Shine - Lauren Myracle [0]
LAUREN MYRACLE
Luv Ya Bunches: A Flower Power Book
Violet in Bloom: A Flower Power Book
Rhymes with Witches
Bliss
ttyl
ttfn
l8r, g8r
bff: a girlfriend book u write 2gether
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Thirteen Plus One
Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks
Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances
(with John Green and Maureen Johnson)
How to Be Bad
(with E. Lockhart and Sarah Mlynowski)
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of congress.
ISBN 978-0-8109-8417-2
Text copyright © 2011 Lauren Myracle
Book design by Maria T. Middleton
Published in 2011 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
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www.abramsbooks.com
PATRICK’S HOUSE WAS A GHOST. DUST COATED the windows, the petunias in the flower boxes bowed their heads, and spiderwebs clotted the eaves of the porch. Once I might have marveled at the webs—how delicate they were, how intricate—but today I saw ghastly silk ropes. Nooses for sawflies and katydids and anything guileless enough to be ensnared.
Movement drew my attention to the upper corner of the porch, where a large web swayed as if it were alive. I stepped closer, and a sour taste rose in my throat. A mourning cloak was trapped within a mass of threads. One wing was pinned to its body, but the other wing, dark brown rimmed with gold, fluttered feebly.
That golden wing made me think of Mama Sweetie, Patrick’s grandma. It made me think of her Bible, in particular. Its gilt-edged pages were as thin as tissue, and when I ruffled them, the gold shimmered. For Christmas one year, Patrick made Mama Sweetie a wooden stand for her Bible, and I knew if I pressed my face to one of the dirty windows, I’d see both the Bible and the bookstand displayed proudly in the front room.
Well, no, I didn’t know that, for the simple reason that just because things used to be a certain way didn’t mean they’d stay that way forever. Patrick could have stuck the Bible in a drawer, or given it away, or burned it. I couldn’t imagine him doing any of those things, but my thoughts on the matter meant nothing.
Sometimes I felt like my entire existence meant nothing.
I went through the motions, however. I showered and generally kept myself clean. I ate at mealtimes, I slept at night, and when it wasn’t summer, I went to school and read a lot of books. When it was summer, I still read a lot of books. But mainly, I moved through the world feeling invisible—and maybe I was. Maybe God was a giant eyeball in the hazy June sky, only there was a burn mark on His pupil in the exact spot of Black Creek, North Carolina, and that was why He didn’t see me.
If He didn’t see me, that meant He didn’t see Patrick, either. Was not seeing us better than seeing and not caring?
I backed away from the porch, my head buzzing. I felt blurry around my edges, like smoke, or the soft ssssss of a snuffed candle, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d come to Patrick’s house in the first place. Church started in half an hour, and it would take me almost as long to bike there. What had I been thinking?
The sun pressed down on me, making me sweat. Back when we were kids, Patrick and I escaped the summer heat by