Free Krysta's Curse by Tara West

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it. AJ made her promise she wouldn’t jump into our heads without
permission, but sometimes our bad moods still projected on Sophie,
making her depressed as well.
    “I can’t help it.” I gnawed on my lower lip,
eating away the last remnants of shimmery moisturizing lip
gloss.
    “I can tell.” She wagged a finger. “I’m
getting a really big sense of self-pity, Krysta.”
    “Yeah, well, it sucks to be me right now.”
Without even thinking, I had coined AJ’s phrase as my new motto. It
fit my life pretty well.
    “I brought my laptop.” Leaning over the
coffee table, she unzipped the big, dirt-stained bag and pulled out
her computer. “Do you want me to help you with your research?”
    Before Sophie had arrived, I had been
staring at the empty Internet browser on AJ’s computer for over ten
minutes, not really knowing where to begin.
    “Do you seriously want to help me stop a
mall?”
    “Krysta, I’m not into clothes like you
are.”
    Leaning closer, she squeezed my hand,
holding me with an earnest gaze. “The real question is…do you want to
stop it?”
    All at once, the warmth from her touch
seeped into my bones, and for the first time in a while, I felt
like a living person really cared about me. Looking down at our
joined hands, my eyes filled with unshed tears.
    The human contact was nice, something I had
been missing in my sucky life.
    “I have to.” I said while pulling away,
afraid holding her hand would eventually turn me into a leaky water
hose and ruin my mascara. “My friends will lose their graves if I
don’t.”
    “Do they really need a place to stay?”
Wrinkling her brow, Sophie tilted her head like Patches did
whenever he farted and didn’t know where the sound was coming from.
“I mean…they’re dead, aren’t they?”
    “That’s not the point.” Fighting the urge to
throw my hands in the air, I clenched my fists at my sides. Ed’s
tantrums were threatening to rub off on me. “We’re desecrating
their burial site. People don’t stop having emotions after they
die.”
    Choking on that last syllable, I turned away
from Sophie. The thought of Sunny’s hollow, aching eyes seared
through my memory. Her boyfriend’s betrayal was so painful her soul
fell into an empty void, a dark abyss.
    “You know what, Krysta?” with barely a
whisper at my back, Sophie placed a hand on my shoulder.
    “What?” A single tear slipped down my
cheek.
    “You’re a good friend.”
    “Thanks.” I was unable to say more.
    For a long moment, we sat there in silence
while I swallowed the rising tide of emotion that threatened to
burst free.
    Tapping me on the shoulder, Sophie cleared
her throat. “My mom told me something about the National Historic
Preservation Act. She said some cemeteries can be protected.”
    Startled, I turned.
    She was wearing a plastered on smile, the
kind friends use when they’re trying to cheer each other up.
    “Some cemeteries?” A spark of hope kindled in the
hollow of my chest.
    “Yeah.” She nodded while toying with her
fingers. “They have to qualify first.”
    “How do we do that?”
    Sophie turned on her computer and plugged in
the little phone receptor. “Mom gave me the website to The National
Registry of Historic Places.”
    “Let’s go there,” I squealed.
    I’d never heard of this registry, but maybe
it could help me save my friends’ graves.
    With a few clicks of her mouse, Sophie began
typing. “Okay,” she asked while reading though a lengthy checklist
on the screen, “did your ghosts die at least fifty years ago?”
    Recalling Gertrude’s out-of-style bun and
shawl, I stifled a laugh. “Oh, yeah. They’re so last century.”
    Keeping her eyes glued to the monitor,
Sophie scrolled down. “Are your ghosts famous, like Billy the Kid
or something?”
    “I don’t know.” I shrugged. Ed was grumpy
enough. Maybe he was some kind of outlaw, but I needed to ask him
and their spirits were nowhere in sight.
    At that moment, as if