Page 46 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
“Who’s in my house?” he suddenly bellowed, loud enough to rise above the still-blaring music.
Ellis yanked open the back door, and I followed her out, shutting it quietly behind me. I hurried to the terracotta pot, lifted it awkwardly, and dumped the key beneath it. Our sneaker-clad feet slapped against the concrete as we ran down the side of the house, slipped through the gate, and tore across the front lawn. Neither of us looked back. We just ran, lungs heaving, adrenaline pounding.
Behind us, glass shattered.
Liv appeared at my side, running alongside us, laughing gleefully and shouting, “This is so much more fun than being dead!”
“You’re psychotic!” Ellis panted as we reached the car.
I fumbled with the passenger-side door before sliding in, landing heavily in my seat just as Liv dove through the back window—her body passing through the glass like it wasn’t even there—then sprawling out across the back seat, snorting with laughter.
“That was some serious poltergeist shit I just pulled!” she wheezed.
Ellis slammed her door shut and dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel.
I found myself laughing too, despite everything. I turned to glance behind us and froze.
Uncle Bill’s head was poking out of his front door, scanning the street.
“Oh shit. Drive!” I yelled at Ellis. “Go, go, go!”
There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. The Mustang roared to life, like it had been waiting for its own Bonnie and Clyde moment. The tires screeched against the pavement, the scent of burnt rubber filling the air, and another hysterical laugh escaped me as Ellis fishtailed around the corner and flew down the road.
I held on to Margaret’s ashes for dear life while Liv whooped loudly in the back seat, slamming her fist against the roof before howling like a wolf.
“You’re both batshit crazy!” Ellis screamed over the noise, gripping the steering wheel like her life depended on it, eyes fixed on the road, as if turning her head might somehow drag her into the madness. “A pair of absolute fucking menaces!”
“Margaret would be so proud,” I said with a laugh, blinking back the sting behind my eyes as I turned to grin at Liv. “We’re doing this. West Coast, here we come!”
“Officially?” Liv asked, wide-eyed with hope, as if she hadn’t already strong-armed us into this with the threat of eternal haunting.
“Well,” Ellis barked, her voice shrill with disbelief, “we’re already halfway into a federal crime spree, so why not transport a ghost across the country?”
Something settled deep in my chest as Liv cheered again from the back seat, and for the first time since Margaret died, I didn’t feel helpless. No, something had shifted. I was in control. I was deciding what happened next. Life, for once, seemed to be moving forward.
Margaret sat nestled in my lap while Liv began to call out, “So a ghost and two girls walk into a bar…” and Ellis muttered curses under her breath, checking the rearview mirror like she half expected to see red and blue lights behind us. Honestly, she would’ve been pulled over for reckless driving at the speed she tore out of Uncle Bill’s street.
“West Coast, here we come,” I whispered to Margaret’s ashes, tears pooling. I swallowed and stared out the window, taking a long, grounding breath. “I won’t let you down.”
It was wildly inappropriate, slightly illegal, and completely off script, but it felt right.
The Mustang thundered beneath us, the windows down, warm air rushing through the car. And in the middle of all the chaos and the erratic pounding of my heart… I smiled.
ELLIS
Tip #7: Public ghost etiquette: never argue with air. Put in earbuds and “take a call.”
If there were a prize for the fastest emotional breakdown after committing a felony, I’d already have it framed and mounted on the dashboard. My fingers clenched the wheel hard enough to turn my knuckles white, and the thudding pulse in my ears was only barely drowned out by the rumble of the Mustang’s engine.
I was sweating everywhere and suddenly too hot in my jeans and sweater, my hair too itchy, my mind too loud, as I struggled to come down and make peace with what I had just done.
I felt like I could still taste those rogue ashes on my lips, the powdery dust permeating my brain, locking itself into a core memory that would probably wake me in the middle of the night, gasping for air.
“… And now we need our photo op at the start sign,” Liv called from the back seat, loudly reading off the schedule.
Myschedule.
The schedule I built offherschedule, which was already ruined. Hours I had spent color-coding and printing, arrival times bolded, carefully organized breaks, meal stops, andmaybespots all neatly mapped out, now completely thrown off thanks to Dove’s felony detour and Liv, who already seemed determined to veer even further off course.
