Read Online Freeze Frame by Heidi Ayarbe - Free Book Online Page A

all of Carson City was in on it. Like in that movie The Game —a total setup. We’d laugh, feel relieved, and eat cake or something while listening to some police guy talk about gun safety.
    But Jason didn’t move. I grasped his suit, my tears staining his starchy white shirt. “Wake up. Please, Jason. Get up. I can’t…” The words were icicles in my throat.
    There was a powdery, lavender smell in the coffin that itched my nose, like an old-grandma smell. Definitely not a Jason smell. Everything was wrong, out of place. He wasn’t wearing the watch.
    â€œYou can’t be dead,” I whispered.
    But he was.
    Mom pulled at my scarecrow suit. “Kyle, let’s go.”
    I stood back, fighting to catch my breath. My heart stopped. I know it did. It stopped pumping blood throughout my body. I gasped for air and yanked on my tie.
    How could I say good-bye?
    I was ready to walk away with Mom when I turned back and leaned toward Jason one more time. His face looked weird. “Dude, are you wearing makeup?” I’m not the most brilliant guy in Carson City, but I know dead people can’t have pink cheeks. I’d seen Jason. He was gray in the shed. Blue-gray, and he hadn’t even died yet.
    I wiped my hand across Jason’s pink cheeks. Powdery blush and brown stuff rubbed off on my fingers. They cut his hair. They blew off the watch. They put makeup on him. I pulled out Dad’s old handkerchief and tried to clean it off.
    I wiped and wiped, but it was like the makeup was applied with some kind of freakish permanent spray. I had to get it off, though. Nothing else mattered.
    Then I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder that ripped me around. Mr. Bishop towered over me. The Bishop family stood behind him. “What do you think you’re doing? To my son?”
    I held the limp handkerchief in my hand. Nothing made sense—none of it.
    â€œMy son is dead. You and your family have no right to be here. You have no right.” Mr. Bishop shook. “You have no right,” he whispered, clenching his jaw.
    People got quiet. They moved around in their seats. Papers rustled.
    â€œKyle.” Mom pulled on my arm. “Honey, we need to go sit down.” Dad had turned around and started walking back toward us.
    â€œKyle,” Dad said, coming up to me, “let’s go sit.”
    I couldn’t move. It was like in the shed. Freeze frame. Pause.
    â€œGet out of here.” Mr. Bishop came closer. My handswere still stuck on the coffin.
    â€œEnough!” Dad stepped between us. He pried my fingers from the glossy wood. “Let go of it, Kyle. Just let go.
    â€œWe’re going to sit down,” he said to Mr. Bishop, his voice cracking. “We loved Jason.”
    I looked away. I hated to see Dad cry.
    Play.
    Everything started to spin around me like weird special-effects lighting. Blackness crept through my brain, turning the church blotchy gray with pinpricks of white light. My knees buckled, and I grasped onto the front rail. My body shivered and icy sweat dripped down my back.
    Pulling myself up, I stumbled down the aisle, past my parents and the Bishops. I tried to breathe without inhaling the sickening church smells. I yanked at my tie and ripped off the suit jacket. The exit looked so far away. Everybody’s faces were blurred and distorted. Dizzying light streamed through the stained-glass windows. Squinting, I kept my eyes on the heavy wooden doors, ignoring the whispers. I rushed outside, tripped down the concrete steps, and collapsed on the lawn behind the dried-up rosebushes. My body heaved and hiccuped until all that came out of me was acidic yellow bile.
    I lay on the dead grass and gasped for breath. My head throbbed. The deeper I inhaled, the less air I got.
    I’m gonna die. Please let me die.
    â€œTake it easy. Slow your breathing.” Mom’s cheeks were wet with tears. She held a paper bag to my mouth and nose.
    The