Ship of Souls by Zetta Elliott Read Free Book Online

her knowing full well that Nyla’s the most exotic creature we’ve ever seen.
    I figure this is my chance to learn more about her, so I start with some small talk. “You’ve traveled a lot, huh?”
    Nyla shrugs and then pulls her ringed fingers out of her pockets and counts off all the places she’s been. I don’t even have a passport, but Nyla must have stamps on every single page of hers.
    “It’s easy to get around when you live in Europe,” she says. “Everything’s close by, more or less.”
    “Is that how you learned to speak German?” asks Keem.
    “ Natürlich, dumm .” Nyla laughs at the confused looks on our faces. “I came here from Ramstein, but before that we moved around a lot. My dad’s an Army engineer. Or was—he retired last year, so we came back here.”
    “Brooklyn must be kind of boring compared to Europe, huh?”
    Nyla looks at me like I‘m crazy. “Are you kidding? Brooklyn’s the world.” She throws out her arms and twirls around and around. Then, staggering dizzily, she says, “Everyone who’s anyone lives here.”
    Keem’s phone goes off, and he steps away to take the call. I catch Nyla watching him, trying to hear who he’s talking to.
    This is my chance—I’ve got Nyla all to myself. “So…what are you?” I ask.
    Nyla’s dimples vanish as the smile slides off her face. I rush on to fix my mistake. “I mean, are you, like, Goth? Or punk?”
    Nyla’s smile returns, and she flips her hair out of her eyes. “What you see is what you get, D. I’m me —take it or leave it.”
    Nyla watches me, her onyx eyes sparkling with unloosed laughter. She reaches out a hand and rubs it over my thick hair. I haven’t had a haircut since I moved in with Mrs. Martin but plan to spend some of my tutoring money at the barbershop—soon.
    “You’d look good with a faux-hawk,” Nyla tells me.
    “Can’t—my mom would freak out,” I say. Then I realize I’ve done it again—used the present tense for someone who’s no longer present.
    I try to look away, but Nyla sees the change in my face. “You and your mom don’t get along?” she asks softly.
    “We used to,” I say, fingering the pink ribbon pin in my coat pocket. “But…my mom died a few months back. She had breast cancer.” I press the sharp pink ribbon pin into my thumb, knowing Nyla will see me wince.
    “Oh, God, D—I’m so sorry.” Nyla reaches out and puts her hand on my face this time. I try not to sigh as the cold silver of her rings presses into my cheek. “It’s just you and your dad then?”
    I shake my head, and Nyla’s hand falls away. “I never knew my dad.”
    “So who takes care of you now—your grandmother?”
    I shake my head and decide not to tell Nyla about my bizarre lack of family. “I live with Mrs. Martin. She’s my foster mother.”
    I never know what to do with other people’s sympathy, but I like the way Nyla’s looking at me now. Like she wishes she could give me something that would fill up the hole in my heart. Instead Nyla’s puts her arms around me and holds me close for five full seconds. I know because I was counting!
    Once Nyla takes her arms away, I feel sort of free inside—brave enough to admit the truth. “Sometimes I forget that my mom’s gone. This past year feels like a bad dream that just won’t end.”
    Nyla nods to show that she understands. “Some people say that life is just a dream—we only wake up when we die. The ancient Egyptians believed the dead weren’t really dead. I think they were right—the dead live as long as we continue to say their names.”
    The dead aren’t dead . That’s what the bird said last night!
    Nyla sees the amazed look on my face and smiles before making her own confession. “I still talk to my gran all the time. Dad dragged her all over Europe, but all she wanted was to come back home.”
    “Did she make it?” I ask.
    Nyla’s eyes seem to get a bit darker. “She passed while we were stuck in K-town.”
    “Is she