Afterworlds by Scott Westerfeld Read Free Book Online

on the floor?” His big hands took my shoulders. “What say we get you back to bed?”
    I stood up on my own, and he gave me an encouraging smile.
    “I just thought it was wet there, and someone would slip.”
    He looked at the floor. “Looks okay to me. Why don’t you lie down, sweetie?”
    “Of course.” I lay back obediently, but his hand stayed on my elbow.
    “I’m going to get Dr. Gavaskar now. Are you going to stay here in bed?”
    “I don’t think anyone called my mom,” I said. “She must have heard on the news. She must be freaking out!”
    “I think the airline and TSA are contacting relatives. But how old are you?”
    “Seventeen.”
    His eyes widened a little. “I’ll get you a phone. Just sit tight.”
    “Thank you.”
    He disappeared into the corridor, and I was left alone with the beeping of my heartbeat again. I decided that there was no need to tell him—or anyone—about Tom. My resolve to stay quiet on the subject of ghosts and afterworlds remained firm that night, through conversations with Dr. Gavaskar, a relentlessly nice woman from the airline, and two field agents from the FBI.
    My mother arrived four hours later, and I didn’t have to say anything to her at all. She just held me while I cried.

CHAPTER 7
    MAX, MOXIE UNDERBRIDGE’S ASSISTANT, CAME to collect Darcy for YA Drinks Night at exactly six that evening.
    Darcy had been ready since five, which wasn’t like her. But the little black dress demanded makeup, which she’d never worn often enough to get any good at. Usually after her first attempt, Darcy had to start over completely. But today’s ventures at the mirror had gone perfectly, leaving her fidgeting for a solid hour, afraid to touch her own face.
    It would have been easier to wear jeans and her fancy black silk T-shirt, with no makeup, like she’d planned. When Max arrived, he was in chinos and a Thundercats pullover.
    “Am I too dressed up?” Darcy asked as they rode the elevator down.
    “You look great!” Max eyed her up and down. “But Drinks Night isn’t what you’d call a party. It’s just a thing Oscar does every month.”
    “And I’m really invited?”
    “Anyone with a published YA novel is.”
    “Oh,” Darcy said, wondering if Afterworlds really counted as published. It wouldn’t come out until late next September, almost two years after she’d finished it. Didn’t “published” mean your book was actually in stores? Or did it just mean you’d sold it to a publisher? What if you’d signed a contract but hadn’t written a word?
    The elevator doors opened, and a moment later they were outside, Max leading the way. The sky had turned a watery blue overhead. The sun was low and the streets in shadow. The heat of late afternoon was cooking up a thickish smell from the sidewalks, as if the city had worked hard all day and needed a shower.
    Darcy tried to memorize the storefronts passing by, so she’d know the way home. An organic coffee place, a small theater, a bicycle repair shop.
    “Are you online yet?” Max asked.
    “Um, I have this Tumblr. But I don’t update it enough. I don’t know what to say, really.”
    He laughed. “I meant, did you get online at Moxie’s?”
    “Oh, sorry. Not yet.”
    “It’s You_Suck_at_Writing.”
    Something twisted inside Darcy. “Pardon me?”
    “Moxie’s wifi network is You_Suck_at_Writing, with underscores. The password’s ‘DearGenius,’ no space. You found the note on her desk, right?”
    “Yeah, I guess.” Darcy took a few slow breaths while the echoes of alarm faded. She’d seen a handwritten page pinned beneath aflickering white blobject on Moxie’s desk, but Darcy hadn’t even cracked open her laptop yet. After the family’s tearful farewells, she’d sat in Moxie’s bedroom, staring into the fabulous closet and arguing with Sodapop about whether birds could talk or not.
    Living here in New York felt somehow fragile, breakable if Darcy moved too quickly. She wanted to wait until