As Dead as It Gets

  “All right, suit yourself.” I climbed under the covers and turned off the light.

  A few minutes later, I still hadn’t fallen asleep. I was huddled under the blankets, covered all the way up to my eyes. I didn’t want any more rose petals brushing against my face.

  I lifted the blankets away from my mouth. “Lydia?” I whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Nothing.” I flopped over and shut my eyes.

  When I woke up in the morning, she was curled up asleep, hovering a foot above my dresser.

  Lydia rode to school with me and split off once we got there, talking about some classes she wanted to sit in on. Apparently being dead can get a little dull, because Lydia hadn’t exactly been academically minded when she was alive, and now she was all over the curriculum.

  I actually thought it was a pretty decent idea. Maybe she’d learn something useful.

  After that afternoon’s yearbook meeting (twelve minutes long, for the record), I went to the parking lot and sat in my car, expecting her to show up. After waiting for ten minutes, I went home and gave the empty house a brief once-over, looking for her. She was nowhere to be found.

  Well, no big deal. It’s not like you’re dying—no pun intended—to hang out with Lydia Small, I told myself.

  As I pulled my phone out of my bag to charge it, I saw that I’d missed a call from Jared. I went into the kitchen and called him back from the landline, turning on the speakerphone and setting it on the counter while I made myself a snack.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Hello to you, too,” I said, getting bread and peanut butter out of the pantry.

  He sighed. “Hello. I called a few minutes ago. What were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just got home.”

  “I wanted you to come over tonight. Dad’s working late.”

  “I can’t,” I said, pulling the jelly out of the fridge. “I have plans.”

  “What plans?”

  “Nothing special. Just some research stuff I have to do.”

  I’d noticed that Jared made this impatient little sniffing noise when he was aggravated.

  Sniff.

  “Jared,” I said, “I have to get this done.”

  “What is it? Look it up online. Or maybe I can help you. What’s the topic?”

  A list of dead girls and a ghost that hisses at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread. “I can’t.”

  “But you’ll definitely come over tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Come on.”

  “I don’t know if—”

  “Say yes.”

  Fine. Whatever. “Yes,” I said.

  “Promise?”

  “Sure, I promise,” I said. “Now I have to go.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Work hard.”

  I hung up the phone and leaned down, burying my face in my hands for a moment.

  “Lexi.”

  Kasey stood in the hallway, hand on her hip.

  “Oh, hey—I didn’t know you were here.” I studied her face. How long had she been there? Long enough to hear me calling for Lydia?

  “I just got home a minute ago. I was quiet because you were on speakerphone.” Her voice was carefully even. “We need to talk.”

  I assembled my sandwich and started cutting it into quarters. “About?”

  I expected her to say something about ghosts.

  But she said, “About Jared.”

  “Or we could talk about you minding your own—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said. “I should mind my own business. But I’m not going to. So what’s he mad about this time?”

  “It’s complicated. I don’t expect you to understand.” My head was starting to throb.

  “Lexi,” Kasey said, softer, coaxing, “do you think…maybe there’s a chance he’s a tiny bit…controlling?”

  “No,” I said, rubbing my temples.

  “But the way he talks to you—I mean, the way I hear you talk to him—”

  “No,” I repeated. “You know, if you would spend more time cleaning up your dirty clothes and wet towels in the bathroom, and less time eavesdropping, you could save both of us a lot of trouble.”

  I meant it as a joke, but she gave me a wounded look. “It’s just…when you talk to Jared, you sound like you’re trying to pass a test or something. You never sounded like that with Carter.”

  “Yeah, and that landed me in ‘happily ever after,’ didn’t it?” I said. “Besides, your boyfriend is three years older than you. If anyone has control issues, wouldn’t it be Keaton?”

  She looked hurt. “Keat’s only sixteen. He skipped fourth grade. And he would never make me feel bad for not wanting to spend every waking moment with him.”

  “Kase, I appreciate that you care,” I said. “I really do. But you’re totally wrong.”

  I slipped my sandwich onto a plate and started for my bedroom without even putting the peanut butter and jelly away.

  Before I could close the door, she said, “Wait!”

  I stopped.

  She took a deep breath, then said, “Why did you have those bruises?”

  Instinctively, I turned my face away.

  “Last month. There was one on your neck and one on your face. You tried to cover them up, but I saw them.”

  I blurred my eyes and stared at the dim rectangle of sky visible through my window.

  “Tell me the honest-to-God truth, Lexi,” she said, suddenly hoarse. “Is it Jared?”

  “No.” I cleared my throat. “I swear.”

  I wanted to make her feel better, but what else could I say? If I hinted at a ghost, she’d insist on knowing everything. She’d want to be part of it. And then she’d be in danger.

  “Kasey, please,” I said. “It was nothing—I just fell. You worry too much.”

  Then I reached out and ever so gently closed the door in her face.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lydia and I were in the car, headed to the library to look up the names from the funeral home. She leaned away from me, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She’d been quiet for the whole drive, shooting me weighty glances.

  “What?” I asked. “What is it?”

  “I know you don’t want to hear it, but your sister’s right.”

  “Seriously, Lydia. I’m not going to talk about this with you,” I said. “You know nothing about relationships. You’re dead, remember? Anyway, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “You’re totally in control, as always, right?”

  I couldn’t reply.

  “I’m just saying, check yourself before you wreck your emotionally vulnerable little self, Alexis.” Lydia shrugged and looked at herself in the passenger-side mirror. “It’s obvious you’ll take affection from whoever’s willing to throw it at you right now.”

  “Can we not do this?” I asked. “Please?”

  She threw her arms in the air like I was the one being stubborn and frustrating. “Have it your way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Or, you know, just have it Jared’s way. As usual.”

  I gritted my teeth and pulled into the library parking lot.

  As great as the free office supplies were, having a mom who worked at a place that sold computers and software was actually a major hindrance to my ability to get any research done at home. Mom had access to the best software consultants—and the best internet monitoring software. That is, when she left her laptop home instead of carting it around with her.

  It seemed everybody’s parents were clueless but mine. We had an old computer that we could use for typing papers, but internet access was highly restricted. Sometimes I wondered what on earth Mom thought we’d do if she didn’t stop us—order ourselves some Russian mail-order brides? Send money to fake Nigerian princes?

  It’s not that I thought she was so wrong—and not like I was dying to create an online life
for myself (just another place to not have any friends)—but it was inconvenient, to say the least.

  If I ever had kids—which I wouldn’t—I would make it a point to stay a little clueless about technology. Just to be nice.

  Lydia hovered over me as I sat at one of the public computers. “I can’t believe you didn’t write them down.”

  She meant the names of the other girls whose funerals had been held at Henry-Gordon. To be honest, I couldn’t believe it, either.

  “I was a little stressed out,” I whispered. “I had to carry on a conversation with him. Why can’t you remember them?”

  “That is not my responsibility,” she said. “You know, technically, I don’t even have a brain.”

  “I am definitely going to quote you on that at some point.”

  The guy at the computer next to me glanced over in mild alarm.

  “Not you,” I said to him.

  So far, between the two of us, we’d come up with four of the seven names.

  “Claudine, Rachel, Quinn…Lydia, obviously…” Lydia’s voice trailed off.

  I stared at the monitor. Something with a G. Gabrielle?

  No—Grace.

  I typed “Grace + Henry-Gordon Funeral Home.” The first result was an obituary. Lydia leaned in closer to read.

  “Twelve,” Lydia said. “Too young.”

  And she didn’t look anything like the superghost, either. Dark straight hair, not blond.

  Out of all the girls, the only one who came close was Rachel. She was seventeen and had medium-length blond hair. But I didn’t see how Rachel could have become a ghost. According to the news articles, she was driving along when she was blindsided by a truck that ran a red light. Witnesses said she never saw it coming. Doctors said she died instantly.

  No time to be afraid or angry or traumatized. Just here one second, gone the next.

  Not a good recipe for a ghost.

  Dinner was silent. Mom had apologized in advance; she had to make a presentation to the board later in the week and couldn’t think about anything else. Dad was mellow and in a good mood, but he was never the driving force behind conversation. And Kasey and I didn’t seem to have anything to say to each other.

  I was finishing up, getting ready to take my plate into the kitchen, when Kasey tensed.

  “Your phone’s ringing,” she said.

  I sat still and listened, and made out the soft ringtone coming from my bedroom.

  “Probably Jared,” I said, about to push my chair back and stand up. Then I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that Kasey was watching me.

  So I stayed in my seat.

  A second later, Lydia came wandering out of the hallway. “Who do you know with a 703 area code?”

  I thought for a second.

  Agent Hasan.

  It took a huge effort not to rush away from the table.

  Feeling like I was moving at quarter speed, I took my dishes to the kitchen, rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher, and was about to hurry down the hall to my bedroom—

  When the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Kasey said, from her place at the table.

  “No!” I called. “I’m right here.”

  I peered through the peephole, and my stomach knotted.

  Lydia had stuck her head through the door. She pulled it back, eyes wide. “She looks mean.”

  Agent Hasan did look mean. She had dark hair in a severe cut that hung halfway between her chin and her shoulders. And every strand was perfectly in place—not even her own hair would test her authority.

  Her eyes were brown and almost almond-shaped, and her eyebrows seemed to be perpetually raised in annoyance.

  “Stay away from her,” I whispered to Lydia. “I don’t know what she could do to you.”

  Lydia took a step back from the door and disappeared.

  I braced myself, then called out, “I’ll be back in a few minutes!” to my family.

  And I slipped out the door—out of the frying pan…

  Straight into the bonfire.

  * * *

  Just like I’d sensed that she was there to see me, Agent Hasan seemed to sense that I didn’t want my family to know she was there. So when I started walking down the sidewalk, away from the house, she followed me.

  “Sorry to barge in.” The hint of amusement in her voice told me it was a lie. She enjoyed knowing that she had freaked me out. “It’s just that you didn’t answer my call.”

  She must have already been in the neighborhood when she called. Which meant she’d gone to the trouble of coming all the way to Surrey—just to see me?

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “I kept thinking about our conversation,” she said.

  I held my breath.

  She turned to look at me, squinting her eyes a bit. “About how interesting it was that you would call me and suggest that there was something out of the ordinary going on—when you had no concrete reason to think so.”

  My lips were glued shut. If she thought she could trick me into incriminating myself, she was dead wrong.

  “And I’m not a patient person,” she said. “So when something like that gets in my head, I don’t want to sit around and see if anything comes of it.”

  It was a breezy night, and Silver Sage Acres is a wind tunnel. I stuck my hands in my pockets and raised my shoulders up to my ears, hunching my chin down to warm my neck.

  “I’m sorry to waste your time,” I said. “You were right. I was just being paranoid.”

  “That would definitely be the more satisfactory outcome.” She didn’t say more satisfactory than what—or for whom. “But I do appreciate that you called me. It shows that you understand my role. And it gives me a chance to show you how important it is to me to help you stay out of trouble.”

  Right. Help me stay out of trouble. There was a threat in there, and you couldn’t even say it was a veiled threat. It was loud and clear: I’m watching you.

  “All right,” I said. “Well, thanks.”

  She stopped and looked down at me, smiling like she’d just won the lottery but wasn’t planning to tell anyone. “You’re so welcome.”

  What had she seen? What did she know?

  We started back toward my house.

  You’re almost there, I told myself. Just stay cool for a few more minutes and you’ll be fine.

  At last, we reached my front walk. I glanced up at the front window, anxious to get rid of Agent Hasan before my family noticed her presence.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m going.”

  She made a half turn away from me, then spun back.

  “By the way.” She reached into her pocket. “I think you dropped something.”

  Her fingers uncurled, revealing my missing lens cap.

  We both stared down at it for a moment, then she reached over and tucked it into the pocket of my jeans.

  “You should really keep better track of your things, Alexis,” she said. “You never know where they might end up if you don’t.”

  I wouldn’t let myself be scared speechless by her, so I forced out an abnormally loud “Thanks.”

  “That, for instance, was found fifty-four feet from Ashleen Evans’s body.”

  I didn’t answer. My throat tightened.

  “But I’m sure you don’t know anything about it.”

  I had to stay strong, or I’d crack into a million pieces. “No,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “Well, good.” Agent Hasan wiped her hands on her jacket. “Because I would really hate to think that you were part of the problem.”

  I started for the stairs.

  “See you ’round, Alexis,” she called.

  I walked inside, afraid to look back over my shoulder.

  THE NEXT DAY, I went to the Wingspan office before school started. Elliot was already there, wearing her prinCeTon sweatshirt.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “How many different college sweatshirts do you own?”
I asked.

  “Not sure. Fifteen?” She shrugged. “I’m nurturing my aspirational self.”

  Um, okay.

  She glanced up from the layout she was marking on. “You have the cheerleader shoot tomorrow morning, right?”

  I nodded, looking at the intricate color-coded schedule on the whiteboard.

  “Did you ever find the janitors to get the Dumpsters moved?”

  “Oh, no.” I slapped a hand to my forehead and sat down. “I totally forgot.”

  “Never mind,” Elliot said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “No, I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be sorry. I should have been more specific.”

  “I can do it,” I said. “Their office is that little shed out by the field, right?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t mind getting some fresh air.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You know how most people say ‘no offense,’ but they secretly hope it does offend you? I swear I’m not doing that.” She capped her red pen and set it down. “No offense, Alexis, but you look terrible lately. I’d rather you just relax a little than start passing out during photo shoots.”

  There was never any changing Elliot’s mind, so I nodded.

  “So…Chad said you had a little ‘episode’ the other day.” From the way she went back to her layout and the carefully measured tone of her voice, it seemed like she was intent on not making a big deal out of it. “Of course, Chad’s a busybody, so I wouldn’t put it past him to exaggerate.”

  I shook my head and let my finger trace the edge of a desk. “He probably didn’t exaggerate,” I said. “If having me on staff makes people uncomfortable, then I’ll quit.”

  Elliot practically threw her pen down. Her eyes were fiery and her voice was almost a growl. “Did he say that to you?”

  “What? Chad? No, no—he was pretty nice, actually. Weirdly nice.”

  She sat back and relaxed.

  “It’s my own idea,” I said. “I know a lot of people at school know things about me—or think they do—and I don’t want it to be uncomfortable for you.”

  “Alexis, can I give you some unsolicited advice?”

  “If I say yes, that would make it solicited, right?”

  She grinned. “Smart. Yes. So listen. You’re a fantastic photographer.”

  “Thanks.”