Dead Girl in Love

“Do you realize who you’re talking to? When it comes to directions, I always end up choosing the wrong way.”

“You’re good at math, aren’t you?”

“Math doesn’t have anything to do with cooking.”

“Wrong. Cooking is one big math equation,” he said.

Then he explained about washing, slicing, measuring, and baking. It took a while to figure out the chemistry of blending ingredients, but Dustin was a great teacher. If he ever gave up his ambition to overthrow the government, he could be a famous chef.

He was saying how to set the timer on the oven when my phone beeped. I was ready to ignore the incoming text — until I saw the name that flashed on my screen.

Eli Rockingham.

Eli, Eli … My ELI! Calling!

Immediately I developed symptoms of a serious illness: dizziness, chills, sweats, racing pulse, an overall state of confusion. I hadn’t known Eli long, but what I did know made me ache, yearn, palpitate to be with him again. Was this love? If I could spend some quality time with him while in my real body, maybe I’d find out. Still, it was great to hear from him and I couldn’t say good-bye to Dustin fast enough.

Clicking a button, I read the message.

A,

GG told me who & where u r.

Xciting stuff down n la.

Gtg. More L8r.

Eli

Huh? That’s all he wrote? His “exciting stuff” probably had to do with being in Los Angeles as a finalist in the Voice Choice competition (think rip-off American Idol without the voting). He hadn’t planned to enter, but due to some confusion during my last assignment, he’d replaced his sister at the audition and made it to the Top Ten. He was even gaining fans in his new role as “Rocky” Rockingham, math-geek-turned-singer.

I missed Eli but didn’t blame him for having fun after a lifetime of being the ignored-little-brother of totally hot Chad. Girls, guys, even teachers were won over by Chad’s megawatt smile, athletic body, and charisma. Eli didn’t know it, but for a few minutes of bad judgment, I’d even fallen for Chad’s charms. But I hadn’t been in my own body, so it didn’t count. Besides, the kiss wasn’t even my idea … not that I’d objected. And I saw no reason to tell Eli, especially since I’d quickly discovered that Chad was an egotistic jerk. Where Chad was fake, Eli was completely real and wonderful, and he deserved his fifteen minutes of fame.

Still, I felt uneasy when Eli didn’t answer his cell. I sent a text, asking him to call soon. Then I gritted my teeth and set to work tackling the equation of a recipe. It was obvious from Eli’s message that he’d talked to Grammy (a.k.a. GG), so it was natural that he wasn’t worried about me. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Dinner looked great — but tasted worse than moldy carpet.

Mrs. Perfetti puckered when she took a bite but smiled without complaint. She was all sweetness now, asking about my day. I gave some vague lies about places I didn’t go and conversations I never had.

Afterwards, she offered to do kitchen cleanup, so I escaped to Alyce’s room. Once the door shut behind me, I relaxed and felt safe for the first time since body-swapping. I might not be home, but at least this was familiar territory. Yet it was weird being here minus Alyce. I kept expecting to hear her voice or see her walk into the room. When I flipped on the light and caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, the reality of my situation struck me hard. I really was Alyce. While she was gone, I carried the responsibility of her life with every word and act.

I could ruin her life … or save it.

Opting for the “save it” course, I grabbed Monkey Bag to search for clues.

I flipped the backpack upside down over Alyce’s bed. Papers, pens, containers of film, batteries, black-and- white photos, a compact camera case with camera, textbooks, etc. spilled onto the black striped comforter. I sorted everything out into piles, being extra careful with the camera, which Alyce had worked part-time to afford.

But where was her purple notebook?

There were still three zippered pouches I hadn’t checked because they were too small for a large notebook. I checked them now, finding loose change, a safety pin, a pack of gum, a gold hoop earring, and a folded paper.

Hmmm, I murmured as I unfolded the paper. It was a list:

1. Red Top

2. Green Briar

3. Liberty 4. Pioneer

Green Briar, the mortuary? What was that about? There was no topic or explanation about this list, only a few notations and dates. Red Top was scratched out with a dark scrawled NO. Green Briar’s only notation was today’s date. Liberty had tomorrow’s date with a large, black-inked question mark.

I had plenty of question marks, too.

Was this list for a new photography project? Alyce often took pictures of macabre headstones at creepy cemeteries. But there was nothing creepy about Green Briar, with its gleaming showroom and lush manicured cemetery. So what was the connection between the names (places?) on the list? It looked like Alyce had gone to Red Top at some point, then Green Briar today. I guessed the others were planned for the remaining days of spring break.

Did this have something to do with the GEM’s cryptic message about Alyce searching for “the lost”? How could I find something without knowing what I was looking for?

Frustrated, I began returning things to the backpack, searching meticulously for more information. Alyce had been searching, too — for something at the places on her list. But why? And did this quest have anything to do with her crisis? The only thing I knew for sure was that I completely trusted Alyce and would do anything to help her.

So where was that damned purple notebook?

A flash of purple caught my eye, sticking out of Alyce’s World History textbook. But it wasn’t the notebook — just a folder with a green bush symbol on the label. Looking closer, I recognized the symbol.

Green Briar Mortuary.

A knot formed in my gut, tightening like a noose.

Alyce had stolen from the mortuary — and I held the proof in my hands.

4

Of course, I snooped inside the file.

But scored only disappointment.

Nothing but useless old papers, typed in tiny uneven print that probably came from a manual typewriter, listing names and purchases from customers in 1947. The list wasn’t even complete, only showing Green Briar customers with last names beginning with B and C. Alyce had to have had a good reason for stealing this. I tried to reconstruct the sequence of events that must have occurred before I replaced Alyce. I imagined her sneaking into the Green Briar office, searching through cabinets until the saleswoman showed up. Then Alyce grabbed the file and hid inside the casket — where I took over.

What was so damned important about these papers?

Night folded around me as I studied the papers, losing myself in confusing thoughts as I flipped back and forth, rereading names that meant nothing to me. All I gained was a headache. Not the kind of mild headache that could be banished with a few Tylenol. Alyce often complained about migraines, and although I sympathized, I’d secretly thought she was exaggerating. I mean, how could a headache be that bad?

Now I knew.

Pain intensified, crashing into my brow and spreading out across my head. I rubbed my forehead, moaning. Dizzily, I leaned back on Alyce’s pillow, eyes closed as I waited for the misery to ease. Not getting any better,