Adventures in Funeral Crashing Read Online Free PDF Page B

lost is in one room, and they’re all talking
about this person because they all miss them. They’re all feeling
that person’s presence together. That’s what it was like at my
mom’s funeral. Anyway, that’s what I like about funerals.”
    I was looking at my hands now. I felt too
embarrassed to look over at Ethan’s reaction to my admission.
    “That’s true,” Ethan smiled slightly, to my
astonishment, “I heard some great stories about Liz today from the
family and her friends, but I’d much rather have her here with us
than be at her funeral.”
    His voiced choked on the last word. I
resisted the urge to lean over and touch his hand. I was a wreck
too after my mom had died. After the funeral, weeks went by in a
blur.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, looking into his eyes
and I really meant it.
    Ethan nodded, “So, you really didn’t know Liz
at all then?”
    “No,” I shook my head. “I’m still sorry,
though, about her.”
    “Damn,” Ethan swore under his breath.
    I felt myself sink even deeper into the
passenger side seat. I just wanted to disappear. I couldn’t wait
for high school to be over, so I could blend into and be swallowed
up by the massive population of a state university. How was I ever
going to face Ethan Ripley again after this?
    Ethan remembered I was still in the car with
him, “I was really hoping you knew Liz.”
    I was confused, “Why?”
    Ethan seemed suddenly anxious. That was weird
– him anxious to say something to me. He ran his hand through his
hair again, his silky hair, “Well, uh, I’m really sorry about this
Kait and I don’t know how to say it nicely, but I thought you might
know something about the drugs Liz was taking.”
    It took me a second to realize what Ethan was
implying. Then, for once, I forgot who I was talking to because I
was so furious, “You thought I was a drug addict! Do I look like I
do heroin to you?”
    I mean, I am not a stick figure. I’m your
average weight girl and a size seven. Sometimes I’m a size nine, if
I’ve been really downing the peanut butter banana milkshakes that
I’m addicted to from the Wired Coffee Shop. Aren’t heroin addicts
emaciated or something? What? I was super insulted. I don’t do
drugs. Not even pot. I don’t even drink except for that one time
freshman year when Ariel and I snuck into her parent’s liquor
cabinet. See? She’s a bad influence, totally evil, and corrupting
impressionable youth. Regardless, I didn’t even know what heroin
looked like. Come on. I’m no drug addict.
    “I’m sorry. I just hoped. It’s just really
weird that Liz ODed. I can’t explain it. I’m sorry if I assumed
that you…knew something about it. People talk about you at school,
you know,” Ethan seemed really uncomfortable.
    I was going to kill Ariel Walker because
before her, nobody talked about me. Ethan Ripley assuming I was a
drug addict was all her fault. She told people all sorts of crazy
things about me. Then the rumors went wild and took on a life of
their own and people embellished and totally changed the stories –
so, one minute I liked going to funerals, the next I took part in
witchcraft rituals, and some people even thought I had my own pet
cemetery in my backyard. I guess now the rumor was that I was
dealing drugs or hooked on them or something. Great. My reputation
had a soap opera life all of it’s own and with it, Ariel destroyed
any chance of a fun social life that I might have had in high
school, “Well, let me set things straight. I don’t do drugs. At
all. And, okay, the funeral crashing is a little weird. I know it,
but ever since my mom died it’s the closest I ever feel to her and
I…”
    Whoa, I felt the tears suddenly rushing up
into my eyes again. My voice was about to crack and fail me. I
needed to calm down or I would be full on sobbing like a baby in
front of Ethan. I stopped talking and tried to catch my breath,
turning away from him and toward the window.
    “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t