Manifest by Artist Arthur Read Free Book Online Page A

he’s dead?
     
    “Nobody else can see you, can they?” I ask as we stop walking through the park. We’re far away from the swings and monkey bars where there are a few little kids with their parents playing. Down two slopes and off the path that the speed walkers or runners take, I sit on the ground and stare out across the jutting rocks and slow trickle of water.
    Unless they have the same power that you do, no.
    I sigh heavily because I don’t even know what power I have. Nor do I want it.
    How long have you been doing this?
    “Doing what?”
    This. The whole ghost whisperer thing.
    I hate the way that sounds. Like that show that comes on television with the woman who can talk to ghosts and helps them with some unresolved problem. That’s fiction, entertainment. This is my life.
    I just shrug instead of answering him.
    Don’t like it much, huh?
    “How’d you guess?”
    Why don’t you like it? Man, if I could have a cool superpower I’d love it. You know the things I could have done if I was powerful?
    “What? Like stay alive?”
    He chuckles but then looks at me more seriously. You know, you could make a person feel just as crappy as you without even trying.
    I shrug again.
    Like I said, your life can’t be that bad. Probably just some spoiled brat complaining while the rest of us sit back and want what you have.
    My neck almost snaps I turn my head in his direction so fast. He’s sitting right beside me, his knees drawn up in front of him, his arms wrapped around them. “I told you, you know nothing about my life. If you did, you’d know the last thing anybody could call me is spoiled.”
    Then let’s try ungrateful.
    I move to stand up. “No. Let’s try I’m outta here. Help yourself with your afterlife problems, dead boy.”
    But before I can stalk away after my perfect exit line I’m falling to the ground, my hands coming up flat to keep my face from meeting the grass. I roll over quickly, wondering if he’d touched me. No, he couldn’t have touched me. Not for real, I don’t think.
    Ricky’s still laughing, something I figure must have been one of his favorite pastimes. He hasn’t moved from his position.
    “You’re an idiot,” I say, scrambling up once more.
    And you’re clumsy. You didn’t see that big rock right there?
    I’m on my knees now and as he points I follow his arm. Sure enough, there’s a rock, similar to the ones in the creek, halfway buried beneath the grass. So, no, he hadn’t pushedme, but he’d gotten a good enough laugh at me falling on my face.
    The reasons why not to like Ricky were quickly adding up. 1) He’s not a real boy, just a spirit. 2) He has a girlfriend. Her name is Trina. 3) He thinks he knows everything. 4) He has a sick sense of humor.
    Come on back over here and sit down. If somebody comes up the path you’re going to look like some psycho talking to yourself.
    He probably has a point. I am sitting sideways so it would be easy for someone coming by to see and/or hear me talking to the air.
    I huff and reluctantly do as he says. “I must be psycho for sitting here talking to you,” I can’t resist saying.
    Man, this is so jacked. Of all the ghost whisperers in the world, I end up with you.
    “Feel free to go, Ricky. I was doing just fine before you showed up!”
    No, you weren’t. You’re running around looking like somebody just stole your bike day in and day out. You treat your mother like crap and don’t give her husband much more respect. And you stay in that room like it’s some sort of hideout.
    Well, tell me how you really feel. I feel like saying this to him, but I’m not ready to admit that his assessment of me and my life is dangerously close to the truth, as usual.
    “Who cares what you think,” I say and look the other way. I don’t care what he thinks. He’s not that important to me to care.
    Hey, you don’t have to care what I think. But you’re too cute to be holed up in that house all the time. And you’re too young