Read Online Half In Love With Death by Emily Ross - Free Book Online Page B

ones who really want to find her.”
    â€œI know what you mean,” I said. “It’s like my parents have already given up.”
    â€œThat’s how some people are when something bad happens. Their fear paralyzes them.” He was staring at me, his eyes so blue they seemed to jump out of his face. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t move. It was almost as if I was paralyzed.
    He cocked his head. “But you and me, we’re not like most people.”
    I twirled some hair around my finger. He’d seen death and come back from it, and I’d had a vision of my sister. We’d both been touched by something from outside of this world. Maybe we were alike.
    He went on, “I think we can find Jess.”
    I felt hopeful for the first time in a while. “How?”
    He shook his head. “As soon as I come up with a plan, I’ll let you know.”
    I hesitated. “I’ve got to go. I’m going to get in trouble for being late.”
    He smiled. “Just tell them the bus broke down.”

CHAPTER 10
    The next day at school, in every one of my classes as attendance was taken, the teacher would pause extra long after I said, “Here,” wondering, I suppose, what to say to the girl whose sister had disappeared. Kids I knew from last year kept their distance. Kids I didn’t know didn’t approach me. All I wanted was to be anywhere other than this place where everyone stopped talking as soon as I came near them. By the time I got to AP English, my last class of the day, I was officially sick of school.
    Everyone turned to look when May walked in. She gave me an embarrassed smile as she sat down next to me, and angled her long legs to one side. “I know I don’t really belong here. My mom got the principal to let me in.” She pushed her curtain of hair out of her face. “So were your parents mad when you got home last night?”
    I shrugged. “I told them the bus broke down.”
    Our teacher, Mr. Raymond, wore a wrinkled plaid shirt and looked like he’d forgotten to comb his hair, but all the kids liked him. Even Jess did. She said he let kids talk about real stuff like rock-and-roll, love, and what was wrong with the world. He handed out copies of poems by E.E. Cummings and asked us each to choose one to read aloud. We would have one minute and not a second more to give our impression. The only wrong answer was silence.
    The words in the poems were all mashed together. Lines zigzagged across the page and there was no punctuation. It was like E.E. Cummings was saying screw the world, I can write however I want. I was so entranced, for a second I forgot about Jess. When I saw the phrase “blue-eyed boy” in one of the poems, I made my choice. Class was almost over before it was my turn. As I read, “How do you like your blueeyed boy Mister Death,” the room grew quiet. Everyone was staring at me, curious as to what the girl whose sister was probably dead would say about death. “It’s . . . .” No words came. Silence was the wrong answer.
    Mr. Raymond cocked his head. “Are you all right?”
    This was the worst. I wasn’t all right. There was an impossible tickle in my throat. “Buffalo Bill did everything fast, riding the water-smooth stallion, breaking onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat. He was impatient for life. But now Mister Death has him, and he’s . . . .” I could barely get the word out. “Still.” The blank faces in front of me blurred.
    At the end of class, Mr. Raymond gave a homework assignment to write a poem inspired by the one we’d read aloud. As May and I were leaving, he motioned to me. I braced myself for his uncomfortable words of concern.
    He tucked in a shirttail. “If you ever want to talk about poetry or anything else, I want you to know I’ll listen.” I nodded and rushed past him.
    The corridor was nearly empty. I’d missed