Dead Girl in Love

“Grammy, can’t you postpone the zoo or get someone else to take them?” I asked. “I need you to come with me.”

“Your obsession with cemeteries is beginning to worry me.”

“It’s not my obsession. It’s Alyce’s search for her … well, that’s one of the things I want to tell you.” I took a deep breath. “I have to find someone who’s lost. And there’s another thing I need to discuss with you.”

“What?” She sounded impatient.

“Um … it’s about a friend. It’ll take some time to explain.”

“Then it’ll have to wait till later. Do what you have to do while I take my little darlings to the zoo. Afterwards, we’ll get together and you can tell me everything.”

I nodded, though privately I knew I wouldn’t dare tell her everything-just enough to convince her to meet with Gabe.

“We’re off to see lions and tigers and giraffes,” Grammy said with a cheerful wave as she started my mother’s Toyota.

Olive gave my braid one last tug, then reluctantly let go. “Bye, Ally!” she told me.

“Bye, Ally,” Cherry echoed from the back seat.

“Bye, Sissy,” Melonee added.

“Melonee!” Startled, I jerked back, banging my head on the door frame. “What did you call me?”

“Sissy bye-bye.” She waved at me from her car seat.

I was dumbfounded, and I could tell Grammy was surprised, too. The triplets never did call me “Amber,” finding it easier to say “Sissy.”

“Melonee,” I said gently. “Can’t you see that I’m Alyce?”

“Sissy looks funny.” Melonee giggled in her shy way, blushing and looking down at her feet, which always made it easy for me to tell her apart from her sisters. Melonee was the quiet, gentle triplet who seldom cried and loved books more than toys.

I glanced over at Grammy. “She knows!”

“Hmmm.” Grammy glanced into the rearview mirror. “Interesting.”

“Is that all you can say? She knows who I really am!”

“Children can be so perceptive.”

“Aren’t you worried? What if she tells someone?”

Grammy shrugged. “She’s not even two years old. I think our secret is safe.”

“You’re right … still, it’s freaky. How can she recognize me when I don’t look or sound the same?”

“You can tell the girls apart even though they look and sound the same. I think it’s much of the same with Melonee recognizing you. Still, we should be cautious. I’ll drop you off at your car, but after that avoid being around the girls until after you switch back. So don’t come to the house.”

“But I still need to talk with you.”

“Later,” she promised.

Then she waited while I ran into the house to get my stuff. The drone of the TV covered my hurried steps as I whipped into my room and grabbed Monkey Bag, making sure I had a camera (I bypassed the large one with attachments and choose an easy-to-operate digital camera), a notebook, phone, wallet, and the directions Dustin had printed for me. Pioneer Cemetery was the last name on the list, so there was a good chance I’d find Sam’s grave there.

I shut the bedroom door behind me and hooked the backpack over my shoulder. As I neared the living room, I saw Mrs. Perfetti dozing off while a gray-haired lady judge criticized a skinny, twenty-something guy for not cleaning up after his Great Dane in a park. I tiptoed past Mrs. Perfetti, who was sprawled across the couch, her mouth slightly open and her head resting against a pillow. She didn’t look scary … only sad.

Her sadness lingered with me as I stepped out of the house.

With the triplets gibbering noisily, it was impossible to talk about anything important on the drive to Junkmobile. I enjoyed being with them, though, and wished I really was “Sissy.” It was hard being away from them. But soon I’d switch back, I told myself. I’d solve Alyce’s crisis and we’d both resume our real lives.

Junkmobile was where I’d left it. I unlocked the door and was slipping into the driver’s seat when I heard a musical ring. Fumbling in the backpack, I pulled out the cell phone and read Dustin’s name.

“Where are you?” he boomed before I could even say hi.

“Getting into Junkmobile.”

“Coming to visit me?”

“You wish,” I teased. “I’d rather hang out with the dead.”

“We all have our fetishes.” He chuckled, then added, “Seriously, I got your text and was making plans to get you a ride, but sounds like you’ve got that covered. You still have the directions I gave you for Pioneer Cemetery?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t get lost.”

“No worries here. This will work out great — it’s both spontaneous and romantic. When you get to the cemetery, look for a black Civic. I wasn’t sure about him at first, but he’s even more antisocial than Alyce. He hates going to movies or clubs, and was cool about meeting at a cemetery.”

“Oh. My. God. You don’t mean … ”

“He noticed Alyce around school, and liked what he saw.”

“Who?” I asked, a sick knot tightening in my chest.

“Your second date, of course,” Dustin said proudly. “Kyle.”

15

Kyle.

The guy who might have mob connections, a criminal record, and a habit of using girlfriends as punching bags.

WHAT WAS DUSTIN THINKING?

Outraged, ready to tell Dustin exactly what he could do with this insane idea, I heard a dial tone. He’d hung up on me!

Dustin was soooo dead.

I tossed the phone across the seat. Dustin knew when to make his exit, that was for sure, but he didn’t know anything about matchmaking. If going out with Zachary — a nice, preppy, respectable guy — had been a disaster, a date with a badass like Kyle was sure to be apocalyptic. Well, forget it. I was so not going.

But then I thought, why change my plans because of some guy? Leaning against the car’s leather seat, I sorted through my conflicting thoughts. If I delayed going to the cemetery, I might switch back into my own body and lose this opportunity. I’d seen Kyle around school and despite his reputation, he didn’t look dangerous. It should be safe enough to meet him in a public place in the middle of the day. Besides, what if Dustin was right and Kyle was a good match for Alyce?

Shifting the car into drive, I headed for the cemetery.

The roads became more rural, two lanes without much traffic, curving with the rolling rise and fall of spring- green hills. When I spotted the historical marker for Pioneer Cemetery I pulled off the road, parking in front of a staircase set into a steep hillside. I spotted the Civic right away.

The car was dark; no sign of Kyle. I glanced uneasily at the wrought iron cemetery gate, where only a few ghostly shapes of tombstones were visible from the street. Although the sun peaked out between smoky clouds and warmed my skin through the car window, I shivered.

There were no paved walkways at this cemetery, only a rough collage of dirt, rocks, and wild grasses. I climbed the steep steps, inhaling a sweet fragrance of spring foliage that seemed an ironic perfume for a place of death. I unlatched the gate and it swung open, creaking like old bones. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I’d grabbed a jacket. The gate clanged shut behind me and I stepped forward … then gasped.