Spiritdell Book 1 Read Free Page A

the basement stairs, into our party. She's alone, clasping her hands, and alternating between glancing around the room and down at her shoes, which sparkle. She must have been headed to another party in the neighborhood, heard the music here, and came in James and Julie's door by accident. That's the only possible explanation.
    She's wearing a dress, and her body language is hesitant, in a cute way. Her toes point slightly together, and as she reaches the bottom step, where she's blocked from view by the other party-goers, I realize she's not very big. I have this urge to pick her up—literally—and twirl her around until she squeals. Why am I standing here with my hand in a bowl of chips? I must talk to her before she discovers she's at a lame high school party and leaves.
    I weave through the crowd toward her, and when she meets my gaze and smiles, I adjust my trajectory and hit the snack table instead, grabbing a handful of crackers and salami. I slink back to my photo booth, mentally flagellating myself.
    I sneak a glance in her direction as Mystery Girl is engulfed in a crowd of new arrivals. And ... she's gone. Maybe she was never even there, just a product of my overly-hormonal imagination.
    * * *
    I've taken a number of photos so far, and I'm readjusting my lights when someone puts soft, little hands over my eyes and presses her boobs on my back. “Mom?” I say, like I always do.
    “Ew,” she says as she lets go and jumps in front of me. It's Raye-Anne Donovan, and she's wearing something red and possibly illegal . I get a little pulse of terror.
    But it's just Raye-Anne , I tell myself, with her cute little rosebud mouth, and if I'm reading things right, she's into me. Maybe I can get past the vision I had of her and enjoy the year or so leading up to it. I don't know how the causality works—if I know something's going to happen, can I somehow prevent future events? 
    “I hear your folks are out of town,” Raye-Anne says.
    “My grandma, yeah. She's on a cruise,” I say. Raye-Anne nods, inviting me to say more—to invite her over, I guess, but I don't want to, so I let the silence stand between us. Seconds pass. I fail to make the gesture she's waiting for.
    A reggae song comes on and Raye-Anne makes a big motion of noticing someone she recognizes over my shoulder, complete with a mimed, “Oh, hey,” on her tiny lips. I blink, and she's off, weaving into the growing crowd, under the blue and green star-shaped lanterns.
    Someone else has entered my photo booth. The hair on my arms raises.
    It's her. The beautiful girl who can't possibly belong here.

Chapter 3
    The beautiful girl has the longest, palest hair I've ever seen, almost silver.
    Mystery Girl circles the stool in my photo booth. The fabric of her dress contains tiny moons and stars, just like the navy curtains of my photo booth setup. “The girl you were talking to,” she says, referring to Raye-Anne. “She's attractive.”
    “Oh, her? She's a friend from school,” I say. The words tumble out of my mouth without much forethought. 
    I have the sensation of falling—of the ground disappearing beneath my feet.
    “I'm Zan,” I say, sticking out my hand. “Zan, like Sam, but with different consonants.”
    “Short for Zaniel,” she says with certainty. I tell her she's actually correct, and she responds with, “Lucky guess. I'm a good guesser.”
    “I'll say. Most people assume it's Xan with an X, for Xander or Alexander.” Actually, most people wrinkle their foreheads and wonder if my parents were crazy or hippies or cult members. My parents, rest their souls, were all of the above.
    “I'm Austin. I'm at the opposite end of the alphabet.”
    Julie turns on the blender for margaritas and I'm drowned out in the crushing of ice.
    Austin perches on the photo booth stool and bats her eyelashes. “Are you going to steal my soul or what?” she asks, nodding at the camera I'm dumbly fondling with my other idiot hand.
    In answer to her