Dead Girl in Love (3 page)

“But outward appearance is a trivial preoccupation with no redeeming value.”

“Grammy, you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

I sighed. What was I thinking when I agreed to let Grammy take over my life? She hadn’t been young since the last millennium. This assignment was going to be a disaster. I never should have accepted it—yet I couldn’t abandon Alyce to an unknown Temp Lifer any more than I could leave ratty Monkey Bag in a mortuary.

We had reached a familiar neighborhood with an eclectic blend of old homes. My high school was just two blocks to the left and if we kept going straight we’d run into Molly Brown Lane, where a right turn would take us to my house and a left to Alyce’s house.

“Almost there.” I pressed my lips tight so I wouldn’t beg Grammy to turn around. But Grammy had always been strict when it came to rules—at least for other people. Her double standard made Mom crazy.

She slowed to a jerky yield, then hit the gas (too hard) and turned on Alyce’s street. Just a few more blocks and we’d reach the Perfetti house.

“Trust your instincts and you’ll sail through this assignment,” Grammy said, squeezing my hand. “You might even have fun.”

I thought of my “fun” at the mortuary and shook my head firmly. “Doubtful.”

“When did you become so negative?”

“It’s called being realistic. So far this assignment has gone all wrong.”

“Can’t you find anything positive to say?”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t lose Monkey Bag,” I said, gesturing to the backpack now resting on the seat beside me.

“Ah yes, that old ratty backpack.” Grammy smiled fondly. “Little Alyce used to carry it everywhere.”

“She still does. If she has any important papers or lists, I’ll find them in this bag, which will really help me solve her problems.”

“Solving problems isn’t your assignment.” Grammy wagged a finger at me warningly. “We had this discussion last time. Temp Lifers are merely stand-ins until their Host Body can return, strong enough to face their own problems.”

“I did more than stand-in for Leah and Sharayah. I improved their lives.”

“Not without complications. You were lucky.”

Lucky? Is that what Grammy really thought? Sure, I’d made mistakes (knowingly and unknowingly) during my assignments, but they’d been successful nevertheless. I’d thought Grammy was proud of me … but maybe I was wrong. Was this assignment Grammy’s way of giving me another chance to prove myself?

“Tell me more about my assignment,” I asked in my most businesslike tone.

“You’ll find everything you need in there.” She pointed to the glove box.

“Huh?” I raised my brows.

“Look inside.”

I popped the glove box open, expecting to find stuff like a car manual, maps, and Mom’s cell phone. Those things were there, but so was something small and wonderful that made me give a shout-out for joy.

“The GEM! Thank you, Grammy!”

“Not just any GEM.” She smiled. “The same one from your last assignment.”

Almost reverently, I picked up the palm-sized book otherwise known as a Guidance Evaluation Manual. The plain gold book appeared boring, but it was a communicator to the other side with audio, video, and text connections. All I had to do was ask a question and the book would create its own answer.

“Go ahead. Ask it anything,” Grammy told me.

Eagerly, I opened the GEM to the first page. It was blank, but I expected that and knew what to do next.

“Why was Alyce inside a coffin?” I asked the tiny book.

A spot of black ink spread and stretched into words across the page.

Hiding.

Not very informative since I’d guessed that already. While the GEM was helpful, it also had a habit of giving annoying answers that led to more questions.

“Why was she at the mortuary?” I tried again.

Searching.

“Searching for what?”

The lost.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” I griped.

While I was deciding what to ask next, pages flipped wildly as if caught up in a sudden storm. Then the book snapped shut like a slap in my face. When I tried to pry it open, the pages stubbornly stayed closed.

“Open!” I ordered, shaking it.

“It has a mind of its own,” Grammy said. “You can’t force it.”

“Stupid book is giving me attitude.”

“Don’t take it personally. The GEM is only a tool and not designed to solve your Host Soul’s problems. Personally, I find them annoying and won’t use one for my assignment.”

“But your assignment is easy.” I glared at my traitorous GEM, then banished it inside the front pocket on Monkey Bag. “You already know all about me. And Mom is your daughter, so you know everything about her, too.”

“Do you know everything about her?”

I shrugged. “Mom is Mom. What else is there to know?”

“I’m not really sure … yet,” Grammy said, with an odd expression that made me wonder what she was thinking.

Before I could ask, she slammed the brakes and I was jerked forward, then back, like a crash test dummy until we came to a stop on the curb in front of a brown, L-shaped corner house that I knew too well.

But the view through Alyce’s eyes distorted the familiar, so that everything I saw seemed different. It was as if I’d entered a foreign country with no knowledge of customs or language. Shadows were deepening with the setting sun, turning the ordinary into the ominous. The sprawling oak I’d climbed countless times to sneak into Alyce’s bedroom window stood there, starkly forbidding, its trunk a twisted grimace of pain, its limp leaves drooping like shadowy tears. A chilly breeze shivered its bony branches, which looked like arms waving me away.

Grammy Greta came around to meet me as I stepped out of the passenger door. “Sorry to leave you like this, but I can’t stay.”

“I know … although I wish you could.” I bit my lip.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Of course, I’m always fine, but … ” I swallowed hard. “Drive safely … Amber.”

“I will … Alyce.” When she embraced me, I closed my eyes and, for a wonderful moment, I was hugging my silver-haired, soft, comfortable grandmother.

Then she drove away, and I was alone.

The sun was disappearing fast behind distant hills; it was the time most families prepared dinner. But there was no sound of voices from this house, only the soft jingle of a wind chime hanging over the front porch. The front yard was dark without a porch light, and the darkly draped windows were like eyes closed in sleep.

Resisting the impulse to turn around, I walked up the front porch steps.

Crimson flickered through slits in the drapes.

And I smelled smoke.

When I walked into the house, candles flamed from the coffee table, countertops, and shelves. The scent of hot wax and swirling smoke clouded the room in a surreal fog. There was no sound from the TV—unusual, since Mrs. Perfetti continually watched CNN and other news channels.

Then I saw her on the couch, lying motionless. I coughed, covering my mouth to block the smoke as I rushed over to her.

“Mrs. Perfetti!” I gasped. Kneeling by her side, I checked for a pulse and—thank God!—found one. But she seemed to be in a deep sleep and didn’t even stir at my touch.

I started blowing out candles, then heard a cough and rushed backed to Alyce’s mother. “Mrs. Per—I mean, Mom!” I cried, gently putting my hand under her shoulder. “What happened?”

“Alyce?” She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open.

“Do you need a doctor? I’ll call 911!”

“No, no, no.” By the third “no” her voice was stronger, and she started to push herself up. “I’m fine.”

“But you don’t look fine. And what’s with all these candles?”

“Nothing wrong with enjoying candlelight.” She stood, smoothing her tousled hair from her face. She had the same brown eyes as Alyce, a deep dark chocolate that I’d always admired. But Mrs. Perfetti’s hooded eyes were shrouded in secrets.

“You should see a doctor,” I insisted.

“I’ve told you how I feel about doctors.” She glared at me, defiantly. “I was only sleeping.”

“With enough candles burning to start a bonfire?” I retorted.

“Don’t use that condescending tone on me—it’s your fault.” She was shorter than Alyce by a few inches yet had a way of making me feel small. “You took so long to come home, I must have dozed off waiting for you. Where have you been? Why didn’t you call?”

Mrs. Perfetti folded her arms across her chest, narrowing her gaze with suspicion that made me squirm. Could she tell something was different about me? How was I going to fool her? I was glad for the dim lighting so she couldn’t read the panic on my face. I didn’t know why Alyce had gone to the mortuary, but I knew better than to share that visit with her mother.

“So where were you?” she repeated.

“With a friend.”

“Which means Amber Borden.” She brushed her pleated skirt with her hand as if an annoying best friend could be brushed away as easily as dust. “Whenever you’re inconsiderate of me, it’s because of that girl.”

“It’s not her fault. I forgot the time.”

“Were you at her house?”

That’s where we usually hung out, so I nodded.

“I called there.” Her bone-thin fingers tapped against the glass top of the coffee table as she breathed in and out a few beats before finishing, “And her father said he didn’t know where either of you were.”

“Oh … well. That must have been when we were out walking.”

“You didn’t answer your cell.”

I glanced down at Monkey Bag, sure I’d find a dozen missed messages from Mrs. Perfetti when I checked Alyce’s phone. “The battery must be dead.”

“Or you purposely didn’t answer because you’d rather talk to your friend than your mother.”

How was I supposed to reply to that? Of course I’d rather be with my best friend. Who wouldn’t? But the truth would only make things worse.

“I’m sorry—I won’t do it again. But right now I’m more concerned with you,” I said in my best contrite voice. “What’s with all the candles?”

“It was so dark … ” Her voice trailed off to a whisper. “But with the candles came flickering flames, and shadows that made me feel less alone.”

It was so strange how her voice and expression changed from angry to vulnerable. Unnerving … and confusing. But I didn’t know her well. Alyce’s mother never pretended to like me, so I avoided being around her.

“You shouldn’t leave me,” she whined. “You know how I worry.”

“There’s nothing to worry about—except choking from all this smoke. Let’s open some windows.”

She nodded, giving me a look like a child seeking approval.

Afterwards, when the air cleared and I could breathe easier, I said I was going to my room and slung Monkey Bag over my shoulder.

“But you only just got home.” Mrs. Perfetti’s voice softened to a whine. “Please stay, baby. I’ve really missed you.”

Her change of tone surprised me. “You have?”

“I’ve been looking forward so much to our evening together. It’s the only time of the day I truly enjoy, and I’m sure you have lots to tell me. I want to hear everything.”

“There really isn’t much.”

“Whatever you say is more interesting than my boring job. Stuck in a cubical inputting computer data eight hours a day, five days a boring week. I left early, then waited to see my special girl. Come here, baby.”

I didn’t want to, but she’d stepped toward me with such a tender look on her face that it would be cruel to ignore her. So I stood still, reminding myself that I was Alyce, not Amber, as Mrs. Perfetti opened her arms wide and swallowed me whole in a tight hug that smelled of peach shampoo and coffee.

“Um … Mom. You’re holding too tight.” I pushed away, trying to come up with an excuse to ditch her. “I should go to my room. I have plans—”

“You certainly do—with me.” She flashed a big grin, her shift of attitude even more confusing than a hundred burning candles.

“I do?”

“All the ingredients are ready in the kitchen.”

“Um … can’t it wait? I have things to do.” I almost used the “homework” excuse until I remembered that it was spring break and school was still out till Monday.

“What’s more important than dinner with your mother?”

My honest reply would be rude. Besides, I was getting hungry and wouldn’t mind being served a home-cooked dinner. I’d had a stressful day and could use some pampering. So I said that eating sounded good.

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Perfetti slipped her arm around my shoulder. “The chicken is thawed, the vegetables washed, and I set out your favorite spices.”

Then Alyce’s mother sent
me
into the kitchen.

To cook dinner.

Now, the first thing everyone knows about me (Amber) is that while I love eating, I’m hopeless in the kitchen. The extent of my culinary talent is using a can opener or following microwave instructions. Alyce, on the other hand, has a creative touch that includes gorgeous gift baskets for our school club, photography, and cooking. Alyce often teases me that I’d starve if I had to feed myself.

So when Mrs. Perfetti left me alone in the smallish kitchen with its yellow-tiled counters and dark-wood cabinets, I stared around in horror.

Me, cook? This was like a waking nightmare.

I couldn’t do this on my own and knew only one person who might help. Retrieving Alyce’s cell phone from Monkey Bag, I deleted the nine missed texts (from her mother), then made my call.

Dustin Cole, my second-best friend, was part hacker/geek/activist and liked to plot covert online strikes against “corrupiticians” (as Alyce nicknamed dirty politicians). His bedroom, or “Headquarters” as he called it, was crammed with electronic equipment that hummed and flashed with artificial life. There was no bed, only a couch and a sleeping bag that was usually covered with crumpled papers and snack wrappers.

Dustin’s tone was wary when he heard my voice. “Alyce?”

“Not exactly. Guess again.”

“Don’t tell me you … you’re … ”

“You’re getting warm.”

He groaned. “Amber?”

“And the smart guy wins a prize.”

“It had better be a really good prize, like my own personal communication satellite,” he grumbled. “I need a scorecard to keep up with your body-switches.”

“I’ve only had three—and the first one was an accident.”

“Just stay away from my body—that would not be cool.”

“But I’ve always been curious what it’s like to pee standing up.”

“Convenient but overrated.”

“And it would be interesting to see inside a guys’ locker room.”

“As if I spend any time there,” Dustin said scornfully. “I choose not to break bones over contact sports. I have a file of legal keep-out-of-gym excuses, all signed by a doctor. Not necessarily
my
doctor, but whatever works.”

“Everything works for you,” I said, chuckling. It felt sooo good to joke around with Dustin like nothing had changed.

“So what’s the deal with Alyce?” His serious tone reminded me exactly how much had changed. I imagined him leaning back in his chair, tapping his fingers on his desktop. His eyes would be closed to shut out distractions, so he could listen with total concentration.

“She’s taking a time-out.” I glanced down at my temporary hands with their frosted black fingernails. Alyce was into black, draped outfits and gruesome jewelry but insisted she wasn’t Goth.

“I thought you were done with body-hopping.”

“I thought so too.” I sighed. Then I explained how Grammy convinced me to take just one more assignment. “I had to do it—for Alyce.”

“And what about you?” Dustin asked in his quiet, perceptive way that never failed to disarm me. “Are you okay?”

I glanced at the counter where Mrs. Perfetti had set out onions, tomatoes, cheese, spices, chicken parts, and pasta noodles. “I’m burning in culinary hell. Alyce’s mother expects
me
to cook dinner.”

When Dustin stopped laughing, he offered to help. “Cooking is easy.”

“Do you realize who you’re talking to? When it comes to directions, I always end up choosing the wrong way.”

“You’re good at math, aren’t you?”

“Math doesn’t have anything to do with cooking.”

“Wrong. Cooking is one big math equation,” he said.

Then he explained about washing, slicing, measuring, and baking. It took a while to figure out the chemistry of blending ingredients, but Dustin was a great teacher. If he ever gave up his ambition to overthrow the government, he could be a famous chef.

He was saying how to set the timer on the oven when my phone beeped. I was ready to ignore the incoming text—until I saw the name that flashed on my screen.

Eli Rockingham.

Eli, Eli … My ELI! Calling!

Immediately I developed symptoms of a serious illness: dizziness, chills, sweats, racing pulse, an overall state of confusion. I hadn’t known Eli long, but what I did know made me ache, yearn, palpitate to be with him again. Was this love? If I could spend some quality time with him while in my real body, maybe I’d find out. Still, it was great to hear from him and I couldn’t say good-bye to Dustin fast enough.

Clicking a button, I read the message.

A,

GG told me who & where u r.

Xciting stuff down n la.

Gtg. More L8r.

Eli

Huh? That’s all he wrote? His “exciting stuff” probably had to do with being in Los Angeles as a finalist in the
Voice Choice
competition (think rip-off
American Idol
without the voting). He hadn’t planned to enter, but due to some confusion during my last assignment, he’d replaced his sister at the audition and made it to the Top Ten. He was even gaining fans in his new role as “Rocky” Rockingham, math-geek-turned-singer.