Authors: Jaimie Admans
I shake my head.
“Do you think it’s a good
thing?” I ask worriedly.
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I’m just out
of my depth here.”
“We’ve all been there,” she
says. “It will get easier after therapy sessions.”
“Therapy sessions?”
“They’re requisite for the first
two months,” she explains. “Then optional after that.”
“This is so freaking weird.”
“What part?”
“All of it.”
“I know,” she says. “But it will
get easier.”
I shrug.
It won’t. Not for me. I know it
won’t. I don’t belong here. I belong with Wade and my family. Although not
together because my dad would probably kill Wade given the circumstances. Oh
God, the funeral.
My
funeral.
How on earth are my mum and dad
going to pay for something like that? And who will go? I wonder if Sophie will
go. Of course Sophie will go. Oh God, Sophie. I’ve been so preoccupied with
Wade that I haven’t thought of how Sophie must be feeling. She’s just lost her
best friend. She must be devastated too. Who will she hang around with at
lunchtimes? Who will she go shopping with? Who will she spend Saturday nights
with now that I won’t be there for popcorn, Ben & Jerry’s and chick-flick
girly nights?
And the funeral. Dad will kill
Wade at the funeral, if not before. If Wade is fit enough to go, that is. Maybe
he’s seriously injured and won’t be able to leave the hospital. Or maybe he
just won’t be able to handle it. Maybe he’ll have to say his goodbyes to me in
private.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
“Hey, Riley.” Caydi snaps her
fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Dwelling on it doesn’t help
matters,” she says. “This is life now.”
“Actually, I thought this was
death.” I try cracking a joke but it goes down like a lead balloon. “Why are
there so many fire extinguishers around?” I try to fill up the awkward silence
that follows. “If we’re already dead, it’s not going to make much difference,
is it?”
“You shouldn’t mention them,”
Caydi says. “We all know they’re there, but we don’t talk about them.”
“Why not?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She stares at me but I obviously
don’t get it because she huffs and rolls her eyes. “Mrs Carbonell died in a
fire. She’s a little over-precautious. Not that it really makes any difference,
but the woman has obviously got issues. So no one mentions the fire stuff. Just
ignore it.”
“Oh,” I say. I hadn’t thought of
that.
“You should unpack your stuff,”
Caydi says. “I cleared some things out of the wardrobe and this chest of
drawers is for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, even
though there is still a lump in my throat and I feel like crying.
I turn to the suitcase and rummage
through the stuff that’s in there.
It’s like I would have packed to
go on holiday for a week. But this is about the furthest thing you can get from
a holiday.
“So, how long have you not had a
roommate for?” I ask as I start taking things out of the suitcase and laying
them on the bed.
“Forever,” she says. “I’ve been
on my own since I came here.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry, I guess.”
She shrugs. “Well, I’m not
thrilled by the prospect of a roommate, but it was bound to happen sooner or
later.”
“Has no one arrived here for six
months then?”
“Oh no, plenty of people come
every week, but they always put them in other rooms. People leave so there are
always spaces.”
“I thought people couldn’t leave
unless they graduate?”
“That’s right,” she says.
“So you’ve known people who
graduated then?”
She nods.
“What happens to them? Mr
Burgrove was utterly cryptic about it.”
“No one knows,” she says. “But I
guess they go out into Death World and get jobs.”
“That’s what it’s called?” I
ask. “Death World?”
“No one’s ever told me what it’s
called,” she says. “Maybe it doesn’t have a name. My friend and I just made up
calling it Death World. We think it fits, though.”
I nod. It does.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask
as I walk over to the wardrobe with a pile of clothes in my arms.
Caydi nods.
“What’s with the pumpkin? It’s
April.”
“Oh, that’s Charlie,” she says.
“He’s my pet.”
Charlie. Charlie the pet
pumpkin. Right.
“He’s kind of… lively, isn’t
he?”
“Oh no, he didn’t bite you, did
he?”
“Bite me? Er, no.” He bites?
Wonderful. “But he did growl a bit. Does he, er, make a habit of biting
people?”
“Only if they’re dumb enough to
put their fingers in his mouth,” she says.
Right. At least my hunch on
avoiding the mouth was right. “I’ve never heard of a pumpkin that bites
people.”
“Charlie’s a vampire pumpkin,”
Caydi says.
A vampire pumpkin? Right. And
she thinks
I
need therapy. “By vampire you
mean…”
“He drinks blood.” She says it
like it is nothing out of the ordinary. “Occasionally he eats a bit of flesh
too. But don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. He can’t move from the table, so don’t
go putting your fingers in his gob and you’ll be fine.”
“Do you feed him often?”
“About once a month. More often
if someone pisses me off.”
I stare at her.
She laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m
only joking.”
“Oh,” I say with a sigh of
relief.
“You’ll grow to like him.
Everybody likes Charlie.”
“Does he speak?”
“No,” she says in disbelief.
“Whoever heard of a talking pumpkin?”
Whoever heard of a
blood-drinking pumpkin either, I think in response, but I don’t say it. “You
know, in my school they had hamsters as pets,” I say instead.
“Yeah, well, Death World is far
more interesting.”
“I’ll take your word for that.”
She smiles and gives Charlie the
flesh-devouring pumpkin a stroke.
I could be wrong, but I think he
purred.
CHAPTER 7
Sleep last night was sporadic at best. Especially after
Caydi noticed something else different about me. I’ve been wearing a pink rose
necklace for the past year. I never take it off. Wade gave it to me on our
second date and it’s been around my neck since then. I hold it in my hand when
we’re apart and it makes me feel better. And it’s still pink. Like my hair is
still brown and my skin is still skin coloured, the rose around my neck is
still pink. Caydi thinks I should go and ask Mrs Carbonell about it.
This morning I am on my own for
breakfast. Caydi “doesn’t do breakfast”, so I’ve wandered down to the canteen
on my own. I don’t like being by myself. Back at home, I’m never alone. On the
rare occasion Sophie isn’t in school, there are plenty of girls who would love
to get close to me. They think if they sit by me once, they will automatically
be a part of the popular crowd.
But here I don’t know anybody.
Hopefully that will change because it’s still only my second day, but it’s
disconcerting to walk into the canteen that I know so well and be all alone. I
don’t do going solo. Back at home I know everyone.
Here I try to smile at people as
I pass them, but they either ignore me or look me over with distaste and
disinterested eyes. It sucks to be the new girl. I’ve never been the new girl
before, although I’ve given plenty of them that same look myself. I’ve never
stopped to consider what it might be like on the other side of that look.
It sucks. Big time.
I join the queue at the food
counter. I’m in line behind a tall girl who is completely grey. I try to say
hello to her but she looks at me angrily and hunches her shoulders in a way
that clearly says
leave me alone
.
Someone else joins the queue
behind me. I turn around to smile but she just stares at me.
Fine, I think.
Maybe it’s just the fact that
it’s not even half past seven in the morning yet. Way too early. Back at home,
school doesn’t start until nine. Still early, but slightly more humane than
this.
Maybe people will be friendlier
later.
Even I don’t feel my usual self
at this time of day.
“How come you look so weird?”
the girl behind me asks abruptly.
Could she be more blunt?
“I don’t look weird, I look
alive,” I snap.
“You aren’t. So to me you just
look weird.”
“Yeah, well, grey isn’t exactly
your colour, so why don’t you take a look in the mirror before insulting other
people?” I ask.
The tall girl in front of me
turns around at the sound of our exchange and stares.
God, people here are so rude.
“Take a picture, it’ll last
longer,” I snap. I’m already pissed off beyond belief and I’ve only been here
five minutes.
“Let me guess.” The tall girl
snorts. “You were a prom queen.”
“No,” I say angrily. “Why does
everybody keep saying that?”
“How’d you die?” she asks
brusquely.
“Car accident,” I mutter. I
guess this is the favoured topic of conversation around here. “And you?”
“Bus accident,” she says.
“How do you die from a bus
accident?” the girl behind me asks like it’s the strangest thing she’s ever
heard.
“I got hit by one,” the tall
girl says. “Why don’t you talk to Little Miss Cheerleader and leave me alone?”
“Why don’t you keep your voice
down?” the other girl responds.
“Hey, why don’t you both shut
the hell up?” I say loudly. Loudly enough to attract a few glances from nearby
kids. “It’s seven in the morning, have a little consideration.”
“How come you’re so blond
anyway, Blondie?” the tall girl asks me.
“They’re called highlights,” I
snap. “And don’t call me that.”
I should have known that the
last thing you want to say to anyone is not to call you something because then
they’ll just do it even more. I should know. Sophie and I are the ones who call
people names in the canteen in the mornings. And it’s fun. Unless you’re the
one being called names, I guess.
“That doesn’t answer my
question, Blondie.”
“How am I supposed to know?” I
growl. “I just got here yesterday. This is all new to me. I have no idea how or
why I’m not grey yet, but I’m not. I thought you weren’t supposed to
discriminate against people here. Pot, kettle, black and everything. Or should
that be pot, kettle, grey?”
“Orders,” someone says loudly
and I realise that we’ve made our way to the front of the line.
The woman with horns is standing
behind the counter, glaring at the tall girl and looking utterly displeased.
The girl regards her with a
disgusted look on her face.
“Toast,” she orders without any
manners. “And don’t go breathing on it, it might catch light. And don’t bloody
touch it, either. Don’t know what I could catch from you.”
I feel sorry for the dinner
lady. Okay, she looks a little different, but so do I compared to these people
and I could really do without the hassle.
The dinner lady reaches down
under the counter and pulls out a plate of toast. Which is weird because either
the toast is really cold by now or there’s a toaster down there. Which is an
odd place to keep a toaster. But then again, what isn’t odd about this place?
The tall girl takes her toast
and a cup of coffee without so much as a thank you and goes to sit at a table
with some other girls and a couple of boys. That should be me, I think. I’m the
girl who is never without a table to sit at. I’m the girl with people beckoning
me over and looking disappointed when Sophie and I sit by ourselves or with
Wade’s crowd.
“Newbie, huh?” The woman with
horns smiles at me.
“Is she always that rude?” I ask
in disbelief. I mean, I may be popular but I do not treat people the way that
girl just treated this woman. Especially people who serve me food.
“I’m used to it,” the woman
says. “People don’t like those who look different, even in a place like this.”
I nod.
“So, what can I get you for
breakfast?”
I shrug. “Er, I don’t know.
What’s good?”
“What did you used to have in
your old life?”
“Not much,” I admit. “It takes
work to stop bursting out of my clothes.”
She laughs. “You certainly won’t
have to worry about that here. There’s no aging and there’s certainly no
expanding waistlines.”
“Seriously?” I look at her in
shock. “You’re telling me I can eat whatever I want to and not get fat?”
She nods and watches me with a smile
as this news sinks in.
I can’t help the grin that
spreads across my face.
“So, what’ll it be, my love?”
she asks kindly.
“I can’t think of anything,” I
say. “What do you recommend?”
“Do you like croissants?”
“Ooh, not half,” I say. I
haven’t eaten one since I started high school, but that’s not the point.
She reaches down behind the
counter and comes up with a plate of two large, warm, buttery croissants and a
cup of tea.
“Here you go.” She smiles. “That
should hold you over until lunch.”
I grin at the sight of them. My
mouth is watering just thinking about all that butter. I go to dig my purse out
of my school bag but she stops me.
“You don’t pay here.”
“Where do I pay then?” I ask as
I look around for a kiosk or something.
“No, I mean, you don’t pay here
at all. Money isn’t of any use in Afterlife Academy.”
“For anything?” I ask in shock
again.
“No,” she says. “Unsurprisingly,
dead people don’t need money.”
“Can I ask you something?” I say
before I leave the counter.
“Sure.” She smiles at me.
“Can you really breathe fire?”
She laughs at that. A loud peal
of laughter that makes several students look up from their food.