Free Signs of You by Emily France

the Cuyahoga River.”
    Kate gets up, but then sits back down. It looks like fainting is imminent. “I’m freaking, I’m really freaking,” she says. “I mean, what if we aren’t the only people this is happening to? Maybe everybody is seeing what we are, and it has nothing to do with the necklace. And maybe everyone is afraid to say something about it. Maybe the zombie apocalypse is starting, and we’re just the f irst to know.”
    Miraculously I sort of laugh. Only Kate or Noah could make me laugh at a time like this. “I don’t think this is the zombie apocalypse. But there’s an easy way to test it out.” I spot a fellow nerd coming out of the school. Her name is Jackie. She plays the trombone, and she has on a long-sleeve T-shirt that says treble maker.
    â€œJackie?” I wave her over.
    â€œWhat’s up?” she asks. “Can you believe they picked a song without guitar in it? I mean, seriously. Why the school forces us to go watch this is beyond me.” She rolls her eyes.
    â€œYeah, super lame,” I say, gathering my courage. “Um.”
    â€œYeah?” she looks concerned now because I’m acting so awkward.
    â€œUm, have you ever, like, seen someone who’s died? Like, seen a glimpse of them?” I ask. This must sound so absurd.
    â€œWhat?” she asks, clearly taken aback by the absurdity. She pushes a strand of frizzy brown hair behind her ear and looks at me like I’m a total asshole.
    â€œLike a ghost. But not a ghost. Have you seen someone who’s already died, like either they faked their death, or maybe they’re back from the dead? And then you go to talk to them and they turn into someone else?”
    Her face goes from confused to angry as she backs away from me. “Have you gone to the dark side? You’re picking on people now? What’s your problem?”
    â€œI’m not trying to mess with you, I promise . . .”
    But she’s already walking away. Then she gives me the f inger. That makes twice in one week that someone has felt the need to f lip me off. Can’t really blame them in either case.
    I turn back to my friends.
    â€œI think it’s safe to say she hasn’t seen anything,” Noah says. “If it’s any consolation, Riley, I can relate.”
    I laugh again, miserably this time. “Yeah. I think it’s just us. The ones who wore the necklace.” My mind whirls, trying to make sense of something that is senseless. “Maybe . . . I don’t know. Maybe we should leave this to the experts. Let’s go get it and take it up to the archeology department at Case Western or something. Where Jay’s dad was a prof. Maybe they can help us.”
    â€œSorry,” Jay says. “I’m still in the ditch-it camp.”
    I don’t like the sound I hear in Jay’s voice. Like something’s broken, or missing. “Don’t you want to f igure this out?” I ask him.
    â€œI don’t know,” Jay says softly. His eyes are on the ground. He bends down and picks up a small stone. Then he pulls his arm back and throws it as hard as he can. We watch it arch high in the sky and come down near the big pine tree. “I just want to get rid of it. Get rid of all of it.”
    â€œOkay,” Noah says. His voice has an edge. “I’m empathizing here, I really am. I get that this is sad and awful. But really, I’m so annoyed with you all, I’m going to have to put all my reasons in list form.” He starts pacing again like he did in Kate’s basement. “One: The cross necklace is like, old. It’s like, an artifact. It took Jay’s dad’s whole career to f ind the thing—it does not belong in the river or a dumpster somewhere. B: We can’t turn it over to the university. They’ll take it from us, but they won’t believe us or help us. Three: I’m starving, which doesn’t