easy questions, do you, Ghostgirl?”
“Maybe that’s my secret power.” Gah, why oh why did I come out with that ? “Sorry, it’s just that I’m not sure even if I asked Nancy and Lorna this, they’d tell me the truth—amazing as they both are. And Tess certainly won’t.”
He squinted up at me, one eye half shut. “Why do you think that? Don’t tell me you’ve got on the wrong side of Tess already?”
I unsuccessfully tried to stop the answer from showing in my expression.
“Look, I can’t really tell you what it’s like for ‘us,’” Edison said, looking out at the river. “I think it’s probably different for every ghost.”
“Then how was it for you?” I asked.
He picked some grass off the lawn and threw it in the air, watching as the blades caught on the wind, briefly spiraling in the air before they fell back to earth. “You don’t give up, do you?” He brushed his hands on his jeans. I shook my head. “Okay, I’ll tell you how it was for me, but I don’t know that you’ll relate.”
I didn’t dare say anything or even move, in case he stopped speaking.
“For me, well, the worst happened way before this. My dad, he died suddenly when I was fifteen, and my mom kinda fell apart. Me and my brother, we had to look after her. We both promised we’d always be there for her. And I’m … now I’m not. What kills me about this”—he waved his hands at the world around him—“is that people talk about life and death, but they never talk about the moments in between. The ones where you’re stuck, just watching and unable to help because you’re not really meant to be here.”
I thought about my parents. At least they had each other. At least I didn’t have to worry about either of them being alone. Or having their heart broken twice.
“But, you know, my brother’s done a good job looking after her. He had to. After everything that went down. Aft—” He stopped short, not willing to tell me any more. Emptied of the smug and the wisecracks and cool, Edison’s face looked younger now. How old was he? Maybe only a year or so more than me—in Living years at least. In ghost time, I was sure it was a hell of a lot more.
He was on his feet now, clapping his hands on his jeans, putting back up the barricade, looking annoyed again. “I’ve got better things to do than sit around riverbanks with newbies, you know?”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” I said. “But I thought you were going to teach me about the dark arts of ghosting, instead of standing around talking like a sorority girl all night.”
He stared at me. For far longer than I can honestly say I was comfortable with.
“Drop dead, Ghostgirl.”
“Edison, as you know only too well, I already did.” I held his gaze. This time he was the first to look away.
“Right, let’s start small,” he said, the smirk back at the edges of his mouth. “I don’t know yet if you’re a fast learner or special ed.”
“Can we just get on with the lesson?” I asked.
Over the next hour, Edison calmly and patiently taught me what he considered to be the basics. And, whoa, were they different from Nancy’s. First up, I learned the Kick—all you needed to do was focus your energy and pretend you hated that grass—then the Jab (most effective if you wanted to poke an unsuspecting member of the Living on the shoulder as they walked by and freak them the hell out). Oh, and not forgetting the Throw (shout some words into your hand, then slam-dunk them into the mouth of a passing human and—hey, presto—they come out as their own). I tried it on a solo jogger first—watching him wonder if he’d gone cuckoo while simultaneously shouting my words, “Faster! Faster!” Ed dared me to Throw “you’re not my father!” into a baby’s mouth to mess with his parents, but the mom looked kinda sweet and—down with my bad side or not—I didn’t want to upset her.
Was I having actual fun with Mr. Oh-So-Serious?
“That’s
“Maybe that’s my secret power.” Gah, why oh why did I come out with that ? “Sorry, it’s just that I’m not sure even if I asked Nancy and Lorna this, they’d tell me the truth—amazing as they both are. And Tess certainly won’t.”
He squinted up at me, one eye half shut. “Why do you think that? Don’t tell me you’ve got on the wrong side of Tess already?”
I unsuccessfully tried to stop the answer from showing in my expression.
“Look, I can’t really tell you what it’s like for ‘us,’” Edison said, looking out at the river. “I think it’s probably different for every ghost.”
“Then how was it for you?” I asked.
He picked some grass off the lawn and threw it in the air, watching as the blades caught on the wind, briefly spiraling in the air before they fell back to earth. “You don’t give up, do you?” He brushed his hands on his jeans. I shook my head. “Okay, I’ll tell you how it was for me, but I don’t know that you’ll relate.”
I didn’t dare say anything or even move, in case he stopped speaking.
“For me, well, the worst happened way before this. My dad, he died suddenly when I was fifteen, and my mom kinda fell apart. Me and my brother, we had to look after her. We both promised we’d always be there for her. And I’m … now I’m not. What kills me about this”—he waved his hands at the world around him—“is that people talk about life and death, but they never talk about the moments in between. The ones where you’re stuck, just watching and unable to help because you’re not really meant to be here.”
I thought about my parents. At least they had each other. At least I didn’t have to worry about either of them being alone. Or having their heart broken twice.
“But, you know, my brother’s done a good job looking after her. He had to. After everything that went down. Aft—” He stopped short, not willing to tell me any more. Emptied of the smug and the wisecracks and cool, Edison’s face looked younger now. How old was he? Maybe only a year or so more than me—in Living years at least. In ghost time, I was sure it was a hell of a lot more.
He was on his feet now, clapping his hands on his jeans, putting back up the barricade, looking annoyed again. “I’ve got better things to do than sit around riverbanks with newbies, you know?”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that,” I said. “But I thought you were going to teach me about the dark arts of ghosting, instead of standing around talking like a sorority girl all night.”
He stared at me. For far longer than I can honestly say I was comfortable with.
“Drop dead, Ghostgirl.”
“Edison, as you know only too well, I already did.” I held his gaze. This time he was the first to look away.
“Right, let’s start small,” he said, the smirk back at the edges of his mouth. “I don’t know yet if you’re a fast learner or special ed.”
“Can we just get on with the lesson?” I asked.
Over the next hour, Edison calmly and patiently taught me what he considered to be the basics. And, whoa, were they different from Nancy’s. First up, I learned the Kick—all you needed to do was focus your energy and pretend you hated that grass—then the Jab (most effective if you wanted to poke an unsuspecting member of the Living on the shoulder as they walked by and freak them the hell out). Oh, and not forgetting the Throw (shout some words into your hand, then slam-dunk them into the mouth of a passing human and—hey, presto—they come out as their own). I tried it on a solo jogger first—watching him wonder if he’d gone cuckoo while simultaneously shouting my words, “Faster! Faster!” Ed dared me to Throw “you’re not my father!” into a baby’s mouth to mess with his parents, but the mom looked kinda sweet and—down with my bad side or not—I didn’t want to upset her.
Was I having actual fun with Mr. Oh-So-Serious?
“That’s
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