Read Through to You for Free Online

answer. She’s definitely not a ghost. I rub my forehead, exhausted, but she looks like she might pass out.
    “Could I—” Her voice wavers. “Could I have a glass of water?”
    The only ice in the freezer is crystallized on the outside of an old bag of peas. I fill a glass with cold water at the sink and set it down in front of her.
    “Thanks,” she says, sliding onto a stool at the breakfast bar.
    I wonder what school she goes to, how he knows her. I wait until she’s gulped down half the glass before saying anything. She sets it on the counter. Her eyes are calm now, her pupils not quite so large. She’s probably rehearsed this.
    “You feel better?” I ask.
    She doesn’t answer, but she looks miserable. Nice touch. I lean against the wall where the phone used to go. She won’t look me in the eye—she can’t be that good. She starts to ask something, and stops.
    “What?” I ask.
    She shakes her head.
    “What were you going to say?”
    She presses her lips together, and I study her while she studies the floor. I wonder how Logan pulled off making her appear transparent. Or did my own mind provide that extrasensory detail? I clench my jaw. Her hands are clearly opaque now. They don’t pass through the water glass, but every time she moves, I still expect her to start glowing or something.
    I shake it off.
    “So, did he offer to pay you for this?”
    “I told you, this isn’t a joke.” She closes her eyes. “I wish it were.”
    I snort. “What, you’re really a ghost?”
    “ I’m not the ghost,” she chokes.
    “Then what are you?”
    “I’m alive.” She bites her lower lip, considering. “But I think I’m in the wrong place.”
    I fold my arms across my chest. “And that’s somehow my fault?”
    “Yes.”
    She shifts stiffly, as if she’s uncomfortable, and I remember how hard I shoved her. I realize just how sore and bruised she probably is, and that is my fault. The back of my neck gets hot. But I thought she was a ghost!
    “What did you mean … in the wrong place?” I ask.
    She pushes her hair out of her face with an unsteady hand. “I didn’t notice anything different at first. It took forever just to catch my breath and climb out of the bushes after you pushed me.” She glances at me and swallows. “But when I tried to go home last night, some other family was living in my house … and that’s not the only thing. Granted, it was two in the morning, but I went to my friend’s house, and her dad chased me out of the yard—I’ve known Mr. Caccione since I was ten!” Her voice rises. “I spent the night drinking coffee at McDonald’s, calling everyone I could think of from the pay phone, but they all hung up on me or didn’t answer.” She picks up the empty glass and stares into it. “When I tried the school this morning, the front office had never heard of me either … so when I saw you, I followed you home. Only this is all wrong too!”
    The glass slips from her fingers and shatters spectacularly all over the floor.
    “Oh! I’m sorry!”
    I watch a fragment spin across the tile and skid to a stop against the wall. She’s off her stool, trying to pick up the shards. I move to touch her shoulder, but stop myself. I don’t want to play into her.
    “I’ll get it later.”
    She looks at my hand still hovering over her, and flinches away. She backs up, sits on the barstool, and hugs herself.
    “Either everyone’s playing a cruel joke on me, or—”
    “A cruel joke on you ?” I say.
    She shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s just … like I don’t exist.”
    This girl could win an Oscar.
    “Yeah, well, I’ve never seen you before.”
    She smacks her hand down on the table.
    “My name is Nina Larson! I go to Fowler High School! I live at Twenty-six Genesee Street with my idiot aunt and little brother, who needs me!” Her voice breaks and she covers her face with her hands. “You have to help me, Cam.”
    My skin prickles when she says