The Secret Life of Sparrow Delaney Read Free Page B

fulfilling your potential.”
    I opened one eye. “Excuse me?”
    â€œYou could be downstairs right now, instead of lolly-gagging about in bed—”
    â€œLollygagging? It is after midnight ! And it’s not healthy,” I added piously, “for adolescents to get less than eight hours of sleep a night.”
    Professor Trimble narrowed her eyes. “This is not about losing sleep, Sparrow. It’s about offering people hope, comfort, and a connection to the world of Spirit. But most of all, it is about accepting—no, embracing — your destiny.”
    If I had learned only one thing from four years of arguing with Professor Trimble, it was this: how to keep my mouth shut. So I bit my lip to keep from saying something I would seriously regret and settled instead for reciting the words that had become my mantra: “I do not want to be a medium!”
    â€œYou keep saying that,” she replied tartly. “I’d like to know what kind of life you think you do want.”
    â€œAnything else,” I said. “Anything at all. I mean, I could be an accountant in Santa Fe, or a pastry chef in Paris, or a real estate agent in Sandusky, Ohio, or—”
    â€œThose choices sound very agreeable for some other person,” Prajeet chimed in. “But as far as you are concerned, they are mere piffle and poppycock.”
    â€œPiffle and poppycock?” I said, betrayed. “Prajeet! I thought you were my friend!”
    Then I smelled a sugary fragrance and saw the air in front of the window shiver. Floyd’s outline wavered a bit, as if he were uncertain of his welcome.
    â€œCome on in, Floyd,” I said with weary resignation.
    â€œThe party’s just getting started.”
    He firmed up and smiled at me. “Thanks, honey.”
    â€œAt least I know you’re on my side,” I said, with an accusing glance at Prajeet and Professor Trimble.
    â€œOf course I am!” He turned to the others. “Sparrow is still young. She has a right to be a little confused at this stage in life.”
    â€œThank you,” I said with dignity. Finally, someone who understood how I felt, who could see my side of things, who wasn’t always telling me what to do—
    â€œAlthough,” he said comfortably, “I do think you should consider going to the last message service of the season.”
    I gave him my best you-must-be-kidding look. He gave me his best I’m-just-making-an-innocent-suggestion look in return.
    Go to a message service? Was he insane ? It was bad enough to sit in a crowded auditorium for an hour while one medium after another passed on spirit messages to people in the audience. What was even worse was the idea of skulking in a corner, trying to escape the attention of all the ghosts who would also be there. I shuddered.
    â€œMessage services,” I said. “Ick.”
    â€œAh, well.” Floyd looked downcast. “It was just an idea.”
    I felt a little tug of guilt. I hated disappointing Floyd.
    Now Professor Trimble was shaking her head sorrowfully. “You have so much potential. So much untapped talent.”
    â€œIt is not right that you toss it to the dogs,” Prajeet agreed.
    â€œI’m not tossing anything to the dogs, and what does that even mean?” I threw my pillow at him.
    He didn’t bother to duck. It flew right through him and hit my oak dresser. His image trembled a bit, but his serene expression didn’t change.
    â€œIt means throwing away something valuable, tossing it aside as if it were garbage—”
    â€œOkay, okay, I know what it means.”
    â€œWe are just trying to offer you a little guidance, that is all,” he added. “Do not be angry.”
    â€œI’m not,” I muttered. “But do you even remember what it’s like to be a teenager? I’m going to be in high school! I don’t want people to think I’m a