Shade by Jeri Smith-Ready Page B

pulsed in my grip. It was like shoving my hand against a Jacuzzi nozzle. Then the current reversed, sucking me in.
    “I can’t let go!” My heels kicked at the sand, trying to gain traction. “Logan!”
    His liquid fingers clutched my shoulders. My body slipped forward as if sliding down a steep hill.
    Behind me, someone pulled. Someone as strong and solid as the earth itself.
    But it wasn’t enough. Caught in gravity’s grasp, I crashed into Logan’s body of blood.
    My eyes opened. Flailing my arm, I rolled over, expecting to see Aunt Gina standing over my bed after shaking me awake.
    “Sweetheart?”
    Her voice came from the doorway, not my bedside.
    “It’s almost noon.” Gina entered and sat next to me, then brushed the sweaty bangs off my forehead. “Can I get you some soup?”
    Warm liquid. Entering my body. Through my mouth.
    I lunged over Gina’s lap and barfed into the trash can.
    “I guess not,” she murmured as she pulled back my hair.
    When I stopped retching—which didn’t take long, since there was nothing in my stomach—she handed me a tissue. I was already sick of tissues.
    Gina picked up the pukey trash can. “I’ll bring you some soda.”The house phone rang, and she hurried out before I could plead, “No liquids!”
    A few minutes later the doorbell sounded. I had the urge to run, or at least hide, but my limbs felt like rubber.
    Soon there was a soft knock on my bedroom door. Megan shambled in, carrying a plate of saltines and a fizzing glass of ginger ale.
    “I thought about calling first,” she said, “but I was afraid you’d tell me not to come. So I just came.”
    “Thanks.” I sat up to take the crackers. The stoneware plate was cool and solid. “Put that drink where I can’t see it, okay?”
    Without questioning, Megan set the glass on my desk, then opened my calculus book and set it on its edge, as if the ginger ale were getting changed behind one of those old-fashioned dressing screens.
    “How’s Mickey?” I asked her.
    “Horrible.” She slouched over from the desk and sank onto the edge of the bed. “They finally got hold of Mr. and Mrs. Keeley on the cruise. They’re flying back tonight when the ship stops in the Caymans.” She rubbed her chapped nose. “A couple of aunts are already at the house, which pisses Mickey off. He says he can take care of the family until their folks come back, but of course he can’t.”
    “Has Dylan seen—I mean, has Logan—”
    “No one’s seen Logan.” She squeezed my knee through the red sheet. “I think he’s really gone.”
    I slumped back on my pillow, knowing I should be relieved instead of crushed. “But it was so sudden. Most people like that stay ghosts for longer than ten minutes. No way was he already at peace.”I remembered Logan’s face as his brother screamed at his dead body. Another tear dribbled out. “Maybe Logan’s mad at us.”
    Megan groaned. “You too? Mickey blames himself. You blame yourself. None of what they say is true. You know better than anyone.”
    I shifted my head on the pillow. “What who says?”
    Her mouth formed a tiny O. “Um, nothing. People online are, you know, bullshitting about last night.”
    I got so cold, it felt like my mattress had become a block of ice. “Where online?”
    “Do not stress, okay? It’s covered. I told them where they could stick their stupid rumors.”
    I sat up fast, my stomach somersaulting. “What rumors?”
    “Aura …”
    “If you don’t show me, I’ll look it up when you leave.” I rolled off the other side of the bed.
    “Okay, okay!” Megan followed me to my desk and stood behind me as I opened my laptop. “Start on Amy Koeller’s profile.”
    “Amy?” Our class president, future Peace Corps volunteer, was gossiping about me? She was always so sweet to everyone. I brought up my friends list and clicked on her profile.
    At the top of her page, her status read,
OMG Aura Salvatore’s boyfriend Logan died of cardiac arrest last