Dead Girl in Love

Jessica was a do-gooder with more fashion sense than common sense. It had been her idea to celebrate my (assumed) death by holding a canned food drive/memorial service. She clearly had a big future as a corporate pirate, stealing companies with a sweet smile and worthwhile goals.

I deleted Jessica’s message, then read Eli’s text:

My songs r 4 u. Luv E.

I read this over and over, loving him, missing him, wishing he were with me instead of singing duets with the Showmance Bitch. I nearly made the huge mistake of calling him back, until I realized he’d want to know everything and I couldn’t tell him about Gabe. So I sent a text (too private to repeat) and signed it Luv A.

Then I clicked on Dustin’s text:

How’d it go?

This question struck me as so ridiculous that I laughed out loud. As if my date was a normal evening that ended with a kiss, not with a crazy mom calling my date the devil. It would take hours to describe my disastrous night and I didn’t have the energy to go into that now. So I replied with a symbol of a frowning face.

Problems? he texted back.

I sent three frowning faces this time. Then I added TTYL, sure he’d understand that I wasn’t ready to talk yet. I’d fill in him tomorrow. He might not know it yet, but he was going to drive me downtown to collect Junkmobile.

Then I stared down at a missed call message from Grammy. No text or voicemail, so I didn’t know why she’d called. I wanted to call her, yet dreaded it, too. While she always knew the right things to say so I felt better, talking to her would be tricky because of my promise to Gabe. You’d think arranging a meeting between them would be easy. Far from it! Grammy would be angry that I’d broken serious Dark Lifer rules.

Instead of calling Grammy, I shut off the phone.

Why did everything have to be so complicated? I sank on the bed and hugged a pillow to my chest. Guilt and confusion swamped me like a tidal wave. And I missed Alyce sooo much. I could look at her face in the mirror but I couldn’t talk to my very best friend, and that made me feel more alone than ever.

She’ll come back sooner if you do your job, I reminded myself. So with a firm resolve to ditch the self-pity, I shifted into action mode. Planning is what I’d always done to keep myself focused and not dwell on sad emotions. I’d find a notebook and create a plan of action. Things always seemed clearer when I could strategize a solution on paper. Alyce, on the other hand, channeled her emotions into creative brilliance: amazing gift baskets, photographs, paintings. But even with those outlets, she’d spiraled into a crisis — a crisis about “love,” according to the GEM. Maybe I was going about this all wrong. What if her crisis wasn’t about romantic love but about her love for her mother — her unpredictable, unstable mother?

I dug into Monkey Bag and pulled out the GEM. Staring down at the tiny book, I flipped to a random blank page.

“Would a boyfriend for Alyce solve her crisis?”

No.

“No? But when I asked what her problem was before, you said it was love.”

There are many different loves.

“Does that mean I should go out with a different guy?”

Find the missing.

“What’s missing for me is a GEM that gives helpful answers. I went to all the trouble of going out with Zachary because of what you told me. And now there’s the drama with Alyce’s mother. What’s wrong with her, anyway?”

A broken heart begins a chain of sorrow.

“Am I supposed to help Alyce’s mother, too?”

Hope cannot be restored until the lost is found.

“The lost WHAT? You said that before and it still doesn’t make any sense. What am I supposed to find?”

Not what — who, the smart-ass book corrected.

“Okay then.” Grinding my teeth and reminding myself I was talking to a tiny book, not a real person, I tried another question. “Can you tell me who is lost?”

Yes.

“Then do it! Tell me who’s lost!” I cried, losing my temper. “No more confusing answers. I want a name and I want it now.”

SAM.

“And who the hell is Sam?”

Four-letter words are rude.

The book slammed shut.

Just great, I thought, tossing the worthless bundle of pages on the bedroom floor. Stupid book had too much attitude. Twice in one night, I’d heard the name Sam. It was puzzling enough to see it signed on a painting I knew Alyce had painted, but according to the snarky GEM, Sam was a person who was lost. Yeah, like that made sense.

What would happen if I marched into Mrs. Perfetti’s room and asked about Sam? Would she tell me the truth? Or would that only upset her?

Determined, I left Alyce’s room and went to her mother’s closed door. Leaning my head against the wood, I listened for sounds but heard nothing. Slowly I turned the knob and peeked inside. Mrs. Perfetti was sound asleep.

Still, I was stomping angry at the unfairness of having an assignment without knowing all the circumstances. Why wasn’t I given more information before being thrust into Alyce’s body? When I’d complained about this, Grammy said my job wasn’t to solve Alyce’s problem, only to live her life so she could ultimately solve her own problem.

Humph! If Alyce could solve her own problem, neither of us would be in this mess. So it was up to me to tackle her problems. Only how could I without knowing more? I had a feeling Sam was the key to Alyce’s crisis.

Find Sam = Save Alyce.

GEM and Grammy hadn’t helped, so I’d turn to someone who could.

Digging deep into my pocket, I pulled out a piece of paper and stared at seven numbers scrawled in dark, masculine writing.

I hesitated, biting my lip. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Would I regret it?

Maybe, but helping my best friend was worth the risk.

Before I lost my nerve, I grabbed the phone.

And called Gabe.

12

Gabe answered before I even heard a ring, as if he’d been holding the phone, waiting for a call he knew would come.

“Amber?” His voice was low and sexy.

“Gabe, did you mean what you said earlier?” I asked, the loud pounding of my heart muffling my voice.

“I always mean what I say.”

“What you told me … about powers I could learn … could I really contact Alyce?”

“Yes.”

“Could you show me how and could I learn quickly?”

“Yes to both.”

I sensed mysterious undercurrents in his answers; deep rivers of secrets that could sweep me over the edge of danger. His simple “yeses” were so not simple and my hand tightened around the phone, aware of the depth of