Almost Dead (Dead, #1) (12 page)

“Flora, your brother happily tagged along when we purchased your car. You can at least do the same for him. It’s a family event.”

“He tagged along because you guys made him, not because he had a choice,” I retort.

Mom scoffs. “Oh, please. Come on.” She motions for everyone t
o follow her out the front door, always taking the lead.

T
hey bought him a used, gray car, and I didn’t talk to them for two weeks after. The car they purchased for him was newer, fancier, than what they had purchased for me. Mine barely ran after they bought it. The way they treat me isn’t fair. Why is he constantly adored and I’m not?

Derek halts at the stop sign. Focusing my energy equally throughout my body, I slide through the car door and
onto the rear seat. The floorboards are covered in empty fast-food boxes, wrappers, and plastic cups, and mounds of gym shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers conceal the backseat. I bet if I had the ability to smell this car, it S th
’d be one festering, sweaty mess.

Ew.

Picking up his cell phone from one of the front cup holders, Derek answers a phone call. Unable to read lips, I have no idea what the conversation is about, or who he might be talking to. He returns his phone seconds later.

I don’t recognize the direction we’re traveling, so the street signs, the houses—nothing revives any strong memories.
That is, until we pull into the parking lot of the local grocery store. Derek pulls up beside a truck my parents sit in, out in the dead area, where nobody parks. Dad’s window descends at a slow rate, and Mom leans over so she can see Derek and join in on the conversation. Are they searching for me?

After a brief discussion, a
ll three of their heads nod in unison. Mom and Dad wave at Derek, who pulls out of the parking space. Um, where are we going? If we continue driving around Briarhaven, I won’t get anywhere. What am I going to do, throw his cell phone at him? Actually, that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever come up with…

But Derek doesn’t continue to endlessly drive around. Minutes later, he pulls into our driveway. The corners of my lips pull upward into a wide grin. I can’t believe I’m home.
For awhile, this place felt distant, like I’d never reach it. Yet, here I am.

I
stare at the large willow tree in our yard, and fragments of memories emerge—wearing a bright red coat as a kid, blowing bubbles at dusk, eating chocolate-and-vanilla ice cream in the tree’s shade, playing hide-and-go-seek with Derek. I blink a few times, postponing the tears. Maybe I’m not my parents’ favorite child, but at least I have parents. At least I have a family. A home.

I hop out of the
car and wipe my dampened cheeks. Inside, Derek plops down on the couch, turning on the TV. He flips through a few channels, shakes his head, and sets the remote on the coffee table. His eyes wander to the backyard, where he holds a steady gaze. Is he worried about me?

Stop standing here
, wasting time, and do something!

Picture frames, an end table, a lamp
, knickknacks—I search the room frantically for something to smack, or toss, or break. Controlling my energy, I reach over and press the power button on the remote. Derek jerks his head around, frowning at the flat screen. He picks up the remote and switches on the television for a second time. Once more, I touch the power button. Derek jumps to his feet, tossing the device like it’s contaminated with a terrible disease. His attention shifts from the remote to the TV, which he glares at like it might be the culprit. He ambles to the entertainment center and pushes it away from the wall. Disappearing behind the clunky thing, he checks the wiring, emerging seconds later, scratching his head.

I snort and press
the power button again.

Derek mouths, “What the…” His hands rest on top of his head, and he slowly backs away from the living room
furniture.

< Sn="an>
Ha!
He’s officially freaked out. What else can I do? This is kind of fun.

I begin examining the kitchen for something useful. Movement catches my eye, and I peek around the wall. Derek’s gone.

Um, where did he go? I dart upstairs, to his bedroom. He’s not in there. Running past my room, he’s not in there, either. Where else can he be? Oh, shit. What if I freaked him out so badly he left? I bolt for the front door.

“Oh, please be here. Please don’t leave,” I mumble.

Sprinting through the front door, I scan the driveway. Derek has backed out and tears off, leaving residual smoke from his tires. There’s no way I’ll be able to catch up. Oh, my God. What have I done? I’m an idiot.

Way to be subtle
. You should’ve just written him a note.

Damn it. Now what do I do?
Head back to the grocery store and hope to see my parents again? Go to the intersection where I first saw Derek? Make an attempt to find Mia’s house? What if I lose my sense of direction on the way to these places?

Wow. I’ve screwed myself.

My best option is to revisit the way I came and try to make it to the four-way stop. It’s a busy intersection, so maybe I’ll see a familiar face from school, or one of Mom and Dad’s friends. Or Mia.

The main stretch of roadway is nearby, only two blocks from my house.
I’ve already wasted time on Derek. I can’t waste anymore. What’s the easiest solution? Hitchhiking.

I jog the whole way. The street opens up to the key area I need to be in for this to work.
A white Honda advances toward me, and I bend my legs, ready to jump. I leap toward the car…and smack into the frame. Falling backward onto the pavement, I lie frozen in disbelief.
Ugh
. This isn’t going how I planned. In my head, I make it look easy.

Gradually
rising to my feet, I shake my arms, roll my head around a couple of times, and try again. But this time around, all doubts are tossed aside when Mia passes through me.
Mia
. I latch onto her car without thinking twice, pulling myself into the backseat. How did I transfer my energy so quickly? Maybe I was ready this time around? I don’t know. I do know that if home is where she’s going, then that’s where I’m going, too.

For a brief moment, I wish I could feel the breeze on my face, tugging at my hair. But there’s nothing.
Not the smell of car exhaust. No sunshine on my face. Nada.

Mia’s a speedy
but cautious driver; she signals every time she turns and brakes long before she’s supposed to. Even hanging out in the backseat seems safe. It doesn’t matter if I fell out, though, because it won’t hurt. After all, how can a spirit be injured?

I j>
One glance to my right and I
realize where we’re at. Death’s Cliff.

Where my body is.

Where I can’t call for help because I’m unconscious.

Where I’m dying.

I want to scream at the top of my lungs,
I’m down there!
But she’ll never hear me. Nobody in this alternate universe will hear me, unless I visibly apply my energy onto objects.

Mia slows the car
and pulls onto the overlook. She waits for two cars to zoom by before opening the door and stepping out. What is she doing? Her mouth moves as she inches closer to the ledge, but, of course, I can’t hear what she’s saying. What I can decipher is that she’s sad, worried almost. Her lips bend downward at the corners, and her shoulders hang lower than normal. Her fingers pick at the bottom of her shirt, and then move to her jeans, where she wipes her palms. She stares into the gully, like she’s considering whether the jump will kill her. I wish I could tell her that it doesn’t. Not in all cases, anyway.

Is it possible that, deep down, she can feel I’m there? Sara had said we can control things. What about minds? Maybe I thought about telling Mia I’m alive and somehow those words were relayed to her brain. Even though she can’t see me, maybe she can
hear
me. Like we’ve switched roles. I can see but can’t hear. She can hear but can’t see. Is that how it works?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Mia? It’s Flora. I’m beside your car.”

I cross my fingers
and anxiously wait.

Seconds turn into minutes, and there’s no response, no acknowledgement, that Mia can hear me.
So, maybe the connection is deeper than that. Maybe it’s like a person convincing themselves of something over a long period of time so they eventually believe what they say. Maybe she’s convinced herself that I went over Death’s Cliff, but she’s not really searching for proof.

Does nobody notice that the guardrail is
bent and pieces are missing? Laney’s tires squealed, didn’t they? Or were those mine? Either way, black-rubber markings are on the pavement. How can she not see that?

Ugh
. I want to scream.

If Mia can’t see what’s right in front of her, I’
ll have to work extra hard at proving I’m in her presence. Proof is a funny thing, but boy do I have it. Sara didn’t send me up here just to play in traffic and listen to this God-awful background noise. I came here to convince family and loved ones that I’m still alive, and damn it, I’m going to give it my all. There’s only one chance to make this work.

Mia eventually slides into the driver’s seat
and starts the engine. What? No looking around? No explor Snd?entualation of the surrounding area? She’s just giving up.

As we drive off, I peer
over my shoulder, watching the chasm where my body rests become smaller and smaller.

S
ara hasn’t bothered to check on me for a good thirty minutes. Now that Flora’s gone to fulfill her pointless quest, there’s no use in Sara pretending she cares about the failure that’s hanging out in her guest room. I’m more upset by the fact that I didn’t get my way. Nobody ever denies me anything—not my parents, not Chase, not my friends.
No-bah-dee
.

Except Oliver. He doesn’t take shit off anybody,
especially me. But that’s mostly because I give him an attitude.

Ugh
. This is my fault. Maybe I should’ve apologized to him when I had the chance. Maybe I would’ve stayed at his boutique longer than normal, and maybe that would’ve changed my fate. Flora and I would’ve never wrecked. This nightmare wouldn’t exist.

“Laney.” Sara’s singsong voice startles me,
but I don’t move from my position on the bed—lying down, facing the wall. I’m quite comfortable, thank you very much. “Let’s practice. I want to be confident you understand how to use energy before you leave.”

“Oh, yeah, now you care,” I say
, picking at nonexistent dirt under my fingernails.

Sara sighs, but it comes out so light
and airy. “I can’t force you, but I will say that I’m disappointed. You were so adamant about learning before.” She waits for some sort of response, I guess.

To avoid eye contact, I don’t roll over
. It’s when you make eye contact that people break you down, and I don’t want to be broken. And sometimes, I swear, Sara can look right through me, to my soul. It’s just creepy.

Sara
finally catches on that I’m not going to talk and exits. I kind of feel bad for her, but the fleeting thought vanishes when I think about how she chose Flora over me. What’s Flora even doing up there? Has she warned her parents, or my sister? If they can find her before someone else hands me a one-way ticket, then there’s no reason for me to return home. But this
is
Flora I’m talking about. She’s probably trying to find a local bar to hang out at, knowing I’m stuck in this place.

Ugh. I hate her.