Shade by Jeri Smith-Ready Page B

windows, ignoring the priest. Megan sat with her mom several pews behind me, and I didn’t dare turn toward her for fear of making an inappropriate face. I wished so bad I had those skeletal-middle-finger gloves.
    So I just sat, eyes burning. Gina stuffed a tissue into my hand, but I didn’t use it.
    What would it take for the pre-Shifters to understand? Someday we’d figure out how to teach them, if they wanted to learn. Until then, all we had were people like Gina, people who squashed their own fear long enough to help us cope.
    “Aura.” Logan’s disembodied whisper came from the aisle beside me.
    My aunt must’ve thought my gasp was a stifled sob, because she dispensed another tissue.
    “I thought of a place we can be alone,” he said. “In the dark, so you can see me.”
    I glanced around, but all the people in the nearby pews were older. It was too bright for other post-Shifters to see Logan—he was hiding in the light.
    “Go out to the vestibule,” he said, “and take a left. Third booth.”
    I nodded, then coughed to hide the threat of a smile. As soon as everyone stood for the communion rite, I let go of Gina’s hand.
    “Stay here,” I whispered to her. “I need a break.”
    She patted my cheek. I kept my face down as I walked past the jam-packed pews. His school must have declared his funeral an excusable absence. I wondered if they would’ve done that for a less popular student.
    They were singing the slow and lilting Sanctus by the time the vestibule door swung shut behind me, muffling their voices. On the left sat a row of confessional booths. Dark confessional booths.
    With a yip of anticipation, I dashed for the third one and opened the door. Logan was sitting on the gold velveteen cushion inside, looking pleased with himself. I slipped in and shut the door behind me.
    “Finally,” he said. “Being away from you was killing me.” He frowned. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
    I laughed for the first time since he’d died. In the dark booth, I could see every detail of his features—each hair on his head and even the touch of stubble that had appeared by Friday night. “You look great. For a ghost, I mean.” I covered my mouth to stifle another burst of laughter.
    He gestured to the cushion. “Sit down.”
    I squeezed in beside his violet form, noticing my strange aversion to touching him. When he was alive, I would’ve just sat on his lap.
    “Have you been around?” I asked him. “Watching me when I can’t see you?”
    Logan shook his head. “That would be kinda stalker-ish, huh?”
    “Not even a little?”
    “I did come to your room once. I swear I was going to say something to wake you up, not just stand there staring.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “I had to leave. The red sheets made me dizzy, like my brain wanted to spin out of my ears.”
    I gasped. “I forgot about that. I’ll buy new ones, swear.”
    “That’d be awesome.” He shifted on the cushion to face me, brushing his knees through mine without touching. “I wanted to tell you about everything I’ve been through. It’s amazing and horrible and bizarre and beautiful.”
    “What did it feel like to die?” I reached toward his chest, but not all the way. “Did it hurt?”
    “No, it was so fast. I took the—the cocaine.” He stumbled over the word. “I know, I’m an idiot. Anyway, I was getting ready to do another line, and then my heart started to flutter. It felt like my chest was full of wriggling worms.”
    “Ew.”
    “Then everything went dark. Next thing I know, I’m standing there looking down at my body. Because of the BlackBox, I couldn’t get out of the bathroom until Mickey opened the door. I was stuck with myself.”
    Logan fell silent, staring at the floor, like he could see his corpse again. I waited for him to continue.
    Finally he said, “I didn’t feel dead. My mind was the same. I still had that song running through my head, the one on the stereo when I walked out the door.”