Free The Ghost and the Goth by Stacey Kade Page A

clutching my knee. Only my superior balance and coordination kept me from falling onto the seat and Killian.
    “Dammit,” I shouted. “What is going on here?” I put my foot down, wincing as my now sore knee bent—yeah, still dead and yet I felt pain, where was the fairness in that?—and turned to find Joonie staring wide-eyed at the car as it bounced on its crappy-ass shocks from my movement.
    “Hello?” she said in faint voice. What little color she had drained from her face. Great. If she thought her car was haunted or possessed or something, she’d probably never get in it again to leave Killian’s house.
    “Boo,” I said sourly.
    She didn’t budge, just continued to look around, her dark eye makeup and pale face making her look like a frightened albino raccoon. I sighed.
    “Not so loud,” Killian groaned without opening his eyes.
    Frowning, Joonie turned her attention back to him. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
    “Home,” he mumbled.
    “Yeah, you’re home.” She leaned over and grabbed his arms. Then, bracing her feet against the ground, she pulled him into a seated position and then with another great tug, she yanked him to his feet.
    I thought for sure he’d fall and take her with him—he was, like, a foot taller than her—but they seemed to have this routine down. He stumbled forward but managed to stand while she shifted to the side of him, pulling his arm over her shoulders. Aw, she was like a little safety-pin-encrusted crutch.
    After Joonie took a quick look around at the surrounding houses—yeah, check now that you’re already out of the car and obvious , that’s a good idea—the two of them staggered toward the house.
    Thank God she’d left the car door open. Otherwise, I might have been stuck in there forever. Amazing how I just kept finding new circles of hell.
    I stepped out onto the driveway, relieved to be free and breathing (or whatever) fresh air, and followed them at a leisurely pace. At the door, there seemed to be some confusion about the key, which key, who has the key, something that had Joonie first digging in her pockets and then—ew—Killian’s.
    So … more waiting. Seriously, is there anything to the afterlife, or whatever this is, besides waiting? With a sigh, I leaned against the side of the house … and fell straight through.
    Wood siding, drywall, and—was that a piano?—flashed by in a cold rush. I landed on the floor—this awful brown and cream marbled carpeting—with a thump I felt but couldn’t hear. Stunned, I lay there for a second, staring up at the black upright piano and my legs stuck in the middle of it.
    Clearly, this business of walking through walls and such was a lot more complicated than I’d first thought. How come I could fall into the freaking house by accident, but I couldn’t step out of the car, no matter how hard I concentrated? It made no sense.
    Unless it didn’t always have to do with me. Maybe it was something else completely. Like, maybe because the house was wood, not metal like the car, the molecules were farther apart and I could slip through more easily or something … I had no idea. Just one more thing I had to figure out.
    With a grimace, I curled my legs up toward my chest, half expecting to feel the wall and piano scrape my skin. But it didn’t hurt.
    Once all of me was in the house, I rolled to my side and got to my feet. I brushed myself off—again, not strictly necessary, but comforting somehow—and took a look around. Definitely the living room. There was no television, heavy curtains covered the big picture window on the other side of the room, and a feeling of emptiness and nonuse filled the room. Cheap silver-colored photo frames covered the top of the piano. One man, who looked just like Killian only way older, dominated the spread. His father, probably. He looked significantly less dark, twisty, and cloudlike in these pictures.
    On my left, two dark wood bookcases held a variety of delicate-looking