Won't Let Go Read Online Free PDF

inside, everything is exactly how I left it. Betty Boop is still striking a provocative pose, my unmentionables are still closed tight in their drawer, and my books are still stacked in neat piles. “Pssst,” I whisper. “Pssst. Are you here?” I inch further away from the door, scowling a little at the fact that I'm actually trying to talk to a ghost.
    “I’m here.”
    I yelp with surprise.
    “Don’t do that!” I say through clinched teeth, heart beating a little faster. “Show yourself, you scared me half to death,” I spit out, but then feel a little guilty as the ghostboy materializes in front of me. He starts out as swirls of grainy color before they converge and connect like a puzzle to make up the features of a person with sad eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean that, like, literally.” I mean, shit. Shit! How the hell do you talk to a freakin’ ghost?
    I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy —I chant over and over in my head. This is so surreal. Again I am faced with the unbelievable, torn between what’s possible and impossible.
    This kinda stuff just doesn’t happen, not in real life.
    But as I look into the eyes of this—person, or ghost, I can see clear as anything he is in fact standing in front of me, as real as can be.
    “I’m—I’m sorry I scared you.” He looks away with guilt.
    Putting my hand to my chest, catching my breath slightly, I reply, “It’s okay.”
    It’s not really though. I’m still getting used to the fact he’s here. I can’t quite wrap my head around it. He’s just lucky he’s good looking. I think I’d draw the line at zombie, pointy teeth and disfigured body type ghosts.
    “But, if you’re not in my head, which I think we’ve established...I need some information,” I add.
    His head tilts as he gives me a look I can’t discern.
    “You do know you’re a ghost, right? I mean you are dead, aren’t you?”
    His features shift, head now tilting to the ceiling. “I think so.” Then he walks to the door of the closet. “I mean, if I can do this—” he walks through the door, “I think that means I’m dead, a ghost—” and he pops back through, as if it’s nothing, no big deal. “Right?”
    My jaw drops. Seeing him materialize in front of me just doesn’t quite have the same effect as seeing someone walk through a door. “Uh huh. I think that proves it even more.”
    He takes a few gentle, silent strides towards me. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he says again, his voice so soft and tender it’s hard to believe it came from the same person as before.
    “You said that already,” I whisper. Still in awe there is a real, live—or I guess dead—teenage ghost in my room.
    Back in California, Bryce hardly spent any time in my room. Sure we hung out and did homework, but it was always in the living room. We made out in his car, or in his room, but never mine. For some reason, it just never happened. There never seemed to be a “ hey, let’s go to my room ” moment. Mom was always around and had an open door policy, so if we were going to do something, it was outside the walls of my home.
    My room has always been kind of private in a way. Having a complete stranger in here—whether he’s dead or not—feels a little like an invasion of my privacy. Then again, I don’t have anything to hide, not anymore. That whole clean slate business meant I left any incriminating evidence back in LA. It wasn’t much, a few cans of spray paint, half full bottles of liquor, condoms, not that I’ve ever needed them and of course, let’s not forget my all around bad attitude.
    “I meant,” he pauses, and from here I can see the tiniest silver dot on his ear. I didn’t know guys still got things pierced, not unless it’s those hideous ones like rings through the nose or giant gaping holes created from spacers, but on him, it kind of adds to the whole package. Making him that much more interesting, and nothing, in the least, like Bryce.