Part 1 (1/2)

Dead, Actually.

Kaz Delaney.

For my parents, Kate and Len Redman.

Thank you for everything, always.

For Rob, You make it all worthwhile.

Always.

Prologue.

My life is neatly dissected into two, like a set of before-and-after shots. Life before September twenty-second and life after September twenty-second.

September twenty-second. The first day of spring holidays and the day my parents dropped the bomb that, at just barely two months after my seventeenth birthday, I was old enough to face life alone, because they were going off to the Far East to spread the word of G.o.d. No doubt they were also going to spread a fair bit of my grandparents hard-earned cash which also just happened to be my inheritance.

September twenty-second. The day my parents gave me the brother Id always wanted. He was nineteen, looked like an Adonis and I hated him on sight. My advice? Careful what you wish for . . .

September twenty-second. The day Joanne (JoJo) Grayson died.

It was this third event that rocked me the most, which was bizarre, because apart from attending the same school, JoJo and I didnt even travel in the same stratosphere. At least, as far as she was concerned.

But then she died.

And we were suddenly connected.

I guess that happens if youre the one who finds the body. Its even worse if in some totally flipped-out twist of fate youre also the last one to speak to that person alive. Those last words, incidentally, continue to echo in my mind; Ill never be able to utter them again without thinking of JoJo. My mouth had hovered over the microphone, my fingers poised over the keypad: 'Would you like fries with that?

She did . . .

They were probably the last things to pa.s.s her lips. Complex carbohydrates.

Sixteen minutes later it was me who called triple zero. Right after Id found her car wrapped around a tree when I was driving home at the end of my charity s.h.i.+ft. Just sixteen short minutes after JoJo had collected her chicken salad combo with low-fat ranch dressing.

Last to speak to her alive. First to see her dead.

Considering wed barely spoken in life, I shouldnt have been surprised that this shot our relations.h.i.+p to a new level. I mean, as bonding experiences go, they dont get much deeper, right?

Well, thats what everyone else thought, anyway. And as a result, life as I knew it changed completely. Why? Because JoJo was news: Year 12, an A-lister, a leader, one of the totally cool girls. And so, by a.s.sociation, I became news too.

Im pretty certain that if I hadnt volunteered to cover drive-thru for the 'Do it for a Kid charity day that fateful Sat.u.r.day, then most of the senior kids at Ruth Throsby Private High School still wouldnt even know I existed; Id still be barely a blip on anyones radar.

Instead, I was the target.

Me, Willow Cartwright: D-lister by choice, political rebel, totally uncool by A-list standards.

After JoJos death that all changed. Everyone wanted to know me. Everyone had questions. Had she hit the tree on purpose? What had she said? Who was she p.i.s.sed at?

Everyone had an agenda, a reason for wanting to know.

And so the Angels came calling.

And the jocks.

And the hangers and wannabes.

And for some reason, they thought I had the answers.

What I wanted to know was why?.

Chapter One.

'O.M.G., is this funeral going for a Guinness Book of Records listing or what? What are all these people doing here? More to the point what are we doing here? I cant believe you blew off the Freedom of Choice march for this. Or that I let you talk me into it when I should be working on my blog.

I didnt bother glancing across at Macey as we slid into the back pew of the old church-turned-commercial-venue another Gold Coast sacrilege. The whole church was filled with hundreds of candles and white flowers; satin angels hung at the end of each row of seats. If you asked me, it looked more like a wedding was going to take place than a funeral. 'You know why Im here.

'The connection thing. I didnt have to see the eye-roll to know it had happened. 'Which doesnt explain what Im doing here.

'Respect, Mace. Its called respect. I shrugged. 'And if that answer doesnt work, consider it respect for your best friend whos been totally freaked since JoJos death. Okay, its not every day you find a dead body so, sure, that has to rock your world a bit but instead of getting better, the feelings had been getting more intense in the six days since Id found JoJos body. I could only hope that once she was buried Id start to get back to normal. If I was being truthful, thats why I was here and why Id dragged Macey with me.

Unperturbed, Macey Pentecost leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. Her knee-high leather boots creaked and her retro black mini rose another two inches, but she ignored both. 'But what about everybody else? she drawled, flicking her dead-straight, black, s.h.i.+ny hair over one shoulder. 'My moneys on morbid curiosity. Come on, Wills. All these people cant be here because they liked her. She was a b.i.t.c.h!

That was Macey. Outspoken, irreverent, independent and smart. She never apologised and she took no prisoners. Even while she was seemingly bored, I knew her mind would be trawling for an angle for her social-justice blog, Just Juce.

On the other hand, I was happy to be sucked into the moment the music, the atmosphere and the reverence. The service was amazing. And Macey was right: everyone was there, including most of the Gold Coast politicians and minor celebrities, and they all wanted to say how wonderful JoJo had been. It was kind of interesting seeing her life through the eyes of other people, especially when none of it gelled with what we knew of her.

Which, in fairness, wasnt much, so who knew?

It was her parents I couldnt drag my eyes away from, though. They looked so lost. JoJo had been their only child and they clung to each other like theyd fall if they let the other go. Especially her dad. I couldnt remember ever seeing anyone as emotionally shattered as he looked. Broken was a word that came to mind; he just looked broken . . . Like hed never be able to put himself back together. Whether youd loved or hated JoJo you couldnt help but be affected by that much pain. And as I watched them, I actually felt it; felt it squeeze my heart; felt their emptiness. And with that came envy. I didnt want to be dead but I wasnt sure my own folks would be so cut up over it if I was.

What would it be like to be surrounded by that much love?

Before I could fall any deeper into my own well of self-pity, I was jerked back to the present by the music switching up a gear. Everybody stood and the recessional started. JoJo was making her final exit.

And I had to admit she was doing it in style.

Wheeling out the baby-pink coffin were eight of her last boyfriends. All in dark suits. All looking miserable and d.a.m.n it all still managing to look totally hot. Hadnt she ever dated anyone who didnt cause you third-degree burns just by looking at them?

Especially the one whod just walked into my sight-line. My heart skipped a beat. There was Seth. Second from the end. In his greyblack Hugo Boss suit and dark gla.s.ses. If I had issues with JoJo, it wasnt really because she was spoiled and perfect and b.i.t.c.hy and loved by her parents it was because shed had Seth. For a while, anyway.

Seth, who made Zac Efron look like an also-ran. Seth, who was Maceys big brother. Seth, who treated me like a little sister.

Seth. Tall, dark and hot. The main reason I was still a virgin . . .