Authors: Linda Joy Singleton
Waking up to find a cute guy sitting on your bed
might be a dream come true for some girls.
But not me.
Especially when the guy was dead-and some
people think I killed him.
Normally ghosts don't scare me. Coming from
a long line of psychics, I'd been weaned on Ghosts,
Spirits, and Angels 101. I've had visions of the future and long chatty conversations with my spirit guide.
But this was different. This was Kip.
Seeing him so alive and real-only six months
after his death was beyond freaky. Terror sliced
through me like a sharp blade.
"Go away!" I shouted, then ducked underneath
my pillow, my eyes shut tightly and my heart pounding furiously.
Please let this be a bad dream. Yeah, that must
be it. I was having a nightmare or maybe a reaction
to the pain medication. I remembered falling asleep,
relieved to be out of the hospital and back in my
own familiar quilted bed. After surviving a deadly
road accident, it was logical that I'd dream about car
crashes-including the tragedy that would always
haunt me. But that was all in the past. I mean, this
could not be happening. No way was Kip Hurst in
my room.
But when I peeked out, there he was, decked
out in his #17 football jersey (which was odd since
he'd died in a formal prom tux). Energy flickered
around him, making his face seem unnaturally pale
while his legs were so transparent that when he
stood it looked like he was floating over my bed. A
football appeared in his hand and he spun it on his fingertip, grinning at me in that arrogant way I always detested.
"Go away!" I tried again.
With a tilt of his head, he regarded me with
wry curiosity.
"Get out of here!"
He tossed the ball so high it disappeared into
my dark ceiling.
I stared up, waiting for the football-and my
own sanity-to return. Long moments stretched on
in eerie silence; then the ball slowly sailed into his
hand. Only his energy flickered and his hand wasn't
there. The football balanced on its pointy end in
empty air. I pinched myself, just to check if I was, in
fact, dreaming. Ouch! Definitely not a dream.
Kip's hand may have vanished and his legs were
see-through, but his grin flashed with a mega-watt
cocky attitude. Clearly he was not going away.
Gathering my blankets around me, I scooted
upright in bed and faced this ghost from my past.
Kip had been a star football player with major
league expectations and he'd also been a three-time
homecoming king.
At my old school, Arcadia High, where sports
ruled and had more funding than any other department, Kip was truly royalty.
I wasn't one of Kip's fans. It just seemed to me
that jocks were overrated. I mean, what was so
great about pummeling players on a field? I hadn't
even known Kip, except by reputation ... until
The Vision.
Then why was he here so many months later?
Unless he blamed me ...
I swallowed hard, then forced out the question
I knew I had to ask. "What do you want?"
I could barely make out his shadowy hand
pointing directly at me.
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