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turned away and headed back toward a truck.
    â€œWhat?” I looked at Daniel. “Why didn’t the cashier recognize you?”
    â€œBecause I didn’t buy the tickets.”
    I glanced at him.
    â€œI persuaded a guy to buy them for me. Putting my mystical powers to good use. The extra five I gave him probably didn’t hurt. He looked like he could use it.”
    â€œYou are a genius.”
    A genuine smile. “Thank you. Now, as soon as we’re in motion—”
    The ferry’s engines revved and we started pulling from the dock.
    â€œWow,” I said. “Your powers work on inanimate objects, too.”
    He laughed. “I wish.”
    He waved me back from the rail, then led us to a tiny room off the main deck. It was a sitting room, with seats, windows, and a private bathroom.
    â€œUm, I think these are reserved for paying customers,” Corey said as Daniel walked in.
    Daniel waved the receipt.
    â€œBig spender,” I said.
    â€œIt wasn’t much extra.” He closed the door. “I figured we could splurge for a few minutes of peace and quiet. And a real bathroom.”
    I collapsed onto the nearest seat. “Again, you are a genius.”
    â€œNot done yet. I got you a treat.”
    He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.
    â€œOh my God. Is that an apple? Two apples?” I leaped up, snatched them, then fell back on the seat. “I think Grandma was right. I really have died and gone to heaven.” I took a huge bite of the apple and groaned.
    â€œNormally, I’d say you’re weird,” Corey said. “But after days of eating junk food, those do look good.” He turned to Daniel. “That’s really sexist, you know, buying the chick a—”
    Daniel took another one from his backpack.
    â€œOh my God. I think I love you.” Corey threw open his arms. The apple bounced off his forehead. “Oww.”
    I shook my head, closed my eyes, and smiled.

SIX

    I T WAS LESS THAN an hour to the mainland, but by the time we got there, we’d rested, cleaned up, and were feeling better. Most importantly, we’d come up with a plan. A desperate plan, but no worse than anything we’d tried so far. We were going to our funeral.
    Crazy? Yes. And when Corey had suggested it, Daniel and I rattled off a list of reasons why we couldn’t try it. Yet the idea took root and the more we thought about it, the more we realized it might be really our only chance to make contact with our parents.
    Once we were back in Vancouver, we went to another library and found an obituary website hosted by the Victoria Times-Colonist newspaper. How strange was it, typing my own name into the search box? Not nearly as strange as seeing the details of my passing fill the screen, along with pages of condolences. Summer kids and their parents. Guys I’d dated. Coaches and fellow athletes I’d met at track meets. Employees at the Victoria Refuge Centre. People who knew my mom, my dad, my grandmother. People recollecting moments with me that, sometimes, I didn’t even remember myself.
    As I read, Daniel wheeled his chair over behind me.
    â€œEveryone will know the truth soon enough,” he whispered.
    I nodded. As I printed the funeral details, Corey turned from the computer beside mine.
    â€œUh, guys? You know that email address I set up? We’ve got a message.”
    I slid my chair over. Corey had the message displayed on the screen.
    It was from Cyril Mitchell’s daughter. She’d decided to talk to us, but what she had to say was too important for a phone conversation. She’d looked up the area code from our phone call and knew we were in Vancouver, so she was on her way here and would arrive late morning.
    â€œShe sent it yesterday,” Corey said. “Meaning she’s already here. She says she’ll be checking email and wants us to give a time and place to meet.”
    â€œReply and say