course I turned around, then quickly averted my eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
The ghost of the naked man raised his arms. “It’s not like I can put on clothes.” He dodged a pedestrian, stepping closer to me.
Since ghosts are frozen in the happiest time of their lives, a lot of men appear in sports or military uniforms—or nothing at all. At least this one was wearing socks.
“What’s wrong?” Logan asked his brother. “Is there another ghost here?”
“Yeah, and he’s hung like a hippo.”
“What? Aura, don’t look.”
I ignored them both. “What do you want?” I asked the man.
“Simple. I need to know the score of the Orioles-Yankees game. They were in extra innings when I had a heart attack.”
“It’s preseason,” Dylan said. “Who cares?”
“Not tonight’s game. Last year, July eighteenth. Rivera was on the mound at the bottom of the tenth.”
I kept a straight face. “All this time, you haven’t found anyone who could look up the score for you?”
The ghost put his hands on his hips. “It wasn’t my only unfinished business. How pathetic do you think I am?”
“Sorry.” I waved my hand in the direction of the city. “Try one of the big sports bars. Did you go to them during your life?”
The ghost nodded, then gazed up at the Green Derby’s worn wooden sign. “I always liked this place.” He disappeared.
“He’s gone,” I told Logan. “Where were we?”
He stared sadly at the part of the sidewalk I’d been talking to. “I wish I could see them.”
I wished he could, too. If ghosts could hang out together, they’d be less lonely, and they wouldn’t be so desperate for living company. Then again, they might stick around that much longer.
“Let’s do this,” Logan said with quiet determination. “I want my afterlife to be more than a rehash. I want it to mean something, and not just for me. But it’s gotta be all on my terms, like that lady promised. No DMP recruitment commercials, just our own music and the covers we pick.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Dylan asked.
“My new band. Let’s put an ad online. Here, I’ll tell you what to say.” While Dylan scrambled for his phone, Logan barreled ahead.“‘Ghost front man seeking talented, all-post-Shifter band.’” He drew his hand across the air, as if the words would be written on a movie theater marquee.
“Wait, wait.” Dylan thumbed the text into his notepad function.
Logan started to pace and gesture, the old excitement returning. “Let’s say, ‘Preferably punk, but accept alt-rock or alt-metal. Covers, originals. Performance experience preferred.’ No—‘required.’”
My stomach queased as I watched Logan plan his next leap into the public eye. He’d be dragging me with him again.
Dylan spoke as he got it down. “Should I give them my cell number?”
“No, some of them might be weird. Oh! You know what’d be better?” Logan jabbed his finger at Dylan’s phone. “Have them e-mail links to their clips or videos. That way we can tell if they suck, and I won’t have to reject them in person.” He bounced on his toes. “This’ll be so cool. I bet we’ll get a ton of auditions.”
“E-mail them to who? Me or Aura?”
“Aura, would you—” Logan stopped short when he saw the look on my face. “Dylan, go inside. Tell them we’ll be in soon.”
Dylan sighed, then snapped his phone shut. “Send the kid away. What else is new?”
I watch him go, then whirled on Logan. “Thanks for remembering your new career might have a teeny effect on me.”
“You don’t have to be a part of this.”
“Yes, I do! Everything you say to the press has to come through me. That DMP lady can keep things under control, but only I can keep you from ruining my life.” I slapped my hand against the brick building. “Great start, by the way, showing up here tonight. Why didn’t youwarn me, or better yet, do what you were told and stay home?”
“Because I didn’t—” Logan shoved his
The ghost of the naked man raised his arms. “It’s not like I can put on clothes.” He dodged a pedestrian, stepping closer to me.
Since ghosts are frozen in the happiest time of their lives, a lot of men appear in sports or military uniforms—or nothing at all. At least this one was wearing socks.
“What’s wrong?” Logan asked his brother. “Is there another ghost here?”
“Yeah, and he’s hung like a hippo.”
“What? Aura, don’t look.”
I ignored them both. “What do you want?” I asked the man.
“Simple. I need to know the score of the Orioles-Yankees game. They were in extra innings when I had a heart attack.”
“It’s preseason,” Dylan said. “Who cares?”
“Not tonight’s game. Last year, July eighteenth. Rivera was on the mound at the bottom of the tenth.”
I kept a straight face. “All this time, you haven’t found anyone who could look up the score for you?”
The ghost put his hands on his hips. “It wasn’t my only unfinished business. How pathetic do you think I am?”
“Sorry.” I waved my hand in the direction of the city. “Try one of the big sports bars. Did you go to them during your life?”
The ghost nodded, then gazed up at the Green Derby’s worn wooden sign. “I always liked this place.” He disappeared.
“He’s gone,” I told Logan. “Where were we?”
He stared sadly at the part of the sidewalk I’d been talking to. “I wish I could see them.”
I wished he could, too. If ghosts could hang out together, they’d be less lonely, and they wouldn’t be so desperate for living company. Then again, they might stick around that much longer.
“Let’s do this,” Logan said with quiet determination. “I want my afterlife to be more than a rehash. I want it to mean something, and not just for me. But it’s gotta be all on my terms, like that lady promised. No DMP recruitment commercials, just our own music and the covers we pick.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Dylan asked.
“My new band. Let’s put an ad online. Here, I’ll tell you what to say.” While Dylan scrambled for his phone, Logan barreled ahead.“‘Ghost front man seeking talented, all-post-Shifter band.’” He drew his hand across the air, as if the words would be written on a movie theater marquee.
“Wait, wait.” Dylan thumbed the text into his notepad function.
Logan started to pace and gesture, the old excitement returning. “Let’s say, ‘Preferably punk, but accept alt-rock or alt-metal. Covers, originals. Performance experience preferred.’ No—‘required.’”
My stomach queased as I watched Logan plan his next leap into the public eye. He’d be dragging me with him again.
Dylan spoke as he got it down. “Should I give them my cell number?”
“No, some of them might be weird. Oh! You know what’d be better?” Logan jabbed his finger at Dylan’s phone. “Have them e-mail links to their clips or videos. That way we can tell if they suck, and I won’t have to reject them in person.” He bounced on his toes. “This’ll be so cool. I bet we’ll get a ton of auditions.”
“E-mail them to who? Me or Aura?”
“Aura, would you—” Logan stopped short when he saw the look on my face. “Dylan, go inside. Tell them we’ll be in soon.”
Dylan sighed, then snapped his phone shut. “Send the kid away. What else is new?”
I watch him go, then whirled on Logan. “Thanks for remembering your new career might have a teeny effect on me.”
“You don’t have to be a part of this.”
“Yes, I do! Everything you say to the press has to come through me. That DMP lady can keep things under control, but only I can keep you from ruining my life.” I slapped my hand against the brick building. “Great start, by the way, showing up here tonight. Why didn’t youwarn me, or better yet, do what you were told and stay home?”
“Because I didn’t—” Logan shoved his
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