I'd Rather Not Be Dead (22 page)

Both his expression and his neck
stiff go completely stiff at that, but he doesn't say anything
because my other sister is honing in on him. “What in the world was
that about?”

“Confidential,” he states
simply, turning and resuming his walk.

“What?” Bobbi's face wrinkles up
in confusion. Wouldn't you know, she actually looks cute that
way?

Finn gives her an annoyed grunt.
“It means, if she wants you to know, she'll tell you.”

“But how do you even know her?”
Bobbi asks. Which is a decent question. Why does he know her and
her friend? He even knew about her friend's love life. How much
time does he spend around middle school girls anyway?

“Girl Scouts,” he says. “My
mom's their troop leader.”

Rain's still in Girl Scouts? I
totally deserve to pushed off something really, really tall.

“Rain's still in Girl Scouts?
Huh...”

So, I'm not the only McKinney
sister seriously out of touch with her clan. At least I feel bad
about it. Bobbi doesn't look concerned in the least. Nor is she
bothered that Finn's obviously trying to find some way of getting
rid of her and is just too polite to bellow, “Be gone, you
shameless hussy!”

Which is a pity. No one ever
yells things like that anymore. Wouldn't life be more interesting
if they did? Although... As we near a blockade brought to the
student body by the Crusade for Christ, I repent on my thought.
More drama would be entertaining, but maybe not morally outraged
drama.

In the middle of the sidewalk
that leads to the school stairs, Tanya the Crusader stands in front
of the other me, literally trembling. “Please? You can still be
saved,” she says to TOM, who makes a sound of exasperation and
pushes her way past. There are tears in Tanya's eyes and she takes
a little walk from the group before coming back and trying again
with her fliers.

“Weren't you supposed to be
doing this yesterday?” Bobbi asks, not mean the way I would have
asked, but honestly perplexed.

“Someone stole the fliers for
that.” Tanya's voice cracks like she might cry.

“How awful.” Bobbi's eyes are
wide and her mouth is forming a little circle like she's shocked.
The reaction's a sham, but Tanya doesn't seem to realize that.

I glance at the papers. They
don't have anything to do with Halloween, they're an invitation to
a Bible study this Saturday. There's the smattering of scriptures
I'd have expected and the same tone of condescending superiority
the Crusade usually uses. But the quality of the design on today's
leaflets isn't what it usually is and the printing is fuzzy, like
they were slammed together at the last minute by someone who didn't
have much experience.

Ricky Woodman isn't manning the
lines with his followers. Could he have seen the sweet light of
reason? No, it's more likely he was abducted by aliens than that he
jumped camp on his church. He probably caught some bug while he
prowling the night telling preschoolers they were going to Hell for
dressing up like Batman. I can hope, anyway.

Finn tries to make a move around
both of the girls holding him up, but Tanya spots it and thrusts a
flier at him. “There's a party after, with a DJ and lots of food.
Really fun.”

“I have plans,” Finn says,
managing to look like he'd go otherwise. “Trying to keep middle
schoolers off of drugs.”

“That's important.” Tanya gives
him a soft, radiant smile. “But don't be so worried about people's
earthly lives that you forget about your eternal soul,
alright?”

“I'll try not to,” he promises,
returning the smile.

I mime jamming my finger down my
throat.

“I'll pray for you,” Tanya
offers, with that special brand of earnest reserved for people
saying that sort of thing.

“Thanks.” With a nod of his
head, he finally moves past, managing to lose both girls when Tanya
turns her full attention to Bobbi.

“It doesn't hurt to be nice,” he
whispers to me.

I snort. “It would definitely
hurt me to be that nice to those people.”

Opening his locker, he looks for
his English books. “They think they're helping.”

My eyes roll. “Hitler thought he
was making a better world too.”

Finn gives a tiny shrug and an
even smaller harrumph. “Yo mama.”

The only thing I can say to that
is, “What?”

A hasty grin lights his face.
“The only response capable of topping a Hitler reference is a Yo
Mama.”

I shake my head at him. “You're
insane.”

Miming agony with one hand to
his chest, he grabs a notebook with the other one. “I'm hurt you
just noticed.”

He closes the locker in a way
that comes dangerously close to being jaunty but the happiness
wears off before we get to the classroom. I suspect the fleeing of
his cheer has something to do with Cris but I'm having a hard time
keeping up with the boy's mood swings. If he were a girl, I'd
accuse him of some serious PMSing.

I'm not the only person noticing
he's seriously off his game, a lot of kids have started giving him
funny looks and gossiping behind his back. Cooper Finnegan, the
consensus stands, is having some sort of post-football breakdown.
And everyone wants to know why. Except possibly the other me. She
just wants him to stop looking at her.

That's my fault. I thought maybe
if I distanced myself, leaving him less tempted to whisper remarks
to me, maybe he'd start to look less crazy. But all that happens
when I cross over to keep an eye on her, maybe be around to hear if
she gets invited to any parties on cliffs, is that he keeps
shooting glances across the room, like he's worried taking his eyes
off me will make me vanish. Which is ridiculous since TOM's the one
in danger, not me.

I spend second period roaming
the halls rather than sitting in calc with Finn and TOM, but it
doesn't seem to help anything if I can believe the conversations in
the halls afterward. Apparently my medium was zoned out enough the
teacher was speaking directly to him for several minutes before he
even noticed.

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?