Agonal Breath (The Deadseer Chronicles Book 1) Read Online Free

fainter, look a little more…I guess “see-through” is a pretty good way to put it.”
    Becky beamed, which made me blush a little. My face must be turning the same color as her hair. Oh crap, don’t think about her hair. I hoped she wouldn’t notice, but it felt like somebody had just set fire to my head. Get a grip, boy. Get a grip!
    “I’m totally into all this ghost stuff,” she gushed. “I watch all those TV shows and read everything I can get my hands on about it. Most of my friends think it’s pretty dumb, but who cares what they think?”
    My heart sank a little. TV shows? Did she mean the one where the guy in the tight t-shirt runs around in abandoned old buildings, yelling and chasing after shadows, or something even more lame? But then my hormones kicked in. Come on, dude – this is Becky Page! She’s beautiful, and more to the point, she’s actually talking to you. Maybe she even likes you a little. If your luck gets any better than this, you’d better go out and buy a lottery ticket!
    I shifted position slightly, kind of shuffling with my feet but without taking an actual step back; I figured that would look too much like a retreat. I shrugged, and the backpack shifted position on my shoulder as I adjusted its weight. I was very aware of Becky’s close proximity to me. She was about as far away as Brandon Monroe had been a few minutes earlier, but this time my heart was racing for an entirely different reason.
    Her eyes met mine. I looked away first. Chicken. She was still smiling, thankfully. The silence was starting to stretch into awkward territory. I was searching for something meaningful (or at least something non-lame) to say in order to fill it, but she got there first.
    “So, can I ask you something?” She sounded a little hesitant, almost embarrassed.
    “Sure.”
    She reached out and handed me a crumpled piece of lined notepaper. I unfolded it and stared dumbly at the seven numbers that had been scrawled there.
    “Can I maybe give you a call sometime, Danny? I’d really love to hang out.”
    I stammered something affirmative, tearing a page from the notebook I carried in my backpack and giving her my own number in exchange.
    I can’t remember a single thing that happened after that.
     
     
     
     
    “Looks like somebody had a good day.”
    I guess I must have floated home on some kind of cloud. Mom’s comment as I came through the door meant that it was probably showing on my face too. Get a grip, I told myself sternly – to which my rebellious side answered sweetly: why?
    Home was a double-wide trailer, not exactly a palace, but Mom and I liked it just fine. Most importantly, I had my own room, and Mom respected my space as being sacred. She’s pretty cool like that. I guess not every parent is.
    “It was OK,” I answered nonchalantly. My head was in the fridge, already hunting down the ingredients for a snack. Pickles, tomatoes, mayo, some sliced ham…slapping it all between two slices of rye and squirting in a dollop of mustard made a halfway-decent sandwich. I could feel the beginnings of my blood sugar starting to dip, which always made me super-irritable, and Mom usually didn’t finish cooking dinner until seven most nights. There was a stuffy-brained feeling starting up that I was all too familiar with, and I wanted to head that off at the pass.
    Mom was leaning back in her favorite recliner, flipping through the pages of some folksy magazine. She shot me a curious look, and perhaps sensing that something potentially gossip-worthy had taken place today, was now transitioning into full-on inquisitor mode.
    “So…want to tell me about it?”
    Not bad for an opening gambit.
    Tell mom that maybe Becky Page liked me a little? On that day, the Devil would need ice skates.
    I countered with “Just a good time in class,” in a blatant attempt to divert her from the truth.
    “Uh huh.” She clearly didn’t believe me, but didn’t want to push it too far too fast. But