Blend

36:00 | the dead won't shut up

I SAW her dead but now she's eating breakfast with my parents in the kitchen. Probably because she misses feeling alive. That's how all spirits are after they first die. They try to surround themselves around normal, everyday activities because they're in denial. No one likes to accept that life, as they once knew it, is over.

I try not to gawk at the dead girl sitting across from my dad as he browses the news on his tablet. She's pretending to eat a bowl of cereal, lifting her imaginary spoon to her mouth and actually munching. It's pretty sad.

"Morning," I announce.

Three heads jerk over at me: Mom's by the stove, Dad's at the table, and Penelope's across from him. It is the latter who practically floats over to me, her expression hopeful.

Despite the fact that they appear one-hundred percent solid, ghosts are easy to distinguish from the living. For one, they're pale. Their skin has this thick powdery film to it. Even those born with natural dark skin look freakishly ashen. And aside from that their eyes are sort of sunk in with purplish hues around the tear ducts. So spirits are easy to pick out because they look straight outta a Tim Burton production.

Penelope has all of these qualities. She has skin as pale as the moon without its luminescence and once-golden hair now as white as snow. And she's wearing the party outfit she died in—high-waisted jean shorts and a mustard cropped top. But even her clothes look lifeless and dull. Almost like my view of her is filtered because she's on the other side.

"Did I give you a long enough break?" she asks.

"Morning, kiddo," Dad replies.

"Hey baby," Mom says next. "Want some eggs?"

Ignoring Penelope, I take a seat next to Dad. "Sure, Ma."

My dad puts his tablet down. "You got in late last night."

I know my father well enough to know this isn't an accusation. He trusts me. He knows I don't party or sneak out with boys or lie. Well, I do lie about seeing spirits but that's for his own good. I don't want him knowing I inherited his family's "sickness". His sister, Aunt Atheena, is currently sitting in some psyche ward because she didn't ignore her ability. She didn't blend in like she should have—like how I've been able to do up until now.

"Yeah. I was at the library until closing. Got a paper due on the ancient Nri Kingdom of Nigeria and research has been difficult, to say the least."

"Not surprised." Penelope snorts. "I'm sure that library has plenty of books on Celtic tribes."

Ignore her.

"That's too bad, baby." Mom slaps a plate of eggs on the table. "But I'm sure you'll think of something."

"You could always try a different library," Dad offers, picking up his tablet to read the news again.

"Yeah."