down.
I started to close the book when pages flipped as if caught up in a sudden wind, revealing a page with the most puzzling message yet:
Huh? What did that mean? How was I suppose to “inquire” and where exactly was “here”? I stared, waiting for further instructions, but there weren’t any. And when I flipped back to the beginning, everything I’d already read had vanished.
“Grammy,” I grumbled with a gaze up toward the semi-dark ceiling, “why are you making this so hard?”
Holding my breath, I half-expected to hear her reply, but all I heard was the increasing thump of my own heartbeat. And when I looked back down at the book, bold black ink spewed into words.
I squinted down at the book, afraid that if I blinked these words would vanish, too. Then I must have blinked, because the page was empty again. But I was beginning to understand a little. This candy-bar-sized book was my connection to the other side.
“How am I supposed to help Sharayah?” I asked it.
“But the rules aren’t written down any more!” I argued.
“Sarcastic book, aren’t you?”
The page cleared itself of ink again — which was answer enough.
“Okay, this is starting to make sense. I ask you a question and you give me an answer. Will you tell me anything I ask?”
The book cover slammed shut.
“I take that as a no,” I said, frowning. “Can you at least tell me about Sharayah’s crisis? Does it have to do with the boyfriend Gabe, college, or all that money?”
I waited for an answer, the book cupped in my hands, only there was no flutter of reply.
“Come on,” I urged. “Open up again and write to me. I need to know about Sharayah’s problems. What am I supposed to do for her?”
The book flopped open and one word scrawled on the page.
Now that really told me a big fat page of nothing. I already knew I was supposed to live her life, at least temporarily. But did that mean I was supposed to sit around this dorm room until my temp time was up? Or did Sharayah have obligations like a job or homework? I didn’t want to hang around accomplishing nothing — I wanted to be Super Amber and solve all problems.
Okay, okay … so maybe solving problems might not technically be my job. But Sharayah obviously needed help or she wouldn’t have cut off her family and dumped her former roommate/best friend. There was also the money and the text threat. Why would Grammy say I was good at helping people if that’s not what she wanted me to do? And she must have had a good reason for choosing me for this mission. My knowing Eli couldn’t be the reason, because that was just awkward and complicated my assignment. So why choose me instead of an experienced Temp Lifer? Did I have a unique ability or talent that made me a good match for this job? I couldn’t think of anything.
I glanced at the clock, wondering if Eli was on his way. Even if he’d gotten a car immediately, the drive would take him at least two hours. I yawned, so exhausted and overwhelmed I could hardly think straight. A short rest would feel great. And when I awoke, Eli might be here.
Tossing the GEM into the black purse, I dug a pillow from a pile of clothes on the floor then curled up on Sharayah’s bed. Yawning again, I closed my eyes and slipped away into dreams.
Memories spun in kaleidoscope fragments, sweeping me back home to my family. In my living room, my little triplet sister Olive toddled after our cat Snowy, who leapt on a high shelf and transformed into a dog with a glowing collar — my (dead) dog Cola. Suddenly I was in a hospital with white walls and speckled linoleum floors, and Cola was running away. I had to catch him so he would take me to my grandmother, only he ran so fast, turning corners in a dizzy blur. I was racing on a treadmill, going nowhere. I thought I was alone until I glanced over my shoulder and saw a security guard with glowing gray hands — a Dark Lifer! He was coming closer, closer, his footsteps thudding with menace as shimmering gray fingers reached out and—
Suddenly my eyes jerked open.
I was instantly awake, panicked, but not because of my dream.
In the murky darkness, a shadowy figure loomed over the bed — watching me.
3
“Don’t touch me!” I shouted, jerking upright and pulling the pillow close to my chest.
“What’s your problem?” The shadow’s voice was female and annoyed. “Stop freaking out.”
“Stay back! Get away!”
“Rayah, it’s just me. Are you having another nightmare?”
There was a soft click and the bedside lamp flashed on, so bright I was momentarily blinded. When my vision cleared, I saw short, prickly pink hair and black kohl eyes. This girl was older than me — oops, scratch that — I mean, older than my real self, about the same age of Sharayah. She wore snug black jeans, a black leather aviator jacket over a neon-pink shirt, and dangling, barbed-wire earrings.
“You’re her … um … my roommate?” I asked, blinking away confusion.
“Are you high? Why else would I put up with you? It’s not the first time you’ve woke up screaming. Was it the ocean nightmare again?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Like that surprises me.” She chuckled, a silver stud on her tongue. “How much did you drink this time?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“You are so bad. Didn’t you get any sleep? I left so you could have privacy in here last night, but I expected you to sleep some, too. You owe me, by the way, because the twin bed Sadie loaned me was as hard as concrete. So get your ass out of bed.”
“This early? We’re going out?” I frowned, wishing I knew her name and how to act toward her. Were we best friends or just casual roommates?
“Of course we’re going out! Your suitcase is already in the car. Did you fry all your brain cells?”
“I hope not,” I said seriously. My head spun like I’d been whirling upside down on a roller coaster and a bitter taste sickened my mouth.
“Pull yourself together, okay? I can’t believe you’re not even ready — unless that’s what you plan to wear. Hey, if you want to go in a shirt and thong, cool with me. Truckers will honk when they look down at our car.” She pried the pillow from my clasped hands then tugged on my arm. “Hurry up, Rayah.”
“I can’t … ” I shook off her grip. “I don’t feel well enough to go anywhere.”
“Just because you’re hung-over doesn’t mean we’re dumping our spring break plans. If this is about your ocean phobia, no one will make you get into the water. And need I remind you that leaving so early was
“It was?”
“Don’t you remember anything?” She rolled her dark eyes. “You insisted we leave early because you were all paranoid about a stalker.”
“The stalker! You know about that?”
“Well, duh. You showed me the note.”
Note? I puzzled. Did that mean there had been other threats?
“Do you know who’s threatening me?” I asked her.
“How would I? The note wasn’t signed — besides, I think it’s a joke. I’m always threatening to kill you —
