The Everafter by Amy Huntley Page B

Dickinson English paper has already changed that soul some, but now I’m electing to feed and care for the one I have. I like it.
    I swear Emily Dickinson’s poetry makes sense to me in a way it never could have when I was alive.

gathering ghosts
    I REMEMBER THIS HAIR CLIP . I remember when I lost it, too….
    age 13
    We are (all ten of us) at my house. Somehow I’ve managed to convince my mother to allow us to have a slumber party here. We’ve been banished to the basement so our—as my mother condescendingly puts it—“girl giggle and gossip” won’t disturb everyone else for the night.
    And we are planning to make it through the whole night without sleeping.
    So far, so good. We’ve watched three DVDs, eaten four bags of Doritos and three pizzas, and plowed through several two-liters of Coke (caffeine buzz, anyone?). And we’re having a riot fainting. It’s the coolest feeling I’ve ever had. Tammy taught us how to do it (don’t ask me where she learned). First, we hyperventilate while bending over (gotta get all that blood to the head). Then we pull ourselves up quickly and Tammy presses in this one spot, right between the ribs, and—out we go.
    The first time I did it, I fell backward onto the couch and lost my new hair clip. I love that hair clip, and I’m sure that it’s somewhere under the couch or between the cushions, even though I can’t find it. Still, even the loss of my favorite new hair clip isn’t enough to discourage me from fainting a few more times.
    Or maybe even seven more. It’s such a great feeling. It’s as if everything in the world disappears. It’s like gliding on space for a few seconds. I feel both conscious and unconscious all at once, and wish I could stay that way. But eventually full consciousness seeps across the fabric of my mind, soaking everything in reality.
    As I’m getting ready to faint the ninth time, Tammy says she doesn’t want me to do this anymore. She thinks it might not be very healthy. Is anything fun ever healthy?
    Still, she might have a point. I don’t know why I suggest it, but since fainting appears to be coming to an end, I say,“How about if we get out the Ouija board?”
    Cindy groans. “C’mon, Maddy. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Can you pick a creepier time to do that?”
    Amber punches her in the arm. “That’s the point, dummy.”
    “I think it sounds like fun,” Sandra—ever the best friend—says. “Where is it?”
    “I’ll get it,” I assure everyone. But I’m only halfway up the stairs before I get a major case of the creeps. I run back down. “I can’t do it,” I say. “It’s too creepy up there.”
    Everyone laughs at me, but Sandra says, “I’ll go get it for you. Tell me where to look.”
    “It’s in the family room closet with all the other games.”
    Sandra glides up the stairs and disappears. A flash of jealousy streaks through me at the way her thin, graceful body seems to float up the stairs, her thick hair waving behind her. Not a single clunk or pound on the way up. Incredible. How does she do that gliding thing?
    While Sandra’s gone, the rest of us talk about who’s going to go first and what questions we should ask the board. It takes Sandra longer than it should to come back, but she finally reappears. As she hands me the game, she says, “Sorry. I went to pull it out of the closet, and a few other games came with it. Made a bunch of noise. I had to pick the other games up, and your mom camedownstairs and yelled at me.”
    I roll my eyes. I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing. My mom yelling at Sandra doesn’t even come close to the way Sandra’s mom yells at me. But I don’t say anything about that. Sandra’s totally embarrassed by the way her mother treats me.
    Amber and Lacey set up the board. They’re going to go first, and they want—naturally—to ask for the answer to an important question plaguing the universe: Who is Amber going to go to prom with her senior year?