I'd Rather Not Be Dead by Andrea Brokaw Page A

I'm running through a hallway
at school, crashing into the cafeteria.
    Cooper Finnegan... Where is he?
I look to the popular table. It's filled with the usual assortment
of jocks and pretty people. Minus, naturally, the one I'm looking
for.
    The room darkens and horror
fights to take control of my mind. It's not having to fight hard.
Reason is more than willing to take a dive.
    “Drew!” Cooper Finnegan
yells.
    My head snaps to him and I
sprint indiscriminately through tables and students in a mad dash
for his safety while the whole room goes silent to stare at
him.
    Just before I reach him, I fall,
tripping on my own feet. I slide against the ground, grabbing his
ankle and holding onto it for dear life.
    The darkness pauses,
recedes.
    “What?” the other me yells at my
savior.
    He stares at her, no clue what
to say. The entire cafeteria is waiting.
    “Ms. Pauler wants to see you,” I
say. There's a good chance it's true. Or at least that everyone
will think it's true. It would be a rare day if the principal were
happy with me.
    He repeats the line perfectly
and TOM scowls at him. “Whatever. Mind your own business.”
    His leg gives a jerk to show
he'd like to move now.
    Worried the fog will come back
the second I let go of him, I take my time unwrapping myself from
his foot. The light stays though.
    Cooper Finnegan doesn't go to
his usual table but walks out of the cafeteria into a deserted
hallway. He untwists the cap off the sports drink he'd been
fetching when I ran in and downs about half of it in one gulp.
    “It's not beer,” I tell him.
“That probably won't work.”
    He laughs and screws the top
back on. Leaning against the wall, a splash of color on the white
bricks, he shakes his head in mild wonder. “What the hell was
that?”
    “I don't know. I kind of hoped
you would.” I take a deep breath. “I think it's The Spirit.”
    His eyebrows draw together and
he nods slowly. “Could be. My grandfather described it as something
less tangible though.”
    I shrug, putting a lot of effort
into not allowing myself to look around and make sure the darkness
isn't lurking nearby. “I met a little girl who said it was strong
today.”
    He nods again, tapping the end
of his bottle lightly against his leg. “Becky Lynn?”
    My eyes roll, completely of
their own accord. “We didn't have time for introductions. She said
I had to get to my Place of Power to hide from the thing.”
    This produces a frown and makes
the bottle go still. “So why'd you come here?”
    I give a disgusted grunt.
“Because I don't know where my Place of Power is.”
    He stares at me for several
seconds before pushing off of the wall and starting to walk away.
He glances to make sure I'm following, like I'm going to get
separated from him again with fog hovering around.
    “Usually someone's Place of
Power is the place they died.” Cooper Finnegan turns down another
hall, heading, I think, toward the athletic storage room.
    “I don't know where I died,” I
remind him.
    “That would be a problem.” We go
into a room filled with random sports equipment and Cooper Finnegan
sits down on a box lid. “Where do your postmortem memories
start?”
    Folding my legs, I sit on the
floor in front of him. “One of the stops off the Parkway.”
    His head tilts and he makes a
thoughtful noise. “It wouldn't be the first to get a ghost.”
    “It wouldn't?”
    He gives me a funny look. “Don't
talk to folks much, do you?”
    “Not if I can help it.”
    “Well...” Letting out a breath,
he opens the bottle again. “I wouldn't go so far as to say all of
them are haunted, but there are several stories everyone knows.
There's one where one of the men who built the road was crushed to
death. There's another where a man shot a cheating wife.” He meets
my eyes. “And one where a college girl was thrown off a cliff.”
    I've gone so cold I can't
remember ever being warm. “You're saying I was murdered?”
    “Something bad happened to you,”
he