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back to your house to pick up that social studies report, Amy. Your mom said you were upset that you forgot it.” She wants to make my sister feel better, but she misunderstands the problem.
    “We’ll do it when Brad’s at his soccer game,” Herb says to Susan. “I’ll drop you and Brad off. Then Amy and I will run over to the house for the homework. We’ll probably be back before the warm-up ends.”
    Susan smiles at my sister. “And we’ll go out for pizza after the game, okay?”
    Slowly, with great effort, Amy nods.
    I want to puke.

Chapter Eight
    I did not know ghosts could run.
    But then, I’m not a ghost. Because ghosts can appear in front of people.
    And if I could do that, I’d appear in front of the rat bastard and scare him to death.
    As for the running thing, I’m not doing that either. Whatever I am doing, though, I’m doing it fast.
    Because I have to stop this madness.
    I go to my parents first. I sit in the car with them, and I yell.
    Turn the car around. Go back. Save Amy.
    Mom cradles take-out coffee in her hand and looks at Dad. “Maybe we should have brought Amy with us. She was really upset when we drove away.”
    “She was worried about her social studies report,” Dad says. “She’ll be fine. Susan said she and Herb have lots of things planned for the weekend.”
    I shudder and holler some more. Bad things. Horrible things. Turn the car around.
    “It’s only been six weeks since Logan died. Maybe it’s too soon to leave her.”
    Six weeks? How long did Wade make me sleep?
    “You heard the counselor,” Dad says. “The sooner things return to normal, the better.” He flicks on the radio, steps on the gas. He is not going back.
    I go to Hannah next. She is in bed, stretching under the covers, thinking of me, thinking of Amy. Amy called her last night. The conversation upset her. Something in Amy’s voice wasn’t right.
    Get up, Hannah. Go to her. Help Amy.
    Hannah tosses back her quilt, touches the St. Christopher medal at her neck. She thinks maybe the medal should go to Amy. After a minute, she reconsiders. It is her last physical connection to me. She does not want to give it up.
    Hannah disappears into the shower.
    The old Logan would have followed her. Or tried to. It’s tempting. For maybe a millisecond or two. But I think of Amy and nothing else matters.
    What am I going to do? Gran said I could stop Herb . How, Gran, how ? I call out to her, but she does not answer. It occurs to me that Gran is disappointed. She knows I am going to fail. I am failing.
    I scream for Wade and I hear him inside my head, saying, Calm down and think .
    How can I think when Amy’s fear is choking my mind? When I know they are in the car, they are going to soccer, and soon they will be at our house?
    I sit on Hannah’s bed and I pray. I do not know what else to do. It is the first time I haveprayed since I was a little boy. Even when I died, I didn’t. Now I ask God to quit dicking around and to please help Amy. Because Amy deserves to be helped.
    When Hannah comes out of the shower, I reach out with my mind and touch hers.
    Go to Amy , I say. Please, be there for her.
    That little seed of worry I planted in Hannah’s mind yesterday—weeks ago?—has taken root. She touches the medal around her neck. She decides to go to the house and take Amy for an Egg McMuffin.
    I follow Hannah.
    As she pulls into our driveway and parks her Volkswagen behind Herb’s navy blue SUV, she figures Dad decided to replace the Lexus with something different. Nice color, she thinks as she heads up the sidewalk.
    Her knock on the door is unanswered. She frowns. She knows someone is home. She hears the faint stirring of music somewhere in the house.
    Kick the damn door open , I yell. Go find Amy.
    Hannah peers through the glass. Sees Amy’s coat on the floor. Two sets of shoes. Impulsively, she reaches for the doorknob and opens the door. “Hello,” she calls loudly, stepping into the hall. It is the first