Rebel Spirits Read Online Free PDF Page A

ask myself.
    Just then, he turns around and hands me something. I blink, realizing what it is. My diary!
    “You read my private thoughts!” I snap, my fury erasing my uncertainty about this apparition.
    His eyes are haunting, unnerving. They’re not just sad; they plead. He needs something from me. He clears his throat and says hoarsely, “Your diary … you don’t write in it much, do you?”
    “Only when the spirit moves me.” Instantly I realize how ironic that is.
    Our hands brush briefly. His smile is warm and doesn’t jibe with those sad eyes. “Forgive me,” he says. I’m not sure I’m ready to.
    I take the diary and flip it open. No wonder he knew my full name — it’s written there on the first page: Lorelei Cordelia Chase .
    I flip to the last entry, about my farewell party. Danny Bartoli was there, so I’d detailed certain things about him: his short, curly hair; his broad shoulders; his favorite phrase, which is “catch ya after the fireworks,” written seven times across the page. Oh! This is humiliating. I flip past more pages. Then I notice a page dog-eared, an old entry from my freshman year of high school. It’s the one about the crystal ball, the dead boy from Delaware County.
    I look up and my eyes meet Nathaniel Pierce’s. He says, “I had to be sure you were the one.”
    I shoot back, “Which one? I don’t know what you’re talkingabout, but I’ll tell you this, Nathaniel Pierce, reading my journal is such an invasion.”
    His eyes narrow, as if he’s puzzled. He’s a soldier: Invasion has a different meaning in the military. “Trampling on my private life,” I explain, though my words are losing steam. He’s stirred me, charged my curiosity. “What do you want with me?” I demand.
    “I need your help to solve a murder.”
    “Oh, really? Who’s the murder victim?” I ask sarcastically.
    “I am.”
    His eyes flutter shut. Such long, dark eyelashes brush his rough cheeks. Then, in a second, he’s gone, and I suddenly feel an overwhelming loneliness. My own, or his?

 
    THIS IS TOO much for me to handle alone. I need to talk to Jocelyn. I shoot her a quick message, hoping for an immediate response.
    [email protected]
Hey, Jos, you there?
     
    She writes back right away.
    [email protected]
here, hi. trying 2 cope w/snarky prepubescent horsey girls. if I think abt taking a camp counselor job next summer, slap me til I’m delirious. what’s up?
     
    I take a deep breath. Where do I start?
    I think I met a ghost.
     
    what?? Jocelyn types back after a split second. we don’t do those seances anymore, Lori.
     
    I know, I write back, my thoughts racing. But this seems different … real. He spoke to me. He wants me to solve his murder.
     
    ur kidding me, right? what’s he look like?
     
    Dark, sad eyes, dark hair, ragtag blue uniform. I’m pretty sure there’s a bullet hole in his back.
     
    OMG! Jocelyn writes. I can’t tell if she believes me or not, but before I can ask, shewrites, hey. I have to go to riding practice. keep me posted!!
     
    I leave my bedroom and stagger downstairs in a daze. I wonder if I should go back to the creek and try to find Nathaniel again. Or will he come find me? My parents have gone out to track down the nearest Home Depot. If they were here, would I tell them what was going on? I’m not sure.
    In the front hall, I practically bump into a barefoot girl. Her high-top sneakers are clamped under her arm while she tries to tie a scarf around her wild chipmunk-brown hair. It’s long enough to sit on. Ouch.
    “Hi,” she says to me. “I’m Charlotte. I’m late again, I know.”
    The grandfather clock in the hall is chiming the quarter hour — one of the few things I like about this house.
    “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Bertha’s in the basement.”
    She smiles and drops her sneakers. “Didn’t know you’d moved in already.”
    “I’m Lori, and yeah, we’re here,” I say with a sigh.
    Charlotte nods. “So, you’ve