Almost Dead (Dead, #1) by Rebecca A. Rogers Read Free Book Online Page A

are as soft and endearing as they were a few hours ago. I watch her—my own tolerance wearing thin—and how she takes her time showing Flora little by little how to move her hand through the table, making it invisible.
    Flora’s fully concentrating; she bites the tip of her tongue as it sticks out one side of her mouth. But when her hand hits the tabletop with a dull crack , she shouts, “Damn it!”
    “Do not be discouraged, Flora. You are doing so well. With just a little more practice, you will achieve this.” Sara places her hand on top of Flora’s.
    I’m almost jealous.
    Almost.
    Why does Flora get all the attention? Why can’t I learn this stuff? That’ll make her shut up, if I ace it before she does.
    “Let me try,” I interject, prancing over to the table and plopping down on the floor. It looks like we’re preparing to have a séance, minus the Ouija board. And there’s also the fact that we’re the ghosts.
    Sara momentarily freezes in place, but shakes off her surprised state and says, “Okay, try it.”
    My hand hovers above the table. I concentrate on becoming invisible, like Sara instructs, and on my hand gliding through the slab of wood. When I let my palm drop, it lands with the same earsplitting crack as Flora’s.
    Okay, maybe this won’t work after all.
    “Again,” Sara says. 
    We both atte mpt to move our hands this time, and we’re both met with the same sound. Flora growls in annoyance. I try to keep my cool and make this work, but so far no luck.
    Meanwhile, Sara sips on tea that has an aro sht has amatic flavor. It’s nothing I’ve smelled before, I can say that, but it does remind me of Oliver’s studio. Great. Now I miss cappuccino.
    Flora concentrates on her hand and the table. I’ve basically given up. How can something be so difficult? It’s like practicing for the pageant. I can walk and strut all I want, but Oliver claims I still don’t have it. Whatever it is.
    “You’re doing well, ladies,” Sar a says. “Just a little more effort.” She’s silently reminding us that we don’t have the rest of the year to make this work. Sara? She has all the time in the world. She’s dead and has nothing better to do.
    I’m different, though. I have a family that’ll be looking for me—even a boyfriend—and they have no id ea where I am. I gaze at Flora. How long has she been friends with my sister? Sad to say, but I don’t know much about this girl. All I’m certain about is that she drinks like she lives in a bar, smokes on school property, and listens to bands who scream the lyrics. Her parents care more about her brother, Derek, than they do her, and last year there was a rumor at school that she might get emancipated. How can someone live like that? She has nothing to live for.
    I should be the one who gets this hand thingy. Not her.
    Okay, c oncentrate . Focus your energy, so it’ll work this time .
    My body might be through a portal somewhere, though …
    No, no, no . Don’t think about your body, or how this world looks like it’s covered in ash . Think about the energy, and how you’re going to use it .
    “Laney? What’s wrong?” asks Sara. “You’re not trying. There’s only so much—”
    “Time? Yeah, I got that,” I say.
    I force all of this bad energy and negative thoughts through my arm and into my hand. It tingles, like liberated electricity. I bring my hand down, waiting for the cracking noise, but it doesn’t happen. My hand goes straight through the table.
    God, I love myself.
    “How the hell did you do that? I’ve been trying for longer than you.” If Flora were in her true body, her face might be redder than an ember in the fireplace.
    I shrug. “Oh, you know. Practice.”
    She stands up. “That’s not fair! Tell me how you did it.”
    “And what’s in it foro, s in i me? Will you take my clothes to the dry cleaners for the rest of the year, if we live?”
    “Ladies, please,” Sara says. “Sit down, Flora. This takes some