Shade by Jeri Smith-Ready Page A

turned to see him walking toward our table, accompanied by the quartet of smitten kittens.
    “Hi.” I looked up at the girls, all seniors, two of whom I’d considered my friends last week. This week everyone was avoiding me at school but Megan and Zachary. “Hey.”
    “Love your sweater, Aura.” Becca Goldman (not a friend, former or otherwise) swept a mocking gaze over me. “Interesting color choice for someone your age.”
    “You look good in black,” Zachary told me with a straight face.
    “Thanks.” Though black didn’t do anything to deter ghosts, it was still the traditional color of mourning. Besides, it matched my mood.
    “Feeling better today?” Zachary asked.
    “A little.” I rubbed one of my eyes, which were finally letting me wear contacts again.
    Becca swished her hair conspicuously. “Zach, lunch’ll be over in ten minutes.”
    “Can I sit down?” Zachary widened his eyes as if to plead with me to rescue him from the sea of shallowness. But I was too exhausted and confused to have a normal conversation.
    “Sorry,” I told him, “it’s kind of a bad time.”
    He glanced at Megan, then back at me, looking slightly stunned. “I’ll see you in history, then.”
    Zachary proceeded to the other end of the long, empty table. The girls followed like geese in formation. One of them, my neighbor and old friend Rachel Howard, gave me a quick look over her shoulder. Her forehead creased when our eyes met. I wondered if it was a frown of sympathy or disgust, then decided it would be easier not to care.
    “Why didn’t you want Zachary to sit here?” Megan said.
    “What if they came with him? I don’t have the energy to gush over Becca’s new Coach bag or snark on last night’s
Get a Life
loser.” The reality show about families living with their loved ones’ ghosts was now officially off my must-see list.
    “If those bitch-faces had tried to sit here, I’d just show them this.” She rummaged in her jacket pocket, then brought out her hand clad in a black glove with skeleton bones on it. In the design, all the fingerbones folded into a fist except the middle one, which stuck straight up. It looked like a skeleton was flipping me off.
    My eyes bugged out. “That is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
    “Good. I got you a pair.” She tossed them at me. “Found them at this shop in Hampden last week. I was going to save them for Halloween, but you clearly need them now.”
    I did. I needed them for every person who stared as I walked past, who whispered when they thought I was out of range, who acted like having a dead boyfriend was a contagious plague. I needed to give the finger to the whole world, minus three people (maybe four, including Gina).
    Number One was sitting across from me. Number Two was at the other end of the table, glancing my way every minute or so. Number Three was—
    I didn’t know where Number Three was. Ireland? Disney World? The skate shop on Harford Road?
    All I knew was that based on the look on Logan’s face last night, he wasn’t leaving this world any time soon. He’d been born into a new life, one of almost limitless adventure.
    If only I knew which part of that adventure included me.
    The funeral made no sense.
    The priest did his best, remarking on the unbearable tragedy of losing such a young life and how it wasn’t always easy to understand God’s plan. But then he went on to say how Logan’s spirit was now in “a better place.”
    Seriously.
    Maybe the Keeleys hadn’t told Father Carrick that Logan was a ghost, but you’d think he would’ve asked. He’d known Logan for more than a year, since they’d moved to Hunt Valley. Besides, priests always ask for details so they can make their remarks sound personalized.
    As Father Carrick droned on, I looked over at Dylan, who sat on the end of the pew. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and his reddening face planted on his fists. The younger cousins stared up at the stained-glass