Read Online The Dead Boyfriend by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. L. Stine
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funeral was held in a small nondenominational chapel in North Hills. The chapel was long and narrow with dark wood-paneled walls and low wooden rafters overhead. Morning sunlight filtered in through narrow stained glass windows high on the walls.
Two huge vases of white lilies stood under spotlights in the front of a small altar. A podium stood between them. And beside the podium was Bladeâs coffin, made of shiny dark wood that glowed purple under the spotlights.
The coffin lid was up, and, from my seat near the back of the room, I could see that it was lined with a white satiny material. The idea that Blade was lying lifeless in that box didnât seem real to me.
Organ music played in the background. People drifted in silently. Not very many. Bladeâs family had moved to town so recently.
I sat between Julie and Miranda. Julie kept squeezing my hand and asking if I was okay. I nodded and wiped my tears with tissue after tissue.
I felt the whole thing was a dream. Staring at the tall flowers and the gleaming dark casket, the scene became a blur, and I knew I was about to wake up from this dream and go back to my real life. My real life with Blade.
But there were his parents in the front row, older-looking than I remembered. Iâd only met them once. They huddled head to head, sobbing together, sobbing and shaking their heads as if they too didnât believe this could possibly be happening.
Miranda sneezed. The sound echoed off the low rafters. A few people turned around.
I gazed around and counted. Only nineteen or twenty people in the chapel. The pale, sad people dressed in dark colors squeezed together in the front two rows were relatives.
Julie, Miranda, and I were the only ones I recognized from our high school. I turned and let out a sharp breath as I saw Vanessa, the girl with white-blonde hair, the girl Blade took to the dance club. She came walking down the middle chapel aisle. She kept her eyes straight ahead on the coffin at the altar.
A few rows behind me, she turned. She saw me. She blinked. Stared for a moment, remembering. Then turned her gaze back to the front.
I felt my face start to burn as if on fire. Did Vanessa know? She saw me go berserk at the club. Did she know?
She walked right past my row and didnât glance my way again. She took a seat in the third row, behind the family, behind those who were sobbing and moaning and wiping their eyes.
I cried, too. The organ music rose, then fell. A young minister appeared, his head bowed solemnly. He had spikey dark hair and a black beard that he kept scratching as he gave his talk. He wore a brown sport jacket over dark slacks. His white shirt was open at the neck.
âPlease sit down, everyone. We will begin. If you are new to this chapel, my name is Reverend Norman Preller.â He had a soothing voice and spoke very softly into the podium microphone. The sound echoed off all the empty seats.
âI want to confess that I never had the pleasure of meeting Blade.â Preller rubbed his beard. It made a scratchy sound in the loudspeakers. âBut so many people have come to tell me what a fine young man he was, that I feel the pain of this tragedy almost as much as anyone who knew him.â
Yes, it was a tragedy.
Julie handed me another tissue. I wadded up the old one and stuffed it into my lap. I stared at the open coffin, at the white satin lining of the lid, and my thoughts wandered. I couldnât listen to this soft-voiced minister who had never met the boy I loved.
I thought about the night Blade and I parked up at River Ridge, high over Shadyside. The river sparkled beneath us in the light of a full moon.
We got out of my car and spread a blanket on the grass. Then we lay there on our backs, holding each other and gazing up at the stars. It was such a clear, silver, magical night.
We held each other and kissed and talked and talked. We talked together so easily. It was as if we had been close for all our
Two huge vases of white lilies stood under spotlights in the front of a small altar. A podium stood between them. And beside the podium was Bladeâs coffin, made of shiny dark wood that glowed purple under the spotlights.
The coffin lid was up, and, from my seat near the back of the room, I could see that it was lined with a white satiny material. The idea that Blade was lying lifeless in that box didnât seem real to me.
Organ music played in the background. People drifted in silently. Not very many. Bladeâs family had moved to town so recently.
I sat between Julie and Miranda. Julie kept squeezing my hand and asking if I was okay. I nodded and wiped my tears with tissue after tissue.
I felt the whole thing was a dream. Staring at the tall flowers and the gleaming dark casket, the scene became a blur, and I knew I was about to wake up from this dream and go back to my real life. My real life with Blade.
But there were his parents in the front row, older-looking than I remembered. Iâd only met them once. They huddled head to head, sobbing together, sobbing and shaking their heads as if they too didnât believe this could possibly be happening.
Miranda sneezed. The sound echoed off the low rafters. A few people turned around.
I gazed around and counted. Only nineteen or twenty people in the chapel. The pale, sad people dressed in dark colors squeezed together in the front two rows were relatives.
Julie, Miranda, and I were the only ones I recognized from our high school. I turned and let out a sharp breath as I saw Vanessa, the girl with white-blonde hair, the girl Blade took to the dance club. She came walking down the middle chapel aisle. She kept her eyes straight ahead on the coffin at the altar.
A few rows behind me, she turned. She saw me. She blinked. Stared for a moment, remembering. Then turned her gaze back to the front.
I felt my face start to burn as if on fire. Did Vanessa know? She saw me go berserk at the club. Did she know?
She walked right past my row and didnât glance my way again. She took a seat in the third row, behind the family, behind those who were sobbing and moaning and wiping their eyes.
I cried, too. The organ music rose, then fell. A young minister appeared, his head bowed solemnly. He had spikey dark hair and a black beard that he kept scratching as he gave his talk. He wore a brown sport jacket over dark slacks. His white shirt was open at the neck.
âPlease sit down, everyone. We will begin. If you are new to this chapel, my name is Reverend Norman Preller.â He had a soothing voice and spoke very softly into the podium microphone. The sound echoed off all the empty seats.
âI want to confess that I never had the pleasure of meeting Blade.â Preller rubbed his beard. It made a scratchy sound in the loudspeakers. âBut so many people have come to tell me what a fine young man he was, that I feel the pain of this tragedy almost as much as anyone who knew him.â
Yes, it was a tragedy.
Julie handed me another tissue. I wadded up the old one and stuffed it into my lap. I stared at the open coffin, at the white satin lining of the lid, and my thoughts wandered. I couldnât listen to this soft-voiced minister who had never met the boy I loved.
I thought about the night Blade and I parked up at River Ridge, high over Shadyside. The river sparkled beneath us in the light of a full moon.
We got out of my car and spread a blanket on the grass. Then we lay there on our backs, holding each other and gazing up at the stars. It was such a clear, silver, magical night.
We held each other and kissed and talked and talked. We talked together so easily. It was as if we had been close for all our
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