Reunion by Meg Cabot Page B

be, and was gratified to feel soft facial bones give way beneath my heels.
    Then with my arms, which were still free, I gave a mighty stroke, and broke back through thewater’s surface, gulping in a huge lungful of air—and checking to make sure Michael had gotten well and truly away, which he had; the lifeguard was towing him back to shore—before I dove down again, in search of my attackers.
    I found them easily enough. They were still in their prom wear, and the girls’ dresses were floating all around them like seaweed. I grabbed a handful of one, tugged it toward me, and saw, in the murky water, the very startled face of Felicia Bruce. Before she had a chance to react, I plunged a thumb into her eye. She screamed, but since we were underwater, I didn’t hear a thing. I just saw a trail of bubbles racing for the water’s surface.
    Then someone grabbed me from behind. I reacted by thrusting my head back, as hard as I could, and was delighted to feel my skull make very hard contact with my attacker’s forehead. The hands that had been holding me instantly let go, and I spun around, and saw Mark Pulsford swimming hastily away. Some football player he’d been, if he couldn’t take a simple head butt.
    I felt the urgent need to breathe, so I followed the last of the bubbles from Felicia’s scream, and resurfaced just as the ghosts did.
    We all bobbed there on the surface: me, Josh,Felicia, Mark, and a very white-faced Carrie.
    â€œOmigod,” Carrie said. Her teeth, unlike mine, weren’t chattering. “It’s that girl. That girl from Jimmy’s. I told you she can see us.”
    Josh, whose broken nose had sprung, cartoon-like, back into place, was nevertheless wary of me. Even if you happen to be dead, getting your nose broken hurts a lot.
    â€œHey,” he said to me as I treaded water. “This isn’t your fight, okay? Stay out of it.”
    I tried to say, “Oh, yeah? Well, listen up. I’m the mediator, and you guys have a choice. You can go on to your next life with your teeth in or your teeth out. Which is it going to be?”
    Only my own teeth were chattering so hard, all that came out was a bunch of weird noises that sounded like, Oah? Esup. Imameator an—
    You get the picture.
    Since Father Dominic’s technique—reasoning—didn’t appear to be working in this particular instance, I abandoned it. Instead, I reached out and grabbed the rope of seaweed they’d tried to strangle Michael with and flung it around the necks of the two girls, who were treading water close to each other, and to me. They looked extremely surprised to find themselves lassoed like a couple of seacows.
    And I can’t really tell you what I was thinking, but it’s probably safe to say my plan—though somewhat haphazardly formed—involved towing them both back to shore where I intended to beat the crap out of them.
    While the girls clawed at their necks and attempted to escape, the boys came at me. I didn’t care. I was furious all of a sudden. They had ruined my nice time at the beach and tried to drown my date. Granted I wasn’t particularly fond of Michael, but I certainly didn’t want to see him drowned before my eyes—particularly not now that I knew what a hottie he was under his sweater vest.
    Holding on to the girls with one hand, I thrust out the other and managed to grab Josh by—what else?—the short hairs on the back of his neck.
    Though this proved highly effective—in that he promptly began thrashing in pain—I’d neglected two things. One was Mark, who continued to swim free. And the other was the ocean, which was still churning waves at me. Any sensible person would have been looking out for these things, but I, in my anger, was not.
    Which was why a second later, I was promptly sucked under.
    Let me tell you, there are probably pleasanter ways to die than choking on a lungful of