Haunted by Jay Mirano (the reading list book txt) 📕

They say that when you die, your whole life repeats. At least, it seems that way. From the moment you were born to the moment you utter your last breath, everything you experienced flashes before you like a movie. Well, I can tell you that it doesn’t. Death is a nightmare; all your failures, all your misery, everything you ever did wrong tumbles back down on you like an avalanche, crushing you, smothering you. Killing you. But the worst thing of all? The real pain starts after you’re already dead.

***

 It happened the day before I turned seventeen.  Mom was screaming at me about something. I think I heard the words ‘Don’t make me come up there!’, but I chose instead to roll over and ram a pillow over my face. I had no intention to go to school that day, and nothing Mom said was going to make me change my mind.   
   My alarm clock started blaring for the seventh (I counted) time, and I hit the snooze button again. In the morning, my logic doesn’t really extend to getting up and physically turning the alarm off. The snooze button is bigger and provides instant relief.
   My door starts rattling on its hinges. “Alyssa MacDonnell, I don’t have time for this! If I have to come in there and drag you out of bed you’re gonna regret it!”
   I groan, kicking the covers off myself and stomping to the door. I fling my door open just in time to catch Mom with her fist mid-knock. “I am not going to school today and you can’t make me.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it still quivered a little. Dammit, she was going to ask me what was wrong. Oh god, I could feel it coming. Her forehead was already crinkling with concern.
   “Aly? Are you sick?” She moved to touch me but I pulled away.
   “No, I just don’t feel like going to school. End of.”    |
   The wrinkles disappeared. “Don’t tell me you’re going to start with the rebellious teenager act already. It’s only 7:30 in the morning for goodness sake. I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with this yet.”
   “Fine, don’t deal with it. You go to work and I’ll stay here.”
   She planted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Very funny. Term’s ending next week, why the sudden urge to start skipping school? And you better give me a decent excuse.”
   I raked my mind for something, anything to say.  For a fleeting moment I thought of telling her the truth, but that would only result in a long-winded lecture—or worse, Sympathy Mom—and that was almost a fate worse than death. But the more I tried to think of an excuse, the more my mind wandered. It was only 7:30 in the morning for goodness sake! My brain was only capable of thinking about cream-cheese covered bagels.    “I…” I blew a wisp of hair out of my face. “I don’t have to tell you.”
   Mom rolled her eyes and tutted—a bad sign. “Aly, if I have to march you down to school in just your pyjamas I will. Now, are you going to do this the hard way or the easy way?”
   “God, I hate you so much sometimes!”
   “And don’t I know it. Now, get some clothes on and be downstairs in 5 or else. There might even be some pancakes in it for you if you cooperate.”
   My mind pricked up at the mention of pancakes. Sure, they’re not bagels, but they’ll do. I slam my door just loud enough to illustrate my annoyance, and then set about finding an outfit to wear.
   I pick up a pair of discarded jeans from the floor and shimmy into them. I rummage through my closet until I find my favourite red cashmere sweater, and throw that on over top. A lick of mascara and a dab of lip gloss and I deem myself respectable enough for Jefferson High.
  True to her word, Mom has a plate of pancakes set out on the table. I power through them like a pro, only pausing to breathe or take a sip of OJ. Mom is giving me that look again, that half-smile look where I can’t tell whether she loves me, or just thinks I’m insane. Probably a little of both.
   I wipe the last pancake crumbs from around my mouth, and give Mom a quick kiss on the cheek before I sling my backpack over my shoulder and duck out the door. She yells the obligatory ‘Love ya!’ after me as I leave, hanging in the air like a whisper.
   I hunch against the cold breath of the wind, wedging my hands into my armpits to conserve some semblance of warmth. Spring my ass! Seattle seasons can be a joke sometimes. I let myself fantasise about moving to Cali someday, trying to ignore the ice-cold rain just starting to drizzle down from the sky.
   I get to school just as the bell rings for home room. Typical. I have no desire to run through the halls like an idiot, so I take my time, enjoying the rare silence blanketing the corridors. I get to my locker, trying not to grin when I notice Cassie leaning against it, inspecting her hair for split ends.
   “Ohh, watch out! Got a badass truant over here.”
   Cassie sticks her tongue out at me, her purple and blue tongue-ring glinting in the fluorescent light.
   “As if I’d be seen dead sitting in homeroom by myself. I’d rather risk getting detention from Mr Douchebag.”
   “Well then you’re lucky I actually showed up today,” I say, punching my combination into the locker and tugging it open. “Lying in bed all day seemed way more tempting.”
   “Are you joking? You know you can’t abandon me without at least texting first!” She pauses to sweep her blond curls into a high bun. “Are you still cut-up about the whole Spring Fling thing?”
   “Ohh, you’re a poet you just don’t know it!” I laugh as she crinkles her nose. Trust Cassie to know I wanted to bail on school today because of the Spring Fling. I didn’t even want to go tonight, but I knew Cassie would make me. The humiliation of not having a date was almost too much to bear, but to go to a dance where your on-again off-again boyfriend was with another girl? Mortifying.
   “Ryan’s a moron, you’re a babe, forget about it. You’ll have a ton of guys lining up to woo you, trust me on this.”
   “Woo?”   
   “Yeah, woo. I’m talking old-school chivalry. Knight in shining armour types. Am I ever wrong?”
   I bite my tongue, tempted to point out all the times that she has in fact been very wrong, but I resist. “I suppose not. Promise me you won’t spend the whole dance with Kyle? If I have to watch you two PDAing on the dance floor I might puke until I die.”
   “Love you too, sweetie! But of course not. I’ll help you pull a hot guy, I’m your wingwoman, remember?”
   The bell rings for first, cutting my reply off mid-word. Cassie loops her arm through mine as we thread our way through the streams of people to our bio class. We deliberately chose all the same classes so we’d never have to be apart. We’d been joined at the hip since I stole her fruit cup at the park when we were three. She was everything I wasn’t; tall, curvy, blonde, where I was short, pale and had the body of a pre-pubescent boy. Somehow that’s what made us perfect, though. She was like my other half.
   We grabed our usual seats in bio, right at the back. I could barely hear myself think over the noise in the classroom. A paper plane whizzed past my face, and the two guys responsible for it burst into laughter. I roll my eyes and turn to Cassie, who has her feet propped up on the desk tapping out a tune only Cassie can hear.
   I open my mouth to speak, but am drowned out by the sounds of a wooden ruler slamming against the whiteboard. Cassie hurriedly drags her feet off the desk, and I snap my attention to the front of the classroom. Mr Edwards is fuming, his face the brightest red I had ever seen it. “Please people! Can we try to behave like educated adults, and not farmyard animals, just once?”
   Someone makes an oinking noise, and Mr Edwards’ moustache twitches. “Out!” He points at the door, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Get out of my classroom!”
   Mitchell Rodgers sheepishly gets to his feet, his chair making a shrieking noise as it scraps against the linoleum. He pushes his nose up with his finger as he leaves, mimicking a pig behind Mr Edwards’ back. A couple of boys snigger, and Mr Edwards glares at them until the noises subside.
   He sighs, straightening his tie. “Today we’re going to learn about osmosis. Can anyone tell me what that is?”
   No-one moves.
   “I didn’t think so. See? This is why we must pay attention in biology, no?” He turns to the whiteboard, drawing a diagram in faded red ink. “Osmosis involves the—”
   The door swings open, connecting with the inner wall with a sharp crack. Mr Edwards turns to glare at the doorway, clearing his throat in anticipation. “Can I help you?”
   The guy in the doorway is someone I have never seen before. Tall, with a mop of shaggy brown hair falling over his face, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. He retrieves a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to Mr Edwards.
   “I see…” Mr Edwards puts the paper on the desk and turns to the classroom. “This is Mason Greene, and he’ll be joining our classroom today. Take a seat, Mason.”
   Mason weaved through the desks until he came to an empty one in front of me. He dumped his bag on his desk, staring at me through strands of auburn hair. His eyes were intense, and I had to fight the urge to look away.
   “Take a picture, it'll last longer," I say, smirking as I hear Cassie struggling to restrain herself. A low hush of laughter sweeps the classroom.
   He gives me a wan smile, eyes never leaving mine. He finally takes his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning far back in his chair. He couldn’t have looked like he cared less if he tried. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Cassie scribble out a note behind the textbook shield she had constructed. She pressed the paper into my palm, looking ridiculously suspicious.   
    Hottie alert! It read. Potential date for tonight?!
   I snorted, writing Hell no in block letters beneath her girly scrawl. Mason didn’t look like the kind of guy I wanted to get involved with.

   Cassie turned to me, doing a twirl. “What do you think?”
   “You look gorgeous, obviously,” I said. And I wasn’t lying. Cassie’s blue silk dress clung in all the right places, making her body look even more voluptuous than usual. Her hair was arranged in a loose up-do, with a few stray ringlets hanging down to frame her face. She had a shock of silver shadow on her eyelids, accented by a delicate flick of liner.
   “Not so bad yourself,” she said, wiggling her