The Killing Jar Read Online Free Page A

thing I didn’t tell Mom—that I hardly dared admit to myself—was that I had begun to sense a change in Erin. I couldn’t explain it, but when I was near her, I felt her diminishing fast, the life hissing out of her like she’d sprung a leak.
    But Erin didn’t live like she was dying. She hadn’t attended school since an accident on the playground in fifth grade, but Mom had homeschooled her and Erin had already gotten her GED and was taking online college courses. One would think she’d prefer to spend her time enjoying herself, but her nightstand and desk were stacked with books that made my brain hurt just to look at them. Historical biographies, Victorian novels, anything by Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawking, or Neil Degrasse Tyson. I was in awe of her. If I’d been the one in her situation, I probably would have spent the majority of my time locked in my room crying and cursing God or whoever for dealing me such a crappy hand.
    Most of the time I tried not to think about Erin’s condition, but with the stress of my first live performance bearing down on me, and Erin and Blake looking at me with such hopeful expectations, it was all too much. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and my mind whirled like a top about to spin off a table.
    â€œI can’t do this,” I muttered, but no one heard me because I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to make myself heard. How was I supposed to sing when I couldn’t breathe?
    Then someone in a Folk Yeah! T-shirt was calling out my number, beckoning me toward the side entrance to the stage. Blake pushed my guitar case into my hands and whispered, “You’re going to be great.” Erin clapped and squealed with excitement.
    My mom shocked me by reaching out and brushing a lock of gray hair back behind my ear. I couldn’t remember the last time my mom had touched me, and I sucked in a breath as I felt the promise of energy restrained beneath her skin. My immediate impulse was to reach for it, to pull that energy into me, but I set my teeth and refused to comply. Mom withdrew her hand quickly.
    â€œGo on,” she said, her smile sad and anxious and twitching a little at the corners. “Show them what you can do.”
    I swallowed a fist-sized lump in my throat and nodded.
    It happened fast and achingly slow at the same time. A festival liaison briefed me, then a sound technician miked my acoustic guitar, and before I knew it I was walking up a short flight of steps and onto a stage, looking out at hundreds of faces.
    I searched for Blake and my family, but didn’t see them. My eyes stopped on a middle-aged man with gray at his temples. He looked out of place with his brown hunting jacket and his dead, black stare. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t decide who. And was it my imagination, the hatred and rage he projected toward me from those cold eyes of his?
    My heartbeat thundered. I began to tremble and panic and reached automatically for my emergency inhaler, thinking, One person in the audience already hates me, and I’m supposed to sing? But my bag was gone, and I had a vague memory of handing it to the festival liaison to hold until I was finished. Could I subtly hint for her to bring it to me? Leave the stage for a second to retrieve it?
    I tore my gaze from the man in the hunting jacket and my eyes finally landed on Blake, right in the front row, just off to the side so I hadn’t been able to spot him right away. He stood with my mom and Erin. Erin was smiling so wide her jaw would probably be sore tomorrow. She had never in her life been allowed to attend an event like this, and she probably never would again.
    My twin met my eyes, reading the distress on my face, and mouthed one word.
    Breathe .
    I did.
    Everything after that was a blur.

 
    W HEN THE M USIC ’ S O VER
    I rested my forehead against the chilly glass of the passenger-side window and watched the road slide by