As Simple as It Seems by Sarah Weeks Page B

sky,
    Do not be afraid.
    I will find you in the sparrow’s song
    And in the firefly’s light.
    Do not be afraid, my beloved.
    Your soul will live forever in my heart.
    At the dress rehearsal when Harris Kohler lay on the stage supposedly dead and I was about to deliver my big speech, he got a terrible case of the giggles. What set him off was my necklace. My mother had made it out of brightly painted macaroni strung onto one of my father’s leather bootlaces. For some reason, the sight of that macaroni got to Harris, and once he started laughing he just couldn’t stop. I was so afraid that it would happen during the performance that I became instantly paralyzed with stage fright. I would never have been able to go on if Annie hadn’t come to my rescue.
    â€œDon’t worry,” she told me after the rehearsal. “I’ll take care of Harris.”
    At the performance that night, I delivered my deathbed speech without a hitch, and even though I wore the macaroni necklace, Harris Kohler lay still as a river stone, the crisp new twenty-dollar bill Annie’s grandmother had sent her for her birthday tucked into the front pocket of his pants.
    Despite my limited experience on the stage, Pooch seemed to be swallowing my act hook, line, and sinker. He pulled the granola bar out of his pocket and held it out to me.
    I shook my head.
    â€œThanks, but ghosts can’t eat granola bars,” I toldhim. “Everything we eat has to be white—otherwise it shows through. I eat mostly marshmallows and mashed potatoes.”
    Pooch squinched up his eyebrows again.
    â€œRemember those tea parties you were telling me about?” he said. “Tea isn’t white, so how come it doesn’t show through when you drink it?”
    He was a careful listener, and I was going to have to stay on my toes if I wanted to keep him on the line.
    â€œWe call them tea parties, but we don’t actually drink tea,” I explained. “We have hot water with lemon instead. Or sometimes hot milk.”
    â€œI can’t drink milk,” said Pooch, folding his arms and scratching both elbows at the same time. “I’m lactose intolerant. I’m also allergic to feather pillows, dust mites, pollen, bee stings, walnuts, and—”
    â€œIs there anything you’re not allergic to?” I interrupted.
    â€œSugarless gum,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his shirt. “Want a piece?”
    I did, but I shook my head when he held out the package to me. I wasn’t sure whether gum counted as a see-through food or not. Pooch unwrapped a stick of pink gum and folded it into his mouth.
    â€œDo you think any of your ghost friends would likea piece?” he asked, waving the pack in the air.
    I’d forgotten I’d told him there were other ghosts.
    â€œThey all left,” I said. “There’s a big tea party over in Washerville today. I’m the only one here now.”
    Pooch blew a little pink bubble, which popped and stuck to his lips. He grinned that goofy grin again, and this time I noticed there were gaps where some of his permanent teeth hadn’t grown in yet.
    â€œHow old are you?” I asked him.
    â€œNine,” he answered, picking at the remnants of bubble sticking to his lower lip. “Same as you.”
    I was eleven and a half. Even though I’d started school a year later than everybody else, making me the oldest in my class, I was used to people assuming I was younger than I really was because I was so small for my age.
    â€œI figured that’s how it worked,” he went on. “However old you are when you die, that’s how old you stay forever, right?”
    Now I understood. He thought I was nine because Tracy Allen had been nine when she drowned.
    â€œIs it true what they say about the light?” asked Pooch.
    â€œWhat light?” I asked.
    â€œThe white light you see right before you die.”
    I