Part One
“Till death do us part...”
Fear is a Relative Term
By Emma Roberts
Dead people don’t scare me. At least, not as much as live ones do. No ghostly apparition could ever intimidate me like the head cheerleader of Saint Katherine’s High School of Hussies. She even interrupted make out sessions with her jock boyfriend to hurl abuse in my direction.
But that was three years ago. Now I’m a sophomore at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. High school shouldn’t matter anymore.
Like my roommate Chrissy says: “Living in the past gets in the way of the future.”
So why do the insults of every bully I ever endured still ring in my ears?
Even though they’re out of my life, I can’t get them out of my head. When people tell you you’re worthless enough times, you start to believe it.
That’s probably why I’m failing all my plans for college: to be popular, have lots of friends, and finally find a boyfriend. Basic things everyone else on campus can do with ease―like making small talk at keg parties―paralyze me with fear.
When the ghosts speak, they don’t frighten me. I just don’t want anyone else to find out. So I keep my mouth shut. And I stay in my room.
Except tonight my roommate wants me to go to some hot guy’s cookout instead of spending the evening rereading Anne of Green Gables.
In my dorm room. Where I’m safe. Where nothing bad ever happens. Unfortunately, my roommate never takes “no” for an answer.
Looking for more? Over the next few days, I'll post the first three chapters of How to Date Dead Guys on my blog.
If you can't wait, here are purchase links:
Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Magers & Quinn, The Local Store
published by Curiosity Quills.
Dead people don’t scare me. At least, not as much as live ones do. No ghostly apparition could ever intimidate me like the head cheerleader of Saint Katherine’s High School of Hussies. She even interrupted make out sessions with her jock boyfriend to hurl abuse in my direction.
But that was three years ago. Now I’m a sophomore at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. High school shouldn’t matter anymore.
Like my roommate Chrissy says: “Living in the past gets in the way of the future.”
So why do the insults of every bully I ever endured still ring in my ears?
Even though they’re out of my life, I can’t get them out of my head. When people tell you you’re worthless enough times, you start to believe it.
That’s probably why I’m failing all my plans for college: to be popular, have lots of friends, and finally find a boyfriend. Basic things everyone else on campus can do with ease―like making small talk at keg parties―paralyze me with fear.
When the ghosts speak, they don’t frighten me. I just don’t want anyone else to find out. So I keep my mouth shut. And I stay in my room.
Except tonight my roommate wants me to go to some hot guy’s cookout instead of spending the evening rereading Anne of Green Gables.
In my dorm room. Where I’m safe. Where nothing bad ever happens. Unfortunately, my roommate never takes “no” for an answer.
Looking for more? Over the next few days, I'll post the first three chapters of How to Date Dead Guys on my blog.
If you can't wait, here are purchase links:
Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Magers & Quinn, The Local Store
published by Curiosity Quills.
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