Elegy. Tara Hudson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of Joshua’s skin.

      Risen ghosts regained the senses that death had taken from them. Taste, smell, even touch. But there was one tiny problem: the Risen could touch anything they wanted, except the living. It was the most ironic, double-edged gift I’d ever received.

      Not that Joshua and I hadn’t tried—frequently—to touch. During our first week back in Oklahoma, we took so many different approaches: slow and careful; quick and furious; even the unexpected surprise touch. But none of it worked. When I placed my hand against his, it always felt like I simply clutched the air; it was the same for Joshua. Worse, whenever we came too close, it looked as though we passed through each other—like I was made of air myself.

      Nothing made me feel more like a ghost.

      Still, so many things about my new existence were amazing. The smell of Rebecca’s garden after a hard rain; the taste of Jeremiah Mayhew’s chocolate chess pie; the slick plastic coating on the benches outside Wilburton High. Each sensation felt fresh and new. So exhilarating, they almost made up for everything else.

      Almost.

      I shook my head, willing my cheeks to shift from whatever color they were now to something less neon pink. When I felt a little more in control, I met Joshua’s eyes again and—a little reluctantly—returned to the subject of my upcoming torture.

      “You know, I still can’t figure out why Jillian insists I go to this thing tonight.”

      “Because you and Jill are now BFF?” he offered. When I glared at him, he grinned and went on. “Honestly, I think Jill just wants to make up for how she acted before New Orleans. And in New Orleans. And pretty much how she acts in general. Plus, I think she’s trying to make you some more . . . friends.”

      He dragged the last word out awkwardly, grimacing. I couldn’t help but copy his expression. The word “friend” made both of us uncomfortable. Not because of the ones I hadn’t made yet, but because of the one I’d made and then lost.

      Gabrielle Callioux.

      The girl who changed me into what I was now; the girl who, in only a few days, had become my closest friend; the girl I’d watched disappear into hell.

      Thinking about Gaby would probably make tonight even harder. So I forced a bright tone as I responded to Joshua.

      “Making new friends. At Kaylen Patton’s house. Yay.” Just for effect, I shook my fists in a fake little cheer.

      “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” he said drily. “But you promised to show up to this sleepover. And ‘show up’ means you actually have to show up. No going invisible.”

      I sighed heavily. Then, since my feet were already dangling over the edge, I slid myself fully off of the daybed and turned around to face him. I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jean skirt—borrowed from Jillian—and gave him a small smile.

      Joshua, however, didn’t return my smile. He studied me, suddenly serious, and even a little . . . sad, maybe. Then he reached out to let his palm hover by my cheek, almost as though he could cup it.

      “You know,” he said softly, “that I’d give just about anything to touch you again?”

      I didn’t trust myself to answer him aloud. Not without my voice cracking. So I just nodded. We stayed silent for another beat, until he cleared his throat.

      “Have fun tonight.”

      All I could manage was a rough “I’ll try.”

      Before I did something I’d regret, like lean into his hand and pretend, just for a second, that this wasn’t our new normal, I spun around and raced out of the gazebo.

Chapter THREE

      Cramped into Jillian’s tiny car and listening to yet another generic hip-hop song, I couldn’t quite believe I’d left my gorgeous boyfriend sitting on an equally gorgeous bed . . . for this.

      Before leaving the Mayhews’ house, Jillian had forced me to try on about a hundred different outfits until I looked presentable. It was ridiculous, considering the fact that most items in my wardrobe once (and sort of still) belonged to the most famous actress in America. Next came an inch-thick layer of makeup, something I’d stopped wearing the day Gaby disappeared. Worst of all, Jillian spent most of our drive lecturing me on how to behave once we reached Kaylen’s house. Which made me wonder—yet again—why I’d been invited in the first place.

      “And another thing,” Jillian continued, “you need to treat Kaylen’s mom with a lot of respect. Like, a lot.”

      I turned away from my open window, back toward the interior of the car so that Jillian could see my exasperation.

      “What do you think I’m going to do, Jill, run naked through her living room?”

      Jillian laughed, but she began to drum her fingers nervously against the steering wheel. “It’s not that I think you’re going to do something stupid. It’s just that I’m trying to, you know, prepare you.”

      “For what, the Miss Wilburton pageant?”

      “Something like that,” Jillian muttered.

      Before I could ask her what she meant, Kaylen’s house came into view, and I was momentarily struck speechless.

      The home was absolutely enormous—at least three stories tall, maybe four. But the building’s most striking quality wasn’t its size. Its façade boasted every imaginable architectural element: columns, balconies, copper awnings, weather vanes. Best of all, two life-sized statues of lions flanked the double front doors. It was a triumph of wealth and excess.

      “Whoa,” I eventually managed. “It kind of looks like Better Homes and Gardens threw up all over this place.”

      “Yeah,” Jillian said, pulling her car onto the circular driveway. “This is what we call a McMansion.”

      I let out a low whistle and stared up at the house while Jillian parked alongside several other cars. We kept quiet, almost reverential as we removed our overnight bags from the trunk and made the long walk to the front porch.

      Finally, standing between the stone lions and waiting for someone to answer the doorbell, Jillian broke our silence with a torrent of words.

      “Okay, so Mr. Patton is an oil guy and a state senator,” Jillian hissed in a rushed whisper. “So he’s gone, like, all the time. That leaves Mrs. Patton alone a lot with Kaylen and all this money. And, well, Mrs. Patton is a former Miss Oklahoma, which should mean that she’s super nice. But in Mrs. Patton’s case—”

      At that moment, the front door swung open to reveal Kaylen, unbelievably glammed up and looking regal in the marble-tiled foyer. Except the person standing in the doorway wasn’t Kaylen. She was at least six inches taller, not counting her five-inch stilettos. That also left out the four inches of gravity-defying hair, which had been sprayed into some complicated blond sculpture. All that height made her СКАЧАТЬ