Free A Perfect Storm by Phoebe Rivers and Erin McGuire Page A

semitransparent state, and that as we walked side by side, real kids heading in the other direction passed right through him without feeling his presence.
    I pulled out my copy of Julius Caesar and opened it to a random page so it would look as though I was reading words out loud to myself. Maybe people would think I was trying to recite lines from memory, rather than talking to some invisible person next to me. I hoped so. “Listen,” I said in a low voice, still staring down at the book. “It’s not that I’m trying to be rude. It’s just that I’m in school. I need you to leave me—”
    â€œ. . . a message. For you.”
    I stopped and stared at him. We’d been talking over each other, without listening to what the other was saying. But suddenly I was all ears.
    â€œDid you just say something about a message?” I asked him. I noticed some passing sixth graders had turned around to look at me curiously. I stared back down at Julius Caesar .
    â€œDid you just say something about delivering a message?” I asked again, still looking down at my book. Did he mean the message Duggan had spoken about?Had he found it somehow? Did he know Duggan?
    â€œYep. I need you to go see Evelyn Diamond. She lives at the Cherry Hill Retirement Home,” he said, his voice getting lower and gruffer than usual. “Tell her from me that Barkus was—” He took a breath. Swallowed. Dabbed at a corner of his eye. Cleared his throat and began again. “Tell her Barkus luh-loved her. That he was on his way to ask her to marry him when—when a truck passed him going the other direction, and it had crossed over the middle line, and that Barkus swerved his pickup and slid off the road and, well, he—that is, I—never got the chance to tell her.” He sniffed loudly. “I was a darn fool to have waited so long.”
    I nodded. His message had nothing to do with me. It was just some unfinished business he had, that he needed my help taking care of. I had learned from Lady Azura that sometimes spirits are trapped here, in our world, because they have stuff they need to take care of. I was obligated to do my best to help him. I looked up and saw tears shimmering in his eyes. I felt a lump in my own throat and swallowed it back. We’d arrived at my classroom. The second bell was about to ring.
    I stared down at my book and spoke to him. “Mrs. Diamond?” I asked.
    â€œMiss. Miss Diamond. She never married. I was too lunkheaded to get up the nerve to ask her until it was too late,” he said. “She taught home ec. She used to bring me baked goods her students had made.” He produced a large handkerchief from somewhere and blew his nose so loudly I couldn’t believe the whole school couldn’t hear it. But no one heard him except me.
    The bell rang. I turned to him. “Okay. I’ll go this afternoon,” I said. “I promise.”
    â€œGood show, Collins,” he said. “Tell her I was a lunkhead, remember.” He was beginning to fade. “I knew you were varsity material the day I first laid eyes on you!”
    He faded away to nothing. I smiled and hurried into my classroom.

Chapter 11
    Cherry Hill Retirement Home looked more like a condominium complex than a nursing home. When I pushed open the wide, handicap-accessible doors, I braced myself for the worst. I hate nursing homes. Back in California, I’d once had to go with my dad to visit his great-uncle, and the place smelled awful, of medicine and disinfectant masking some other, darker odors. When we got to his room, my dad’s great-uncle didn’t even recognize him.
    But Cherry Hill was not a bit like that awful place. It was cheerful. Sun streamed in, and there were potted plants in the hallways. The windows were hung with checkered curtains that looked like someone had spent a lot of time sewing them.
    The lady at the front desk cheerfully