Chapter 2

The next day, my body felt weightless. The stomach pain that had been driving me insane was gone.

I looked down and saw a body lying on the floor with a purple and blue face, as well as white foam and dark red blood crusted at the corners of the mouth.

That was me. That was Layla Lloyd, as dead as a doornail.

I floated in midair, staring at my own stiff corpse. It looked almost like a stranger. Now, the girl who had always kept her head down would never have to bow to anybody again.

Sunlight streamed through the window and fell directly across my body. Too bad I could not feel its warmth anymore.

The sound of the television blared from the living room. Mom was watching her favorite variety show, exaggerated laughter echoing from the speakers.

I drifted through the door and into the living room. Mom sat cross-legged on the couch with a handful of pistachios, cracking them and spitting shells all over the floor. She laughed so hard she rocked back and forth, completely unaware that her daughter had become a corpse.

"Mom, why isn't Layla up yet?" Liam looked up and asked.

The smile vanished from Mom's face instantly. She rolled her eyes. "Who cares about that brat? I’d prefer if she starved to death so she stops being an eyesore. She made such a mess yesterday. I bet she's too ashamed to show her face."

I floated in front of her and spoke slowly, "Mom, I'm already dead."

However, she could no longer hear me.

Just then, someone knocked on the door. Outside stood May Goodwin, who ran the small diner downstairs.

"Fernanda, is Layla home?" May smiled warmly.

"Layla didn't come to help at the shop yesterday. I was worried about her. I just made a fresh pot of chicken soup and wanted to bring her some."

I drifted to the doorway and breathed in the aroma as deeply as I could. May’s cooking was one of the few things in this world that had ever given me warmth.

"Oh, May, you're too kind." Mom took the container.

"That brat threw a tantrum at me yesterday and locked herself in her room. The kid just doesn't know any better. We’re sorry to worry you."

May hesitated, looking disappointed. "All right, then. I'll head back."

After May left, Mom walked straight to the trash can and dumped the entire container inside.

"What kind of trash is this anyway? As if that brat deserves to eat something like this! Garbage people can only eat garbage."

My heart had already stopped beating, but I still felt a wave of cold wash over me. In my mother’s eyes, I was not even worth a bowl of soup.

I floated above the trash can, overwhelmed by sadness. That soup was May's kindness. It was the warm meal I had craved most when I was alive. Now, it sat mixed with rotten vegetable scraps.

Suddenly, a small hand reached into the trash can. It was Liam. While Mom had gone back to watch TV in the living room, he snuck into the kitchen.

He scooped up some of the soup with his hand, not bothering to check if it was dirty, and tasted it. Then, he grabbed a piece of chicken and tiptoed to my bedroom door.

He spoke softly through the closed door, "Layla, don't be mad at Mom anymore. May's chicken soup is really good, and I saved you the best piece! Open the door and eat some before it gets cold, okay?"

I looked at his innocent face and at the greasy piece of chicken in his hand. I wanted to cry, but ghosts had no tears.

"Silly boy! Your sister can't eat anymore. She will never taste chicken soup again."

I reached out, wanting to touch his head, but my hand passed straight through his hair.