Grave Things Like Love by Sara Bennett Wealer

Author:Sara Bennett Wealer [Wealer, Sara Bennett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2022-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Skye is a pretty easy look to pull off—if you’ve got a certain kind of wardrobe, which I do not. Ripped jeans aren’t a problem, I do have those. And a white T-shirt is a fashion basic, so I can check that off my list too. But black combat boots? Nope. Battered army jacket? Nope again. And pink hair? Very funny. First of all, my hair is so dark that it would take hours of bleaching and coloring, not to mention tons of money, not to mention I have no idea what salon in town even does that kind of thing. I’ll need a wig, and even if I could find a place that sells wigs here, I’m pretty sure their regular inventory wouldn’t include pink.

A more intrepid girl might not find this a hard costume. Me? Thank goodness for Amazon.

Once I’ve ordered everything, I should start on homework. I can’t bring myself to open my chemistry book, though. Instead, I Google how to communicate with spirits.

I don’t fully realize what I’m planning until I’m halfway through my third article on the topic. Who says I need Xander to contact Flossie? According to the internet, I can reach out to ghosts on my own. All I have to do is follow some basic steps:

Step 1: Quiet your mind. Ha-ha, right. Whoever wrote this obviously didn’t have anxiety.

Step 2: Concentrate on a single entity. This I can do. I know exactly who I want to reach.

Step 3: Use something to focus your energy. Also doable. I find a candle, set it on my desk, and sit in front of it. I light the wick, watch the flame start to dance, and let out a long, controlled breath.

“Flossie…,” I whisper.

A voice answers. It’s not a girl from the past, it’s my dad.

I spring to my feet.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He’s standing in the door of my room with the mail in his hands and a look of amusement on his face.

I lean against the desk, attempting to appear innocent and unbothered.

“Just trying out a new meditation technique. It’s supposed to be calming.”

“Oh,” he says. “Well, be careful you don’t burn the house down.”

“Okay.”

An awkward beat passes, until he remembers the envelopes he’s holding.

“I came up to bring you these.” He pulls out two booklets and a brochure, which he passes to me. “I reached out to some colleges with good mortuary programs, and a few things started coming today. Thought you might like to look them over.”

The materials are slick, promising A career of caring and Your opportunity to make a difference. They make me instantly furious. Did my father really take it upon himself to research colleges for me? I’d been hoping he’d forget about mortuary schools.

I don’t tell him I’m furious. I tell him, “Thank you.”

“I also got hold of Kevin Berland. Turns out he’s on the board of the Cincinnati College of Mortuary Science, and he’d be happy to show you around when we go for a visit.

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