours look like blue topaz.” Which they do! Ugh.
My neck was going to burst into flames.
“See you at the meeting,” I said, hurrying away. I didn’t even realize until I was outside that I’d stolen the book club’s pen. Hopefully he had another one for the sign-up sheet.
Why had I freaked out? All he’d done was make an observation. After all, his heart still belonged to a dead girl.
I stared at the accidentally filched pen in my hand for a few moments, until I felt eyes on me. I cast a glance to the side and caught Kane watching. He turned away quickly, a
lmost scared, and my insides squeezed with guilt. He probably thought I was a psychopath after my behavior in the hallway.
“Hey,” I said, stepping over to him.
“Oh, hey.” He pretended to notice me for the first time.
“Listen, about Friday …” I paused as I tried to find the words to explain my behavior.
“Yeah, what was that about?” he said shaking his head. “Fresh meat? I don’t understand.”
I shuffled my feet. “Someone sort of warned me about you.”
“Warned you?” His brows knit in confusion. “About what?”
“That you’re this big player and that you’re going to go after me because you’ve already burned through all the girls in school.”
He snorted. “Let me guess. Faye Bettencourt told you this.”
My jaw dropped. “How’d you know?”
“This is going to sound totally conceited, but there’s no other way to put it. Faye and I dated briefly, emphasis on the briefly, a long time ago and she’s still not over it. I try to be friends, but I don’t think that’s enough for her sometimes. She thinks she owns me.”
“She saw us talking that day in the library,” I said, almost to myself. Everything made more sense now.
“Yep. That’s probably what caused it.”
“Wow, I’m really sorry. I should have —”
“No.” Kane put his hand up to stop me from apologizing. “I don’t blame you for believing her. You’re new here. You don’t know who to trust.”
“Still, I feel like a jerk. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” I realized, as soon as the words left my mouth, that they could be construed in a more forward way than I’d intended. But I didn’t regret it. This would put Faye’s theory to the test at least.
The Dead and Buried Page 6
