Free Beautiful Sorrows by Mercedes M. Yardley Page B

sure that Dad didn’t pick up on it. On account of his sobbing.
    “I don’t know what to do for you, boy. Losing Billy. You’re going to see him everywhere, that’s the way of it. Behind corners and in crowds and picking green olives out at the grocery store. But he’s gone, and you’re going to have to accept it, although you can talk to him whenever you’re lonely and...”
    I kinda tuned out, then. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate my dad and this unusual display of affection, but come on. Plus my dead best friend was getting all restless under the bed. He didn’t have an awful lot of patience. ADD, practically. I knew it was time for this craziness to end.
    “Boy, Dad, thanks a lot,” I interrupted, and then I faked a big, jaw-cracking yawn. “And I sure am tired. Big test tomorrow, and all that.” I smiled sweetly. A bit too sweetly, actually, but Dad was relieved enough to cut his parenting short.
    “Sleep well, son,” he said, and hovered his face around my head for an instant. I was afraid that he was going to go in for a kiss like I was ten years old or something, but instead he just mussed up my hair and left the room, taking the golf club with him.
    “That was close,” Billy said, sliding out from under my bed.
    I just stared at him.
    “What?” he said.
    “What do you mean what ? You’re dead!” I climbed out of bed and smacked his arm. There was a little resistance there, but not much, and my hand went all of the way through pretty easily.
    “Ow!” Billy yowled, jerking his arm away.
    “What, that hurt?” I asked. A little hopefully, I had to admit. If he was going to scare me so bad, then he at least ought to get a slap out of it. It’s just the way our relationship always went.
    “Nah, it doesn’t hurt. Just kidding ya. Hey, Jake,” he said, and suddenly his brown eyes were very serious. “I need your help with something. As you can see, something’s not right.”
    “What do you need?” It was a simple question, but I wasn’t prepared for the answer or the look on his face when he answered.
    “I need you to kill me.”
     
    —
    “I can’t do this,” I told him the next morning. We were standing behind my house. I was holding the wood axe in my hand like it had been dipped in poison. Something gross and acidic was in my mouth. This was so uncool.
    “Dude, I told you I can’t feel anything,” Billy said. He was sounding ticked off. “Just do it already!” He closed his eyes and turned his face away.
    “Billy,” I said. I was speaking very calmly so that he could understand me. I heard that’s what you’re supposed to do with crazy people. “I don’t want to kill you in the first place. I mean, what’s so bad about being a ghost? I know,” I said when he angrily opened his mouth, “you said it’s boring and you feel like you’re not in the right place, but come on! Killing you with an axe? An axe!”
    I pointed at the axe with my other hand. Billy didn’t look impressed.
    “Look, just do it. I can’t explain it, but I just need to die, okay? Be a pal.”
    I sighed and squinched my eyes shut. “You so owe me,” I said. I peeked through one eye to make sure that the axe blade would land squarely in his heart, and then I swung with all of my might.
    Billy made a strangled gasping sound and then fell to the ground. He disappeared. I left the axe where it was and ran into the bushes, vomiting. It was the worst day of my life.
    At least it was until nightfall, when Billy popped over my bed again.
    “Didn’t work,” he said. He shook his head. “We’ll have to find another way to do it.”
    “Billy!” I kept running my hands over where the axe had hit him, but there wasn’t a mark, just that same resistance before my hands passed through.
    “Dude, you can never ask me to do that again.” My hands were shaking. “Do you know what it’s like to kill somebody? It’s the sickest, heaviest, most repulsive...”
    He merely looked at me. “I’m