A Soul's Kiss Read Online Free Page A

is, if he’s dying, too, because it certainly looks like Keith doesn’t have much time left in this world. Instead I say, “Hey, you’re barefoot, too.” He smiles and I ask the question that is burning hottest in my head: “How come you knew my address?” As soon as it’s out of my mouth I know it’s not the question I should be asking.
    His laugh is sweet, such a contrast to the weeping of his mother. His father, or it must be his stepfather, keeps up a steady stream of soft words in his mom’s ear.
    “Tyler’s been talking about you for years. Had me drive him by your house. But he’s shy, you know. He’s just gonna keep his feelings to himself and never even ask you to—”
    “Ask me to what?” But Keith is gone again. The edge of the privacy curtain trembles. I stare at the bandaged head of the real Keith, listen to his mom’s whimpering, watch the blips and lines on the monitor he’s hooked up to. The heartbeat is steady now, but an irregular pattern is rolling off the screen and I know what that means—he has reappeared somewhere else.
    This is no dream. Maybe I have some special ability now that lets me see and hear spirits or souls or ghosts even.
    Or maybe I’m dead.
    The echo of screams from the car accident fade in and out. My head and chest hurt now, the nausea is back. I’m not going to wait for Keith to reappear. I need to search around right now. I have the sickest feeling that I’m going to find Michael in one of these hospital beds.
    Or myself.
    Then my breath escapes in a rush as I remember that I wanted to check on Rashanda. It was Rashanda that I was so concerned about before. Something happened to her . I’m sure of it.
    I duck under the curtain and scan the room. There are twenty numbered cubicles, most empty of patients, their curtains opened, all facing the long nurses’ station.
    I run to the counter and read the dry erase board that charts patients, doctors, nurses, medications, and procedures. I suck in too much sterile smelling air as soon as I read the name next to bed four. My name.
    Bed four.
    Back past Keith’s curtain.
    Seven. Six. Five. The curtain to bed four waves open as a nurse whooshes out with a metal tray filled with vials and bandages and silver instruments. I catch a glimpse of the patient and three visitors.
    My parents. And Rashanda. And me, in the bed.

 
    Rashanda
    Last Week

     
    I hate school. I told Jessica that last week as we were sitting cross-legged on the floor of my messy bedroom. I said I wasn’t looking forward to all the hoopla at the end of this month, homecoming week with all of its insanity: the pep assembly, class competitions, hall decorating, the parade, and especially the dance.
    “Are you insane?” Jessica said. She tapped at the floor with her copy of The Scarlet Letter . We’d finished reading the final scene aloud and my exclamation about school surprised her. Normally I would dive into a discussion of the symbolism in what we were reading, or start right in on the worksheet, or ask her if she understood it all. She knew I absolutely loved school. I wanted to be a teacher someday. But I hated the social aspect right now. “Really,” Jessica continued, “are you out of your mind? Homecoming week is the best part of the year. I wish it came in the spring instead so we’d have something to look forward to all through the winter.”
    Yeah, that fit Jessica. She was all about daydreaming, fantasizing, looking forward. She was pure optimism—one of many reasons I admired her. I wished I could be more like her. Lately I’d been into dreading everything. “Aren’t you worried that nobody will ask us to the dance?” We’d been munching on popcorn and I tossed a handful into the air and managed to catch two kernels in my mouth.
    “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m working on a plan. There’s a guy in my dramaclas s — ” She wasn’t going to finish that statement, didn’t have to. I knew perfectly well who she