Reunion Read Free Page B

paper he had all over his desk. “Class leaders. Very bright young things. I believe it was their principal who dubbed them the RLS Angels in his statement to the press concerning the tragedy.”
    “Huh.” I tried to angle an oddly shaped object into the small space allotted for it. “Angels who were trying to lift a twelve-pack of Bud.”
    “Here.” Father Dom found a copy of the paper I’d looked at the day before, only he, unlike me, had taken the trouble to open it. He turned to the obituaries where there were photos of the deceased. “Take a look and see if they are the young people you saw.”
    I passed him the GameBoy. “Finish this game for me,” I said, taking the paper from him.
    Father Dominic looked down at the GameBoy in dismay. “Oh, my,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t —”
    “Just rotate the shapes to make them fit in the spaces at the bottom. The more rows you complete, the better.”
    “Oh,” Father Dominic said. The GameBoy binged and bonged as he frantically pushed buttons. “Oh, dear. Anything more complicated than computer solitaire, and I’m afraid —”
    His voice trailed off as he became absorbed in the game. Even though I was supposed to be reading the paper, I looked at him instead.
    He’s a sweet old guy, Father Dominic. He’s usually mad at me, of course, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like him. I was, in fact, growing surprisingly attached to him. I’d found that I couldn’t wait, for instance, to come rushing in and tell him all about those kids I’d seen at the Quick Mart. I guess that’s because, after sixteen years of not being able to tell anybody about my “special” ability, I finally had someone to unload on, Father Dom having that same “special” ability — something I’d discovered my first day at the Junipero Serra Mission Academy.
    Father Dominic, however, is a way better mediator than I am. Well, maybe not better. But different, certainly. See, he really feels that ghosts are best handled with gentle guidance and earnest advice — same as the living. I’m more in favor of a sort of get - to - the - point approach that tends to involve my fists.
    Well, sometimes these dead folks just won’t
listen.
    Not all of them, of course. Some of them are extremely good listeners. Like the one who lives in my bedroom, for instance.
    But lately, I’ve been doing my best not to think about him any more than I have to.
    I turned my attention to the paper Father Dom had passed me. Yep, there they were, the RLS Angels. The same kids I’d seen the day before in Jimmy’s, only in their school photos they weren’t dressed in their formal wear.
    Father Dom was right. They were attractive. And bright. And leaders. Felicia, the youngest, had been head of the varsity cheerleading team. Mark Pulsford had been captain of the football team. Josh Saunders had been senior class president. Carrie Whitman had been last season’s homecoming queen — not exactly a leadership position, but one that was elected democratically enough. Four bright, attractive kids, all dead as doornails.
    And up, I happened to know, to no good.
    The obituaries were sad and all, but I hadn’t known these people. They attended Robert Louis Stevenson School, our school’s bitterest rival. The Junipero Serra Mission Academy, which my stepbrothers and I attend, and of which Father Dom is principal, is always getting its academic and athletic butt kicked by RLS. And while I don’t possess much school spirit, I’ve always had a thing for underdogs — which the Mission Academy, in comparison with RLS, clearly is.
    So I wasn’t about to get all choked up about the loss of a few RLS students. Especially not knowing what I knew.
    Not that I knew so much. In fact, I didn’t really know anything at all. But the night before, after coming home from “ ’za” with Sleepy and Dopey, Gina had succumbed to jet lag — we’re three hours behind New York, so around nine o’clock, she more or less