Author: Adele Griffin
Category: Suspense
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/424_17
“Ugh.” But I could feel myself smiling. “Are all your jokes from the How to Be an Annoying Fourth Grader’s operating manual?”
“Hey, I got a smile out of you. I’d way rather see you be exasperated than sad. And listen—you’ve got your whole life to be a French chef. Truth is, the average high school class runs on Pop-Tarts, Corn Pops, and Red Bull. So how about you just sit back and enjoy something that crunches while we talk Halloween.” With one long arm, Rachel easily plucked two bowls from the top shelf and then shook the box of cereal on the counter.
“Yes, Halloween. No, Corn Pops.”
“Cereal snob.” Rachel replaced one bowl with a sigh, then dumped her own bowl straight to the rim. “So here’s our dilemma, as I see it. Are we going to Lucia’s Halloween party? Even though it’s in Tribeca and we have no idea if superrich Italian beauty queens know how to throw a party?”
“I think so,” I answered. “If we don’t drop by, Claude will feel snubbed. And then we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
Rachel made a face. “Annoying but true. Agreed.”
“So, wedding zombies,” I said. “Are we definitely decided on that?”
“Yes, but not gross-out. Fashionable zombies, all dressed up. With the blood daubed on like perfume. A couple of tasteful splotches at the neck and wrists.”
“Mmm. Let me write this down.” I found a notebook by the phone and wrote, blood—perfume. “What about shoes?”
“Dunno, but it sounds like a joke, doesn’t it? Where do zombies buy their shoes?”
“A bad joke. A Rachel Smart joke.” I wrote, shoes? Then I stared at the paper. The words blood perfume shoes seemed to blur and break apart into fragments before my eyes. It was as if a winter wind had slivered through the room. Shivering, I looked down. I saw my bare feet and I saw black biker boots with thick silver metal grommets at the ankle. I saw a kitchen floor and I also saw a concrete pavement. Wet leaves blown by the chill of a first freeze. I could hear a rhythmic thud of footfalls. I was on a bridge, a gray chop of water stretched all around me, and I was singing, from faraway I could hear an echo of my own voice, the tune was Weregirl, I was singing with someone, and now he stopped and I could feel his mouth on my neck, nipping it, his lips soft and cool against me, but somebody was watching, somebody I disliked, my body tensed, I turned my head—
“Ember!” Rachel had zoomed in close, flapping a hand in front of my face. I jumped. “Dishrag girl! Where’d you go?”
“What?” I blinked.
“You just completely freaked me out! Talk about zombies! You weren’t here!”
My heart was pounding. On the notebook, I’d doodled that funny-looking A, that same character that I’d written on my hand my first day home. I stared at it hard, as if it were capable of giving me more. Was the A for Anthony?
“Smarty,” I whispered. “I think I went back.”
“Back where?”
“To January. In the memory pocket. In my head.”
“Aaaand?” Rachel raised a stagy eyebrow. “Whatever did you see there, time traveler?”
She was joking, but I was right. I’d been back. I closed my eyes to find it again. Pressed the heels of my hands into the hollows of my eye sockets. “Nothing really. It was winter, and I was walking, singing. I was with someone.” I didn’t mention my neck, his mouth. “It was ice-cold, but the images were etched so clear. Like a dream.”
When I glanced at Rachel, she had her arms crossed. Skeptical.
“Sorry.” I flushed. “Forget it. I’m back! Zombie costumes. Shoes—to be decided.” I picked up the pen and scribbled loop-de-loops through the mark. “Let’s see if we can find hospital gauze instead of toilet paper. I bet that the gauze will be more durable. Especially if it’s raining on Halloween, our costumes will dissolve.”
“Ember.”
I looked up. “What?”
“Are you okay to be a zombie?”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“Maybe you’d rather be something less morbid. Maybe zombies are putting you in the wrong head space.”
“God, Smarty. I’m not that sensitive, am I?”
Rachel began popping her knuckles, from thumb to pinkie. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell what you want, minute by minute.”
“The bandages will hide my scars.” I touched my forehead. “Unless…I went as the lead singer of Weregirl. Now that’s an easy costume—ripped tights and an army jacket and patrol boots.”
“And then you can enjoy all the blank stares since nobody knows that band.”
“Smarty, when did I start liking Weregirl? I listen to them all the time now.”
“Ugh, Ember. I don’t know. I wasn’t keeping babysitting tabs on you after you deep-sixed Holden,” said Rachel—her voice had gone flat in that way I’d come to recognize when she spoke about last year. “You turned distant. Holden was in a terrible place, and I had cousin custody of him. Plus you didn’t want me.” Then it was as if she were making a conscious effort to lighten up, as she stuck out her tongue, then dug back into her Pops. “So bottom line, poor me.”
“I don’t remember Holden being in bad shape.”
“Well, he’s proud, you know. Not pitiful.”
“The breakup was hard on us both.”
“Hard on us all. You checked out, Emb. Even when I tried to find a way back to being friends.”
“Right. I know.”
“Hey, I think I want to be the groom zombie,” she said. “I’m taller with no boobs. You wear—used to wear—dresses all the time. You should be the one to go bridal.”
Used to. I used to wear dresses all the time. But I don’t anymore. Ever. I fobbed off the suggestion with a shrug. “Except it’s the one night I can put on Dad’s eighties tux jacket. So how about let’s be two groom zombies?”
“Oh, you’re so difficult sometimes.” But then Rachel begrudged a smile. “Okay, fine.” And then, as if daring herself, she wolfed down the rest of the pizza slice. “Not bad, actually.”
“Liar.” I smiled. She was trying, I knew. Trying to understand this girl I’d become, after the breakup, the accident, the year away from her. She wanted to preserve and maybe even reinvent our friendship, to be here for me—whatever parts of me she could find. And I knew I wanted her back, too. It wasn’t her fault I was partly hidden from her. In many ways, I was hidden from everyone. Myself included.